大象传媒

My Father although no longer with us, managed to get through his years of military service with the Royal Artillery. From his Certificate of Service record book he had served in Egypt from 02.03.37 - 02.04.42, Cyprus 03.04.42 - 19.01.43 then back to Egypt from 20.01.43 - 08.12.43.

He told us that while in the Artillery he was mainly a driver and gunner, driving a small tractor unit which towed a 25 pounder gun and limber. He had quite a few experiences as he and the other fine men of the Royal Artillery went up and down the North African front with trips along the desert campaign. One was when he was delivering supplies to a forward Observation post, he had to drive down a canyon road with cliffs on both sides and occupied with the enemy forces firing their artillery down onto the road, and he had to negotiate shell holes from previous exchanges, when he finally arrived at the O. Post at the end of this valley, he parked up to find the H.Q he was approached by a Sergeant enquiring what was he carrying!!! to which my father replied Ammo sarge, could you tell me where the H.Q is, yes lad you are parked on top of it, so get it moved. A further situation happened when on another delivery of supplies being made to a forward gunnery unit, when my father unloaded the ammo the Sergeant told him to go and get a cuppa so he parked up, went to get his drink while he was there a raid took place by heavy shelling from the enemy lines, when it finally ceased my father went back to his lorry to find a piece of shrapnel had passed through the dashboard and was embedded in his driving seat if he had been in that seat, I think he would have been badly wounded or worse.

It also seems that sometimes there must have been a lull in action and the Commanding officers' of different units used to pass the time by having wagers of whose driver with gun and limber could get up a goat's track on the side of a mountain first, with no regard to the poor devils who had to do it. My father being one of them said, that his wheels went over the side many a time, as the tracks were made for goats, not vehicles, but he survived.

What use to make me laugh was the fact that when they were driving in convoy across the desert, they would at some time come under bombardment from the enemy, the column would stop, the men would get out and get under their lorries, remembering, of course that these vehicles were carrying anything from 25 pounder shells to petrol etc. not exactly the ideal shelter. It was during one of these shelling raids that he jumped out of his vehicle, went underneath for cover only to come face to face with a live shell that had bellyflopped on the sand, once again luck was with him, and I imagine he drove on very gingerly. But sooner or later his luck would run out for it was during one of these convoy bombardments that they were being hit hard by the enemy, his pal who was driving a water bowser was behind him when a shell went off near them and a piece of shrapnel went through his pal's cheek my father went to help him when another shell exploded and a piece of shrapnel entered my fathers' neck and another piece hit his pal again in the ankle, by this time the convoy was well hit, vehicles were burning etc. My father helped his pal away from the vehicles to a shell crater which was close by and they both got in but in the confusion two medics also jumped in on top of them, my father said that was all he needed 'a pair of size tens on' his back after being wounded in the neck, so he crawled out and laid on the surface, by this time the rest of the column was being straffed by the Luftwaffe, but he said at that point he would have sooner been shot than suffocated, on top of all that he said it started to rain. Once it had quietened down the medics got out of the hole, he said what he found funny was the fact that they had treated him and his pal with field dressings, his pal had a bandage around the top of his head, just like you see in the war films, but as stated his wound was through his cheek, they managed to find his ankle injury ok, and my father had a pad put on his neck wound from the shrapnel that had entered through the front of the neck and gone through and exited at the back of the neck, clipping his upper spine, the piece of metal was just laying there in his shirt, which he took out and discarded, by this time anything that could move had done so including ambulances. So now you have four young men, two able bodied, two wounded out in the middle of nowhere, not knowing where they are, or who will turn up next and night is drawing in, he never said but I bet they must have been petrified. It was decided that they would move away from what was left of the convoy as it was like a glowing ember in the darkness of the night. So lets re-cap my father has a hole through his neck, his pal has a hole though his cheek and ankle so he can only crawl, they travelled a certain distance until the two medics decided that my father and his pal were too injured to continue the journey, so they went off to get help. My father said that they would never see them again, and no help came, by this time his pal was getting weaker from loss of blood and although my father was injured he was still able to walk. They got to a point where there had been vehicle movements by finding imprints in the sand, my father told his pal to stay there because there could be further vehicles passing by, although at the time they did not know whether the tracks were British or the enemy, he said that if he was picked up by the enemy at least his wounds would be seen to, but in the meantime my father would go on to try and get help. My father set off into the darkness, in the early morning sunrise he sees a hill in the not too far distance so he makes his way towards it, on top he sees a figure, at last someone who could help, as he gets nearer he notices that this figure has a plume coming out of his hat, he was an Italian officer but by now he had seen my father and sent a motorcyclist down to him, he was indicated to get on the back of the bike, a few more words from the Officer and the motorcyclist sped off with my father on the back, not as my father thought to hospital but across the desert, of what was the days before battlefield where he was having rifles slapped across his arms being collected from those who no longer required them, once this was done he was taken to their command centre which was just a series of tents, he was asked where he had come from, which he stated the burning lorries, they asked him where were the gun emplacements but he just gave his name and number. Many years later while telling me this story my father felt that he was lucky that he was picked up by the Italians rather than the Germans, as they may have questioned him more vigorously or possibly shot him, but the Italians just asked the questions and if they were not answered they did not bother to pursue it. He was then taken to the Medical officer who removed the field dressing from his neck wound, my father said he felt the blood spurt out, of which the medic stopped the flow with his finger and then redressed the wound, his kharki shirt was blood soaked by this time since it was first treated, and was given an Italian black shirt, a stretcher was ordered and he was taken in a lorry which went further back behind the lines. He arrived at some kind of temporary Military hospital and was taken inside through the main ward which contained a lot of British soldiers through to an annex ward at the back and put into bed. My father said that being in the desert for some time he had acquired a sun tan and with jet black hair and a black shirt they had taken him for an Italian, he said that he had a German on one side who had lost a leg and an Italian on the other side with a head wound, a nurse came over to him who spoke what he thought was Italian, of course he answered in English, he said she just threw her arms up, muttered and walked off. A few days passed and my father said that there was quite a bit of activity in and around the hospital, stretchers were coming in and his little ward was being emptied of the German and Italian wounded until he was the only one left, the next thing he saw was two Italian officers standing by the ward door, one of them slapping his pistol holster, my father thought "well this is it", but no they turned on their heels and left and all was quiet, a few hours passed then there was lot of commotion coming from outside and a British soldier coming into the little ward said "here lads there's another one in here". From the hospital he was taken back to one of the coastal ports (I am not sure if it was Cairo or Alexandria) and was in hospital awaiting repatriation he said it was lovely, flea infested beds, an ack ack gun outside the window. But then it was his turn to leave and the good old British rules and regulations took over, he was given a lable bearing the words STRETCHER CASE, was placed on a stretcher and taken to an ambulance, I don't know exactly what happened next but he was to be transferred to a train to go to the docks, which had previously been loaded with P.O.W's. Then our wounded ! first stretcher cases, by the time they got to my father the order went out " no more stretcher cases" only walking wounded he said that he was not going back to that hospital, so he got up and walked on to the train. The train pulls into the docks, he gets off and boards the ship. The ship sailed and I think that it docked in the I.O.W, he walked off the ship and as far as I know they had some kind of tented hospital reception, my father arrives at the entrance which is divided into two, walking cases and stretcher cases he was stopped by the reception officer who looked at my father's lable seeing he was a stretcher case he called over two orderlies with a stretcher who took him 10 yards to a bed. Never mind my father had travelled several thousand miles walking, the good old British red tape was satisfied that he started a stretcher case and finished a stretcher case.
As soon as my father had fully recovered he was sent back into action and ended the war in Germany.

My father died in 1992 ages 75 years of cancer, while being diagnosed he had a full body scan, after the X Ray the doctor asked him if he was wounded in the war, of which my father said yes, the doctor said that he was still carrying a piece of shrapnel in him, it had travelled down to his left hand side from the original entry point in his neck. So this piece he removed from his shirt must have divided on its travel through his neck and a part stayed with him. The doctor said that it had been there all this time, I don't think we will bother trying to remove it. Unfortunately the cancer had penetrated my fathers' bones which had shown up on the scan and we only had him another year. But his experiences still live on in me, as if he told me yesterday.
From his son, Paul

( I have entered this contribution on behalf of my partner Paul)

Patricia

We would also welcome any information from anybody who was in the Royal Artillery who might have known or fought with Harry during the war years to find out what battalion, division and brigade he was in.

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