大象传媒

Memoirs of 14404393 Trooper Leslie Dinning

It was inevitable that I was going to be a soldier one day, and the story starts when I was born on 28 February 1926 in Jullundur, India. My father was a serving soldier and he and my mother had been posted to India where I was born in married quarters. I was four years old when we returned to England and we moved into married quarters in Fenham Barracks, Newcastle where my sister Lilian was born. We then lived in numerous married quarters throughout the UK for the next twelve years wherever my father was posted, most of the time it was in Colchester.

I joined the army in Colchester in September 1942. I was simply walking down the High Street one day past the recruiting office and on the spur of the moment walked in.

I must have been giving the matter some thought because I was just sixteen years old and I put my age forward a year when asked for my date of birth. The recruiting sergeant wanted me to join an infantry regiment and he showed me a list of regiments on the wall, but I had decided I wanted to join a tank regiment. My father was an artilleryman and had been all his life. When I told the recruiting sergeant that I wanted to be a tank man, he said, "Oh no, you can't be a tank man. You need all sorts of qualifications to be a tank man." I said to him, "Well, I'm a member of the ATC, if that qualifies me to be a pilot, surely it qualifies me to be a tankman." He surrendered immediately. That showed the thinking. He'd been instructed to recruit for infantry regiments and he was doing his job as he saw it.

I was told to report back in a week's time which I did and accept the King's shilling. I was recruited, no one asked me for a birth certificate. A few weeks later I got my marching orders, together with a railway ticket to Wool station, in which I was ordered to report to the Primary Training Wing at Bovington Camp on the 2 October 1942.

I travelled to London and then from Paddington station to Wool, but unknow to me, I had been travelling with thirty others who had also been ordered to report that day. On arrival at Wool station a corporal met us with a three-ton truck. The corporal lined us up on the platform, and when he look at me he bellowed at the top of his voice, "How old are you?鈥� He clearly knew I was under age; but I stood my ground and we got on the truck and were taken to the primary training wing at the top of the hill in Bovington Camp.

The primary training wing consisted of wooden huts on three sides of a parade ground facing onto the main road through the camp. We were given a meal and then, believe it or not, issued with spring mattresses and blankets to put on the steel unsprung beds, and shown to our hut for the night. It was home-from-home for me because of my upbringing. After lights out on the first night I was surprised to hear grown men, at least a year older than me, sobbing in the dark, crying! I simply couldn't understand this, we were all volunteers. The following day we were issued with uniform and kit, and allocated our army numbers.

We went on to do six weeks square bashing. The corporal who met us at the station took every opportunity to confront me, even bellowing at me, from a distance "HOW OLD ARE YOU, DINNING"? Of course, everybody must have known, including the officers, but it seemed they were happy to accept the situation, providing I stood my ground, and I did. All they had to do was ask for my birth certificate, and I would have been sent home.

After my intake had completed the six weeks primary training, there was a passing out parade. Following the parade we marched down the hill in column behind the RTR band to the 58th RAC Training Regiment, which was on the other side of the main road directly opposite what is now the Bovington Tank Museum. The 58 RAC Training Regiment subsequently became a Junior Leaders Regiment and has now gone.

At least 25% of each intake were selected as possible officer material and were promoted to provisional unpaid lance corporals; know as "PULCS" who had to do extra duties. I was not selected and remained a Trooper for the remainder of my service.

The training with the 58 RAC Training Regiment lasted six months. The training was excellent, consisted of a driving course where I leant to drive using 鈥淕uy鈥� and 鈥淏edford鈥� 15 cwt trucks and finally Valentine tanks; followed by a gunnery course where we learnt to fire all the weapons appropriate to a tank soldier; a wireless course where we were taught to operate a 19 Set (the wireless set used in a tank), and finally a junior leadership course.

About half way through my training with the 58th RAC Training Regiment, I became ill, I thought it was just a heavy cold, but I was taken to hospital, and subsequently to a convalescence home. I was away for about two months, before returning to continue training with the 58th RAC Training Regiment. I remember, while I was in the Bovington Hospital a young soldier in a bed opposite me died from pneumonia one night. The doctors and nurses worked all night to save him without success. I was told the next day that he was 17 years old. Everybody was very sad.

At the conclusion of the six months training with the 58 Training Regiment RAC, we passed out with a forced march of sixty miles; each intake attempted to better the record of the previous intake and we were keen! We wore full kit, a large and small pack containing only blankets and toilet gear, a gas mask, steel helmet, a full water bottle and rifle. No money, no food.

At the outset we were divided into parties of about half a dozen men and ordered to select a leader. We were then loaded into the back of a three-ton lorry with the blinds down and after what seemed hours of travelling, dropped off in a field with a compass and a map and told to find our own way back to the camp.

We had no idea where we were or in which direction the camp was, so we just set off until we came to habitation, then by enquiries identified where we were and set off as fast as we could. This we did with great enthusiasm and tremendous esprit-de-corps - all for one and one for all - was the attitude, no body dropped out. If anyone showed any signs of weakening, we helped them: it was a team effort. Tremendous training. During the march, which took about a day and half we were visited occasionally by the permanent staff, either on motor cycles or trucks, just to make sure we were all right. At the end of the march we ran the assault course and attack a bunker with blank ammunition.

Though out the training with the 58th Training Regiment RAC, each week there was a "Doubling Day", that is to say everybody doubled from the moment they got out of bed at reveille, 06.00 through to 17.00. The only exception was when one was washing and shaving, visiting the toilet, sitting down during training sessions, sitting down having a meal.

There was a ceremonial guard mounting every day at 19.00, and because of number of men used each day for guard duty, each trainee did at least one guard duty a week, sometimes it would work out as two guard duties a week. I hated the guard duties; I had problems staying awake.

During the guard mounting parade (200 men or more) the Orderly Sergeant Major, and Orderly Officer carried out the inspections. The Orderly Officer was always a Junior Subaltern, one of the original trainees at the 58th Training Regiment who had already done 6 months as a PULC and had been commissioned at Sandhurst, and returned to the Regiment to continue training. The Orderly Officer inspecting the guard was always mounted on a horse.

All this was overseen by the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM). If the Orderly Officer made a mistake in the guard mounting ceremony, he was call to order by the RSM. I can recall a number of occasions when this happened. The RSM would bellow across the square, "Mr (Whatever his name was), Sir, come here". The Orderly Officer would ride up to the RSM and dismount to get a real dressing down.

One incident I remember while training, as a tank gunner was we were firing from static tanks on the range at Lulworth Cove. The gun was a two-pounder, and we went into the turrets in pairs, one firing, and one loading. Each person was allocated a number of rounds to fire, and when finished we switched over. I recall this occasion I was second to fire and was acting as loader, there had been quite a bit of firing before my turn. There was a canvas bag attached to the rear of the breech of the gun into which the empty shell cases were ejected. I recall loading the gun and looking down seeing the bag was a bit full and reached in to empty it. Suddenly I realised the gun was about to be fired and as I withdrew my arm, Wham! Back came the breech! It was pure reflex action I was lucky. I enjoyed gunnery and driving so I suppose it was inevitable I should end up as a gunner/mechanic.

When I had completed my training with the 58 Training Regiment I was given a choice of Regiments to transfer to and I chose the 15/19 Kings Royal Hussars. As it turned out this was just a holding regiment, and on the 17th February 1944 I was transferred to the 4th County of London Yeomanry in High Ash Camp, Thetford Forest, Brandon, Norfolk. The 4th CLY were one of the three armoured regiments of the 7th Armoured Division, (The Desert Rats), who had just returned to the UK to prepare for the Normandy invasion. The other two Armoured Regiments were the 1st and 5th Royal Tank Regiments.

All the heavy equipment of the Division had been left in Italy and the Regiments were equipped with Cromwells, a brand new British tank developed by Rolls Royce, and the American Sherman and Honey tanks. The Cromwell's were armed with a 75mm cannon and two 7.92mm Besa machine guns. The Shermans were fitted with a modified turret to take the British 17 pounder antitank gun and Browning machine gun, and were known as Firerflys. The Honeys (Stuart tanks) were fitted with a 40mm gun and a Browning machine gun. The Honeys were used for reconnaissance.

In 1944 an armoured regiment normally consisted of four squadrons, 鈥淩HQ鈥�, 鈥淎鈥�, 鈥淏鈥�, and 鈥淐鈥�, the latter three squadrons consisted of nineteen tanks. Each squadron was made up of four troops, normally consisted of four tanks, the normal make-up of each troop was three Cromwells and one Firefly.

To the best of my knowledge all the armoured equipment was collected from the depots by regimental personnel. One morning while on parade there was a request for volunteers to drive Bren Gun Carriers, and I volunteered. I can not now remember where we went to collect the Bren Gun Carriers, possibly Birmingham; and so it was, off I went with about a dozen others in a three-ton truck and drove a Bren Gun Carrier back to High Ash Camp. I don鈥檛 think the Bren Gun Carriers were used by us, I think they were for the infantry support units and we just provided drivers for the occasion, since most tank men could drive.

Most of the time at High Ash camp was spent on training with the new tanks. I was spare crew for a great deal of the training and drove Cromwell tanks when they were short of a driver. I was eventually attached to the Reconnaissance Troop, part of RHQ Squadron, which were equipped with "Honey's" Stuart American light tanks. The Honey tanks were brand new and the tool kit was amazing; I would say by today's prices we are talking about several hundred pounds worth of tools for each tank. The tools were in a wooden box preserved in thick grease, and I used gallons of petrol to degrease the tools. I don't know what happened to the tools; there was no way a crewman would normally use such sophisticated tools on a tank and they were probably dumped when the division took off for war.

I was very young and I accept that and I probably acted my age. I was very insular and did not take too much notice of what was going on around me other than that which affected me, and much to my regret I can not remember a great deal about the layout of High Ash Camp.

On the 8 May 1944 the 4 CLY moved by road to a concentration area in the grounds of Orwell Park School, Ipswich, and on the 1 June 1944 commenced moving to Felixstowe Docks to embark on Tank Landing Craft, and Tank Landing Ships (LCTs & LSTs). I, with Recce Troop embarked on a LCT, which held just four tanks. There was very little to do in the concentration camp, other than to play football, cricket during the day and Housey Housey (Bingo) in the NAAFI. I can not remember being over concerned about our situation, my attitude was "lets get at them", much to the amusement of the veterans, most of whom were several years older than me and knew exactly what was ahead. I soon learnt differently.

We moved out into the river on the 5 June at 9.15am and set sailed. I remember standing on the LCT loading ramp with others watching the progress of the boat out of the harbour and as we hit the open sea it began to get a bit rough. The LCT was open-topped, and we rigged up our ground sheets between the side of the LCT and the tanks to provide a shelter where we could sleep which was probably only about two or three feet wide. The tanks were chained to the side of the boat. The bridge and engine of the landing craft was at the rear, the rest of the boat was just a hollowed-out container on which the tanks had been loaded one ahead of the other.

As the day moved on, the sun came out and I spent quite a bit of time up on the narrow deck watching the dark blue sea foaming away around the boat. We were surrounded by a mass of shipping, a thrilling and tremendous sight. The war diaries show we passed the Straits of Dover in darkness that night, arriving off the coast of France just before dawn.

Although the war diaries for 4th CLY show some tanks went ashore in the early evening of 鈥淒鈥� Day, I with Recce troop landed on "Gold Beach" Arromanches at first light on D+1. I remember this so clearly, despite all the waterproofing we'd done; we came off the LCT through very shallow water onto a beautiful sandy beach. Once on the beach we blew off the waterproofing with the explosive charges arranged around the waterproofing and the exhaust pipe extension, an extra high extension to allow the tank to wade through deep water and still keep the engine running. I think the explosive charges were electrically detonated.

We all then stood round the tank smoking and drinking warm cocoa from the Comp rations. The cocoa came in self-heating tins with wick in the centre. You touched the wick with a lit cigarette 鈥� and schoouuff! Just like that! And you had a tin of warm cocoa in your hand. It had been a rough night and the cocoa tasted very good. We'd actually closed down in the tanks and started the engines in the early hours of the morning before dawn, and were provided with seasick bags. The tank engines were kept running after we had closed down and it had all been pretty awful. So we were very pleased to get off onto the beach, and out of the tank to stretch our legs. We stayed on the beach for a while before moving inland.

As we came off the landing craft the troop officers' tank broke down. He and his crew took over the tank I was in. When we got the tank going I drove it to the assembly area, but the tank wasn't serviceable and when the forward elements of the regiment moved on, I stayed with A2 echelon as one of the reserve crews.

During the first night in France I recall sleeping under a three-ton lorry with one of the other spare crewmembers. There was quite a bit of air activity going on, and quite a bit of AA fire, I remember thinking it was best under the lorry because of falling shrapnel. The chap I was with offered me a drink of Gin from his water bottle, I accepted, but never again, that was the first time I had ever tasted any form of spirit. Despite of the noise, once I dropped off I slept soundly until stand to at dawn.

Usually at dawn the Germans sent over single reconnaissance fighter planes which came in fast, hedge hopping, and all hell was let loose with the anti-aircraft fire, mostly multi barelled machine guns mounted on a Crusader hull. I remember one occasion laying on my back as one came over the hedge and banked steeply over the field, and I could clearly see the pilot laughing at the spectacle of people running in all directions below.

During the following days with A2 Echelon I took every opportunity to explore, we even had a day out in Bayeux in the first few days. There was a great deal of damage to property and farm stock, in particular, there were a lot of dead cows in the fields, and quite a few dead German soldiers who had not yet been buried. The smell was horrible, but one got used to it. I think!

As I remember it, the men of A2 Echelon and the spare crews moved around the invasion area in three-ton trucks following the progress of the regiment. There would be about ten men to a truck. We lived, slept, and ate as a group and were issued with Compo rations which came in wooden boxes containing tinned food enough for 14 men for one day. The Compo rations boxes contained everything necessary to maintain normal subsistence. All the food was tinned and was very good, but there was no bread, only hard tack, which we put in stews to make them palatable.

We made every effort to get fresh vegetables, and of course eggs were a great prize. On one occasion I went with a colleague searching for eggs, I remember going across fields, through hedges, and along lanes and arriving at a farmhouse which was intact, all the shutters were closed, and it seemed deserted. As we stood in the farm yard it was very quiet, when suddenly the shutters of one of the upstairs windows was flung open and a shout of English, English, (in French of course). The next thing we knew we were surrounded by the family, all shouting and laughing, in particular the children. I can't remember how many there were, but there was quite a few. It was all rather bewildering, The farmer produced a large bottle of drink and glasses, and I had my first taste of Calvados, (a local spirit). I took a big swig not knowing what it was, and I thought the top of my head was going to lift off. Anyway, we asked for eggs and got plenty. Then we asked about the Germans, and were told that they had been in the farmyard only a short while before us. The farmer thought we were the advance guard and that was the reason the Germans had gone. Needless to say it did not take us long to leave in the direction we had come. It appeared that we had wandered into or through the front line, which would of course been very fluid at that time. What we had done was very foolish to say the least. When I came to think about it in later years it made my toes curl up, our guardian angel was certainly watching over us that day, because it was common practice to mine and booby trap tracks and lanes, in particular gaps in hedges, apart from the risk of running into the enemy.

During one particular night soon after the landing, there had been a heavy air raid, and the next morning I together with an number of others went to look at an unexploded bomb in the next field about 500 yards away. It was a very large cylinder, which turned out to be a land mine, lying on its side in a small crater with a parachute attached. Anyway we stood around it for some time chatting, while some of the others removed the parachute before leaving it where it was. During the following night while I was sound asleep, there was an almighty bang. The land mine had gone off; it bounced me up in the air. It was clearly delayed action and could have gone off at any time. Again very lucky!

It was fortunate for me in a way that I was reserve crew, because on 13th June the regiment was leading the division in a break through the German lines and during a major battle in Villers-Bocage 鈥淩HQ鈥�, 鈥淎鈥� Squadron, and Recce Troop were destroyed. This led to the regiment being disbanded on the 28 July 1944 and amalgamated with the 3rd CLY to form the 3/4th CLY in an other division. And that's a story on its own.

Note. Extract from the war diaries of the 4 CLY

13.6.44Regiment moved at first light towards Villers Bocage 8157, 鈥淎鈥� Sqdn leading followed by 'A' Company Rifle Brigade. No opposition. 'A' Sqdn reached feature east of Villers Bocage map reference 8358. Column split at map reference 823578 by two Tiger tanks (Michael Wittman). RHQ brewed up completely. 'A' Sqdn continued to take up battle positions and 'B' Sqdn hold town. Unable to get through to 'A' Sqdn who were attacked at 10.00 by Tigers and infantry. They called for immediate assistance, but none could get through. At 10.30 'A' Sqdn reports position untenable, withdrawal impossible. At 10.35 all stations go off the air. 'B' Sqdn ordered to hold village at all cost. After 6 hours of street battles destroyed four Tigers and three mark IVs. At 16.00 'B' Sqdn reported village still held, but enemy infantry reported in area, map reference 820975, and an attack by the Queens failed to clear the opposition. The Commanding Officer 'The Viscount Cranley' was missing and Major Aird, 'B' Sqdn leader, took command. Major Aird, now acting CO ordered to withdraw Regiment to 780580, and this was carried out without further loss, while 'C' Sqdn covered the withdrawal. Vehicle casualties 20 Cromwells, 4 Firefly's, 3 Humber Scout cars, 3 Stuarts, and 1 Half Track.

Daniel Taylor tells the full story of this action, with many photographs taken by the Germans, in 鈥淰illers Bocage Through the Lens鈥�.

I can not remember the date, but one day, just prior to the amalgamation, I was ordered to collect my kit and jump on the back a Daimler Scout car and found myself transferred to "B" Squadron 1 RTR, who were, at that time probably in the area of Ellon.

I remember travelling for a long way on the back of the scout car through quite hilly countryside and was eventually dropped off in an orchard. The tank I join was a Cromwell designated 5 Able that is to say 鈥淎ble tank in 5 Troop, 鈥淏鈥� Squadron (Little Audrey). I was introduced to the tank commander, Sergeant Arthur Davies, the driver Trooper Johnny Firth, the co-driver Trooper Trevor Gundry, and the wireless-operator Corporal Taffy Glenton. I don't know how long Sergeant Davies or Tpr Gundry had been with the regiment, but both Johnny Firth and Taffy Glenton had come through the entire North African campaign, and there I was very keen and na茂ve, amongst fighting soldiers of the finest quality who accepted me at face value and made me welcome. I did not think to ask why 鈥�5 Able鈥� needed a gunner and I never found out. To the best of my knowledge, I and an officer who occupied the passenger seat in the scout car, were the only persons to be transferred to 1 RTR.

We moved off towards the end of the day and after travelling for some time, I became concerned that the main gun (75mm) wasn't loaded, and to show how naive and inexperienced I was I kept asking the tank commander over the intercom whether the gun should be loaded. It was pitch black outside, I could not see where we were going, nor did I know what we were going to do, but whatever we were going to do, I was most anxious that the gun should be loaded. He kept saying "No, no, not yet," almost patting me on the head to reassure me. I don't know what the other crewmembers must have thought.

As the days past we were in the thick of it and it didn't take me long to get the general picture of things. By this time the battle for Falaise was well developed and I recall crossing the plains in front Caen and seeing lots of knocked out Sherman's, and I recall the horrendous dust created by the tanks which covered us in a thick coat from head to foot.

My parting memory of France is after the battle for Faliase seeing the tremendous destruction of German vehicles equipment, dead men and horses, it was horrendous, many of the drivers and passengers were still in the vehicles. I just remember walking amongst the wreckage thinking "Poor Devils".

When we broke through at Faliase, we charging up through France at great speed chasing the Germans who were completely routed. The Cromwell tank was fitted with the Rolls-Royce Merlin (renamed Meteor) engine modified to run on ordinary petrol. The engine developed tremendous power, and although it was mechanically governed to 30 mph, it was not long before the mechanical governor wore off or was tampered with and it was quite common for the Cromwell to do 40 or 50 mph. This was how we progress until we crossed the Belgian border. We just roared through the towns and villages, meeting very little opposition. I spent most of the time actually sitting outside the tank with my back up against the turret.

On the 21 August 1944 after a hard day fighting, the regiment reached the outskirts of Lisieux. It was a beautiful evening, and I was in the leading Cromwell of our column. As we moving over the high ground overlooking the town, I heard the sound of church bells over the noise of the engine coming through the hatch. This was the first time I had heard church bells since I had been in France. I could see the town spread out below me through my periscope. I was very moved, it was clear the people of the town knew we were coming and were already celebrating. Almost every bell in the town must have been ringing even though it was still occupied by the Germans. Anyway we got half way down the hill and were ordered to turn back and leaguer for the night.

The next day we pushed on through Lisieux. By the 25 August we were in St Aubin, a considerable distance to the east, and after some heavy fighting in the area of Bethume where we had been separated from 22 Armoured Brigade, I think to assist 131 Infantry Brigade. By the 10 September we were just south of Ghent in Belgium where we caught up with 22-Armoured Brigade, which shows the speed of our advance.

Whenever we stopped, providing we were not actually in action, we would 'brewed up', that is make tea, which we did at every opportunity. To brew up we used a five-gallon oil drum with holes pierced round the side, half-filled with sand, and fitted with a wire handle. This was hung on the back of the tank below the exhaust together with an empty five-pound jam-tin, similarly fitted with a wire handle, and other utensils. To 鈥淏rew up鈥� we poured about half a gallon of petrol onto the sand in the oil drum, fill the jam tin with water and stand it on the petrol soaked sand, throw in a lit match and - Whooof! - boiling water in no time at all. While the water was boiling we threw in a handful of mixed dried milk, tea and sugar which came with the Compo rations, and a matchstick to remove the smoky flavour.

Our bedding-rolls were kept on the back of the tank, wrapped in a tarpaulin, against the exhaust shute where they got beautifully warm from the heat of the engine. The Commander and wireless operator travelled with their head and shoulders out of the hatches. If action was not imminent, I usually travelled on the back of the tank, and I think most of the gunners from the other tanks did the same. Sometimes the co-driver, who like me was unable to see where we were going except through our respective periscope or gun telescopes, would join me on the rear of the tank. We met scattered opposition en route in the form of roadblocks mostly trees or telegraph poles blown across the road, or groups of lost German infantry and dealt with it as it came. I can't remember any specific incidents.

Each tank crew lived as a family and fed themselves with the 14-day compo-rations which probably came up every three days or so, because there were five of us. As I remember the food was great, there was sealed tins of 50 cigarettes, jam, sausages, bacon, beans, bully beef, soups, sardines, and many different puddings. My favourite was treacle pudding.

During the advance through France into Belgium, on one occasion I remember we had been travelling at speed for some time and the steering brakes got so hot the driver simply couldn't go round one particular bend in the road, and not being able to stop, cut across the corner of a field and back onto the road again. As we roaring through the small towns and villages, people were standing by the roadside cheering and waving. By this time we had collected loads of tins of sardines stored in the lockers over the mud guards, and when I was sitting on the back of the tank I would throw tins of sardines to them by the hand full. I don't know if they were appreciated.

What struck me most as we crossing over the Belgian border was the similarity of the houses to those in England; they were houses that I was familiar with, the change from the houses in France was quite dramatic. To be fair, it was probably just the area [of France] through which we had travelled.

One of the things we did while travelling through France was to detour to take out the V2 sites. I remember seeing the rocket exhaust trails going up into the sky as we approached the sites.

The area in which we were fighting was now quite different. In the Normandy Bocage all the fighting, apart from that on the coast and around Caen, was by ambush. Obviously the attacking troops were at a disadvantage because they had to move forward. Poke their nose round corners where sitting a few yards up the road was a bloody big Tiger, Panther or a Self Propelled Gun, literally waiting for us and BANG! You had no chance. It only needed one shot from an enemy tank or SP, whereas we had to put multiple shots in the side or the rear of the Tigers or Panthers. We hadn't a hope in hell of penetrating the front of a Tiger with a 75mm gun. I do know that there was a demonstration soon after we landed where they put a captured Panther in a field and a "Firefly" 17 pounder, fired three armoured piecing shots at close range at the sloping front of the Panther. The first shot bounced off, the second cracked the front plate and bounced off, and the third went through. By that time, in action, the Panther would have finished off several tanks. They only needed one shot. The German gunners were excellent, no question about that, but then so indeed were we.

I clearly recall putting a single high explosive shot through the window of a house at 1200 yards. This was shortly after we had crossed the Belgian border, and were holding a station on a level crossing. The station was well outside the town it served and there were some isolated houses across open ground to our right and German troops were thought to be in the houses. It had been a battle royal to get the level crossing and there were bodies lying around all over the place. The tank commander must have seen some movement in one of the houses and ordered me to put a shot through the window. This I did and it went straight through the window. We didn't need to fire again because we knew that if there had been anyone in the house they weren't there any longer. That was the quality of the gunnery. It wasn't just me; any one of the other gunners could have done the same.

We were on the level crossing for two or three days and we stayed in the tank most of the time because of mortaring. The infantry copped it because of the mortaring. After we had been on the crossing for about 24 hours, it was mid-afternoon I think, suddenly two Germans soldiers emerge from the hedge and start walking across the field towards us. They must have been half a mile away when we spotted them; it was a huge field. They were walking straight towards us side by side and you could see they were laughing and joking with each other and were quite unaware of the situation. I assume they had been away on detachment from their unit and they were returning to the crossroads where their unit should be. Anyway, we pulled the tank forward and I got the order to fire, but I could not aim straight at them. As the cross-wires came on them, I went up a couple of degrees and fired the machine gun, and when they went to ground I traversed right and put a 75 shell into the ground several yards away from them. The infantry went after them and brought them in. There was no way I could have fired directly at them, we were all laughing and joking "Look at these two silly sods.鈥� They'd probably come from the rear without enquiring as to the current position. Evidently they had just walked through the front line and into no-man's-land. They were quite happy and didn't suspect a thing; you could see from their body language, that once the bullets whistled over their heads the body language was quite different. The war was finished for them and they were lucky to be alive.

Eventually we got the order to advance and we went over the level crossing and up the road, it was a cobbled road, towards the town ahead of us, probably about a mile ahead down this tree-lined road. We were about the third or fourth tank back. We were half way down the road when we got orders to return. As the tank did a neutral turn on the cobbles it slide to one side and the gun caught one of the trees forcing the turret round while the tank was trying to go the other way. There is a gear ring in the hull on which the turret is rotated by a gear wheel powered either by hydraulics or by a hand wheel. As the gun was forced around, there were sparks every where. I thought we'd been hit. I turned and grabbed the commander by the ankle and shouted "Bail out, bail out!鈥� It was all over in a few seconds but I really thought we had been hit, the instinct of a tankman is to get out if you've been hit. I don't think it actually ripped the teeth off the turret ring, because it didn't take the LAD (Light Aid Detachment) long to put it right.

On the 29 September 1944 the tank commander, (Sgt. Arthur Davies) and wireless operator (Corporal Taffy Glenton's) were mortally wounded by a bazooka strike. We had made a long march to take over a sector of the left flank protecting the narrow corridor to Arnham in the 鈥淢arket Garden鈥� battle. En route, the left front bogy of my tank sheared from its mountings; we were left behind, but the L.A.D coming up from the rear didn't take more than about an hour to unbolt the sheared mounting and replace the bogy, and off we went again.

When we caught up with the regiment, our squadron was in a field just short of Olland, a small village with houses spread thinly each side of the road between St.Oedenrode and s鈥橦ertogenbosch. This road was continually being cut by the Germans to harass the withdrawal from Arnham and our progress north to s鈥橦ertogenbosch. When we stopped we had just started to make a brew, and bang an "88" firing into the field, no question about that, you could never mistake an "88". My troop was immediately ordered to move out onto the road and locate the enemy who had once again cut the road. We were the leading tank with two Shermans following up. We knew the "88" was going to be hidden somewhere along the road and as we were passing through Olland we were concentrating hard on finding the gun before it found us and completely forgot about the ditches either side of the road. We had no infantry with us; it was a case of locate that gun. All of a sudden - Wallop! - We were bazookered. The Bazooka hit the radio operator's periscope. The Cromwell has a flat gradual sloping roof with two hatches, one for the commander and one for the wireless operator, two periscopes, and one for the operator and one for the gunner. The Bazooka hit the wireless-operators, periscope, blew it in, and as it turned out, mortally wounded him and the tank commander. The turret was full of smoke as I turned around saw the Arthur climbing out and I followed him onto the engine cover behind the turret. I could see Arthur was wounded, but didn't know how badly. The two Shermans behind us were firing their machine guns down the road making the Germans keep their heads down and the driver, Johnny Firth, reversed as fast as he could. You can always tell when a Cromwell is on the maximum of its governor because the engine backfires like mad.

We reversed about 50 yards or so and Johnny Firth did a neutral turn in the road, as he did so we clambered around the turret to keep it between us and the enemy, after about another 100 yards we stopped beside a house and dismounted. Taffy was lifted out of the turret and laid on a stretcher beside the house and I stood by him leaning against a tree (its surprising how clear a memory one has of such occasions) I think someone asked me if I was okay. All that happened to me was a black eye, I was looking through my telescope when the Bazooka hit and I was protected by the breech of the gun.

It wasn't long before, the Germans who had fired the Bazooka came trotting past us under escort, and they ran between Taffy Glenton and me. They had stuck their hands up and were taken prisoner. I learnt that Taffy Glenton and Arthur Davies had died from their wounds the following day. I was badly affected by the death of Taffy, I thought it was most unfair that he had gone through the entire North Africa campaign and I had been with him ever since I joined the tank, why him? In fact I kept his Italian ground sheet which was superior to the British ones; I kept it, with his name on it for years and years until it fell to bits. The gunner in one of the Shermans, a chap called Lofty Barrett, told me later that his heart went out to us when he saw the black smoke from the bazooka strike.

Johnny Firth and I took the tank to the LAD that evening where they replaced the periscope, the wireless operators half hatch, which had been blown off by the bazooka, and cleaned out the tank while we slept. The next day we reported back to the regiment and went straight into action with and a young officer, just out from the UK, as the tank commander, and a lance corporal wireless operator.

Soon after the young officer took command we were attacking in squadron strength line abreast, across a large open field towards some woodland and we came under heavy antitank fire. There was a small village to our right straddling a road running in the direction of the attack. I could see tanks being knocked out around me, but could not see a target to fire at. Almost as the firing commenced, Johnny Firth, who to my knowledge always drove with his visor open, could clearly see what was going on, and knowing that he had an inexperienced commander immediately veered to the right and drove behind a group of buildings in the village and stopped. I still had a clear view of the action going on to my left, the other tanks were being knocked out one after another and the crews were bailing out. I could see the hits from the AP shots, and each time there was a hit I saw the armoured plating glow, one tank did not burn straight away, and was hit repeatedly until it finally caught fire. In the meantime, the surviving crews were congregating around us. Some of them were wounded and we did what we could for them.

The German gunners had seen us disappear behind the houses, and tried to hit us through the buildings, I could see their shots coming through the brickwork just above ground level, but fortunately the shots went in front and behind us. We remained in that position for the rest of the day and well into the night, presumably ordered to do so, to hold the line. There was quite a battle going on in the village, and we gave supporting fire to the infantry. The surviving crews of the knocked out tanks made their way back on foot, except one who was badly hurt, and he remained on the back of my tank where I tend him when the action died down. For whatever reason we could not get him away and he remained with us until first light the following day. I often wonder if he survived. I hope so.

Soon after this action, the officer left, and Staff Sergeant Conky Harland took command of my tank as Troop Leader. Conky had served with the regiment since Alamein and had been awarded the Military Medal, and soon after taking command, was commissioned in the field. I was and still remain very impressed by Conky, as he approached our tank he introduced himself saying, 鈥淢y name is Harland, you can call me Conky. I shall always remember him with great affection.

I never experienced actual penetration by armoured piecing shot, but I imagine it must be pretty dramatic for those who survive it. I recall being hit by an armoured piecing shot somewhere in Belgium. We had just entered a small village when my troop, two Firefly鈥檚 and a Cromwell, were ordered to move across a large open field to get into a sunken road where it was known there was a large concentration of German troops. We crossed the field, line abreast with my tank in the centre, about half way across we came to a ditch which couldn't be see when we set out and there was no way we could get across. As we stopped to consider what to do, Conky Harland came up on the intercom "Traverse right; antitank gun." I swung the gun around, but all I could see was a line of hedges running along the side of the field. I said, "I can't see it, Conky." He said, "Go right a bit, right a bit.鈥� he was trying to sight down the gun barrel to line me up, but all I could see was the hedge. He was standing head and shoulders out of the turret hatch and was two or three feet higher than me. He could see over the hedge and could see the anti-tank gun being towed along the road, coming to support the troops in the sunken road. He then said "Never mind, it's gone." Next thing we knew, was the Sherman on our left coming on the air "I've been hit." Almost immediately the Sherman on our right said, "I've been hit." At that moment the driver, Johnny Firth, again without waiting for orders, reversed behind the knocked out Sherman on our right, and I'm convinced this saved my life, it was the experienced soldier acting immediately without command, and there we were - stuck. The anti-tank gun had got onto position and fired just two shots and each shot took out the gunner in the Shermans, straight through the gun mantle. He could not have been firing at less than 1000 or 1500 yards. He had gone for the big guns of the Shermans first, his gun sight must have gone right across me to get to the Sherman on our right and there was little doubt he was coming back for us.

Each regiment of tanks had a troop of 25 pdrs in support and we called up for smoke. Again the standard of gunnery was remarkable. The 25 pdrs put a ring of shells around us all from a map reference. Down came the smoke and the survivors from the other tanks climbed out of the ditch onto my tank and off we went. As we moved off through the smoke, we were hit. I didn't know we had been hit, but the driver felt the jolt and informed us on the intercom. Fortunately it didn't stopped us. When we got clear, we found the shot had hit low down on the right side by the engine compartment. It had gone through the last but one road wheel, through the first plate of armour, about one inch thick, hit one of the heavy suspension arms between the first sheet of armour plating and the engine compartment which stopped it. It showed the standard of gunnery, the German gunner fired just three shots and all three shots hit. The Germans knew what was going to happen when the smoke came down, and lined up the gun where they though we'd be and as soon as he heard us move off, he fired through the smoke as we came forward into the gap between the Sherman's. That gun saved a lot of German troops in that sunken road, for if we had got in among them it would have been mayhem.

The other incident was in Holland where the country roads were mostly elevated above the very wet and soft low ground. On this occasion we were off the road going across an open field, making hard work of the soft ground with other tanks round us. We got quarter of the way across the field and bellied down, that is the bottom of the tank was resting on the mud and the tracks just churn around getting us no where. The rest of the squadron went on and left us on our own. We got out to look at the situation, and suddenly there was a German soldier standing about 50 yards from us. We all jumped back in the tank and as I traverse the gun round on him I saw he had his hands up and was standing there, twisting the rings on his fingers. Conky Harland waved him forward, he obviously wanted to surrender and by twisting his rings he was telling us he was married. When he got to the tank he informed us he had some friends across the field in a ditch who also wanted to surrender. We said 鈥淥K go and get them." and were soon surrounded by thirty or forty Germans, all quite happy to surrender. Just think about the situation - there we were, just five of us out in the open, they could have taken us out without anyone knowing anything about it.

They were still carrying their weapons! We told them to put them in a pile, and they did so. They looked a sorry lot, I remember crouching on the back of the tank looking down at them, I don't know why, but acting instinctively, I went to the turret and got a tin of fifty cigarettes from my stockpile, unsealed it and lit a cigarette for myself and threw the tin to one of the German soldiers, indicating to him to pass them around. They'd given up, and we were all soldiers together.

We actually set foot into Germany during the winter at Broek Sittard just on the Belgium and German border. While we were in Broek Sittard, my Squadron, and "C" Squadron was dismounted to acted as static infantry. The tanks of "A" squadron were dug in on the front line overlooking the German border manned by their own crews during the day. During the night, each tank was manned by a single person on guard duty, one man in each tank in pitch-blackness looking out over open farmland. Each man did two hours guard duty, that was quite enough because of the intense cold. After two hours we had to wake up our own relief, and were very glad to do so even though by then we'd been issued with tank suits - a head-to-toe complete garment with a zip starting at each ankle right up to the neck with a hood, double-skinned with an oiled inner skin and totally waterproof. This was just before the Ardennes, and I clearly remember hearing a lot of traffic moving around in the area ahead of us.

We spent Christmas day in Broek Sittard and instead of feeding ourselves, all other ranks had their Christmas dinner, Turkey and Christmas Pudding and plenty of beer, served to them by the officers, as is the tradition. We all congregated in a large hall in the town and had a great time, all within sight of the front line. I don鈥檛 know if the Germans hear us singing, but then they were probably doing the same.

There was an other time when we were stood down just before we went to Broek Sittard, I can't remember where, except it was in Belgium. The line was static and perhaps it was again to give the infantry a rest, or perhaps there was just a shortage of infantry. Anyway, my troop was located in a barn and our task was to man a gun pit in the yard. We had been issued with palliasses which had to filled with straw from another location some distance away, and as we were walking back along the road with the filled palliasses there was a crack of a rifle shot passing over our heads from a wide open space to our right. Somebody had seen us walking along the road and decided to take a pot shot at us, we didn't hang about! Being dismounted, and not being a trained infantryman was a horrible experience.

On an other occasion, late in the afternoon after a very quite day, I was walking on my own along a wide firebreak in a forest, possibly in Germany, heavily rutted by track and wheeled vehicles. I had probably been sent on an errand to another tank and was returning to mine hopping from rut to rut, when all of a sudden there was a tremendous crack as large calibre shot passed close by and hit the ground some distance in front me followed by the boom of the gun. With high velocity shots 75mm or 88mm you always heard the crack of the projectile before the sound of the gun if you lived to tell the tale. Fortunately it was a solid shot and just ricocheted with a whine into the distance, whether it was intended for me or not, I don't know, but I didn't hang around. A possible scenario was that an enemy Tank, or SP on forward observation duties and had probably been there all day, seen very little and were thoroughly bored, perhaps they were about to withdraw to leaguer, saw me and decided to have a parting shot just to let us know they were still around.

An other incident was in Holland. We were the leading tank going down a very narrow country road, only room for one tank. There was a deep ditch on our left side with a small wood on our right, we had infantry with us, but they were pinned down by machine guns firing along the ditch. As we moved forward towards a left bend in the road to try and locate the machine guns, a Bazooka hit us. The bazooka past over the top of the turret and hit the water 鈥淛erry鈥� cans strapped on the mudguard beside the engine. Fortunately for us, because a Bazooka needs to hit solid armour to be effective, the explosion only burst the water cans and I was soaked with water which came in through the open turret hatch. The driver, Johnny Firth, being the experienced bloke he was, did not wait for a command, reversed out of range. The next minute a Bazooka hit the road in front of us, I saw it coming through my telescope but could not see from where. I fired my machine gun spraying the hedges in front, but with little effect because the bazookas were still coming at us. All of a sudden the driver said over the intercom, "I've just seen a steel helmet crossing the road."

The Germans had dug a trench across the road, cleared away the soil so it couldn't be seen and we knew this was where the bazookas were coming from. There is a small screw on the projectile of the 75mm shell which when turned through 900 will give a split second delay after impact to create an air burst. So using this facility I aimed at the road in front of the trench hoping to create an air burst over the trench, but the range was too short and the shell burst well beyond the trench and bazooka鈥檚 kept coming. The enemy was obviously firing blind, and had made the mistake of putting his head up too high. As the next shell was being loaded into gun by the wireless operator, the projectile separated from the case and although the casing and projectile came out easily, the breech was full of loose cordite. I remember so clearly as I reaching into the breech with my sleeve rolled up scraping out handfuls of cordite how silky smooth and warm the breech was. We kept trying to load the gun, but because of the cordite the shell just would not go fully home preventing the breechblock from closing. Eventually, in desperation I used an empty shell case to hammer the shell home, and CLONK! Up went the breech. I fired the next shot into a tree at the edge of the road above the trench and that did the trick no more bazookas鈥� came at us.

Everything then went quite and we stayed where we were for quite a while. Some time later Conky Harland and an infantry officer were standing on the back of our tank behind the turret conferring, when all of a sudden, I must have been looking up at the time, a small streak of blue colour appeared on the inside of the roof of the turret. A sniper had fired at them and the bullet had ricocheted off the turret between them. They did not stay there much longer.

By that time it was getting late. I didn't go to look in the trench, but one of the infantry blokes told me there was just one dead soldier in the trench. A very brave man when you come to think about it. He'd held up at a troop of tanks, possibly a Squadron or a Regiment of tanks behind us, allowing his colleagues to get away, knowing full well that he was unlikely to survive, for all I know he is still there with all his equipment.

November the 20th is Cambrai Day and was celebrated while we were in Holland near a place called Neerpelt. We were out of the line at that time and had taken over a caf茅. I got very drunk on rum, which was standard daily issue to tank crews, but on this occasion the rum was brought round in demijohns. I was so drunk that when I woke in the morning and given a cup of tea I just went out like a light again. I was in an alcoholic haze for two days.

An other place I remember well is Oosterhout a small town in Holland, 1RTR actually liberated Oosterhout. I was in the leading tank of our column, the Germans had retreated across the Wilhelmina canal, which runs through Oosterhout, and there were only snipers around. You could hear the rifle bullets cracking across the open hatches of the turret, but we could see nothing to fire at. When we came up to the Wilhelmina canal, the bridge was blown and we came to a stop, Conkey ordering me to fire a shell into the trees on the other side of the canal to create and airburst, this I did and the sniping stopped.

We stayed in Oosterhout for a week or more while the Polish Brigade came up on the other side of the canal. We were billeted in houses by a cemetery with the tanks lining the road. While we were there, although the occasional shell landed in the town, the locals made us very welcome and organised dances and church services for us right from day one. We were billeted in private houses and were made very welcome; we shared our compo rations and ate with the family. The front line was the canal and before the Polish Brigade arrived, we used to go into the trenches overlooking the canal and the open ground beyond just to stretch our legs. There was an abandoned German Spandau machine-gun in one of the trenches. I always had an ambition to fire a Spandau and I decided to have a go at what I thought were German troops moving around in the far distance. I lined up the sights of the gun as best I could, estimating the distance and Brrrr-Brrrr! The Spandau has a tremendous rate of fire. The shots must have been very close because they went to ground. The Polish Division came up the other side of the canal after a few days fighting a battle of their own and eventually we moved on.

In another incident, we were holding a village in Belgium on a ridge overlooking a valley to a ridge about two miles away. It was known that the enemy was in the valley and of course on the high ground. During the night an enemy fighting patrol came into the village and mixed it with our supporting infantry. It was very dark and close quarter fighting took place. There was little we could do to assist until the enemy patrol withdrew and as they did so my tank pulled out onto the road and I fired a long bust of Besa (Machine gun) down the road. As I finished, Conky said to me, "You've set something on fire, probably a hay stack". As it got light, sitting down the road about 500 yards, was a burnt out enemy armoured half-track personnel carrier. The survivors of the German patrol had a long walk home. Very satisfying.

On another occasion we were holding a crossroad in a pine forest. We had pulled out of leaguer that morning and moved on to the crossroad and had been there all day. It was a warm and beautiful afternoon, and I was outside the tank dosing on the engine hatch, when there was a clatter of equipment, and I looked up to see German soldier siding down the bank out of the forest behind us, run across the road and into the forest beyond. It was all over in a second and he was gone, clattering through the woods. I expect he had been cut off and was making his way back. A while later, probably half an hour, there was the sound of multiple mortars heading in our direction "Moaning Minis". We knew they were intended for us and jumped into the tank. I was first into the turret followed by the commander (Conky) and as I looked up and saw him closing the hatch (Something we rarely did) I saw the flash of the explosions on the padding of the lid. Then the tank just lifted up off the ground and slammed back down. We were all badly shaken, about 6 large calibre mortars had landed around us, fortunately none hit us. We moved back from the crossroads about 100 yards after that.

About half-hour later we got wireless information that an enemy tank was heading in our direction towards the crossroads and we pulled forward again to meet the threat. I remember seeking confirmation from the wireless operator that he had loaded armoured piecing shot in the gun. As I line up the 75mm on the brow of the hill ahead waiting for the enemy tank to appear, I saw a column of smoke; the 17 pounders (Firefly's) in the wood to our left had got him before he came over the brow of the hill. It was probably the enemy soldier who had run across the road earlier who had pin pointed our position on the cross roads.

After things had quietened down, we were able to go forward and have a look at the "tank". It was a SP gun escorted by a motorcycle and sidecar fitted with a machine gun. The SP had been hit about five times in the side by the 17 pounders and was burnt out, there were no survivors from the SP; there was blood on the road beside the motorcycle, but no sign of the motor cyclists. The smell of a burnt out armoured vehicle with bodies in it is something I will never forget.

I recall another incident with Conky Harland as commander. We were harassing enemy troops who were withdrawing across the German border from Holland in great haste. We were proceeding slowly along a village road by houses with front gardens and hedges on our right side. I was using the machine gun on the hedges to eliminate any Bazooka teams attempting to ambush us from behind the hedges. As we came to open ground beyond the houses, I saw a cart with about 20 enemy soldiers on it being pulled by two horses galloping furiously along a road running parallel to the road we were on, they were about half a mile away. They were clearly making for cover behind some houses and had about a quarter of a mile to go. I lined up the 75mm on the target, and I remember thinking I must hit the rear of the cart and not the horses. Quite illogical in a war situation, but nevertheless this was what was going through my mind, and I was aiming very carefully, so much so that Conky shouted at me over the intercom to get on with it before they disappeared behind the houses. When I fired the smoke from my gun temporally blinded me, and when the smoke cleared they had disappeared, but Johnny Firth told me I hit the rear of the cart just as it was disappearing out of sight. I got a lot of satisfaction from that! I think the others knew what I had done, because I had plenty of time to fire before I did.

In another incident, we were leagued in some woods, and all sitting around in a group, several tank crews talking and drinking tea. One of the group had found an unused Bazooka and was fiddling with it on the ground when suddenly he accidentally fired it. I remember well, I was quite close, the projectile careered along the ground and shot up in the air before falling to the ground again. It did not explode, presumably because the detonator had not struck anything solid. Very lucky!

In spring 1945 I was transferred to Brigade HQ as part of the defence troop of four tanks. Brigade HQ was always well up to the front lines. But it was really a rest cure.

When we were just outside Hamburg, billeted in Harburg. I remember I was asleep in a barn when the roar of engines woke me. I looked out of the window, it was early morning, and saw a German Staff car passing by with high-ranking German officers sitting in the back. It transpired that it was a delegation from Hamburg to negotiate the surrender of the city, and was part of the overall negotiations for the surrender of the German army facing the allies in that sector.

It wasn't long before the Germans agreed to the surrender of Hamburg and my troop of tanks had the job of escorting the Brigadier and other high-ranking officers into Hamburg over the bridges, which were still intact. The German troops hadn't yet surrendered and were fully armed, and there were 88mm guns at the street junctions. We proceeded into Hamburg town centre outside the town hall where the keys to the city were ceremonially handed over. There was a band playing, it was an extraordinary situation. There we were sitting in the middle of this big square with German troops and civilians all round us, and a band playing!

Hamburg was absolutely shattered. You could look at the city from afar and it appeared intact, but once you got close you saw most of the buildings were just shells. The whole city had been devastated by fire. After the surrender we moved into a hotel somewhere in the harbour area. It was Brigade HQ for the night. The next morning I took a skiff out on the harbour. I don't remember seeing any wrecked ships, strangely enough. My memory is purely of rowing around in a skiff.

After about two days, Brigade HQ received orders to move immediately to Berlin and take over the British Sector and we moved into billets on the outskirts of Berlin by a luxurious Sports and Social Club with a swimming pool. I can not now remember the district.

Although fraternisation with the German civilians was forbidden, immediately upon arrival in Berlin two friends and I lost no time smartening our selves up and heading into the city. It is reasonable to say we found what we were looking for and enjoyed ourselves very much, it was all play and no work.

While I was billeted at the Sports and Social Club I was taught to play tennis by the resident coach. I paid him with a pound of coffee, which was sent to me by my Aunt and Uncle in Newcastle. Cigarettes, chocolate and coffee were much sought after by the Germans, and most things could be obtained by bartering. The mark was practically worthless; I obtained a quality camera with 100 cigarettes.

I remained with Brigade HQ until my regiment 1 RTR came to Berlin on the 30 August 1945 and were stationed at Kladow Barracks. I was first employed as the Medical Officers Half-track Driver, and I soon learnt to assist the medical orderlies in minor treatments ordered by the Medical Officer, and I was so employed until the regiment left Berlin in 1946. While in Berlin, I became very attached to a young woman called Madeline. I was in a beer cellar with a crowd of friends and several young women all sitting around a large table. I was laughing and joking with my friends when one of the young women said "The scharz einz alles lachen" (The dark one is always laughing); referring to me, and I lost no time in joining her on the other side of the table. Over the months my association with Madeline became very serious, and I grew very fond of her. She shared an apartment with her brother, and told me that she lived in Cologne and had been trapped in Berlin by the Russians when she brought some money to her brother!

When the time came to move from Berlin to Detmold, I had every reason to think that I would be the only person travelling in the MO's half-track, which was very uncomfortable vehicle and that I would be the last vehicle in the column. With this knowledge, I arranged to meet Madeline on the autobahn, on the morning of the move with the intention of taking her out of Berlin through the Russian Sector. In the event, the MO's Corporal decided to travel with me, when I reached the appointed spot Madeline was waiting, but there was no way I could take her. Nevertheless, I stopped the vehicle, gathered several tins of cigarettes (each containing 50 cigarettes) and ran over to her explaining that I had an Corporal with me, and pushed the tins of cigarettes into her arms, and left with a heavy heart. There was nothing else I could do. It was just as well, because in retrospect, I am sure I would have been caught, and Court-martialled I have no idea what happened to her, but if she used the cigarettes wisely, she should have been able to get home to Cologne.

I was still employed as the MO's half-track driver with medical room duties for some months after arriving at Detmold before I changed to general duties, mostly lorry driving.

While at Detmold I, together with a Sergeant from REME, formed a Photographic Club for the use and instruction of other members of the unit. With the full support of the CO a building opposite the Guard Room at the Main Gate was convert to a photographic darkroom and studio for our benefit.

With the encouragement of the Regiment I took up Gliding at Barntrup. This was already a German Gliding Club requisitioned by the "Air Division Gliding Club", presumably 7th Armoured Division. The German instructors were retained, and my instructors were Herr Meyer and Herr Stehlel. By the 21 November 1946 I had qualified for the "A", "B" and "C" certificates and was issued with my licence by the "Royal Aero Club", arranged by the "Air Division Gliding Club".

I was 'demobbed' on the 19 April 1947.

After we crossed the Rhine and were pushing on hard to occupy the Baltic ports, one of the town where we met with some resistance was Rheine a small town in north Germany, We did not hang about, we just flattened the town and as we pulled away it was getting dark all I could see of the town was a sea of flames. Forty years later, my son Andrew was living and working in Rheine, While serving in the Army in Germany, he made many German friends and took up 鈥淐arting鈥�. He was enjoying himself and when he was due to return to England he decided to purchased his discharge when his friends promised to find him work in Rheine. He is married to a Polish girl and still lives in the area. Such is life!

In 1990, following a visit to my son Andrew, on the return journey with with my wife and grandson, I decided to visit Oosterhout. The town had grown considerably and I could not remember where I had been in 1944, and while I was studying a town map at an information point, a young man stopped his car to help; he must have seen the British registration on my car and thought we were lost. Any way when I explained I had been in the town in 1944 and I wanted to locate the street in which I had been billeted, he immediately escorted us to the area by the canal, and when he left us waving goodbye, he shouted "thank you for 1944."

While we were walking around the streets by the canal I was still having difficulty in remembering any familiar features. As we passed a man cleaning his windows of one of the houses, he asked if he could help. When I explained my purpose, he immediately invited us into his house where his wife gave us tea and cakes. We spent a couple of hours chatting with them, but unfortunately, they and the other occupants of the surrounding houses had not living in the street during the war and could not tell me what had happened to the original occupants. Many changes had been made to the houses. However, our host produced photographs of the Polish Brigade who had remained in the area after we left, and the town had adopted them. The Polish Brigade was billeted there for the rest of the war. I assume they did not go into Germany for political reasons?

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