大象传媒

Into the Wood

This little story begins in the summer of 1939 when I was one of a squad of thirty 21 year old lads training at the regimental depot, East Surrey Regiment, at Kinston Barracks in Surrey.

As with any squad of young men thrown together by conscription, habits, tastes, mannerisms etc. all differed. The only thing each had in common with the other was the fact that we were all A1 medically. Some were quiet and unassuming, some devil-may-care types, one or two know-alls, as to be expected, and one who was usually referred to in those days as 鈥渢he then great I am鈥�.

Although I still remember his name I prefer not to mention it here, just in case, so I鈥檒l call him Fred Bragg. This because on more than one occasion he was heard to boast about what he would do to the Germans when he got to France. He gave the impression that with him around the rest of us would be surplus to requirement. More about him later.

The scene now changes to a day in May 1940 when we were being pulled back gradually in our so-called rear guard action against the advancing Germans. It was a few days after our Company and in particular my Platoon, had taken a bashing at the Brickfields. We were playing a sort of stop go game. One particular day we were ordered to take up defensive positions in a wood. I have no idea where it was as the only thing we new for certain was that wherever we went the Germans were right behind us. They always seemed to know where we were and of that fact they left us in no doubt.

The previous occupants of the wood had apparently vacated their positions hurriedly leaving us their foxholes and some items of equipment too. No sooner had we entered the wood and began to look round than the inevitable happened. The Germans opened up on us with batteries of mortar shells, which crashed, seemingly in hundreds, all around us. Wicked things those mortars, I saw trees being split open and branches broken off whenever a shell crashed into the,. We hardly waited to be told to run for it, get out of the wood. We ran and presently found ourselves in an open field beyond the wood.

It was raining and we were cold, wet, miserable and hungry, that day morale was at its lowest. As we ran from the wood we could hear the shells bursting all around us and more than once I threw myself to the ground to avoid the flying shrapnel whenever a shell exploded nearby. Just before we reached the edge of the wood a large piece of shrapnel hit the lad who was running behind me giving him a nasty wound in one arm.

As soon as we reached the open field an ambulance was sent for and a small truck duly arrived to take the wounded lad to a first aid centre. Before the truck could move off a squaddie came running up shouting, 鈥淚鈥檓 shell shocked, I鈥檓 shell shocked, I want to go on the truck鈥�. He was allowed to go, an hour later he was back looking very sheepish, he was given short shrift at the first aid centre. Nothing wrong with you, they said, go and join your comrades.

You can guess who that squaddie was, yes, our old friend from Kingston Barracks, Fred Bragg. Gone was the bluster, gone was the pretence of being shell shocked, only the broad grins on the faces of his comrades remained.

After the truck had left with the wounded lad a quick check of arms was made, this revealed that two bren guns were missing. In their haste to get out of the wood the two lads who were designated bren gunners had abandoned their weapons. This was tantamount to cowardice in the face of the enemy. A serious offence and as we know in WW1, would have resulted in court martials, followed by a very severe punishment.

One of the missing brens was from my section so I told the lad responsible that he better go back into the wood and look for it. He made it quite clear in words which I won鈥檛 repeat that he would not go back into that so and so which was still being shelled.

The same thing happened with my pal 鈥楾ex鈥� Weston also a section leader. Both lads refused point blank to return to the wood so at that point I decided that there was only one thing to do. I said to tex 鈥淚鈥檓 going back into the wood to look for our bren鈥�. He said, 鈥淚鈥檒l come with you to look for ours鈥�.

At that moment a young 2nd Lieut. who had only recently joined us as Platoon Commander, our original Platoon Commander, a P.S.M. Harris, was killed at the Brickfields, came along and havingt been told of the missing guns, asked for two volunteers to accompany him into the wood to search. There was a moments pause, nobody moved, nobody wanted to risk their lives again amidst those screaming shells.

It was then I informed the young subaltern, a Mr James whom I admired for this courage, that my pal and I had already decided to run the risk and hopefully find the missing brens. All three of us dashed back into the wood spreading out as we did so and began to search. I found two guns and my pal Tex also found two, that meant that the unit which had previously occupied those positions, had also left hurriedly, as I said, leaving two of their best weapons behind. I don鈥檛 think Mr James found anything and the matter was never mentioned again.

An hour or so we were on the move again having written another chapter in the life of a soldier / soldiers of the ill-fated B.E.F

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