大象传媒

This was a Ministry of Pensions hospital, specially built. It had a large operating theatre with several tables. In my intake there were some 160-180 casualties to do so they had to 鈥済et cracking鈥�. I remember being in a queue outside the theatre and from time to time could see the surgeons at work. It was rather gruesome. The anaesthetic (pentathol) put one out for hours. When I came to I was in a daze for hours too. When I felt about my person I found I was just the same as I was before.

The 鈥淗ouseman鈥� surgeon told me next day the reason. The Surgeon-in-Chief had examined me and decided the leg could be saved. My right foot was white and flaccid and it was thought the circulation might be crucially impaired. I was told to keep a close-eye on the foot to detect any movement. In the meantime, twice a day tests were done to check for putrification in the exit wound. After about five days I called out I had felt a twitch. It could not be repeated but off I went to the theatre and was operated on. I came round to find myself on a 鈥淏alkan Frame鈥� (a goalpost) with weights and pulleys and I was on this apparatus for several months in a corner.

As before, with the anaesthetic being so powerful, I was a long time 鈥渃oming round鈥�. I was befuddled when the doctor came to see how I was. He drew my attention to an item lying on a piece of cotton wool on top of my locker. I looked hard at it 鈥� no idea! When I was sensible again I certainly had. It was an opening key from a corned beef tin, mangled up. It had been carried through my leg! I always kept one in my 鈥渇ield dressing鈥� pocket. This pocket was on the upper right leg of the battle dress trousers of those days. So many of the cans had no keys on them so they were a necessary item, as you would realise.

On the first Sunday after my arrival, my brother Phil came to see me. He was very alarmed on reading the notice at the entrance to the ward 鈥� 鈥淩ESUSCITATION WARD鈥�. I didn鈥檛 know what it meant, but he did! I learnt later that I was the only non-amputee in my intake. Some of the soldiers were in a parlous state. There were several double amputated legs. This happened to tank commanders standing in the turret of a tank going over a mine. There were many career officers most concerned about their jobs.

My brother came almost every week. He was living in Birmingham. Now it is easy with the motorways to travel between these two cities but in those days it took three buses and the war was still on. As time has gone by I have come to realise that the main reason for Phil鈥檚 weekly visits was to report my condition and progress to my parents. Nevertheless, his concern was great and it was wonderful to see him.

My ward was half other ranks and half officers. The officers had to pass through our part to get out. Some were quite 鈥渢offs鈥� in a way. A major I have in mind was clearly a guardee. What was to be remembered was that he asked all round for a soldier to be his servant. He really wanted somebody to shave him. He couldn鈥檛 do it himself 鈥� he never had!

An older officer who was clearly from the ranks had run over an anti-tank (鈥淭eller鈥�) mine in a jeep. He was lucky that it was sandbagged all over the floor. In the event he broke many of the bones in his body. He had his jaw wired up, both arms and both legs broken as well as other injuries. It was remarkable the speed in which all these injuries mended, compared to me for example. He was anxious to get a War Office job as clearly the Army was his life.

For a long time I had a neighbour who came from Glasgow. I think his home was in the Gorbals and he was in the H.L.I. (Highland Light Infantry). Although he was by nature quite a mild person of himself, he seemed very impressed by violence. He couldn鈥檛 read nor write but just lay there staring ahead most of the time. I had to brief soldiers as to how the war was progressing quite often. My Scots neighbour could not understand that I didn鈥檛 read comics or 鈥渢wo-penny bloods鈥�. He asked me more than once, whether I had read 鈥淣o Mean City鈥� a pre-war book that was involved with major gang feuds etc. I asked him whether he was a gang member. 鈥淥ch Aye鈥� he said 鈥� but I could never have believed him. He had had his heel blown away by an anti-personnel mine and was destined to be a cripple. (As I suppose many of the ward members were, of course). The future offered very little hope for many of them.

Phil used to spend an hour or so walking round the beds as so many of the men had no visitors, nor perhaps letters. Many could not read and, I should think, nor could their relatives. People of our class really have no idea how these people cope with family disasters.

During my period in Ronkswood Hospital, a new patient arrived and was put in the bed next to me. This soldier was French speaking and as I had some knowledge of French I was asked to converse with him to translate for the nurses. This man was in a bad way. He had pleurisy and complications with his lungs and was constantly in and out of consciousness. His French was colloquial and difficult to understand when he was lucid. However, I learnt that he was one of the many thousands of soldiers that had been force-marched from Poland or Silesia right across to West Germany. Many soldiers died whilst on this terrible journey. They had nowhere to stay at night and very often slept by the roadside. This man was a survivor of this harsh journey and unfortunately, died at Ronkswood Hospital shortly after his arrival.

V.E. Day was celebrated in a strange manner when I was at Ronkswood Hospital. When the announcement was made all the nurses, who were local girls, deserted us, and went home to celebrate the occasion with their families. The ward was empty. Thirty patients in my ward were bedridden and only one soldier was able to walk with one leg. A Nursing Sister came in from a nearby ward and expressed shock and disgust at this state of affairs and only through her did we get any food that day. In the meantime, this Irish walking wounded soldier had the unenviable task of issuing and emptying bed pans to the 30 bedridden patients. C鈥檈st la vie!

When I became a walking patient I had to use crutches for a couple of months. I covered Worcester pretty well 鈥� the Cathedral, museums and galleries. An idyllic city. We used to have to wear hospital blue uniforms. This was a royal blue jacket and trousers, white shirt plus red tie. This outfit showed you were a casualty and it was an offence to go into a pub and drink alcoholic drinks, the landlord being liable.

I remember going to the river just below the Cathedral with two other men. One had a plaster cast on one leg and the other being treated for a fractured pelvis had a full cast on one leg an a half cast on the other with a piece of wood across making a letter 鈥淎鈥�. We were quite happy in the sun when this fellow, who was a Scot, decided he would like to be rowed in a boat on the river. You have no idea the palaver that occurred with the boatman getting him in the low seat. The other man had not much difficulty. I, because I had no plaster work about me, took on the job of rowing. We did very well and enjoyed ourselves until a paddle steamer came up on us. I had not noticed it until it tooted! However, I had no rowing skills and could not get our boat out of the way. The damn thing passed about two yards away with its paddles going round. I was terrified we would be swamped and the boat rolled about quite frighteningly. I had terrible fears we would be pitched into the river. Imagine the dilemma. I was fine for swimming but my passengers would have sunk to the bottom in seconds, particularly the man with the 鈥渟piker鈥� A shaped plaster. He seemed to have no realisation because he laughed out loud with enjoyment and when our time was up, wanted another session. Luckily we were out of time.

When the doctors decided to discharge me I had an option to take my convalescence at a hospital nearer home. I went to Calderstones Hospital, Whalley near Blackburn. This was in a wing of the County Asylum. It had all the usual crazy inmates. It had civilian doctors and we had a fairly easy life. It was there that my Mother and Father made their only visit. They never went to Worcester. I think my Mother could never face up to grievous injury or sickness.

It was during my stay there that I went to Blackpool on a weekend pass. After church, I met Olga again and we renewed our acquaintanceship. (I have mentioned it elsewhere).

I forgot to mention that the Worcester hospital was a Ministry of War Pensions establishment. The idea was to minimise the impact of injury with regard to civilian life afterwards. This applied particularly to limbless people. It was always considered as a fractured femur case to be eligible for discharge.

After a month or so in Whalley I was medical boarded and to my shock and horror I was retained for further service. The Army medical authority had altered the rules! I was made B7 (Home Service) category.

I mentioned a certain Captain Pratt in Part 2. He was an older officer. A peace time Solicitor in Rawtenstall or some similar Lancashire 鈥済lory hole鈥�. He had never done anything except 鈥渉ome service鈥�.

During the time between my going overseas and going to Calderstones he, and the unit I was with in Furness Abbey, had moved to Whalley 鈥� about three miles away.

As you know I, with all the others, had to wear 鈥渉ospital blue鈥�. Officers and Warrant Officers did not wear this outfit. There was a C.S.M. who wore the Military Cross. This was unusual because Officers only usually got it. This man was with a regiment (K.S.L.I.) that nearly got wiped out in the days after 鈥淒 Day鈥�. He ended up in command and got the survivors away with some gallantry, I suppose. Performing duties as an Officer.

In Calderstones, numerous clubs and companies about used to take us on 鈥渢reats鈥�. We went to Blackpool Tower Circus, an exhibition snooker match in Burnley and the like. Very often taxis turned up to take us out. On one occasion, we were taken to the 鈥淭hree Fishers鈥� pub in Mitton. Remember in 鈥渉ospital blue鈥� no booze was allowed to be given to us! We had this C.S.M. who had a fractured femur which would not knit in our company, wearing an iron leg support.

We were having a fine time. No drunkenness or anything when in walked Major (now) Pratt! His miserable music hall features became set. 鈥淪ergeant-Major, what are you doing bringing these men into a licensed establishment when you know the law is against it!鈥� 鈥淗ow is it you are wearing that ribbon when only Officers can do it!鈥� The C.S.M. gave him (an undecorated soldier) 鈥渢he edge of his tongue鈥�. 鈥淩ight鈥� the Major said, 鈥淚 am going to bring the military police here and we shall see what will happen鈥�.

Off he went. Within seconds, off we went too! I do not think he knew where we came from as we never heard anything else.

I was sent to an Army Convalescent Centre in Chester (the same camp where I was considered the previous year for officer appointment). The only treatment given by this establishment was either 鈥減hysical jerks鈥� or route marches. I still used two sticks to walk with but there were two or three men in a worse condition than mine. On the marches we just went outside the barrack gate and then sat on the kerb. Had we refused to march off we would have been charged with misconduct. In the event I was hauled before the commanding officer who decided to send me, sticks and all, to Newtown in Wales to the Welsh Holding Unit (what a hole!)

This unit existed to redeploy soldiers who for some reason or other had become detached from their units, overseas or at home. This could be caused in many ways, overstaying leave, illness, prison 鈥� whatever. The purpose was to form batches of men to send for re-location with units overseas.

Of course they did not know what to do with me so I was appointed cook house scullion doing washing-up, spud bashing, still with two sticks. I made friends with a Sergeant Parkinson 鈥� a Lancastrian who, like me, loathed mid Wales and all its inhabitants. Like in 鈥淭welfth Night鈥� 鈥︹�漷he rain it raineth every day鈥�. The River Severn down the road was at its highest point in the whole of the 20th century. 1946 was a record year for rain. The Newtown citizens were most nationalistic. Although I was in the Welch Regiment, it being a South Wales unit was regarded as having English connections. We were openly shunned in the streets. If you went into a pub, the conversation would change from English to Welsh.

This Sergeant Parkinson was in charge of drafts. I asked where he was sending soldiers and he answered 鈥淛apan - 2nd Welch鈥�. I said I would like to go. He knew I was categorised for 鈥淗ome Service鈥�. I said perhaps he could 鈥榤ake a mistake鈥� and perhaps I could get 14 days leave 鈥� my posting being cancelled on my return. It was a 鈥渟cam鈥�.

When I arrived at home, Mother said to me 鈥淲hy are you here?鈥� 鈥淵ou have no leave!鈥� I answered 鈥淚 have fourteen days.鈥� She replied 鈥淵ou are on embarkation leave, I鈥檓 not having it. You鈥檝e been involved once!鈥� I tried to tell her it was a wheeze but she wouldn鈥檛 listen. She contacted the M.P. (who she knew) and he had me medically examined. This doctor (a friend of Uncle Bert鈥檚) had been an R.A.M.C. Colonel and he wrote that I should have been discharged, let alone drafted. I enjoyed the leave but felt Nemesis was not far off.

When I got back to Newtown the 鈥渟hit hit the fan鈥�. The Medical Officer was gated for passing me and was posted to an Army 鈥渓oony bin鈥�. He was never sympathetic to the 鈥渙ld crocks鈥� I was put into the Orderly Room in which position I stayed in the various stations until I was demobilised.

From Newtown I went to Wrexham, then to Worcester and finally to Cardiff 鈥� the Welch Regimental depot.

I suppose I was there some five to six months. I was in the C.O鈥檚 orderly room as indeed was the aforesaid Sergeant Parkinson. This character had been a band boy and had been in the Army about thirty years. He was with the 2nd Welch and had been captured in Crete. When I was in Cardiff, I was responsible for the induction of about twenty boys. They came from various orphanages in South Wales. They were under the Band Master, a W.O.I. of senior years. (He was an admirable elderly man and the boys prospered under his tutelage).

It was wonderful training, though each boy was signed on for 21 years from the age of eighteen by their guardian. I met ex band boys all through my service in various regiments. Some of the dance bands of the thirties had many adult 鈥渂and boys鈥� playing for them. They all had good training, many graduating at Kneller Hall (the Army conservatory of music).You perhaps will remember Nick Pickstock in Buckingham Road. He joined the East Yorkshire Regiment at 14. Schooling entitled him to pass his Matric at the same age as me. He was, of course, in the war at 14 or 15 but ended up a Major in Burma with the Ghurka Rifles.

At Cardiff we had a rugby ground and the Welch were Army champions (as you would expect). We used to have famous teams playing 鈥渇riendly matches鈥�. Llanelly, Averavon, Neath etc. The public came in, so we had good games.

One thing sticks in my mind. It was the regimental march pass with General Horrocks taking the salute. We, in the Orderly Room, had a first class view being only a few yards behind the General. It was a sunny day and the windows were wide open. Sergeant Parkinson 鈥渃ut loose鈥�. He had been a side drummer in the band and music being played 鈥済ot to him鈥�. He found pencils, or something, to use as drumsticks and followed the repertoire by drumming on a typewriter platten. The percussion noise was very noticeable. On the saluting platform the C.O. was discomforted, the R.S.M. livid, the General amused. Afterwards, Parkinson was taken into the C.O鈥檚 room and we could overhear and were very amused.

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