大象传媒

The date now is 4th November. 2003. I was born 7/6/1924. My name John Bates.
During the war and after, until I got a job riding the Wall of death my first name was Jack, I had to change it as the other rider was 鈥楯ack鈥� Cambell. Roache.
I was born in, Garston, Nr. Liverpool. A wonderful place then.

The war started about the same time that I left school at 14. Most of the years that followed were a mish mash. I spent most of the time working in many different jobs and for some reason or other I packed them all in after anything from a month to 6 months, at least 10 possibly 14 of them. I later joined the Army.

When the air raid sirens had sounded and people were all in the shelters singing and what-not, we used to have a fine time touring round looking for the best one and chershaying la fam. Often we would jump on a fire engine and help the firemen to put out the fires. There was one time when some houses were hit and a fire started, some horses were trapped in a yard, after trying with timbers to break walls down and release them when the fire hoses couldn't reach, in the end we had to give up. I can still hear the screams from the horses today. How they got into the yard, I'll never know. Another time while I was reaching to the gutter from a bedroom window trying to dislodge an incendiary bomb, someone else had gone over the roof tipping it onto and burning my arm.
At the end of this same row of houses, (The Matchworks houses) is the cinder track that I used daily, going to School at the 鈥楴ackers鈥� Cof E. School. One day when I was about 10 as I came to the end of the cinder track there was a German Zeppelin
which stayed still there for at least 5 minutes.
A short while after the incendiary bombs episode my friend Johnny Simpson and I
were walking home very late on the opposite side of the road at the very same place,
when we had to get down as a German Bomber dropped a stick of bombs. Some
landed in the Gasworks others on the airport road. Much later, I thought 鈥淗ad the
same Zeppelin been taking pictures when I was coming home from school鈥�?

Between jobs, a school friend (Johnny Barlow) and I used to go round all the docks trying to get on a ship. It wasn't possible to go to the Labour exchange for a job on a ship as you had to be in the 'Pool'. The only way was, to be by a ship when someone didn't turn up, then you could get what was called a 鈥榡ump鈥�, by taking the place of the one absent. For weeks Johnny and I had been all over Liverpool docks including Birkenhead docks, which was the other side of the River Mersey. On one occasion waiting at Wallasey Dock, Birkenhead till 2 am in the morning for two crew members of an iron ore boat, at the very last minute when we thought we had the jobs - the two crew arrived and jumped on board. We slept outside till the buses started next morning. We then made our way home. The same Iron Ore Boat (I forget it's name) went to Newfoundland and on the way there, it rammed and sank a Submarine.
One of these typical days we had been out in the morning and each of us gone home for dinner. When I got back to Johnny's home his Mother told me that He had been told of a job on a tanker and gone to see it. I felt a bit peeved that he had gone without me as I hadn't been away an hour. So I went back home. Next day his Mother told me he had got the job. A month or so later I was told that the same tanker had been sunk, with no survivors. 鈥楤umped鈥� we used to call it.

I have always been so glad that I didn鈥檛 get a job on a ship. It must have been the worst vocation of any in the war. The best one, a Spitfire or Hurricane Pilot.
They would go off for a couple of hours, zoom around the sky having a great time
and back home for tea, sure it was dangerous, but so were so many other jobs.
We all used to envy them, when we were stuck in mud, soaking wet for months on
end, two hours on guard and four off for the whole time, with an hour before
dark and one before sunset on 鈥榮tand too鈥�, just for good measure. And people trying
to blow us up all the time.
But what about the seamen, in the dark, freezing cold, nothing but miles of black seething seas, seeing boats around them sinking, then stuck in the bowels of the ship waiting week after week for their turn, for a torpedo to blow the side of the ship in.

I had many more jobs; engineering, in the shell shop for Milners safe works who now made tanks and shells. I worked on nights in the Shell shop turning the blocks into shape, it was good, forget why I left it. Oh! and one, real cracker - Assembling all types of American trucks - "Pearson鈥檚" in Smithdown Lane.
Jeeps, GMCs, Macks, Dodge's, They all came in on the convoys that were getting through from the States. All were packed in crates and had to be put together, it was great. When the convoys were getting sunk and no crates arriving, the big gravel store yard being empty was ideal for racing round in the 4 wheel drive Jeeps.
The handbrake on a Jeep is on the dashboard which you pulled out to stop, hitting it down would release the brakes. So we would head for the fence and at the last second pull the brake on, locking the wheels, jam it in reverse let the clutch out and hit the brake off, skidding to the fence with the wheels going backwards and seeing how close we could get to it.

I was now 17 and old enough to volunteer for the army.
Taking orders from people in the army was not easy for me, but I was able to cope reasonably well, though often with a considerable amount of frustration.
Initial training took place at York. Yorkshire. An area of quite outstanding beauty with it's hills, dales, rivers and lakes. But in winter for me it was a place outstanding for the freezing cold.
Army training at York was only for a few weeks. But of intense activity, route marches, 10 miles in two hours with full pack, rifle or bren gun. And brand new boots, but, we knew best and before going on the first march we had the bright idea of softening them by soaking the boots in the sink just before setting off. So from standing in the sink, cold water, mid winter, we were called out on parade. NOT for a route march, but two hours standing there in the freezing cold listening to some
b---y officer preaching about what not to do down the town. While in the sink I remember waggling my toes in my boots under water - 5 minutes outside they wouldn't move - iced up.
There were some nice ATS girls there but by the end of the days we were too knackered to bother them.
After the training they put me in the Rifle Brigade. They used to march on the parade ground at 180 steps a minute, jeese it was quick, left right left right. At that time I was at The Dale camp in Chester, I didn't know but I could have got home on the bus in an hour. For all I knew it might have been on the moon.
Finally I finished up in the Middlesex Regiment as a dispatch rider, where I was to stay until after the end of the war.

After about 6 months running all around the moors in Yorkshire doing what they called "Schemes" battles with live ammunition, Otley, Keathley, Skipton, Retford, I had my motorbike and loved it all but still managed to get into silly troubles. 'Jankers' was the term used for minor punishment 7 days and 14 days. It meant that you couldn't leave camp and had to do chores in your off time, potato peeling and the like. Three funny ones I got Jankers for, were 'Climbing a gasometer during parade hours', in Crosshills, Keathly. - Peeing on a corporal, I came in drunk and the pee bucket in the hut wasn't where I thought it was. - Another was an extra 7 days when the sergeant on last post inspection while already on jankers asked me to open my big pack for him to inspect - an old suitcase and a pair of civvy shoes fell out. He went berserk! Overall though, it was it was a very enjoyable time.

I just thought - When an officer showed us how to blow a tree up, he took us, all 10 of us to a poor little tree all by itself in a field. Showed us how to put the explosive in, with the detonator. We all 10 of us move back "don't run, just walk" then lay down with our hands in our ears - he counts down 4-3-2-1-go- there was a big -------Pop, and the little tree stood there laughing at us - well it seemed to be, but the officer defiantly wasn't.
The moors around Barnard Castle were so cold if you had to go to the toilet your bum was blue after 1/2 a minute.
The training to be a dispatch rider was great, riding all over the place on and off the roads, smashing.

To clarify things for later, we were Middlesex Regiment, one with a history that goes back to the days of red coated fellas, Waterloo and all that, very proud and a right to be. However they had used horses. We used Bren Gun Carriers, Carriers for short, looked like a little tank with tracks but no top to it, they went quite fast, 45 mph and were very good. These were for carrying our speciality, a 4,2 inch mortar. Each platoon of 4 had four Bren carriers and a funny looking Cooks carrier.
This meant that 16 four inch mortars could be fired by us all together. And with 16 bombs hitting the ground every 2 seconds it was enough to keep the bravest Jerry at the bottom of a hole. We were the only regiment in the army with 4.2 inch mortars.
Much later in Normany, some German prisoners asked to see the belt fed 4 inch mortars, so fast were the lads at throwing the bombs down the barrels, their remarks made every ones day.

Just before we moved down south for D day I had to go on a water proofing course for the bike.
The sight of a man's head and shoulders with two pipes sticking up in the air travelling across what could only be called a lake was a sight that has stuck in my memory ever since. The whole motorbike was out of view under the water, so good was the waterproofing. All vehicles had to be waterproofed.

When best part of the whole army moved down to the south coast ready for D day we ended up in part of the massive queue. 500 miles in two days. One of the memories of that two day journey (apart from me having the time of my life charging back and forth, guiding our bren gun carriers) was the change in attitude between the generous natured Yorkshire people and the prim and proper Southerners. The saying we had was; Ask for a glass of water down south and you will get a glass of water. In Yorkshire you would get tea and cake.

Eventually we finished up in Brighton on the English Channel preparing for D day. We had group photographs taken, all kinds of new kit. But one thing I couldn't understand was firing our 4.2 mortars for 3 days continually into the sea. Thousands of good live bombs wasted in the sea, why? and our machine gunners were also firing their vickers machine guns into the sea.
Oh! one little thing of note when you put a bomb into the barrel of a mortar you move to one side, there is a big bang, off goes the bomb up into the air. One after the other - bang - bang, then no bang?
Each looks at the other for who's turn it is - to cup ones hands round the mouth of the barrel that the bomb comes out of when the others tip it up, it's not funny. Even though I was the dispatch rider when there was nothing to dispatch I had to work with a mortar crew, more so when in action.

D day came and went, we still in Brighton. Buzz bombs were coming over every day and we watched spitfires and hurricanes trying to shoot them down and tip them over with their wings, once or twice successfully, with the V1鈥檚 blowing up on the South downs. It was important for them to be destroyed there, as it was too late when they were over towns. One landed on the end of Worthing Pier, blowing all the windows out of the Clear view Hotel where we had later moved to.

Tilburg docks and into a landing craft, more than a week after D day. All the steel objects around us were very intimidating; steel boat, carriers, guns, amidst which my bike, chained to the steel bulkhead looked pathetic. Crossing the Channel in convoy passing the massive Battleships that were hurling 16 inch shells ahead of us, the sea choppy but not rough, I think we all as individuals felt very small. I remember the sound of those 16 inch shells rushing passed us as we were closer to the shoreline, watching the bursting explosions followed much later by the thunderclaps. My Fathers words came back to me - sound 760ft a minute, light 186000 miles a second. He died when I was 9.

The heavy landing craft thumped up on the shore and the big door hinged down - about 10 foot short of dry land. The shore was littered with wrecked vehicles鈥� of all kinds. The landing craft crew were in charge of unloading and I was glad when they ordered a carrier off first, then we could see how deep the water was. At the bottom of the ramp it was about 2 foot deep and the carrier managed ok. I asked the bloke in charge if I could get off soon so I could get to the top of the beach and organise our lot on a road that was there. When he said "go when you like", I revved up getting some grip from the ramp end and managed to keep it going fast up through the sand to the top. It was then that for the first time we were on the wrong end of German 88 mm shells they landed about 50 - 100 yards further along the shore and made a lot of noise. As things happened they were the only things that landed anywhere near us for days,

When I got up from under a burned out truck, I could see that the landing craft was still disgorging vehicles so I helped to organise our carriers higher up the road. The journey to the orchard where we were to 鈥榬est鈥� and prepare for orders took only some 20 uneventful minutes. As others before us had dug holes we just had to use them. First thing a brew up (a cuppa tea).
At that time we were not to know that it would be a least 6 months before anyone of us would get a full nights sleep. You never took all your clothes off, except for every few weeks when we would go behind the lines to a wash place. There one would strip naked and use one of a dozen showers. We then queued and received a complete set of new clothes.
One hour before sunset and one hour a dawn was always "Stand too" when everyone was at the ready. On guard for 2 hours and 4 hours sleep, two hours guard, 4 sleep, or less.
Every aeroplane that flew by we would fire at, until someone said a pilot had complained, and we had to stop firing at spitfires.

This rest situation was to occur many times in the future, we would be in action for a while then come back on "rest" Once when we were all wrapped up lying on a ground sheet, under a tree or down a hole, nice and quiet, just thuds in the distance. The next second all hell let loose. They had put us right in front of a battery of 150 mm howitzers. Every time they fired, our eardrums, makeshift tents and everything blew away in the stink of cordite. We went mad, but it made no difference.

Apart from taking messages back and forth to Company HQ, to our other Platoons and to the machine gun Companies a dispatch rider was the general dogsbody. From bringing a big urn of tea on the handlebars, to being lent out to the Americans to convoy their GMC's from A to B. Oh! and in our case. Binloss our Platoon Commander. He had the bright idea of using me and my bike to take him on regular excursions roaming round to find his OP鈥檚 (Observation Posts) from which he would direct the firing of our big mortars. Other platoons would use a Carrier and walk - not Binloss. There were times when the target he was given entailed us roaming in "No mans land" as the 4.2s range was only 4000 yards, this plus finding the highest point in the area, inconspicuous places like the top of a Church Tower, or just the highest possible place in the vicinity was not conducive to longevity.
Especially when there was a fanatical sniper was in the Church he wanted to use, or when he was in front of flail tanks and blamed me in front of a tank commander when one of the flailed out mines got stuck between my front wheel and the sump. No, helping a VC seeker was not funny. And he was a pain on the bike, all 6 foot odd of him sat right at the back of the bike pillion gave the impression the bike was hinged in the middle, half of it wanting to go in a different direction to my half.

On our return from the first couple of Observation Post scouting missions, the carriers being lined up ready to move off, Binloss would go for his parley with the NCO's, leaving me to answer the lads questions "What's it like? any cover?" etc, at first I would tell the truth - Until Bignall the Sergeant, grabbed me saying "The next time you tell your bleedin tales and demoralise the whole bloody platoon I'll kill ya". After that I kept quiet.

"Fanatic" was a word we hadn't heard of before reaching Normandy, there after it was a word used every day. When the Germans retreated even if only a few hundred yards they would leave snipers hidden. These were the fanatics, left behind all on their own to slow us down. Some were very young "Hitler Yougen" types, brainwashed with the Fatherland as others are by religion, jeese you would have to be. I'm sure most of them must have been very frightened, just left behind, certain to die, be it from shellfire, bayonet, or flame thrower, they 99% died.

One of our first times in action was Gavrus, there was this dog legged valley. As we went through a gateway a dead Germans legs stuck out from half under a motorbike. Death valley it became know as.
Sometimes I think it might have been handy to know just what went on in these attacks, or retreats, as this one turned out to be. I never had a clue - I did what I was told to do and helped out where possible.

Some attacks were preceded with a massive barrage, others nothing! At Death Valley there was so much going on you didn't know where you where, especially when we had to 鈥榖ack up鈥� in the dark.
My bikes wheel got tangled in barbed wire, I remember Sgt Bignall saying "you'll have to leave it"as he pulled me into a carrier. Some days later, in daylight, we I found it and untangled the wire. It was 2-3 days before we were pulled out. We always said "Thank Christ we had air superiority" Without it?
Much later one could really appreciate it, especially when seeing the results of our air superiority in the Falaise Gap, where the Germans were trapped and slaughtered by Typhoons rockets. Just the hellish racket as they went over our heads into Jerry's side was enough, like being in a tunnel when a steam train passed at 100 MPH. No wonder most faces on their dead had horror written on them, including the dead horses. If this was the start, our first action, Christ!

Memories of the on going battles through the months in Normandy and up to the
River Rhine in Germany are fragmented to say the least, but many individual
happenings are clearly remembered. LIKE =

LIKE.
The amount of half dug holes we tried to dig in the long straight road up a hill towards a dug in Tiger tank firing his 88mm at us.

LIKE.
Before the crossing of the Esquay canal, one of many canals. Playing ball with a child in a garden, turning to see five Dakotas being shot down one after the other, five plumes of thick black smoke. All within 5 minutes. Then kicking the child鈥檚 ball to where only she could go - out past the end of a wall where the sight me or any other soldier would have invoked a burst of heavy machine gun fire.

War can be very strange. On the bank of another canal the "Wilhelmina Canal" whilst taking my favourite passenger to find his OP atop the Barter Shoe Factory, a small mortar bomb blew us both off the bike. The return journey with the ambulance crawling back along the wide concrete canal bank in full view of the same Germans was more worrying than the previous dash to the bridge where we were hit.
An hour later looking out of a Dakota window at bursting flack miles away as it took us to San Pierre hospital in Brussels. Then waking up next morning with 6 gorgeous girls round my bed.
During our short stay in St. Peters the nurses told us of the time before D day when there were thousands of burnt Germans in the hospital apparently from when Hitler tried to send hundreds of barges to invade Britain and the RAF dropped tons of oil on them or the sea around them, then petrol and set fire to it all. The nurses told us horrendous stories.
From St Peters we were flown by Dakota again, to Swindon and two weeks convalescence in Evesham. Walking round the place in hospital garb, (blue uniforms). Nothing ever happens in a place like Evesham.

Memories of the on going battles through the months in Normandy and up to the
River Rhine in Germany are fragmented to say the least, but many individual
happenings are clearly remembered. LIKE =

LIKE
The lovely farm girl taking a tin of 50 cigarettes for sex, while half a mile away her Father and 10 year old Brother were cutting into pieces one at a time a group of vile smelling putrefied cows. I can still hear the sound of the two handed saw cutting through the bones. The smell of dead bodies was at times nauseating. As in the horror of the Falaise gap with thousands of dead German soldiers, horses and cows spread among the burned vehicle wrecks for the days that it took to pass it all. The rockets from Typhoons creating the self same havoc.

LIKE
The missed turning when the uniforms were grey instead of kaki, the spinning round on one foot and managing to get away with only blast in my eyes, the irony,
5 minutes later when after an orderly in the tent of a front line dressing station took my stengun and grenades, he then sat me next to a German soldier, one of the grey fella's mates.
But the fortnights rest in the sunshine of St Auban more than made up for the discomfort suffered.

LIKE
The first shock of being on the wrong end of "Moaning Minnie Mortars" up to 50 or more blast effect bombs all fired together electrically and all hitting the ground within seconds of each other. The vivid spurts of flame in the dark, the moaning noise that stopped a while on reaching their zenith the accelerating sound before climax. Never to be forgotten.

LIKE
Corporal Palikaris within a millisecond of killing me in the dark, the stupid shape of a Don R's helmet causing him to think I was German, then his lasting profound shock in the aftermath.

LIKE
"WARNING Dust means Shells" and the Gordon Highlanders that pulled me off my bike after being warned two or three times to slow down, each day I took a message to our machine gunners, they got the shells.

LIKE
The spitfire that gunned our trucks or the first ME 262's (Germany鈥檚 jet
fighter, the first ever seen) so fast it was gone when our ack ack shells burst.

LIKE
"Neire" on the river Maas in Holland when after hours sliding in the snow with a horde of Dutch kids, Nelly the Grandma of at least 10 of them would take us all into the house give us a bowl of "Semolina" they called popsis, after which we would kiss each one of the 10 as they went down into the Keller. Cellar. until the next day, then the kisses again as they all trooped out. Nelly was Mother to them all as their parents were dead.

LIKE
"Gogh" before the Rhine. Churchill tanks, halftracks, carriers, every type of vehicle all stuck on their bellies in mud - except Whippets, tiny with a 14 inch tracks, and my bike. Good eh!

LIKE
"Venlo" Us two being taken home by two Dutch girls and six HLl guys bursting in and threatening us with their guns as we were starting the meal. Being surprised how much convincing they needed to make them believe we were English. The Son of the house had taken my broken Holland鈥檚 to be German.

LIKE
Riding through the streets of Brussells liberation day with a lovely "Maccie" girl on the back of the bike. Or the Cafe lady swearing they would never clean the oil stain from my bike that was on the caf茅 floor next morning.

LIKE
2 days in hotel room with 2 crackers, gunner got me out of crossing the Rhine.

LIKE
Mother receiving three telegrams. Missing believed dead Severely wounded in the buttocks and just Missing.
Luckily I'd sent a letter dated after the telegrams, even so she couldn't be certain till I got home.
She really was a smashing Mum. Killed on a zebra crossing.

LIKE.
Kaput, everything that broke, died, fell apart, wouldn't go, etc. etc was Kaput. Kaput was the most used word when communicating in German.
DP = Displaced person, every nationality in Europe Lets, Lats, Pols, Cheks, Russians, Gipsies and many more, all housed in a big German Barracks, Loads of women looking for a soldier, British or any other as long as he had a 50 tin of ciggies for the nights kip. A handout we got was free 50 tins, I knew 2 lads who didn't smoke!

Other memories.(Some of the under mentioned have been elaborated on later.)

Guard House Sgt. shooting dead the DP who ran away, his only crime was stealing a loaf.

DP camp. all the guard out all the time except one, all kipping with women. or in dance.

Lubeck. Reena. Frontier post with Russians drinking too much vodka. Sad sight of 1000s of DP's
trying to get through to our side.

Dumping lorry loads of arms into Baltic.

Selling bike from Borg Leopold for 15000 franks - then spending it all on beer and women in Brussels.

Buzz bomb on next village after shot at by troops, 15 dead inc. children, in Buzz bomb alley to Antwerp.

On the moves - getting lost on purpose with one of the lads on back, following water wagon to get back.
- " " " again.
" " " again.

" " " - getting lost and staying with Yanks for 2 weeks, flapjacks and things, sleeping bag gift.

Policing in Germany, me mates with polish chap - orders to bring him in for stealing a German鈥檚 Zandap motorbike.

Cloth Suiting guard. Crazy, guarding a German鈥檚 reams of cloth.

Finding German camp deserted. My luger safety catch broken, firing it at the ground when a German made his move, woman spoke perfect English.

Polish camp treats me like a King or General - fire water from aviation fuel.

End in Europe---------------------------------------------------

Journey to Palestine via Toulon on the top of electric train.
Fishing with grenades in docks.

Troop ship Battory though Mediterranean to Haifa. The lads moaning when the shadow of the mast got in the way as they were sun bathing..
When we threw the flying fish they all crashed.
The Ohio in Valetta - Malta.

Chasing Jewish terrorists Joe Stearn and his gang all over Palestine. Crashes on railway crossing, petrol wagon, banana truck. British driver called death or deeth.
Every time out at night, looking under trucks for railway lines - No crossing
signs.

Me leading in Battalion motorbike race till I got a puncture in 鈥楴azareth鈥�

Cairo on Rehab courses. I put in for 4 got 2. Visits to. Pyramids, Svinx? Railway museum, Cairo museum, Cement works. All twice!

Faiyid sailing. Home made sailing boats with German POWs. Going on board
Italian Battle ships, 3 in Great Bitter lake 7 x 14 Miles long.

Me on a Court Marshall. Funniest in history of army, ending in 7 days to barracks.

Ammo Train run, we lived in 2 foot space on top ammo, for a bleedin week.

The ARMY on STRIKE - me on fence climbing IN to camp, nearly shot by officer.

Home on "Empress of Australia" into Liverpool. We climb up inside the mast.

Demobbed with 拢50 and a new suit.
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