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When Allied troops landed in Normandy on 6 June 1944 the Samstrulewas in Staten Island, New York, loading 32-ton Sherman tanks. Everyone on board felt certain they would go to Normandy, but this proved not to be the case. The ship returned instead to the Mediterranean, to the port of Naples, where it had been some weeks previously.

Once the tanks were unloaded, hundreds of workmen came on board. These were men from the French 1st Army under General Le Clerc – the Free French, as they were called. It took them a couple of weeks to construct crude accommodation in the ship’s holds so that the Samstrulemight carry troops.

Fluent French

At that time I could speak French with a reasonable degree of fluency. It had been my best subject at Pinner County Grammar School, where I had been educated. My linguistic proficiency was due in no small measure to my teacher, Miss Molly Purchase, a petite and pretty girl in her early 20s, with whom I was infatuated. In an effort to please her I worked tremendously hard to gain good marks. Miss Purchase joined the army as an interpreter before I left school, and I was never to see her again.

As a result of my reasonably fluent French, I was called upon to act as interpreter between the lieutenant colonel in charge of the French battalion and Captain ‘Mouldy’ Jones. The colonel had at his disposal an American jeep, which he allowed the captain to use on occasion. The jeep driver was a young, very young, French soldier, and he and I became firm friends.

Looking for liquor

On the night before the Samstrulewas due to sail, it was extremely quiet on board. Everyone knew, although it was not official until the next morning, that we were bound for southern France.

At some point during the evening, Snowdon, the second officer, came looking for me. ‘You know the jeep driver pretty well,’ he said. ‘Go and find him, then see if you find a liquor store and buy a couple of bottles of wine – and be quick about it.’ He thrust some Italian lire into my hand, and I went off in search of my friend. When I found him, he was more than willing to have an excuse to get off the ship, even for such a short time.

Liquor from a speakeasy

We set off at high speed for the centre of Naples. Within a minute or two we’d found a speakeasy, and I jumped out to make the necessary purchase. When I returned to the vehicle, the driver switched on the ignition and pressed the starter, but nothing happened.

He tried the same procedure again – and again and again. Still nothing. He became highly agitated and leapt out of the jeep and started to pound the bonnet in frustration. Gesticulating wildly, he became defensive, using obscene language to explain how he was the driver, not a mechanic.

‘What’s the trouble, buddy?’

I was trying to think rationally, but with an excited Frenchman close to hysteria, it was proving difficult. We were expected back at the ship and couldn’t afford to hang about. Our disappearance would be noticed, and we’d be in trouble. Of course, we already were so.

‘What’s the trouble, buddy?’ I heard an American voice behind me ask reassuringly. I turned round and came face to face with an American master sergeant. He was a big man in every respect, close to six foot and quite fat.

I explained the situation. ‘Probably the filter,’ he pronounced. ‘Nobody ever gets round to cleaning them.’ He undid his jacket, and, there, around his waist, I was amazed to see a belt with a full set of spanners and other tools.

Rolling his sleeves up

He lifted the bonnet and set to work. First he removed the filter and inspected it. ‘Well,’ he drawled, ‘it is dirty, but it doesn't look bad enough to stall the engine.’ He cleaned the filter with his handkerchief and replaced it.

The engine still wouldn’t start. He informed us, in his slow, deep drawl, that it was the other filter, and announced, ominously, ‘That one ain’t so easy to get at.’ None the less, he disappeared again under the jeep. When he re-emerged his face smudged with oil and his uniform badly stained. This time, though, when the driver pressed the starter button, the engine roared into life.

No time for thanks

I didn’t even have time to thank him. Just as I started to do so the jumpy, anxious driver, desperate to return to the ship, started to drive off. I had literally to jump into the passenger seat to avoid being left behind.

When we got to the dock, we found a very worried Snowdon pacing the deck. I quickly explained what had happened, but Snowdon said nothing in response. I’m not sure whether or not he believed me.

Anchored near Camel beach

The following morning the Samstrule set sail for the Bay of Fréjus, near the little port of San Raphael. The beachheads were not given names, as they had been in Normandy, but simply letters. The Samstrule anchored at Camel beach (the letter C). We could hear the sound of distant gunfire as the troops disembarked, but there was no real resistance on that bright and sunny day.

We were surprised when the Samstrule was ordered to remain at anchor. The following morning, however, hundreds of German prisoners of war were ferried out to the waiting ship to be transferred to Italy.

During the return journey to Naples, where they would be taken off the ship, the POWs were assembled on the foredeck. Stark naked, they had the fire hoses turned on them, apparently, at their own request. This was part of a longed-for de-lousing operation.

Read Samstrule: Christmas 1944 and Samstrule: Its Tragic Outcome, also by Warwick library user 3.

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