大象传媒

Soldier鈥檚 Tale
By Dan Johnson

If anybody in our unit, after the accelerated training programme of the first three months of 1944, doubted that important events were afoot, these must have been dispelled by early April. For a start, all leave was cancelled. A measure which annoyed at least one soldier, for I was only a fortnight away from an eagerly awaited visit to home and family.
Another shock was that our smart and distinctive cream blanco was to be removed and replaced with an unprepossessing colour known as 鈥渒haki-green number 2鈥�; and the shining brass over which we had spent many weary hours was painted brown. This was a shattering experience for what was known in the Division as 鈥渁 bull outfit鈥�. If we certainly looked duller we looked less like peacetime soldiers. But most significant of all, censorship of mail began and we took refuge in an
Army Post Office closed address.
All vehicles and wireless equipment were waterproofed and by May we were learning the art of driving vehicles through deep water in a nearby park. Another exercise consisted of climbing scrambling nets up one side of a dummy ship and down the other 鈥� a surprisingly tiring and difficult task when you鈥檙e encumbered with equipment and weapons. As soldiers of an armoured regiment we didn鈥檛 quite see the point of this, but it helped to keep us fit and psyched up.
By the middle of May all trial loads on supply lorries had been carried out. The quartermaster had decided which equipment would go where, and loading began in earnest. REME armourers fussed about checking weapons and vehicles and men were supplied with ammunition. All ranks were confined to camp and towards the end of the month we were issued with crisp new French franc notes. This last occasioned a rash of betting as to where our initial overseas destination would be. Anywhere from the South of France to Calais were the favourites, but some with a more sophisticated sense of strategy reckoned that the French franc payout was a blind and we would be heading for Belgium or Holland.
Early in June we learned that our Division was not to be in the first assault but would be one of the 鈥渂uild up鈥� formations. On 6th June came news of the landings, and there was an air of suppressed excitement in the camp. Further information was that the whole of our regiment was not to cross to France together. Only one squadron was to go first, the rest later.
Regimental rivalry being what it was, we were dead chuffed to hear that our B Squadron was chosen for what was the great honour of leading the way.
So June wore on. The C.O. paid us a visit to wish us well, followed in the evening by a rumbustious party in the mess hut. The RSM (being Irish) gave as his party piece a spirited rendering of 鈥淧addy MacGinty鈥檚 Goat鈥�. But the star of the show was Sgt. 鈥淛ock鈥� Duncan from Paisley with his rather inebriated version of 鈥淲i鈥� Ma Big Kilmarnock Bunnet鈥�. Since the unit was basically Welsh, with a later addition of all-sorts, it is probably only we Scots who understood the lyric. But the sight of one of the most popular N.C.O.s in his cups, singing his head off, brought the house down.
For some days the twelve occupants of our Nissen hut were 鈥渟crounging鈥� everything we could get from the cookhouse. Those on cookhouse duty and night guard supplied the store of food which we hid with the idea of holding a farewell supper before our departure. One of the beds was commandeered as a table and the spam, bread, butter and jam laid out. We were ready to begin when an M.T. sergeant arrived with a message for one of his drivers. Some of us must have had visions of the firing squad, for the stealing of rations was a serious offence. However we managed to screen the feast through force of numbers and the sergeant left none the wiser. It was an enjoyable meal, with tea brewed on the Monty stove, which was glowing red with fuel scrounged from the coke compound.
On 16th June the tracked vehicles departed to entrain at Ashford Station, and we turned out to see them off. Those of us in that armoured car crews were to leave the following day. That night we lay down on the concrete floor of the hut on a groundsheet, or sat with our backs against the wall and tried to sleep as best we could. There were no pillows so some of us wore helmets in an effort to support and protect our heads. It was something of a relief when morning came, and after ablutions and breakfast we were on our way to the marshalling area at Gray鈥檚 camp in Essex. We were not sorry to go, for not only was our camp a dreary and isolated place, but for some days now VI鈥檚 were passing directly overhead on their way to London.
The journey to Grays was a triumphal procession through countryside, towns, and outskirts of London. People lined the streets to cheer us on and shower us, when an opportunity arose, with sweets, cakes, cigarettes, magazines and even money. We spent a couple of days in the marshalling area playing lengthy games of football, including a Scotland v England match. In the evening ENSA put on a show usually described by the rude solidiery as 鈥渂um 鈥榥鈥� tit鈥�.
We were sleeping in tents, but they tended to be crowded and stifling through the night. Since the weather was fine I removed my groundsheet and blankets, and slept under an oak tree. There was an air raid a short distance away and I had a fine view of the A.A. fireworks, after which I slept soundly. When I re-entered the tent in the morning it was torn above where I should have been sleeping and the nosecap of an A.A. shell had buried itself into the ground which was my bedsapce. It was the first of many slices of good luck I was to enjoy during the next few months.
After Grays we moved to Tilbury docks and the complete squadron group was embarked. There were no 鈥渞oll-on roll-off鈥� ships in those days and all vehicles had to reverse on board, expertly guided by a R.E. staff-sergeant who stood in front of the vehicles giving hand signals to the drivers. There were no crowds to see us off here for the docks were practically empty. We all lined the rail as the ropes were cast off. A couple of dock workers waved us good bye as we slowly sailed off on 20th June.
The ship was American built, but manned by a Royal Navy crew. The rations were American and included tinned chicken, which came as a pleasant surprise. We were scheduled to land on the 22nd June but a storm blew up and the ship anchored till the weather improved. I therefore had the strange experience of spending my twentieth birthday on a troopship in the Thames estuary.
The crossing was uneventful and on the 23rd we were off the Normandy coast. From the deck we gazed in some wonder at the French countryside, lying quiet and peaceful in the sun. No gunfire, no aerial dogfights overhead as some of us had imagined. If it was a slight anti-climax, it was a memorable occasion nevertheless, and we all wore 鈥渂est battledress鈥� for the occasion. Then came the order over the tannoy 鈥淎ll troops report to vehicle decks and prepare for disembarkation.鈥�
Our crew 鈥� Adam Baxter from Aberdeen, Anglo-Scot Eddie Anderson from Harrow, Welsh officer Roddie Williams and myself 鈥� boarded the armoured car and sat in silence, each with his own thoughts. At 1600 hours we felt the shock as the ship beached at Le Hamel, east of Arromanches. We waited for a short time to let the ebb get underway, and then we could hear the rumble above us as the tracked carriers disembarked into 3鈥�6鈥� of water. Since these vehicles had a low freeboard, the unfortunate crews got their bums wet. As luck would have it, our car was one of the last to leave and we landed in a few inches of water. A source of pride to the Squadron was that all vehicles were ashore successfully without any damage to engines or wireless sets caused by sea water.
So straight across Gold Beach, up on to the French roads and on to the de-waterproofing area a couple of kilometres inland. This huge expanse of open ground had once been a cornfield, but was now beaten flat by hundreds of trucks, tanks, artillery pieces, bulldozers, etc. the crews of which worked like beavers to remove all waterproofing materials which were thrown on a huge heap at the side of the field. Near our vehicle at the edge of this area were two mounds, marked with two crude wooden crosses bearing the names of a captain and corporal of the Royal Inniskilling Dragoon Guards. Not a very cheering sight for us young untried soldiers. But, whatever one thought, nobody spoke about it. We just concentrated on the task in hand.
With the de-waterproofing complete we moved off slowly through the mass of vehicles. I wondered how the authorities would sort out the chaos round about us. But they did, and our unit surprisingly found itself intact on the road on the far side. Then we moved off into the dusty haze that was Normandy. Our days of playing at soldiers were at an end.

END

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