大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Roger Marsh of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Harry Wood and has been added to the site with the author's permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

A Note of Explanation

On Tuesday, May 03, 2005 we received the following e-mail.

鈥淧lease find attached the memoirs written by my father about his experience during world war two.
For many years my father would never speak about the war, but around the time of the 50th anniversary he began to get flashbacks and was advised to write about his experiences. He wrote it down very quickly in longhand and over a period of time my wife typed it up and put it in some sort of order. Over the last few years a lot more memories have come to light and it would have been nice to expand on this document. Unfortunately my father is now registered blind and has been unable to add any more.鈥�
Steven T. Wood

We have placed Harry Wood鈥檚 memoirs on the 大象传媒 WW2 People鈥檚 War website electronic archive in 12 parts. We have tried wherever possible to keep the original format of the memoirs but minor changes have been made, but only where necessary. In the main each part corresponds to one of the 7 chapters and the epilogue of the memoirs. However, because of the constraints with regard to the 3,000 word limit that can be included in each story, Chapters 1, & 7 have each had to be made into two parts and referenced 鈥榓鈥� for the first part of the chapter and 鈥榖鈥� for the second part. Chapter 6 has had to be made into three parts and referenced 鈥榓鈥� for the first part of the chapter, 鈥榖鈥� for the second part and 鈥榗鈥� for the third part.

The following contents list show the 大象传媒 WW2 People鈥檚 War website reference number given to each of the stories:

Chapter 1a A4005776
Chapter 1b A4005866
Chapter 2 A4005884
Chapter 3 A4005910
Chapter 4 A4005956
Chapter 5 A4005974
Chapter 6a A4005983
Chapter 6b A4006009
Chapter 6c A4006027
Chapter 7a A4006036
Chapter 7b A4006054
Epilogue A4006090

Volunteer Facilitator (RM)

May 04, 2004

MEMOIRS OF A GUNNER
BY
HARRY WOOD

Prologue
The war really started for me, as dawn broke over the Clyde at Gourock in May 1942. I stood, with my kit bag and full equipment, alongside a thousand or so of re-enforcement鈥檚, all artillerymen, having left Nottingham by troop-train 12 hours earlier. We didn鈥檛 have a clue as to our destination but it had to be somewhere warm, as our tropical kit would testify.

Small tenders were tied up alongside the quay and once aboard, we questioned the crew as to the identity of the huge grey painted liners, lying at anchor.
鈥淭hat one鈥檚 the Aquitania,鈥� a crew member pointed out, 鈥渂ut you鈥檙e not going on her鈥�.
In a short space of time, through the mist rose the huge bulk of the largest vessel afloat - The Queen Mary. Everyone knew that the Queen Mary had been in New York Harbour since the outbreak of the war, but she was here now, having led a large convoy of troop ships bringing the first American servicemen to Europe. We had heard on the radio that they had landed at Londonderry, Northern Ireland.

For two days the ship filled up with stores, fuel etc. and about 7,000 men wandered around admiring the peacetime luxury of this great ship. The first class dining hall had long tables fitted for 32 diners, the swimming pool was covered over and used by the officers. There was a cinema, banks, shops, large hairdressers, hospital, and the grandest staircase you ever saw.

Chapter 1a
We didn鈥檛 see the shores of Scotland disappear over the horizon. Instead there was the throb of engines and the slight rocking of the ship, and under cover of darkness the blacked out pride of the Cunard Line made for the open sea.

I was on mess duty the next day, which meant collecting, rations for 32 men at breakfast, my helper being a little bald headed fellow from Liverpool called
Johnny Bull. The rations were good. Plenty of eggs, bacon, porridge and white bread baked aboard. Only 20 came down for breakfast, seasickness having claimed the other 12. Still, there was more for us, strange but soldiers always seem to be such hungry devils.

The one drawback was the lack of tea, it was coffee every meal. After clearing up, it was the next shifts' turn to have their breakfast and I went on deck for a breather. The sea was getting rougher now and as the 鈥楳ary鈥� took a zigzag course, the huge propellers would sometimes be exposed causing a shudder the length and breadth of the ship. We had an escort of four naval vessels; three destroyers and a cruiser, two on each side. In the rough conditions the waves seemed to cover the destroyers from stem to stern but like corks they kept bobbing up each time.

The weather got worse, ropes fastened down anything that was moveable and even fewer men came down for breakfast the next day. Whilst clearing up, I emptied everything into one dish and Johnny was bent down washing the plates in a dixie of hot water. I had just reached the top of the table, having emptied the leftovers in a dish, when the ship gave a heavy roll and I watched, fascinated, as the slop dish sailed to the end of the table where Johnny Bull鈥檚 baldhead was bobbing industriously up and down. All right, I should have warned him but the words didn鈥檛 come and as the dish hit the edge of the table, Johnny, I鈥檓 afraid, copped the lot on his bald head. Everyone fell about laughing, but take away the swear words and Johnny didn鈥檛 say a thing.
A day or two later, the escorts left us. We were now on our own, nothing but water in every direction and at the back of everyone鈥檚 mind were U-boats.

The crew allayed our fears by saying she was too fast for subs to catch and by changing course all the time they could never line their sights on her in order to use a tin-fish.

To relieve the monotony, we had lectures on how to behave in tropical countries. Don鈥檛 drink local water and if buying fruit make sure the fruit is dipped in Condy鈥檚 fluid before eating. No one would be allowed to report sick with sunburn, this would be treated as a self inflicted wound and liable to court-martial.

Artillerymen had taken over the anti-aircraft responsibility with shifts of four hours on and eight hours off but standing down when darkness arrived. The guns were American machine guns normally fitted in Twin Merlins and Oerliken cannons. They looked fearsome enough, although no one gave us any instructions; we had to find out by trial and error. From my bunk down below, the journey to the gun position by the first huge funnel took 20 minutes, but the sea was calmer, the weather warmer, and the view quite exhilarating.

There was no shade in the open gun turret and I could feel my short clad legs getting burnt. That night I could hardly sleep, and climbed with difficulty to the gun position, thankful that I was on the dawn shift for four hours. Blisters now appeared down the front of my legs and as a method of relief I filled the bath with salt water and sat for hours with my legs dangling in the cool water. For two nights this was the position I took up, dozing off the best I could.

We sailed on, seemingly the only ship in sight, our boredom being relieved by the flying fish and schools of porpoises. At last a plane, with its flashing Aldis
Lamp; we knew it was one of ours, a Catalina Flying Boat. We were to be escorted to Freetown on the west coast of Africa. It was brutally hot, our shirts clung to our bodies like dishcloths, but the ship needed oil and water, and at least there was something else to look at. Dark green jungle, almost to the waters edge, small boys diving for coins thrown down from the decks above, and the inevitable 鈥榖um鈥� boats showing their wares as they rowed around the ship. I remember queuing for two hours to purchase one can of beer at the canteen, and after drinking it, feeling the sweat in the humidity below decks soak my khaki drill once more.

At least the ack-ack had been stood down, so two days gave me a little relief before the ship sailed and once more the painful journey to the top decks began. The sea was quite calm, and what a glorious sight one morning, as far in the distance we saw the majestic sight of Table Mountain.

All troop convoys called at Cape Town or Durban, and the soldiers had two or three days to exercise, swim and probably see a film. Most convoys took three months to reach their destination but ours was to be the fastest trip of all, none of us at the time realising the urgency of our journey. We only stayed a few hours, and then it was round the corner to Simonstown Naval Bases where a boom net was placed behind the ship as protection. No shore leave at all.

Re-fuelled, we were off again sailing up the east coast of Africa, and now our destination became clear, the Middle East.

One of the lads on my shift was called Wilky, a reservist called back to the
colours. It was obvious by the look of his face that he had done a bit of boxing. Bent nose, cauliflower ear, almost bald and the fact that he didn鈥檛 smile much gave him a fearsome appearance. Three hundred yanks had remained on board. They were airforce technicians destined for Persia, we were told. Their officer arranged for twelve of their lads to box twelve of our boys at various weights. A ring was rigged up on deck and Wilky was entered as a middleweight. The yanks came on with proper boxing boots, golden silk shorts and vests, looking really professional. Our lads wore black canvass slippers, army socks and navy blue PT shorts. Anyhow we won every contest. Wilky waited until his man had done dancing around, then stepped in and flattened his opponent with one punch.

The ships padre also arranged a Whist drive, entrance 6d (sixpence; 2 陆 p). Only the first four hundred could play as they didn鈥檛 have enough packs of cards, so managed to get a seat and sat down, prepared to pass a few hours on. The cards I had dealt me were unbelievable. Four times I took the whole thirteen tricks and at the end of the session, the only time in my life I had won a whist drive, my prize was 拢3. What happened to the rest of the money, I don鈥檛 know?

We were now entering the Red Sea, noticing the flashing lighthouses of the Twelve Apostles as I looked at the hills on the distant horizon. I thought of the times, which seemed so long ago, of my cycling club days. Two dozen of us, all teenage lads, enjoying our weekend rides in hills and dales around Sheffield. Conscription had been brought in for twenty year olds, and we all had an idea that war was on its way. Many of us joined the Territorials in order to pick the regiment of our choice, no one fancied the infantry. Already my best pal had been killed in the early fighting in France, the vehicle he was riding in being blown up by a land mine. The drill hall wasn鈥檛 far from where I lived and I remember excitedly telling dad that I had joined the TA. He didn鈥檛 speak right away, and then very slowly he said 鈥淗aven鈥檛 you seen enough of me lad?鈥�

I looked at his face as if seeing it for the first time. An eye patch covering an eye socket that was too big for a glass eye, a nose built from two of his ribs, and parts of his forehead in squares where a surgeon had taken nearly three years to rebuild his shattered face, a legacy of the war to end all wars. I wanted to put my arms around him, but lads don鈥檛 do that, do they?

Pr-BR

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