大象传媒

Chapter 15

Pickings From 鈥淢arket Garden"

After our refreshing and well-deserved rest at Fourges we were chosen as the leading infantry division in the daring drive north into Holland. Our route orders were as follows:-
1. Reg. S.P. 528781.2. Div. S.P.
X-Roads 528858. Dis. Pt. DIENST. Route. ECOS 5380- X-Roads 528858 THILLIERS EN VEXIN R 58 -BEAUVAIS M90. BRETUIL No.2. -MORSEUIL N.24. WHARFUSEE ABANGOORT X-Roads 35 ALBRET N.36 BAPAUME N.57 CAMBRAI N.37 --VALENCIENNES J.OO -MONS J.31 -BRAIN LE COMPTE J.42 -NIVELLES J.52. -Rd. Junc. 6439 X-Roads J.7052 LOUVAIN J.85. -DIENST. 30 m.i.2h. Density 40 v.t.m.
It was dated 14 Sep 44.
It was a long, hard, dusty drive in blazing heat, and as I sat in the confined space of the passenger compartment with my left arm almost touching the engine section, I was sweltered. To avoid being cooked or melted I laid an entrenching tool across the top of the compartment with one end resting on the top of the engine section and the other on the side of the carrier, and sat on that with my feet resting on the seat. It was not the most comfortable of positions but it did give me the benefit of the carrier's slipstream.
Tired, perspiring and covered with dust we at last entered Louvain on our way to Dienst and were greeted like conquering heroes by the population. Crowds greeted us everywhere, milling around us and shouting and cheering as they crowded round our vehicles to 3hake us by the hand and to hug and kiss us. I heard on my radio one excited signaller crying, "I've never known anything like it in my life. We've been kissed by everybody. We can't move for them. I wish we could stay here."
I don't know who he was, nor who he was supposed to be talking to, but I fully agreed with his comments.
A pretty young lady pressed some small souvenirs, including a strip of ribbon the colours of the Belgian flag, into my hand. I had to indicate by signs that she was in danger of getting run over, as her feet were too near to the steel track of the carrier for safety. Apples and other fruit were thrown at us and gratefully accepted, but what I quietly muttered to myself when a big green apple that I failed to catch split my lip did nothing for Anglo-Belgian relations.
We camped the night in a field just outside Mons, and then continued our journey northwards, to the Escaut Canal, on the Dutch-Belgian border. We were in action there when Operation Market Garden was first made known to us. Airborne troops were to be dropped at Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem to secure the five bridges essential to the success of the operation. We in XXX Corps were to break out from our positions, fight our way up to Arnhem and then push right on up to the Zuider Zee, thus cutting Holland in two and securing the gateway to Northern Germany.
"It's going to be tough, chaps," Captain Woodward told us quietly, after briefly outlining the plan to us as we stood beside the carrier waiting the order to move. He wasn't exaggerating!
One long main road led to Arnhem. To the right of it was the whole of Germany. To the left of it, between us and the sea, were 150,000 German troops. That main road was the only direct route to Arnhem, and Arnhem was sixty-four miles behind the front line. We were sticking our necks right out.
The attack began with an almost frightening barrage as over three hundred guns of XXX Corps concentrated their fire on an area one mile wide and five miles deep. The leading armoured units moved forward and as they lumbered up the road the artillery fire moved forward to remain the same distance ahead of them. It was the well known ' creeping barrage.
The breakout began at 14.14 hours and we were scheduled to reach Eindhoven in two hours. We got there at nightfall. German opposition had seen to that. Their concealed guns knocked out several of our leading tanks, which blocked the road and had to be cleared away by bulldozers before we could advance further. We had come to a full stop almost before we had begun.
Roger Dog followed the armoured columns up what became known as "Hell's Highway" towards Nijmegen, which we succeeded in reaching on 21st September. As we reached the road bridge over the River Waal we had orders to strike north up the main road to Arnhem, and Roger Dog had just crossed over the bridge and on to solid road again when the column came to a halt. One of the vehicles close behind Roger Dog was our own Battery three-tonner, Ammo 1, with the "Quarter Bloke," B.Q.M.S. "Ginger"Reece, and his driver, Bombardier Billy Blythe. They were still on the bridge, which was being heavily shelled and mortared. Ginger stuck his startled face out of his cab window and yelled at the top of his voice, at no one in particular, "For Christ's sake hurry up and get off this bloody bridge. I'm sitting on a load of ammo." His truck was fully loaded with 25-pounder shells!
The 1st. Airborne Division, who had been dropped on the north bank of the River Lek west of Arnhem, were now in urgent need of supplies, and an armoured relief column was detached to drive by side roads through ten miles of enemy-held fenland in an effort to reach the Lek with the supplies. In spite of considerable opposition from tanks, they succeeded in reaching the river. The vital contact was made, but the night effort to deliver the supplies failed.
Very bitter fighting developed. We became involved in difficult fighting over open boggy country, with poor communications, on the "island" north of Nijmegen. A full brigade attempt to reach the Lek met with considerable opposition around Elst, with Tiger and Panther tanks and 88mm guns attacking us from the front and the flanks. Captain Woodward, Nobby and I were with a detachment of Worcesters in an orchard on the outskirts of Elst when a 15 cwt truck of the Worcesters came bowling through the gateway and bumped across the grass to where a group of men stood waiting. As it passed us we saw the studded boots of the dead men in it. The rest of their bodies were covered with army blankets.
"Here you are, sarge. Another bunch of stiffs for you," the driver called out as he pulled up close to the group. The 'stiffs' were some of his own mates who had been alive only half an hour before. The orchard proved to be of no use to us as an observation post so we clambered into Roger Dog and drove out of the orchard, turned left at the gate, and headed towards Elst. There was a right-hand bend not far along the road and as we swung round it we were confronted by something that made us gasp with alarm. Right in front of us in the middle of the road was a Tiger tank.
Nobby trod on the brakes so suddenly that the rear end of the carrier rose up sharply as if trying to overtake the front end, and for a fraction it seemed to be suspended there, then it fell back with a bump and rocked to and fro once or twice before becoming still. For one awful moment we thought our time had come and we would be blasted out of existence by the tank's 88mm gun, until we saw, to our heartfelt relief, that it was pointing the other way. We had come up behind it.
In an instant, and without stopping to think, Nobby and I leapt out of our seats, sprinted across the intervening few yards, and leapt on to the back of the tank. Nobby thrust the muzzle of his Sten gun into the turret the moment I yanked the hatch open. Then his look of grim determination turned to one of complete amazement. "It's empty. There's nobody in it," he said, and dropped down inside while I kept watch in case the crew should be in the vicinity. When he emerged he was still surprised. "It's a new one. It's only got forty-five kilometers on the clock. It must have been driven from the nearest railhead and then abandoned."
Not to have captured it 'live' was something of a disappointment, but we could always tell our mates that we had captured a Tiger tank single-handed!
The high level of activity in the area compelled us to remain there, because we did not know what the outcome might be nor who might require artillery support. Using the tank for cover we kept a close watch on the road and the village. To our immediate left stood a large, detached, square- built house with rhododendrons in the front garden and iron railings round the garden. A sudden explosion set the rhododendrons swaying and rustling as if a strong breeze had disturbed them. The unexpectedness of the explosion startled us, and just for a moment we hesitated, uncertain of our next move, then, leaving the cover of the tank, we went to investigate. A convenient gap where the railings were bent enabled us to squeeze through and we walked quickly but carefully through the bushes. In the open space in front of the house was one of our anti-tank guns with its crew crouched behind it. We heaved sighs of relief. "Blimey, sarge, you might have warned us,鈥� said Nobby. "We thought we were being got at."
The sergeant grinned good-humouredly and went on giving his orders to his crew, and we, relieved at not being a target for enemy guns returned to our position behind the tank and resumed our watch on the village. The Germans had been using the church tower as an observation post but someone had put a shell hole halfway up it and forced them to evacuate it. They could still be in the vicinity for all we knew.
A small group of people appeared unexpectedly from the direction of Elst and hurried towards us, and as they drew nearer we saw there were about ten of them, ranging in age from young children to pensioners. They were no more than twenty yards from us when a deafening salvo of gunfire came from so close at hand we could only stare in amazement and disbelief in the direction from which it had come. We did not know where the guns were, nor whose they were. The refugees flung themselves, crying and whimpering, into a ditch at the side of the road and lay there, terrified.
Then we saw them. One Battery of guns, half hidden among the trees beyond the field to our right. The gunners wore battledress, and the guns were our own 25-pounders. Somehow, they had managed to push right forward and catch up with the infantry. How they came to be there we neither knew nor cared. Their presence was as welcome as it was unexpected.
I stepped from behind the tank and strode quickly along the road to where the refugees lay huddled in the ditch and beckoned to them to come to me. "It's O.K. Englisher cannon," I shouted, pointing to where the guns were hidden. "Englisher cannon," I repeated.
One by one they rose slowly to their feet, looking uncertainly in the direction of the guns. Another salvo battered our eardrums, and they flinched and started crying afresh and seemed about to dive into the ditch again. I stood where I was, beckoning them on. It seemed to reassure them and they came hesitantly towards me. I shepherded them behind the tank. They were all crying still, but whether from fear or relief we knew not. The older men and women squeezed our hands and held on to us as if their safety depended on their not letting go; the children clung to our legs as though they idolised us; and the young women flung their arms around our necks and kissed us as though we were long-lost dear ones. When they were all more or less composed and had dried their eyes one of the younger women spoke. Waalborg?" she asked. Waalborg?"
Waalborg was a town about three miles away, and we had heard on the B.B.C. Home Service that British and Canadian troops had captured it only that morning and that it was now firmly in our hands.
I nodded. "English in Waalborg," I told her. "English and Canadian." There was more squeezing and kissing, then they set off towards Waalborg. I hope they made it.

The road that ran along the top of the dyke was bordered on either side with three wires threaded through concrete: posts. I lay on the grassy slope of the dyke with the Bren gun placed close to one of the posts and trained across the road towards the wooded slope across the river. Occasionally, a camouflaged figure would appear moving stealthily about amongst the undergrowth, but as it was difficult to tell whether it was British or German I had to withhold my fire.
I had lain there for a considerable time when pounding footsteps somewhere behind me caused me to glance quickly round. An infantryman was running with laboured strides towards me and when he drew level he flung himself onto the ground, breathing heavily.
Thank God I've found you," he gasped, when he had recovered his breath sufficiently to speak. "I thought you'd all got lost."
He lay with his head resting on his folded arms as he fought to regain cmplete control of his breath. When he had recovered sufficiently to speak normally he glanced towards me and seemed about to ask me something when he noticed my regimental shoulder flash. His mouth sagged open. "Royal Artillery?" he queried, with amazement. "I thought you were Worcesters. What the hell are you doing up here?"
"Waiting for you. What kept you?鈥� I could not help but be amused at his surprise.
"Trying to find our lot. They must have got lost. Any idea where they are?"
"If it's "B" Company you want, they're just over there," I told him, jerking my thumb to the right. "Mind how you go, though. Jerry's just across the river, so keep your head down."
He crawled backwards down the slope and walked away in the direction I had indicated, taking care to keep well below the level of the road and shaking his head in disbelief, still firmly convinced he was in the right place and that it was the rest of "B" Company that was lost!

continued in 15b

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