- Contributed by听
- sappertom
- People in story:听
- A CSM, a Corporal and Sappertom
- Location of story:听
- Chesterfield Holland and Germany
- Background to story:听
- Army
- Article ID:听
- A3081566
- Contributed on:听
- 03 October 2004
MEMOIRS - SAPPERTOM
I was 鈥渋nvited鈥 to offer myself up to serve King and Country in August 1944, and 鈥渁sked鈥 to present myself to the Oxs & Bucks Light Infantry Regiment Barracks, near Bury St Edmunds to be shown how to drill, salute and various ways of killing people etc. I was just turned 18 years of age and along with a group of others of about the same age spent an interesting few weeks learning the ways of the Army. Marching about, saluting, early morning PT, 鈥楤attle鈥 training on a local golf course, firing rifle, Bren, sten, pistol, (in case I became an Officer!! They were the only ones I ever saw with one!!) and throwing hand grenades. We were also shown how to use a bayonet, which involved charging headlong with fixed bayonets at sacks full of straw yelling like maniacs. (We yelled not the sacks -------!!). I have to say that during those few weeks I became very fit and healthy. We were all very friendly and generally speaking, it seemed quite a hard life but a good one. The NCO instructors were strict but very fair. I never saw any evidence of bullying or ill treatment that you sometimes hear of today. We were bawled at and harshly criticised but there was always a touch of humour there. On the long route marches that were part of the training process, I鈥檝e often seen the NCOs in charge carrying rifles and equipment belonging to some of the not so fit lads who, towards the end of the march, were beginning to weaken.
After several weeks of this 鈥業nfantry鈥 training we were all sorted out for posting to various other Regiments and units for further training in other areas. I was posted along with several others, to No 3 MTTD, (Motor Transport Training Depot) Royal Engineers, at Chesterfield, Derbyshire. (They probably thought I鈥檇 do more damage to the Jerries, sorry Nazis, with a lorry than a rifle, although I wasn鈥檛 such a bad shot as I remember). This was quite close to my home address but I did鈥檔t seem to get many opportunities to visit home due to various duties, guards, fire picket, and night exercises etc. There were also other distractions in and around Town which took up quite a bit of our off duty time but better not go into that now!. The famous Crooked Spire became more crooked while we were there, or so they said!!.
The main purpose in life in Chesterfield was learning to drive an Army lorry, but we still had PT, drilling, and infantry type training. I remember that the PT instructor, a Sergeant, was obsessed with boxing, having done quite a bit in Civvy Street and since. He insisted that we all had a few sessions in the 鈥榬ing鈥 every PT period. I can recall the first occasion that I had to go in for a few rounds. I had been matched against a guy about my size but a lot more reluctant than I was (if that was possible). We had tipped each other the wink to take it easy and for the first round we did鈥檔t do any harm and all seemed to be going well. However, in the second round I accidentally (and I mean 鈥榓ccidentally鈥) caught him a rather painful blow to the face. We stopped boxing and I said 鈥淥oh, sorry mate!鈥 whereupon the instructor nearly went berserk. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e sorry?! You鈥檙e ****ing sorry, in a ****ing boxing ring? You ****ing **** 鈥 and so on. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l stop in that ****ing ring for another x rounds and you鈥檙e not coming out until I鈥檝e seen some blood. Now ****ing well get on with it鈥 So we did! There was鈥檔t any blood but we had to make a bit better job of it. In fact, later on in the course he told me that my footwork was quite good but I aught to be a bit more aggressive!! I was鈥檔t all that keen and had done my level best to appear as incompetent at boxing as I possibly could! We all passed out as Drivers RE well within the allotted time and I don鈥檛 think there was anyone on the course sorry to get away from No 3 MTTD and that mad PTI.
After a 7-day leave period we were posted to Borden Camp, New Forest area? Near Aldershot, (I think). This would be sometime in December 1944, to await being posted across the Channel to join the BLA.
Eventually a couple of weeks or so later I was one of several hundred crammed on the decks of 2 or 3 small vessels crossing over to Calais. After a few days there we were transported in railway cattle trucks to an R H U (Reinforcements Holding Unit) at Bruges in Belgium. I remember that our billets were some old Belgian Cavalry Barracks and we were ordered to stay put. We were a mixture of Infantry, R E s, Tanks, Signals, etc, and every few minutes day and night some N C O would come round bawling out names to report to the parade ground area to be allocated on to transport from the various units we were to join. In our case it turned out to be the 162 Railway Construction Company R E, 21st Army Group, then based at St Mariaburgh near Antwerp. Our party consisted of several Sappers and a couple of drivers, (I was one). It was pitch dark of course on arrival at our 鈥渘ew home鈥, (the Army always liked to shift people around in the dark for some reason!), and we were shown into a hut and told to grab a bunk and report to the MT office in the morning. Antwerp at that particular time, January 1945, was being bombarded day and night with V1s and V2s and there were several explosions during that first night as well as gunfire from nearby AA batteries. I remember sitting up in my bunk feeling quite alarmed. One of the chaps mumbled something like 鈥渃alm down kiddo, it鈥檚 demolitions鈥. It was demolitions all right, courtesy of Mr Schicklegruber!
I鈥檒l never forget that first morning either!. We drivers had been told to report to the MT 鈥榦ffice鈥 and having washed, shaved, dubined our boots etc we made our way there in a smart and soldier-like fashion, keeping in step and so on. We were about half-way there when we spotted an officer coming towards us. He had a pipe in his mouth and was carrying various papers or files in both hands. On drawing level we threw him a right snappy longest way up and shortest way down parade ground type salute!! His reaction was to try to take his pipe out with one hand, nearly dropping some of his papers, and trying to return our salute with one of his own, and going 鈥淗a ha, good morning, good morning ha ha!鈥 A few yards further on and an NCO bawls out 鈥淐ome 鈥榚re you two. Now look 鈥榚re, you鈥檙e not in a ****in鈥 trainin鈥 camp now, you鈥檙e on active ****in鈥 service. We don鈥檛 salute ****in鈥 officers here every time we see one鈥. Then he went on his way mumbling something about 鈥榮endin鈥 bloody kids out 鈥榚re 鈥楢ve us all doin鈥 it, it鈥檒l be boy ****in鈥 scouts next鈥. It was a different kind of discipline!. I have to say that although I was 18 at the time I looked about 16. For instance I did鈥檔t need to shave all that often, but there were occasions when I went without one a bit too long. In that case the MT Sergeant who everyone called Ronnie would say, 鈥 Get a bloody shave you scruffy looking young bugger鈥. Generally speaking they were a bit rough and ready but a very good natured bunch of blokes. A bit like older brothers.
There were lots of other incidents as time went on, for instance there was an episode that I like to think of as 鈥楾he Gamblers Crossing鈥 or perhaps 鈥楢 Bridge Too Fast鈥, the choice of title might become clearer later!. It must have been some time in early March 1945. We had left Antwerp and moved to Holland and then later on over the border into Germany to prepare for the Rhine crossings presumably. On arrival at our new location one of the first jobs was to fetch the water supply from a water point somewhere back in Holland, a trip of about 15 鈥 20 miles or so. It was not permitted to use local supplies if any, for obvious reasons.
As it happened I was detailed for the duty on this particular occasion. My lorry was a 6-wheeled Austin 3 tonner, which had been allocated to me about a month previously.
It was a fairly cushy number and I was a 鈥榥ew boy鈥 so probably that鈥檚 why I was chosen. So, having collected route/job card, hitched water bowser (tank) on the wagon, been given full instructions (of course) off I went. Thinking back this could have been one of my earliest 鈥榮olo鈥 un-accompanied outings!.
Those who were out there at the time will know about the Allied Forces road/routeing system. It was a very well planned and successful strategy. Routes were numbered or named with a suffix 鈥楿p鈥 or 鈥楧own鈥 (ie towards or away from the battle areas), according to which sector the various Army Groups had been assigned to. Difficult to remember the full details but I seem to remember 100 and 101 Up/Down was the 21st A G, Canadians was Mapleleaf. The US AGs were Tin/Iron etc and there were many others. You could follow a particular Groups movements all the way from the beaches right along into Germany using this system.
The route back to the water point was not the one we had used for the trip up to our new position and it involved crossing over a small river or watercourse of some description. The original bridge had been blown and a Pontoon bridge had been put in place. Now this is where the trouble began!. I was of course in a down traffic queue so progress was much slower, up traffic having priority, for obvious reasons. It was necessary to leave the 鈥榤ain鈥 road and drive along a very muddy bumpy track alongside the river and then swing hard left to line up with the approach onto the bridge. Having the bowser on the back made it that much more difficult. I was waved onto the bridge and, and feeling rather relieved at 鈥榓iming straight鈥 I put my right foot down and proceeded across. Now at this point I perhaps ought to mention that this type of bridge was made up of a series of shallow flat bottomed barge type floats hitched close together and sideways on in the water way adjacent to the bank, with planks laid across to form a single track crossing called a Pontoon (鈥榞amblers crossing-----?) bridge. It was quite a pleasant bouncy sensation for the few minutes it took going over as each barge took the weight of the waggon, a change from the very uneven conditions I had become used to.
However, on reaching the other side a large, red faced, individual had his hand up for me to stop. I leaned out of my cab window and said 鈥淲hat鈥檚 up mate鈥. From that moment on everything went downhill!!. There were quite a few guys standing around, Sappers from the Bridging Company, drivers and crews from the up traffic waiting to cross and so on. A corporal was pointing at his lower sleeve, but I already knew by then that my 鈥榤ate鈥 was in fact a Sergeant Major. The altercation went something like as follows as near as I can remember!. We鈥檇 gone though the 鈥榳hat do you think this is (pointing to his lower arm), Scotch Mist routine鈥? and me trying to apologise, and I was being told that I was a stupid **** that had nearly sunk his ****ing bridge by driving like a ****ing maniac. He went on about did I see a sign on the other side and what did it say. I tried to say that it said 20 mph I think. He said (bawled) that it was 2 miles per ****ing hour. He carried on in this mode while most of the onlookers were grinning like Cheshire cats. He finished up by saying that if he ever saw me trying to cross his ****ing bridge again he鈥檇e have my ****ing guts for ****ing garters. 鈥淐orporal鈥 he bawled 鈥淭ake this ****ing t**t鈥檚 name and number, I鈥檓 reporting him to his ****ing CO鈥. Then he stormed off.
The Corporal came over still grinning and he said 鈥淟ook, it鈥檒l take me a few minutes to find a pen and something to write on so if I were you kiddo I鈥檇e **** off鈥. I did鈥檔t need telling twice, I ****ed off. (A bridge too fast---?)
By the time I鈥檇e reached the water point I鈥檇e just about stopped trembling and joined the queue to get the bowser filled up. It was while waiting that I realised that I had to go back over that bloody bridge, HIS Bridge!. Now in those days you could鈥檔t go swanning about just anywhere you thought fit. The 鈥榝ront line鈥 was鈥檔t that far away and in any case I would鈥檔t have known which other way to go, so really I鈥檇 no option but to go back the way I鈥檇 come!. I鈥檇 been in the Army about 6 months, full time serious driving 4 or 5 weeks so I think it would be true to say that I was not all that experienced. There was plenty of time to stand around chatting whilst waiting to get your bowser filled and I told a few of the other drivers about my predicament.
It was suggested that I try to change my appearance as much as possible by pulling my cap as far over my right side as I could, wear my greatcoat with the collar up, and keep the right window up with a bit of mud (of which there was no shortage) smeared over it. There were several other Austin 3 tonners about with bowsers hitched on so I might get away with it! One other point!. I think that our O/I/C Motor Transport was a Leslie Charteris/Simon Templar/The Saint fan because all our wagons had the matchstick drawing of the Saint logo with the halo (you remember the one??) painted on the front mudguards. It was quite distinctive. It was suggested that I smeared this with a thick covering of mud also. As it happened, by the time I had the bowser filled and was on the way back it was getting towards dusk and beginning to drizzle. When I reached HIS dreaded bridge I didn鈥檛 have too long to wait, bearing in mind that Up traffic had priority, and I was soon waved on to cross. Believe me I crept over at well under the 2 MPH and I was quite relieved to be heading back 鈥榟ome鈥 without further incident.
A Bridge Too Fast? Gamblers Crossing? Teach You Not To Drive Too Fast Over Bridges Bridge? .
On reflection I think that the whole point was to make sure that I got the message, I was probably not the first to be a bit heavy with the right boot!. That CSM was perhaps a decent enough chap, (if that was the case he was the only one I ever met) judging by the way the other blokes were grinning. Whatever, I was always very careful about speed when crossing bridges after that.
I鈥檝e tried to make this narrative a bit amusing and entertaining (sorry if I haven鈥檛 achieved that) but there were many other incidents good/bad/funny/scary/stomach turning, in the days, weeks, months and years to come, however this must be enough to be going on with. When the war in Europe ended, I was drafted out to the Middle East, eg Egypt, Tobruk and then up into Palestine, (603 Rly Con Coy. RE) before being demobbed in February 1948. If this jogs any memories I鈥檇 be pleased to hear about them.
Best wishes to the 大象传媒 Team and anyone else who reads this.
Cheers - Sappertom
漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.