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This story was submitted to the People’s War Site by Doreen Oaks for Three Counties Action, on behalf of Gerald Beaven, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Although I was from the Irish Republic I thought I’d like to join the British Army. This was in 1943 when I was 19 years old. I’m not sure why I wanted to do this as I would never have been called up. I wrote to the recruiting office in Belfast and was enlisted into the Wiltshire regiment, where my training began at Ross Trevor, Northern Ireland.

Every mid-day there was a lecture on something like first aid and one day a parachute regiment was asking for volunteers. I was sitting, dozing, at the back of the room with my friend ‘Jumbo’ Boothroyd (I never did know his real name), when I heard mention that an extra 1/6d a day would be paid. This appealed to me as we were only earning 1/6d a day, and it made sense to double my pay. Jumbo and I agreed to volunteer so became paras.

From that mid-day Friday to mid-day Saturday we had been transferred to Hardwick Hall, Chesterfield, to start training. Company orders were posted and we were to start gunfire practise at 6.30. This turned out to mean a cup of tea! Billets here were superior to those at Ross Trevor, and had showers.

Now we had to run everywhere and the two weeks’ training was intensive and very physical. The first day was gruelling but it did settle down, although we had to run a mile early in the mornings before we did anything else. At 4.00 pm the PT finished and we took showers but weren’t allowed to dry ourselves; the Sergeant inspected us to make sure we were wet all over.

At the end of the first week we didn’t get our extra 1/6d, we had to wait until we had completed the four week training course.

After the first two weeks we were posted to Ringway Airport, Manchester, where we started parachute training. First jump was out of a balloon and the next seven were out of a ‘plane, one at night. After each jump we were rewarded with a cigarette, cup of tea and a piece of fruitcake.

My first posting was to Melton Mowbray then at 1.30am on D-Day, we were dropped at Ranville, where there had been heavy fighting. At first light we noticed that all the parachutes had been spirited away by the local French.

We were fighting for six days, living in the open, surviving on iron rations, which were cheese and corned beef in tins and crackers, known as ‘dog biscuits’ because they were so hard they had to be soaked in water before they could be eaten. This was my first active service.

After that we were taken back to England (Harrogate), then to the Isle of Wight (we loathed it as there was nothing to do). One amusing incident is worth recalling. We got the bus to Cowes and the conductor got off to let the soldiers on. Someone rang the bell and the bus pulled away leaving the conductor on the pavement. I also remember trying to board the ferry to go to Portsmouth for a night out, only to be stopped by the MP. Nobody had a pass, so nobody was allowed on the ferry.

I saw no more action in Europe but was posted to India, although we had no idea why. From there we sailed to Singapore, as there was fighting in Sumatra with the few remaining Japanese. Here we lived in tents and had two cook houses; one serving English food, the other Chinese, so we had a choice. The locals in India and Singapore were very friendly.

Whilst in Singapore I contracted dysentery, maybe from a coconut or banana, we couldn’t be sure. There was no big outbreak. I went nine days without eating and was only given water. The medic was very sympathetic and procured some lemonade powder, which he put in the water for me. Eventually I was given what were then antibiotics and recovered. My weight had gone down to 7st 8lb, but then my normal weight was only 8st 4lb — still a dramatic weight loss in nine days.

Locals would climb coconut trees and throw the coconuts down. Jumbo, who was still with me, thought that looked easy so he climbed a tree, threw down a coconut but was stuck up there until a local climbed up to help him down.

At the end of 1945 we were in Haifa, Camp 22, living in tents. The local Jews were very hostile to British troops. One night the relief guard didn’t turn up so guards went to look for them. They found them with their throats cut. Jews would horsewhip, cut throats and even hang British soldiers. All we were trying to do was keep the peace between them and the Arabs.

This tour of duty took me to 1946. There was one vicious attack which involved friends and me. We were returning to camp when there was an explosion. The Jews had blown up Accra Prison. They had laid mines across the road so we had to turn round in our vehicle. Six Jews were involved but only four were caught. I was shot in the ear as a result of this conflict.

There ended my busy and interesting war.

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