大象传媒

Letters Home -September 1944 鈥� Part Two

Now is the time your generosity and kindness of the last war, to the Belgian refugees, being repaid a hundred fold. Even those who have no such recollections give us the same warm and generous welcome.

Two nicknames I have derived from the family, one is 鈥楶ear-shop鈥� and the other 鈥楯am-pot鈥�. The latter originated in the last war, and was a nom-de-plume for our 鈥楾ommies鈥�- often they swapped their jam-pots for a Belgian loaf of bread. The former name was given to me for my very frequent visits to the pear-shop, an excuse to get the boys some pears and, at the same time, visit my friends. I would enter the room with a big bag of pears upon my back and be greeted with 鈥渉ere comes Father Christmas鈥�.

One morning they took some snaps of the family and me, which I sincerely hope I can let you see one day.

But such happiness is short-lived. Happiness itself is never lasting- because if it were so we would not know it for what it is.

Bitter was the parting- I know that I grieved very much, and sufficient is it to say that they were sorely disappointed and sorry to know that I was going.

Never shall I forget such a people. Never was my heart in this accursed war, as you all know. To see and think of all the smug, conceited, and self-assured people that I worked with back in England did not give me any incentive to fight. But no sacrifice, great or small, or even of life itself is too small for these people. My heart is now in the fight for them.

The next day we moved. Hurried good-byes were said, toasts were drunk, and one woman even brought a hot dinner in a basin for us to eat. Whilst getting our equipment ready for the road you would have laughed to see us snatching quick mouthfuls of dinner and then dashing back to resume work. Then the good woman even brought two bottles of beer for us.

It was with sad and heavy hearts that our convoy slowly wended its way through the village. My last glimpse of the family was to see them all gathered at the street corner to wave me goodbye and good-luck.

But I鈥檝e promised to try to visit them from Brussels on my 48hr leave, if not, they have asked me to see them all again after the war.

Our first halt was not far away, a small village. After a meal the local burgomaster (Mayor) came to our aid and supplied us with billets. It was intended that we should all sleep in the schoolroom, but upon the civilians hearing of this they all clamoured to the Mayor for us to be billeted with them- which we were!

Tommy and I got very good billets. We were plied with stuff, as well as wine and spent an enjoyable evening. The only snag was leaving it so early in the morning- we were on the road again at 7 am.

The familiar sign that used to be apparent in London was seen once again- broken windows all around and then the evidence itself of a flying bomb recently landed.

Many such scenes did we see, and hold as a reminder in our memory.

I shall always remember our entry into Holland! Gone were the old jubilations and greetings, and in their place a solemn and courteous nod of the head.

Once again, we are faced with that grim and costly slogging match that was so much in evidence around Caen, Faliase and Villers-Bocage. Every individual farm-building, house and object has been converted into a strong point. Literally, the Hun has had to be blasted from every point. He has decided that the defence of Germany starts from here. Every inch, every yard, is contested bitterly. An avalanche of steel and fire is raining down upon the Hun- and soon, something will have to crack!

Going back upon the opposite side of the road were German ambulances packed with their wounded- even being driven by their own drivers.

Huge suspension bridges were lamely sagging in the rivers where they had effectively been bombed by the RAF. You remember the dam-busting expedition of the RAF; the thoroughness of their attack has been seen by us. Field after field is flooded, even the first infantry troops to enter were fighting waist-high in water.

No wonder the Dutch people seem dazed and bewildered, their farmlands flooded and for some their homes smashed to ruins. This indeed is total warfare. But the prize in this particular sector is great, very great.

The Dutch people seem to have a reserved friendliness, but I鈥檝e not actually come into personal contact with them yet. Quite a number are wearing their national colour- an orange emblem. The women also wear their funny little white bonnets, wide- swept black skirts, and clogs. Surely you know the typical dress they wear?

I鈥檓 awfully sorry not to be able to tell you more about Holland, but as you may guess we have not long arrived here.

Yesterday we were issued with gum-boots so my big socks have come in very useful.

Dennis鈥� mother smuggled some cake into a parcel he has just received and boy-oh-boy! Was it good!

I鈥檓 writing this on my bed, which is an old door on some bricks. There is mud everywhere! Hope you are all O.K. Sunday tomorrow, shall be thinking of you all in your nine o鈥檆lock service.

Bye-bye Dad, Bubs, and you too Mum.

Love to you all,

Ray.

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