大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War Site by Three Counties Action, on behalf of David Scott, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

August 1940 鈥� school farm camp in the Weald of Kent, sleeping on straw palliasses on the floor of an oast-house, and working very hard helping to get in the harvest. The reaper-binder goes in ever-decreasing circles throwing out bundled sheaves of corn which we put together into stooks. When there is little left of the uncut area the rabbits which have retreated into the middle start to run out and the workers stand by with sticks and succeed in killing some. We take them back to the farmyard and gut them (a new and gory skill) and cook them. As we work in the hot sunshine under a perfect blue sky the Battle of Britain is fought in the air overhead. Patterns of vapour-trails interlace above us as British and German planes wheel and dive.

May 鈥� June 1944 鈥� with 557 Assault Squadron RE, equipped with Churchill tanks and doing live-firing exercises in the Snape/Orford battle-training area in Suffolk. This extensive area has been requisitioned and all the residents evacuated, and it is strange and rather eerie to see rabbits running in and out of a deserted church as we rumble by in our tanks.

June 1944 鈥� on a Churchill tank driving-and-maintenance course at Catterick Camp. They are wonderful things to drive, needing very accurate double de-clutching when changing gear, with a close eye on the rev-counter. We practise driving, two in each tank, in a splendid training-ground full of nasty obstacles, one of us driving blind with the visor closed and the other acting as tank commander, head out of the turret and giving the driver directions over the intercom. The commander tries to trap the driver into stalling the engine, perhaps by giving him a 鈥榙river right鈥� order so as to confront him with a very steep bank with not enough time to change to low gear. A fun interlude.

December 1944 鈥� on board an LST (landing ship, tank) crossing to Ostend, which has just been cleared of mines and opened to shipping. The weather is so severe that entry is not possible on our first crossing, and we have to return across the Channel. Our Churchill tanks are down in the bowels of the ship, acting like pendulum weights to assist the violent rolling of the ship. Our 3-tonners are lashed down on the open deck, accentuating the rolling by swaying side to side on their springs 鈥� soldiers trying to sleep in the trunks being horribly sea-sick. Our heavy BSA motor-cycles also lashed down on deck, but break loose 鈥� two NCO鈥檚 and I trying to secure them as they career from side to side of the deck, drenched with spray 鈥� catch one, hurriedly and inexpertly lash it down, catch another and find the first one has broken free again.

December 1944 鈥� with 77 Assault Squadron RE, stationed in Middelburg, the capital town of the Dutch island of Walcheren. I have been posted to this squadron as reinforcement, the unit having taken casualties in the course of the assault on the island. No more Churchills: this unit has Buffaloes, amphibious tracked vehicles which when water-borne are propelled by plates protruding from their tracks 鈥� an inefficient and slow method of propulsion. There are two models: the larger will carry a jeep or Bren carrier, which is loaded by means of a ramp at the rear which is then closed up to form the back-end of the vehicle 鈥� hopefully not leaking excessively. The smaller one simply has an open well to carry troops, equipment or stores. The engine and driving position are in an enclosed part at the front. The driver can sit low down in this compartment, or can elevate his seat which then springs up so that his head is out of the hatch. Much of the island is below sea-level and has been flooded in the course of the assault. We spend a lot of time ferrying provisions and stores to farms and villages which have been cut off by the flooding. Inhabitants very welcoming, and we have a happy Christmas.

February 1945 鈥� 77 Squadron鈥檚 Buffaloes carry Canadian infantry engaged in operations clearing German troops out of the flooded areas between the rivers Maas and Rhine east of Nijmegen. A vivid memory of this period is of my Buffalo, alone on some errand and with only my crew and myself on board, finding itself being drawn inexorably towards a gap in a dyke through which the water is flowing fast in a torrent, down to a considerably lower level of water on the other side. To avoid going through broadside on, and probably rolling over and sinking, I tell the driver to turn so as to go over the waterfall head on. He does so, and then as the bow dips he elevates his seat so as to pop up through the hatch. At the same moment I slam the hatch shut to prevent the front compartment being flooded as it dips into the water below. The driver is temporarily stunned, but fortunately recovers with only a nasty headache. My memories of the rest of that excursion are hazy, but include the next night spent in a demolished house in Cleve, where we eventually managed to climb out of the water, and which had recently been captured, and then returning to the unit鈥檚 base near Nijmegen laden with an upright piano and the body of a dead German soldier. How and why we collected these I cannot remember.

March 1945 鈥� on the right side of March 23 we carry Canadian infantry on the assault crossing of the River Rhine somewhere north-west of Wesel. The river is fast-flowing and the Buffaloes very slow 鈥� we crawl across crab-wise, pointing upstream at a predetermined angle and assisted by a gyro-compass and by infra-red (?) lights and reflectors visible only through special glasses. The provision of these technical aids, and the organisation and marshalling of the embarkation and the crossing, are impressive. I am in the first wave, and as we cross a heavy artillery barrage is raining down on the opposite bank where we are to land 鈥� we hope it will lift before we get there. It does 鈥� just! The following morning, back on 鈥渙ur鈥� side of the river and peering over the dyke behind which we have spent the rest of the previous night in hastily dug slit-trenches, we have a grand-stand view of a vast airborne drop on the ground opposite on the other side of the river. It is truly stupendous 鈥� a veritable cloud of aircraft, many towing gliders, and then the sky beneath them full of parachutes as the airborne troops descend. An enduring and unforgettable vision.

That was the end of my war, because later that morning I carelessly got two bullets through my right leg from a German sniper 鈥� fortunately missing all bones and doing no lasting damage, but resulting in a flight back to England in an ambulance Dakota, a spell in hospital there, and convalescence leave during which I was able to join the crowds cheering Churchill and the King and Queen to celebrate VE-Day.

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