大象传媒

This is the third part of the memoir of Trooper John Raymond Wilson 558713 of Matlock in Derbyshire. It is an account of his time as a wireless operator in a Sherman tank serving in the Royal Tank Regiment 4th Armoured brigade. It was written in May 1994 for his seven year old grandson, Jonathan Pearson.

The Battle in Normandy: Columby, Caen, Hill 112
As we left the beach behind and moved into the fields I got my first sight of the wreckage and ruin left after battle. Three Sherman tanks blackened and burnt out stood in the first field. Anti-tank guns must have picked them off within moments of getting off the beach. 鈥楲anes鈥� of dirty white tape indicated safe areas, which had been cleared of mines, though that was by no means guaranteed. The signs stating in German 鈥楢chtung minen鈥� were everywhere and couldn鈥檛 be taken for granted as true or false. Everywhere the fields were littered with shallow shell holes where the bombardment had rained down. We moved on a few more miles then pulled off the road and set up brigade headquarters in a field of what had been cabbages but were now chewed up by lorry tyres and tanks tracks into a sorry mess. The tanks were deployed round the perimeter of the field facing South and the various communications vehicles set about their business of taking control and direction of the brigade. After removing the nuisance bits of our waterproofing like the exhaust and air intake chimneys we made the tank ready for action. The big gun breech was opened with armour piecing shell and high explosive shells ready for either to be loaded instantly and all the machine guns were loaded with safety catches on. Then everyone set to digging slit trenches. Soon we found ourselves under fire from enemy artillery. With a sound that was to become very familiar several shells screamed towards us. Instinctively I flung myself into one of the slit trenches and heard the heart-stopping ear piecing blasts as the salvo exploded and the whizzing, zinging noises of shrapnel and bits of shell splinters shot through the air. Expecting an attack at any moment all crews mounted their tanks. I have to admit I have never moved so fast in my life before. We remained at action stations for some considerable time. Eventually we were stood down one tank at a time to have a brew up and something to eat. Then more of digging slit trenches and earth banks to protect the soft skinned vehicles until about an hour before last light when the whole squadron 鈥榮tood to鈥� fully armed until darkness. This 鈥榮tand to鈥� fully armed at sunset and dawn was continued everyday until about D20, when it was deemed no longer necessary. I learned that those two periods of the day were the most likely times for surprise attacks. Of course, a strong guard was mounted during the night and everyone found himself taking a turn on. In between we got our heads down in our bedrolls stretched out underneath our tanks. Not a lot of room but a secure feeling with 30 tones of steel over us. The next day, we learned that the whole of the fighting units of the brigade were ashore and had taken up their allotted positions and we, the O.P. tanks, were sent out to take our places in the 鈥榮harp end鈥� as the front line was known. We were in hull down position just behind the forward infantry dug in along a sunken roadway. Hull down position means that the tank is positioned so that only the turret is above ground level, affording a perfect defensive position but murderous country to go into the attack against. I soon became very familiar with the word Bocage. This French word described the sunken roads with high hedgerows on either side of which Normandy abounded and a big German Tiger tank could hull down in this countryside and could devastate attacking Sherman tanks.

Our tanks were supporting the infantry in an attack on a village called Columby which needed to be in our hands to deny the enemy a road junction, and as the infantry worked their way forward the tanks laid down a barrage of shell fire and poured machine gun fire along the hedges which could be covering enemy machine gunners and bazooka teams. Suddenly two leading Shermans suffered direct hits from a concealed 88mm on a Tiger. But the gun flashes had been pinpointed and the message came into my earphones requesting artillery fire on its position. I passed the details through the intercom to the OP officer in the turret and in seconds had worked out the range and the fire pattern needed and his wireless operator called up the battery with the details. I heard the officer transmit the order 鈥楩ire鈥� and seconds later a salvo of 25-pounder shells screamed over us, bursting on target. The Tigers heavy armour could easily withstand a armour piercing shot form a Sherman鈥檚 gun but not a bombardment from accurate artillery fire and with only minor adjustments by the OP it was deadly accurate. The attack probed forward and in the absence of any calls on my wireless for further artillery assistance I helped in raking ahead with bursts of machine gun fire. Very soon all objectives in the action were taken. The village of Colomby with its roads was in our hands.
The big attack to capture the town of Caen was a very different battle. We went in at dawn on the 25th June and in the attack a village called Lauray I experienced what really bitter warfare meant. Most of the time that first day I was too busy to be frightened, that came later when I had time to think about it all, but that day from start to finish was savage battle. As well as performing our own job of artillery link we frequently found ourselves fighting as a battle tank. Tony the turret gunner was frequently called on to use his big gun and I used the forward machine gun. One very vicious battle for a small town called Noray en Besan was terrible. We lost a lot of tanks and many, many infantrymen, but slowly the town was taken, leaving wreckage everywhere, buildings smashed and burning and the sickly sweet smell of death over it all. That night as the tanks pulled back a mile or so to replenish with petrol and ammunition we leaguered in a field, which had a large haystack in it. As the supply lorries came down between the two lines of tanks dumping by each one a their requirements, I heard shots crack from the haystack and bullets whistle overhead and one of the lorry crew dropped down shot. Quick as a flash two tanks nearest to the haystack swivelled their turrets and sent streams of machine gun fire into it. The tracer bullets quickly set it ablaze and several enemy snipers leapt out to be swiftly taken prisoner. They had been left behind in the fighting but must have decided to do what damage they could behind the lines 鈥� an indication of how bitter the battle for Caen was going to be.
In the event after a weeks continuous battle in which even the Brigadier was killed by shellfire the town still remained in enemy hands and it was finally decided to attack it by a massive aircraft bomber raid. It was awesome yet terrible to watch as wave after wave of heavy bombers passed overhead and released their bomb loads on the town. We could feel the thuds of the explosions under our feet from even where we stood about four miles away and a thick dense blanket of black smoke and dust hung over the town. A couple of days later fell into our hands a heap of smouldering ruins but of great importance in the scheme of things apparently.

By mid July I had become quite experienced and battle hardened (I thought) then I took part in an action to capture a village called Maltot an area of rising ground known as Hill 112. It was a nasty, slogging, bitter battle and the enemy contested every inch of ground before we finally managed to get to the crest of Hill 112 and there the advance halted. The tanks were stretched along the crest of the hill with the infantry a few feet in front and we spent the best part of a week repelling enemy attacks and being shelled in quite moments and of course as OP directing fire at them. Our OP officer used the headset (microphone and earphones) on an extended lead to lie exposed on the top of the crest and direct his fire at targets down the other side. Quite probably somewhere along the crest was a German artillery OP returning the compliment to us because we got plenty back. It was a case of slogging it out all week getting shot up and shooting back in conditions as near as I can imagine to those in the trenches in the First World War. We all suffered from swollen feet as a result of sitting inside the tank fingers on triggers or receiving and transmitting on the radio. The nights were the most unpleasant, trying to sleep at our positions, taking it in turn to be the one awake ready to rouse the crew for action if needed, and praying the tank wouldn鈥檛 get a direct hit from the frequent 鈥渟tonks鈥�. After almost a week of this we were almost pleased to be told we were 鈥済oing in鈥� to push the front line forward down into the valley for about three miles. With about two hours to go a barrage was laid down in front of us allowing the infantry to follow behind it and then over the crest we went in one simultaneous wave. One or two were hit but the push was a complete success and by last light the new line had been consolidated. The next day we were relieved and pulled back to reserve area for a couple of days in the vicinity of Barpiquet aerodrome, which was operational as a fighter and Typhoon station. There we carried out a lot of much needed maintenance, replenished all stores and ammunitions and had some much needed sleep actually stretched out on the ground. Most of us also managed a bath. A biscuit tin full of hot water, a complete strip off naked 鈥� no false modesty- and a damn good wash down all over. We even managed a film show put on by the Army Cinema Service. It was put on in a not- to- badly damaged farm and was Lena Horne in 鈥漇tormy Weather鈥�. The next few weeks were very much the same as before, slow grinding pushes through the murderous bocage countryside where shot up burning tanks and dead soldiers awaiting burial became a common sight and no one no longer felt anything. The one sight which always touched a heartstring though was the sight of dead or wounded cattle and farm animals and horses. I don鈥檛 know anyone who wasn鈥檛 saddened by those sights.

Tony the gunner had to go off sick and as there wasn鈥檛 any time to get a replacement (We were already picking up the OP officer and his wireless operator) the 4th R.H.A supplied another wireless operator and I moved up into the turret as gunner. The artillery wireless op. taking over my set in the co driver鈥檚 seat was a young chap called Taffy Jones. We moved off and picked up a unit that the Count and I were surprised to find was a lightly armoured reconnaissance unit. However they鈥檇 asked Brigade HQ for an artillery link tank so here we were. We passed through the town of St Lo and halted on our start line hull down on the road to a town called Vire. The inevitable hedgerows were on ether side of us and a column of scout cars and Bren gun carriers behind us. I was nattering to the Count in his driving seat and at the same time looking through the gun sight and swivelling the turret side to side a little with the hand transversing wheel when suddenly the tank was filled with a blinding flash and smoke and the pressure blast of an explosion. At the same time there was a deafening noise I shall never forget. For a split second I thought one of our high explosive shells had gone off prematurely but instinct was already working and I leapt up through the turret hatch followed immediately by the turret wireless operator. I jumped to the ground and then saw the small hole punched in the side of the tank immediately beside where I would normally have been sitting. I heard the Count shouting for me to help him out. We鈥檇 been hit by a bazooka rocket. They must have crept up under cover of the dense hedgerow Taffy Jones was killed outright taking the full blast only inches from his side. The count sitting next to him was peppered with metal fragments, had several broken bones and his trousers were smouldering from the flash. The turret wireless operator鈥檚 hair was all burned off over one side of his head and I was unscathed except for a shrapnel wound in my left foot. I was helping the Count get out when the tank started to burn and once a Sherman started to go it would be an inferno in seconds. The German anti-tank gunners used to call them 鈥淭ommy Cookers鈥�. An armoured car lifted us down to a field dressing station then we whizzed back to a field hospital. The Count taken for surgery, the wireless operator to have his head dressed properly and I had my foot dressed then I was given a ground sheet and two blankets and had a nights sleep. The next day I was given the OK by doctor to be RTU 鈥� Returned to Unit. The date was August 10th 1944 when we had been 鈥渂rewed up鈥� and it was five days later when I finally got back to the squadron via a couple of reinforcement drafts from transit camps. It was a bit of a shock to discover that for a short time I had been considered 鈥渒illed in action鈥� due to a little confusion over who the operator of the second wireless set was.

By now we knew that the Americans were sweeping round in their pincer movement and the British and Canadian force battling down to the town of Falaise to meet them and close the gap were having a hard time as the enemy tried to keep it open. A huge Germany army group was in danger of being completely cut off and destroyed so they fought desperately. I found myself reassigned to another tank in my same job. The driver was a lad called Gwyn Farley and the gunner Wilf Royle. I knew them well already so we got on OK together. We picked up an OP officer and a wireless operator and joined the 3rd/4th County of London Yeomanry. It was the first time I had worked with them but they were every bit as good as 44th RTR. We fought our way round Falaise which had been very heavily bombed like Caen, the ruined buildings and the huge bomb craters proved to be more of an impediment than possibly the enemy defenders would have been. One noticeable difference in the fighting was the seeming shortage of Tiger and Panther tanks but there was no shortage of 88mm anti tank guns dug in and progress was difficult and costly. We also met a lot of multiple mortar fire. A nasty weapon which fired six big mortar bombs one after the other. The German name for this weapon was Ulinen Werfer (mine thrower). But because of the loud eerie sound they made when firing off, the British Tommies christened them Moaning Minnies. However they left a tell tale trail of smoke from their firing position and our OP officer was a dab hand at getting their range and laying a stonk on them within minutes of them firing- usually their last. A very well executed night attack carried out with the help of artificial moonlight 鈥� that is searchlights shining on a low cloud base- cut the last road and the link with the Americans was virtually complete. The huge pocket of trapped forces was ordered by Hitler not to surrender and some of the more fanatical units fought on whilst others realising their hopeless position did surrender in their thousands. Those who didn鈥檛 were reduced day by day by the withering fire of air attacks, tank gunnery artillery in fact anything that could be fired was shot into the Falaise pocket. Until those of the 7th German army who hadn鈥檛 surrendered were completely destroyed along with their equipment and stores. In the area of the pocket, the several square miles of carnage and devastation was indescribable. The sickly sweet stench of death was a permanent smell in your nostrils. Every piece of ground, every road absolutely everywhere was littered with the wreckage - vehicles, horse drawn carts, cars, armoured vehicles, lorries everything a whole army used and needed was smashed. None too soon we regrouped and left this horrible place behind us, as with our morale and spirits sky high we pursued a fleeing enemy. We swarmed across France liberating towns and villages daily without hardly a shot being fired. It was heady stuff and we thought it would go on like that until the war ended but unfortunately it didn鈥檛 鈥� and that鈥檚 another story鈥︹��(Ray Wilson died before completing this).

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