大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Amy Bennett-Newens, a volunteer from CSV Action Desk on behalf of Ronald John Truscott and has been added to the site with his permission. Mr Truscott fully understnads the site's terms and conditions.
Dawn was breaking and the birds had started their dawn chorus, it looked as if it was going to be fine June day in Normandy in the summer of 1944. For the birds to sing at all was exceptional as the bridgehead had only been established a few days ago.
All the fields and any available space was filled with the paraphernalia of war, men, vehicles, tanks, guns and stores and on this particular morning there was silence and as the troops of both sides slept.
I was laying on the ground my head and shoulders resting against a bole of a tree. I had spurned the need to dig a slit of trench for a couple of reasons one being tiredness. My first sensation of the day when I awoke was one of intense hunger. As a young, healthy twenty year old sergent of the Royal Engineers I was happy to be in France to face the enemy that I had been trained, since I joined as a boy soldier in 1937, to defeat.
Compo rations, biscuits and tinned food was not enough to satisfy the appetites of young soldiers for long and I was no exception. From my semi-prone position on the ground I looked upwards and saw a large pigeon sitting on a topmost branch all I could think was all that glorious meat going to waste.
To digress a little, during training troops to fire a rifle it is proper to stress that the rifle must be held firmly pressed into the shoulder thus causing injury. The shoulder will absorb the recoil by going slightly backwards each time the rifle is fired.
To resume, when I saw this pigeon in the tree my desire at the time was to have it cooked for my breakfast. Slowly I slid my rifle into my shoulder, cocked the gun and fired at the pigeon. As the shot rang out all sorts of things happened there in Normandy.
Firstly was the sheer agony I felt in my shoulder, it had been tight to the tree when I fired and my shoulder took the full force of the recoild there was no give. Had I broken my collar bone? The poor pigeon fell to the floor, the 303 bullet had blown his chest away and all that was left was his head, legs and tail.
Secondly the loud noise of the shot, when all had been quiet woke up troops from near and far and spasmodic firing started which then grew in intensity. It appeared that I had inadvertently started the second front!
In the field where we were bivouacked just after the shot rang out our Captain ran across the grass desperately trying to get his pistol out of his holster shouting "Sniper! Sniper!" Later when all had somewhat settled down he was heard to say "Who fired that shot?" I wasn't about to tell him. I felt I had been punished enough.
For a number of days after I had to perform my duties concealing the injury to my collar bone but I could not swim in any of the streams or rivers we had to stormboat and build bridges because of the extensive bruising.
As for the unfortunate pigeon at the first opportunity I put it's poor remains in a hedge. Do I now feel guilty about killing an innocent bird? Of course but then in the midst of war I am not so sure.

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