大象传媒

continued from 14a

After the rocket-firing Typhoons of the R.A.F. had wiped out the German tanks at Falaise the Germans had no organized defence line west of the River Seine, most of the intervening land being too flat, so they had to pull right back across the Seine and try to establish themselves on the high ground there. To succeed in doing this would give them a good defensive position from which they might delay us long enough to get themselves properly organized to do battle again.
We had to prevent this, and within a few days of the capture of Berjou the 43rd. Wessex Division received orders to mount the first British assault crossing of the Seine and establish a firm bridgehead on the east bank. The operation was brilliantly planned. German attempts to reinforce their defences at Vernon, fifty miles north of Paris, where the assault was made, were beaten by the speed with which this complicated operation was launched.
Surprise was complete. We advanced one hundred and twenty miles in thirty-six hours and reached Vernon late in the evening of Friday, 25th. August. The assault brigade was carried the last ninety miles in DUKW's straight from Arromanches, and were crossing the river from the centre of the town within two hours of arriving in the concentration area.
Under cover of our smoke screen, and after an intense quarter-hour barrage, in which the machine-gunners of the Middlesex Regiment and tank guns took part, the first 'ducks' were launched against all known enemy positions on the cliff-like east bank.
From their numerous positions on the cliff sides the German machine- gunners had complete observation of the river and the town, making the crossing, and the bridging operations of the Royal Engineers, extremely hazardous. The steep and muddy banks, and the weeds of submerged islands, which fouled the propellers of the boats, caused considerable trouble. A number of boats were riddled and sunk by machine-gun fire. A wide watercourse, which air photographs and local inhabitants had both suggested was dry, proved impassable with liquid mud, and as a result the 4th. Somersets landed on what was, in effect, an island. Later, they re-embarked.
These factors created a critical period of the attack. For several hours the 5th Wiltshires, who landed upstream of the town, were severely tried and counter-attacked when only one Company was across. Assault boats and 'ducks' were sunk. The remainder of the battalion had only one 'duck' in which to cross, but were finally over by 0245 hours Saturday morning.
While the 4th Wiltshires were making their crossing near the blown railway bridge downstream from the damaged road bridge; the 5th Wiltshires further upstream; and the Americans even further upstream near Mantes, the Worcesters tried to cross by the road bridge. A platoon led by Sergeant Jennings came under heavy fire from machine guns on the east bank, the sergeant being badly wounded and several others injured. Being completely pinned down and unable to move forward, the platoon was ordered to pull back off the bridge to the safety of Vernon.
Captain Woodward and I were standing on the first section of the road bridge wondering how to get up on to the next section, which was several feet higher because of the attention the bridge had received from the R.A.F., our artillery and the French Resistance.
We looked at the edge of -the road above us and pondered the situation. Somehow, we had to get up on to the next section and cross to the other side and establish our O.P. as soon as possible. Machine guns were firing incessantly on to Vernon from the opposite bank, and sparks flew as bullets ricocheted from the buildings and whined away into the night.
We were still pondering the position when, with that remarkable aptitude peculiar to the British Tommy, two of the Worcesters trotted up with an old stepladder they had 'borrowed' and placed it firmly in front of us. The top of the ladder just reached above the level of the road. "There you are, Doug. You can get across now," one of them said, giving the side of the ladder an affectionate pat. What I quietly called him is nobody's business!
As we started to climb the ladder an officer from higher formation spoke on the radio to the Worcesters and asked if there was an O.P. crew with them. Being told there was, he asked to speak to the officer. Captain Woodward accepted the mike from the Worcester signaller and identified himself. I can still hear the firm instructions the officer gave him: "I must have an O.P. on the other side of the river as quickly as possible. It is absolutely imperative I know the strength of the enemy opposition without delay. Is this understood?"
"Roger. Understood," Captain Woodward replied. "That is our immediate intention. We were about to cross when you called."
"Good," replied the officer. Then he added quietly: "And good luck."
We climbed up the ladder and stepped on to the bridge. It was what a novelist might call a daunting moment. The bridge was completely exposed to enemy fire, with no protection of any sort, and the village of Vernonett, at the other side, seemed much further away that it actually was.
It was that indeterminate hour when the morning had not yet broken free of the night.
I fixed my bayonet 'just in case', and as I did so one of the Worcesters asked, in a jocular tone, "Hey, Doug, are you sure you know how to use that bloody thing?"
"I was trained at Norton Barracks, you know," I reminded him. The man grinned his approval. "Oh, you'll do."
"Ready, Burdon?" Captain Woodward asked, quietly. "Ready when you are, sir."
"Good luck, chaps," someone called, as we set off.
"Thanks," I replied, over my shoulder, "and don't forget - our favourite flowers are cauliflowers."
We started off, across the bridge, one to each side to present two targets instead of one. We did not dash to get to the other side as quickly as possible, because the sound of our boots on the metalled roadway would have carried far on the still morning air and alerted the enemy to our presence. Instead, we walked at a normal walking pace, making as little noise as possible. As we walked, peering intently ahead, we thought we must be the most forward elements in the British Second Army. We did not know then, about the attempts being made by the Wiltshires to cross in their storm boats.
The river looked black, sluggish and uninviting. Being a non-swimmer I did not rate my chances of survival very high if I were to be hit and go in, especially with the 29lb. radio strapped to my back; so I unfastened my belt and shoulder straps and moved the straps to the edge of my shoulders, having calculated that if I were hit my arms would drop and the shoulder straps slip down and allow the radio to fall to the ground.
The Spandaus fired continuously from the high ground in front of us, and the bullets buzzed viciously overhead, but although some of them came too close for comfort we could not understand why so much of the firing was going high over our heads. We could obviously be seen by anyone on either bank even in the half light of that early morning. One burst from a Spandau could have finished us.
The two hundred yards crossing of that bridge was the longest I have ever walked. After what seemed an age but was, in fact, only minutes, we reached the end of the bridge and stepped onto the east bank. Only then did we see the reason why none of the firing had been aimed directly at us. The upper part of the high ground from which the Germans were firing was enveloped in a combination of early morning mist and our artillery smoke screen. The Germans were firing blind. We could not have had better protection.
As we stood in front of the first few houses in Vernonett, trying to look in all directions at once, we could not help but feel pleased and honoured that we should have been chosen to be the first to cross the bridge and open up the bridgehead. But it was not a moment for self-congratulation. The front door of one of the houses was being slowly opened. Positioning ourselves quickly at either side of it we waited, our weapons aimed towards it. Slowly, almost hesitantly, it was opened, as if the person opening it was afraid of what, or who, might be outside. Then it stood wide open. Framed against the darkness behind him stood a man with a grey- white beard that reached well down his chest. He must have been about ninety. He beckoned to us and we approached slowly, not knowing if there might be anyone else there using him as a shield. The old man spoke slowly and quietly, as though afraid of being overheard. Captain Woodward replied. As I do not understand French
I had to wait until the end of the conversation for Captain Woodward to enlighten me. The old man had said there were still some Germans in the vicinity but most of them had pulled further back. No, he did not know how many were still here nor how far the others had withdrawn.
This was good news. It was comforting to know that the Germans were not so firmly established as they might have been and therefore any opposition might not be as strong. Captain Woodward took the mike and radioed the information back to the Worcesters, adding firmly and distinctly: "No opposition so far."
That should please the officer at higher formation:
The area we then entered was dominated by the Forest of Vernon, with three high ridges running parallel to each other, and by mid-morning we and the Worcesters, who had crossed the bridge as soon as they received our "no opposition" report, were well established on the road skirting the first one. The mist had risen considerably by then, but it still obscured some of the higher parts of the three ridges. The late August sun created a diffused glare as it tried to break through, and the air was warm and sticky with the promise of a glorious day to come.
It was about this time that an incident occurred that could have had tragic consequences. Two detachments of infantry occupied the second rise by different routes and were advancing along it under cover of the mist when they saw shadowy figures moving about ahead of them in the mist and opened fire. Several minutes elapsed before someone realised they were all our own men firing at each other. Fortunately, the mistake was discovered before anyone got hurt. We made steady progress along the road in spite of coming under heavy machine gun fire and had reached a point where the ground fell sharply away to the left when the firing suddenly became extremely vicious and we had to flatten ourselves against the ground immediately. I lay with a column of the Worcesters on the right-hand side of the road and Captain Woodward lay in a ditch on the left. We had walked up the road together, so how we came to be separated at that particular moment is not quite clear.
The heavy firing continued, and from somewhere further along the road came the ominous cry of "Stretcher bearers!" as men were hit. I lay listening to the bullets whizzing past, and saw the grass at the other side of the road waving slightly as some of them skimmed the ground. As the firing stopped, then started again, I found myself timing the bursts instinctively. They followed a regular pattern; a five- second burst, then a ten-second pause. During each pause we would crawl a few yards further forward, then flatten ourselves against the ground when the Spandaus opened up again.
It was during one of the pauses that the Worcester man lying just behind me gave my ankle a sharp tug. "Hey, gunner, your bloke wants you, " he said, as I glanced cautiously round.
Captain Woodward was beckoning me from the other side of the road. "Come over here as soon as you can. I want to send a message," he called. Then the firing started again.
"O.K. When this lot's finished," I shouted back.
He nodded, and went to earth again. I pulled my legs up under me in a crouching position and waited for the firing to stop. As soon as it did I dug my toes in and, still crouching, I started to cross the road. Ten seconds would give me ample time to cross, even with the weight of the radio on my back. I had just set foot on the road and started to cross when the Spandaus opened up again. The machine gunners had either changed their tactics or they had seen me make my move. Whatever the reason, I was caught in a hail of bullets. I felt the heat of them as they passed my nose, while others grazed the seat of my pants. Had I been half an inch faster or slower I would have been neatly drilled at one end or the other. I was literally the meat in a sandwich of bullet bread:
It is amazing how quickly the mind can react in such an emergency. I could have gone to earth in the place I had just vacated and waited for a more favourable opportunity, but that would have meant doing it again, and if the Germans had seen me they would be on the alert for that. I would have less chance a second time. I decided to keep going. The god of signallers was kind to me. I crossed the road without being hit and dropped thankfully into the ditch beside Captain Woodward.
"Are you all right?" he asked, with great concern, as I handed him the mike.
"Yes. Quite O.K., sir," I assured him, although a trifle breathlessly. His relief at knowing I was still intact was pleasing to see.
He radioed his report to our colleagues still on the west bank of the river, stressing the fact that we were at that moment pinned down by heavy machine gun fire and assuring them, in response to their enquiry, that we were both O.K. but that our friends had suffered casualties.
The firing died away gradually and we progressed steadily up the road. At about mid-day Captain Woodward and I were lying prone among the bushes on the top of a steep bank on the right-hand side of the road. All was peaceful and calm after the hectic activities of the morning. The firing had stopped, the birds were chirping cheerfully in tree and hedgerow and the sun had finally dispersed the last of the mist and was shafting golden pillars of sunlight on to the ground below the trees.
Just behind us was a deep subsidence like a huge inverted cone. Long grass, bushes and some small trees were growing in it, and the bottom was lost in the darkness of deep undergrowth. It reminded me of similar subsidences in the fields near the North Riding village of Charlton where I had lived as a boy, We called them pitfalls, because they were caused by the mines underneath; but this one was very much deeper.
MY attention was concentrated on the high ridge opposite, and as my eyes moved slowly along they focussed on a line of three poplars, at the foot of which stood three German soldiers laughing and smoking as if they were merely on a day's outing. In the bushes near them was what I thought looked like an anti-tank gun. They were no more than three hundred yards away in bullet flight.
"Pity we didn't bring the Bren," I murmured, as I squinted along my rifle.
"What have you seen?" Captain Woodward asked, his attention to his map temporarily diverted.
"Reference three tall trees. Twelve o'clock. Three Germans and an anti-tank gun," I reported.
He raised his binoculars and spotted them immediately. "Yes. You're right," he agreed. "But I wouldn't fire if I were you."
"Why not?"
"Because it would betray our position. The Worcesters have been ordered back to the river for the time being." Then he added, as an afterthought, "We're up here on our own."
The peace was suddenly shattered by a violent crashing of the undergrowth somewhere behind us. We swung round to face the direction from which the sound emanated.
"Up here on our own, sir?" I queried, as we trained our weapons in the direction of the disturbance.
What had caused the sudden noise? Whatever it was it left a dark green trail of flattened grass and broken undergrowth down the far side of the subsidence. We kept our weapons trained on the spot, moving them gradually downwards as the dark green trail neared the bottom.
The crashing stopped as the unknown object reached the bottom, and all was quiet again; but not for long. After a brief pause the crashing continued as the cause of it started climbing up towards us.
The noise became louder and the undergrowth more violently agitated as the climber struggled to the top. Then a head appeared through the long grass near the edge of the hole. The perspiring face, strained and flushed scarlet with exertion was surmounted by a steel helmet with the eight-pointed star of the Worcestershire Regiment painted on it in silver. The ludicrous expression on the man's face when he saw the muzzles of our weapons within inches of his nose was comical to behold.

continued in 14b . . .

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