大象传媒

MOONRAKERS

From the War Diaries of
5574418 Pte. D O Woolard
Mortar Platoon
Support Company
2nd Battalion
Duke of Edinburgh鈥檚 Wiltshire Regiment
13 Infantry Brigade
Fifth British Infantry Division
Eighth Army

Members of Mortar Platoon
2nd Battalion Wiltshire Regiment
1940 鈥� 1946

Lt. Weldon
Lt. Moore (Killed in Action, Italy)
Captain Drew
Sgt. Pugh; Sgt. Parker; Sgt. Phillips; Sgt. Riley; Sgt. Charlewood
Sgt. Lemmon; Sgt. Oliver; Sgt. Griffin; Sgt. Cainey
Sgt. Such (Blinded in action at Tufo)
Cpl. Gilb Mullins; Cpl. Compton; Cpl. Hinkley
Cpl. Brown; Cpl. Day; Cpl. Drew;
Cpl. Simmonds (wounded and taken prisoner at Tufo)
Cpl. Everleigh and L/Cpl. D Lawrence REME attached)
L/Cpl. Cyril Withers; L/Cpl. Wentworth; L/Cpl. Williams
L/Cpl. Halesworth; L/Cpl. Nicklen; L/Cpl. Pattison
L/Cpl. Von Griffin; L/Cpl. Brady; L/Cpl. Stacey; L/Cpl. Cross
L/Cpl. Geordie Bissett (killed in action at Anzio)
Privates: Morris; Cook; Blackett; Bailey; Anstee; Clark
Pop Comer; Ernie Hayward; Farley; Grant; Kilford
Cleaves; Bryant; Gale; Danny Carey; Danny Chapman
Abdul Randall; Pete Kirk; Ginger Cobb
Lofty Lambird (Killed in action at Anzio)
Bill Saphire; Morse; Dick Whittington; Murton; Maguire
Charlie Seaward; Hargreaves; Lofty Burgess; Dusty Miller
Johny Poole; Jimmy Doyle; Alfie 鈥淧opeye鈥� Strange; Buzzy Pearce
Hawkes; Stringer; Jarvis; Morgan; Silverthorne; Woolard

THE MEN OF ANZIO

The guns roar out across the rolling plains
There鈥檚 a drone of engines high above the sand
While wearied men fight on to gain
That precious freedom of their Motherland
Their one desire to strike the foe
These are the Men of Anzio

Amid the bullets and the shrapnel鈥檚 searing blast
Their home a stagnant trench
But they are undaunted, ever gay
Their valor no mean price they have to pay
And there in battles ebb and flow
Are these, the Men of Anzio

The Hun still fights will all that鈥檚 in his power
As in the desperation of a cornered beast
For in his heart he knows that fateful hour
Is drawing nigh, when his existence shall be ceased
And there, exchanging blow for blow
Are these, the Men of Anzio

The fight is hard, and blood flows freely o鈥檈r the sand
But each man knows the prize when battles done
So he fights with all the strength at his command
Out there among the flies and blazing sun
It鈥檚 my great pride these Men to know
These are the Men of Anzio

And so valiant hearts strive on, there must be no giving way
Whilst crosses mark the resting place of friends they knew
They carry on for well they know the enemy at bay
And the time is ripe to bring the battle through
May God his mighty strength bestow
On these, the Men of Anzio

A strong wind is blowing and the rain is beating on the windowpane. For a moment or two I stand and peer out into the darkness of the night, and then pulling the curtains together, I turn back into the room.

A cheerful fire burns in the grate and the flames leap sending dancing shadows around the room. Going over to the radiogram, I pick out five or six of 鈥淕igli鈥檚鈥� records; 鈥淪anta Lucia鈥�, 鈥淭orni e Sorento鈥�, 鈥淒onna Imobile鈥�, 鈥淐ora 鈥楴鈥� Grata鈥�, 鈥淎ve Maria鈥�, and put them on. With the first beautiful notes of these lovely songs the leaping shadows blend and become a kaleidoscope of life as it was in those dark grim days of World War Two from 1939 to 1945. I see again the little old train, chugging and puffing through the main street of Caledon on its way to Auchnacloy. I see the little old lady kneeling and praying among the rubble of her home. She had a rosary in one hand and the other was clutching her few belongings wrapped in a blanket. I see the young faces of the crew of the Bren Gun carrier at Gerbine, their eyes looked out upon the world, but they saw nothing, for they were dead. The expression of horror, pain and fear on their faces I will see forever.

The summer of 1939 was a lovely one with warm nights and sunny days. I was working at the time on the construction of the aerodrome at Middle Wallop in Hampshire. I lived at Over Wallop with my family. My brother had two farms, Martin鈥檚 Farm and Juniper Down Farm. We had a lovely house in fifteen acres of meadow, it was called 鈥淭he Croft鈥�. From the house to the main gate there was a long winding drive lined with lime trees.

The clouds of war were growing ever darker, but somehow we still did not realise how soon it would come. A year earlier the cinema newsreels, the radio and newspapers had told us that Neville Chamberlain waved aloft the historic piece of paper as he arrived back from his meeting with Hitler. I remember him saying 鈥淚 have an agreement here signed by Herr Hitler and myself never to go to was again鈥�. 鈥淧eace in our time鈥�. One year later German troops marched into Poland, and on Sunday 3 September 1939 at 11 am, Great Britain declared war on Germany.

As I was only 19 years old I carried on at my work and joined the local Defence Volunteers when they were formed in the district. After my 20th birthday, I received my calling up papers and had to go for a medical at Southampton, which I passed A1. On 13th June 1940 I had to report to the ARMY depot at Devizes in Wiltshire. Farewells having been said to my family and friends, I boarded a train at the little station at Grateley, and I was on my way to a new and very different kind of life. Between Grateley and Salisbury I was alone in the carriage and I did feel a bit apprehensive, but at Salisbury the train filled up with young lads of about my age.
They were all going to join one unit or another of the ARMY, and what a motley crowd they were. Very soon we were all laughing, joking and chatting away. There were 鈥楽wede Bashers鈥�, 鈥楥ockneys鈥�, 鈥楾affies鈥�, 鈥楪ordies鈥� and 鈥楤rummy鈥� lads. The train only took us to a place called Halt Junction, and we waited there for ARMY lorries to take us to our respective units in Devizes. I went with a crowd of others to the depot of the Duke of Edinburgh鈥檚 Own Wiltshire Regiment.

As soon as we were out of the lorries, we handed in our call up papers and we were given a knife, fork and spoon, a tin plate and small tin basin to drink from. Then a sergeant yelled at us to fall into three ranks and marched us to the cookhouse. We were civilians no more until the war was over. What a shower we must have looked that day, shuffling along, trying to keep in step. Case and civvy gas mask in one hand and the eating irons in the other. There were big chaps, little chaps, fat and skinny ones. Some dressed very neat and smart, others with big cloth caps, scarves, outrageous checked suits and baggy trousers. I doubt many of the lads enjoyed their first meal in the ARMY, I know I didn鈥檛. It was supposed to be a Beef stew, but it looked more like strips of shoe leather floating about in lumpy gravy. With it, we had two slices of bread to help it down. The tea was awful because the tin basins they gave us to drink from turned the tea gray or nearly black, and it tasted horrible. The 鈥榤eal鈥� over, we fell in again and were sorted out into squads with NCO鈥檚 to each squad. Some were to stay in the depot, but the squad I was in and a few more squads, went to a big house just outside the town. The house was called 鈥淢oorlands鈥�, and we were under canvas in the grounds.

During the next two or three days we were issued with ARMY kit and uniforms. We had inoculations and sent home our civilian clothes. We were also given our ARMY number which we had to remember for all time. Then we started eight weeks initial training. We marched, drilled with training rifles, learned how to salute to the right, to the left, and to the centre. Learned how to assemble and dismantle Bren guns and name the parts. We had to take aim, throw grenades and learn field craft. We were shown how to fold our blanket, lay out and clean our kit and polish our brasses. We had a spell of PT every day, it was very hard at first, but we soon got used to it. In the evenings we still had plenty of laughs in our tents, taking the micky out of something or someone, and we very soon made our own pals in the squads.

When the initial training finished, we were given a chance to go on for another eight weeks of specialist training, in Signals, Anti-tank, Bren gunners, Mortars or just go into rifle companies. We left 鈥淢oorlands鈥� and moved up to the depot. I decided, with several others, to take the 3鈥� Mortar course, and we moved into a nice hutted camp adjoining the main barracks. I enjoyed those eight weeks of specialist training much more than the initial training. In the evenings we were allowed out into town.

As soon as this training was finished, we moved up into the main barracks to await a draft to any battalion that needed reinforcements. For a while we did fatigues, a few drill parades and guards and filled up sandbags. In the evenings before being allowed out into town, we had to parade to pick off and kill as many caterpillars as we could find on the cabbages being grown on all the spare ground around the hutted camp. As growing vegetables was part of the war effort. From time to time on Regimental Orders, a batch of names would appear for a draft to a battalion, and the next morning we would say goodbye and good luck to some of our pals.

Early in November 1940 my name was in a batch of others for a draft to the 2nd Battalion, who were stationed on the racecourse at Aintree near Liverpool. For a while it was strange getting used to the routine of the battalion, the new officers, NCO鈥檚 and men. Only one other chap came from the depot with me for the Mortar platoon, he was Gilbert Mullins, and was a great pal of mine. I did know a few of the other lads on the draft and it wasn鈥檛 long before we had made new pals. During the heavy air raids on Liverpool we had to do many nights of fire watching on the warehouses in and around the docks, and we slept during the daytime. We started more intensive training while at Aintree with battalion and division exercises, route marches and advanced mortar training. After about six months at Aintree, in which time I had my first seven day鈥檚 leave since my call up, the Battalion packed up all it鈥檚 kit and we traveled up to Stranrear and crossed over to Larne in Northern Ireland.

For a while we stayed at a little seaside town called Donagadee in County Down. It was a pretty little town and the Irish people were so kind and good to us. We were not there long and we moved down to Caledon in County Tyrone, quite close to the border of the Republic. Our platoon was billeted in an old empty mill that had three floors. We used the two top floors, and the basement was used for battalion dances, ENSA shows or Tombola. The town was quite small with about four shops and a couple of very good pubs. The main feature of the town was the old steam railway that ran through the main street. We often used it on Sunday evenings to go to the cinema at Auchnacloy. Training again was very intensive while we were here, with long route marches. One was 60 miles and we did it in three days at about 20 miles each day, sleeping in farm buildings at night.

At the end of January 1942, we left Caledon and returned to England, this time to Oxted in Surrey where we were billeted in empty private houses taken over by the ARMY. We did no training at all here, only fatigues, guards and a little PT. The whole battalion was sent home in batches on seven days embarkation leave. We were all issued with tropical kit and had several inoculations. When we were not on duty, we were allowed day passes to London. I went up there several times with Gilb Mullins and we saw some very good films and shows with free tickets for the forces obtained from the YMCA. In the evenings we went up to the British Legion Club on the Limpsfield Golf Course which was quite near to our billets. We would have a few pints, play darts, cards or pool. On Friday and Saturday evenings when we were a bit more flush with cash, there would be more drinks and a good old singsong to the accompaniment of a blind pianist. Pte. Mo Morris, Pte. Blackett and Pte. Cook were nearly always there. I remember Mo always used to sing 鈥淵ours 鈥楾ill The Stars Lose Their Glory鈥�, and of course, after we had all downed a few pints, we all had a bash at 鈥淣ellie Dean鈥� and 鈥淒own At The Old Bull And Bush鈥�. Another favourite was 鈥淎nna Pola鈥�. Poor old Mo lost his choppers down the loo one night after a heavy session on the beer, but with a little help from his friends, he was able to retrieve them again.

We had quite a lot of almost non-stop rain for many days and nights. In early March 1942, on the day His Majesty King George V1 and Queen Elizabeth came to inspect the Battalion to wish us all a safe and happy future, it simply poured down. The parade was quickly over and we were glad to get back to our billets to dry out. On 17th March 1942 we marched down to the railway station at Oxted, and we had to wait for some time before our troop train arrived. The rain had stopped, but the sky was very gray. As I waited on the platform I looked up to see if there was any break in the clouds just as several Gulls flew over. They all let go, and I got several direct hits on my face and neck, I got one lot in my left eye. It made me quite mad and I shouted out 鈥淵ou dirty bloody sods鈥� as they flew away. I did not realise that I was standing right next to the Padre and two other Officers. I said 鈥滶xcuse my language鈥� to the Padre, but he just laughed and said it could be a very lucky omen for me throughout the war. When the train arrived, we all piled in with our kit and rifles and got settled down. We travelled all that day and arrived at Grennock in the early hours of 18th March 1942.

We embarked on the SS Franconia and pulled out from shore at 9pm and set sail for an unknown destination on 23rd March 1942. In the convoy were the following ships: SS Franconia, SS Caledonia, HM ACC Illustrious, HMS Shropshire, Winchester Castle, Martan, Empress of Russia and Orion, about eight Destroyers and Corvettes, and many more transport ships. In all, the convoy consisted of about twenty-seven ships. After being at sea for about two weeks, we pulled into harbour at Freetown, Equitorial West Africa on 6th April 1942 at 9 am. The convoy stayed here for five days to refuel and take on fresh supplies. I was on guard duty below decks when we arrived, it was Easter Monday. No one was allowed ashore during those five days, and we set sail again on 11TH April 1942.

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