大象传媒

A period of intensive training took place, plus a couple of jumps to get back into the way of things, and, as I was now with a Para Unit, a rise in pay of 2/- per day, plus a red beret, which was a proud moment for me; the Para, in Tunisia, had literally covered themselves with glory, taking on action after action and decimating the enemy wherever they fought and it was here that they earned the title of the 鈥楻ote Teufel - the Red Devils鈥� - from the Germans, a name that they were proud to accept.
The buzz was that we were to invade Sicily and this was what happened. The briefing was that three bridges were to be secured, the Air Landing Brigade and the Commandoes would secure the two nearest the landing by sea, and the Para would secure the third one furthest away called the Primassol Bridge; the operation was called 鈥楳arston鈥� and a right shambles it turned out to be for us; the sea-borne invasion took place in the early hours of the l0th July with the glider troops and they were successful, and later also the Commandoes, and about four days later we got the message 鈥楳arston is on.鈥� I believe several airfields were used to get us all into the air, about a hundred aircraft, plus a score or so gliders, with airborne artillery. All went well until we turned towards Sicily after Malta, which was marked by - searchlights pointing towards the sky, a very eerie experience. After awhile we got close to the Sicilian coast where our troops were still being disembarked, when suddenly the shit hit the fan - we were being fired on by the Navy!
All this was learned later as it wasn鈥檛 possible to see anything much from a Dakota in darkness, but we could hear plenty and our Dakota got hit, which put the wind up me, vertical. The dispatcher, a Yank, (it was an American crew flying us) came back and said 鈥楬oly Cow, the Limeys are shooting at us; get hooked up quick and get ready to go.鈥�
Well, by this time we were past the firing but the aircraft had been crippled and we got the order to bailout. It was pitch dark, the terrain was unknown; we didn鈥檛 know our height (this was important as we normally jumped between 400-600 feet, so as to get I down quickly and not hang about in the sky, presenting an easy target) and of course we could have been jumping into a German garrison for all we knew. However, out we went, my position in the stick was fifth, and after the 鈥檆hute opened, adopted an 鈥榓bout to hit a tree position鈥� as, in the circumstances it gave the best protection to my mind, and after what seemed hours a very frightened parachutist was deposited on a corn-field.
I couldn鈥檛 believe my luck, truly a parachutist should be a fatalist because if your number is on it, you鈥檒l get it; if it isn鈥檛 you鈥檒l survive. Terrified I laid still for a moment or two, then my training asserted itself; hit the buckle, get out of the harness quick and see what is around you, cautiously. Nothing but corn. Gather in the 鈥榗hute and make it into a small bundle, pick up my haversack and Sten Gun and move away from the spot; about a minute later I stopped and listened - nothing, no sound, just silence except for very distant firing. So I stayed there until first light so that the view would be much better; not that I had a clue where I was, I didn鈥檛 even know if this particular terra was Sicily, but with the sun rising, and assuming it was Sicily, it would be a simple matter to orient myself and not travel in the wrong direction.
Sorting out the south, I crawled on my hands and knees to a stand of trees on the edge of the field and on arriving had a quick look around to see if anybody was about and saw nothing untoward, so standing up amongst the trees to have a really good look I saw a farmhouse some distance away and decided to take a chance and go to it, as all the area appeared to be deserted, not even a sign of my travelling companions being around. I don鈥檛 know what happened to them, as I鈥檝e never seen them from that night onwards.
Arriving, very cautiously, at the house - and a right poverty-stricken dump it was, a civilian appeared at the door with his hands up, shaking with fright. To cut a long story short he thought I was a German, due to my type of helmet, which was that worn by the Paras, but after making sure he was alone I told him,
鈥淢e Inglise, where tedeschi?鈥�
This was their word for the Germans and, with a bit of arm- waving and pidgin English, established that they had passed the previous evening, and his family had gone to meet the British or Americans they had heard were coming along; he thought I was a German, coming back to shoot them all, so with the good news under my belt, we shared my rations and his vino and I waited for the Allied troops to show their faces, which they did later that afternoon.
I made myself known to them and was passed back to intelligence, who interrogated me to establish my bona-fide, which was soon done as no foreigner alive could imitate my accent for a start and of course my knowledge of the night鈥檚 events could only be known to somebody who was there, and I told them what the civilian had told me. Then I was told about the shambles that the operation had become, due to the Navy not receiving information about us and, on our part, not sending out a recognition signal. As I understood it, only about a third of our force got to Sicily, the rest went back to Africa with damaged aircraft, or were at the bottom of the Med.
Once more the Gods had smiled on me, or as it was put later - the Devil looks after his own!
Back to North Africa and eventually homeward bound; it was three and-a-half years since I had left France, and a bit of water had flowed under the bridge. A short leave home to see my parents and relations and, whilst there, I met up with our local minister, a dear old theologian who lived in another world. We met in the street and the following conversation took place.
鈥淕ood evening, Doctor,鈥� (he was a Doctor of Divinity) 鈥渞emember me?鈥�
鈥淵es, of course. I haven It seen you recently, have you been away?鈥�
鈥淚鈥檝e just returned from North Africa, Doctor. It is three and a half years since we last met.鈥�
鈥淥h yes, something to do with the war, I expect. Are we winning?鈥� and off he tottered, muttering to himself.
Leave over, back to the unit and an awful lot of hard training, including long, fast route marches; commando training, learning new methods of sneaky killing and all the mayhem associated with being hard, very efficient, 鈥榝irst in鈥� troops; in fact we were so fit it was unbelievable. Voluntarily, many of us used to do a regular five miles trot before breakfast, as it kept you up to the peak and made further training that much less odious because, believe me, it was arduous and always with the terrible thought that if you didn鈥檛 measure up, you would be returned to your original unit.
There was no disgrace in this, it was simply that the Para demanded, got and retained the best. It sorted out, at the training establishment, the lads who volunteered in order to get a Red Beret and an extra 2 shillings per day jumping pay, from those who really wanted to be part of the newest, greatest band of fighting men that Britain had ever seen; and with these words I include our comrades in arms, the Commandoes, who, like us, were highly trained, dogged and resourceful men, who could be utterly relied upon not to let their mates down. I did a couple of actions with Marine Commandoes and Army ditto, but more of that later.
During a training session I had accident which put me in hospital for a spell and, on discharge, was sent to the Para Holding Battalion at Derbyshire, Clay Cross, to be exact, and it was here, whilst kicking my heels, waiting to rejoin the mob, that an offer appeared on the notice board.
It simply said,
鈥淧arachutists required to volunteer as Cameramen.鈥�
Nothing more, no clues as to what it meant. So, in my usual fashion of volunteering for anything that took my fancy I applied and was interviewed by the major commanding the Army Film Unit - along with some others; waited awhile, still clueless as to what we were to do, and then six of us received our marching orders and were posted for training as photographers, Cine and Still, to, of all places, Pinewood Film Studios, Iver Heath, Buckinghamshire.
When we arrived at Slough Railway Station, the COs car and driver were waiting to take us to the Studios. V.I.P. treatment indeed, and what, we wondered, was the catch? There wasn鈥檛 one, it was just the way they did things there. It was that incredible thing in the Army, a unit of civilians wearing uniform. But all the niceties and military decorum were observed. The Officers, all in the Motion Picture or newspaper business were 鈥楽ir鈥� and the remainder were sergeants, (like myself) also from the film and newspaper business and they were a marvellous crowd who showed us a way of life that we never knew existed, and I think we also taught them something of our way of life.
They asked us what we knew about photography in general and, with the exception of one bloke, the answer was in the negative. We didn鈥檛 know an 鈥楩鈥� stop from a roll of film, that鈥檚 how ignorant we were, but the Instructors were patient and taught us to a very high standard in the sixteen weeks duration of the course. We ended up making our own film, shooting 100 feet each against a script each of us had written, so that not only could we photograph but do it with continuity, writing up the 鈥榙ope鈥� sheet with each shot so that a commentator or caption writer could pick up the story quite easily; all in black and white, no sound.
We were told that the reason we had been selected for training as cameramen, was that the existing cameramen, whilst able and willing to accompany any ground troops in action, hadn鈥檛 taken the parachute training course and therefore no airborne operations up to then had been photographed, so in their wisdom and to our delight, they thought it better to train seasoned paratroopers as photographers and cameramen than vice versa.
Just as our training was completed we were wakened up by the continuous roar of aircraft passing overhead, there was so many of them, in wave after wave, that we reckoned that the Second Front had opened, and of course we were right and were very disappointed not to be a part of it. Shortly afterwards we said farewell to Pinewood and went to join a reception area for onward transmission to Normandy, where we met up with the other cameramen who, in the main, had seen a lot of action and were very skilled operators.
We got a good welcome and myself, and another Para (we worked in pairs) attached ourselves to the 6th Airborne Division who had done such a marvellous job of securing vital bridges, with the Commandoes, and making the way open for the sea-landing force. But it was a bit of a stalemate at that time as we were building up for the big push that was to capture Caen and, eventually, surround and destroy the German forces in France, leaving the way open to Paris, Brussels, Antwerp and into Holland.

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