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This story was submitted to the People's War site by CSV/´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Nottingham on behalf of Mr Derrick Randall with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

For Operation ‘MARKET GARDEN’ there was not enough glider space for my medical section, so I hitched a lift for myself with two medical panniers and a precious ‘Tilly’ pressure lamp in an Artillery jeep loaded in a Horsa glider. The rest of my team were in the ‘seaborne tail’

We set out from Tarrant Rushden Airfield on Sunday morning, 17th September as part of the first lift. After a pretty quiet flight we landed about 1330 hrs and I established a temporary aid post, i.e my panniers and myself, by some bushes on the edge of the Landing Zone. An interesting casualty was a sgt from my own anti tank unit. On landing, his Hamilcar glider had somersaulted and he had been doubled up under his 17 pounder. I was fairly sure that he had sustained a crush fracture of a lumbar vertebra.

The standard treatment of this at that time was total immobilization in a full length body plaster. Obviously this was out of the question. As he had manages to get himself over to me and seemed to be reasonably comfortable, I suggested that he ‘carried on very gently with minimal activity’. Naïve perhaps, in view of subsequent events! I was very relieved when a long time later in England I heard that he had done very well! It is interesting that such ‘mobilisation’ treatment became standard some years later!

Next morning when Div HQ moved away from the Landing Zone, I also moved and later that day joined them in the new HQ set up in the Hartenstein Hotel. I set up my regimental aid post in a room in the basement, which had reasonably easy access, even though it was down a few steps. Fortunately I was able to board up the window and for a short time we had electric light, but very soon my precious Tilly lamp became invaluable.

Soon after I set up, some casualties started to come in, a few at first but rapidly increasing later. Partly as the battle hotted up, and partly as the perimeter tightened and other medical aid became more limited. I had no orderly of my own but the assistant director of medical services loaned me a cpl from his office. The casualties were from all types of small arms, mortar and shellfire. Treatment was basically primary care. Morphine as necessary, control of bleeding and treatment of wounds by cleaning and application of field or shell dressings with a splintage as required. Where this was necessary, it was of the first aid variety, for I carried no custom-made splints. Above all we were able to give a little comfort and rest. Tea was given fairly regularly and thankfully received. This and food, when available was donated by various units around.

Non-surgical casualties were virtually non-existent. One, I remember, was a soldier with convulsions, like epilepsy, which was attributed by his companion to some ‘plastic explosive that had fallen in his tea!’ Recovery was quick and complete. Within an hour or two he was back on duty.

I had no psychiatric casualties. Only later in the battle we had a few cases of true ‘battle exhaustion’, all recovered when allowed 12 hours or more continuous sleep. They found no problem with this despite the noise.
At first we were able to evacuate those casualties requiring operation or other treatment to the dressing station, now established at the Hotel Schoonhord. This was done by walking or by jeep with the patients either sitting or lashed onto stretchers that were fixed on the top of a stripped jeep. It sounds pretty primitive but it really worked very well.

The situation often appeared to be fluid and one day my corporal set out with some casualties when he was unexpectedly stopped by a very smart SS lieutenant and asked in excellent English where he was going. The cpl replied he was taking casualties to the dressing station and hoped that he would be allowed to proceed. The SS officer replied ‘If I do I suppose you will give away my position’. The corporal replied ‘Yes Sir’. After a pause the officer told him to ‘carry on’.

After a few days the Germans occupied the dressing station itself and evacuation of casualties became impossible, so I had to hold them, wherever I could in the basement of the Hartenstein. By this time General Urquart and his staff had to move to the basement and as everywhere filled with casualties, work at HQ became very difficult! Though they were very tolerant, as the congestion increased it became even more important to find somewhere else for the casualties.
We managed to ‘evacuate’ them to various houses nearby where they were looked after first by my corporal, then the odd stretcher-bearer, but mostly by the magnificent local inhabitants. I visited them as and when I could get away from the RAP.

The loss of my corporal was serious but I was ably assisted by various Padres who worked wonderfully: when one went off to look after a house of wounded he was replaced by another Padre.
Eventually these houses too became overcrowded, and in many cases, untenable, as indeed by this time were most of the remaining medical stations. So on Sunday 23rd, the ADMS negotiated with the Germans for some of the casualties to be evacuated through the lines mostly to the St Elizabeth Hospital.

My original supplies of dressings and morphine were very soon exhausted but we kept going with out serious shortage as every man in the division carried two shell dressings and two ampoules of morphine in his back pockets. Thus the casualties often had their own dressing s and morphine with them and others were donated by various troops around. It is interesting to think that, although there were up to 8,000 men, all carrying two ampoules of morphine, each ready for a needle for self-injection, I never heard of a single case of wrongful use.

To start with, we had a supply of water for essential washing of hands and wounds but very quickly this dried up and I relied on the extreme kindness of individuals from surrounding units who would bring in supplies of water, at first as filled jeep trailers. It later became heartbreaking to see these holed by shell or mortar fragments and the precious water, obtained at great risk, drain away. Still the various troops around would voluntarily, usually without being asked, bring in supplies of water in any container they could find, large or small, and always at great risk to themselves.

To the end we were able to maintain dressings, morphine and usually tea as required. Even the latter was voluntarily donated from any meager supply that they had managed to salvage. As you know extremely valiant attempts were made to re-supply us, but due to poor intelligence, most of it fell outside the perimeter. All units made great efforts to retrieve whatever they could from the re-supply, whenever it landed anywhere near. In this way a little medical equipment was obtained. On one occasion when the dressing stations were no longer within the perimeter, some was brought to me. It contained, in addition to the much needed dressings and morphine a novelty ‘Penicillin’. I had heard of such a substance before leaving UK but it was not generally available and indeed it seemed to be a little hush-hush. I had never seen any and knew nothing of its proper indications or uses. I vaguely thought of it as a rather superior sulphonamide. Though the packets told me how to mix it, there was nothing about its uses!

At that time evacuation of casualties from my post was not possible and I was holding many seriously wounded. These included two with severe abdominal wounds that really required immediate operation. There was no chance of this and peritonitis was inevitable so I gave each of them one of my precious ampoules of penicillin. By chance both were later evacuated through the lines, had operations and, surprisingly, completely recovered. Many times since I have seen pictures of one of them and often wondered if my ampoule, of what in those days was a dirty brown solution, helped to hold the situation until operative aid was available.

We were confidently expecting the arrival of the relieving force and though no armour appeared, we were delighted to hear the medium artillery and later to welcome their forward observation officers who directed their fire. It seemed most helpful. Certainly it was good for our morale!

As the days went by, the noise became greater and greater, it seemed almost continuous. Lack of rest and sleep was a problem and perhaps this accounts for why I, like many others, find the time sequence confused. From this dream time I have one rather silly memory.

One afternoon, early in this chaotic activity, we were wanting to get casualties away to the dressing station. No one was sure, at that time, whether the dressing station was in or out of our lines so, there being some let up in the ‘stonk’, I was to go in a Red Cross painted jeep to see what was happening. I was called to the Command Room, where General Urquart’s ADC (personal assistant) emphasized to me how useful it would be if I could note the various enemy positions! I remember that I set off, jolly pleased to be able to get around a bit more. I certainly do not remember whether I was able to report anything of value, but I do have a silly memory of a pang of conscience as to whether it was quite correct to report any military information from a Red Cross jeep. So much for memories!

As the days went by, the noise and the activity seemed to increase, as did our confidence that the 30 Corps would eventually relieve us. Monday 25th seemed much as usual till early evening, when a staff officer came to inform me of the decision to evacuate across the Rhine that night and ‘presenting the General’s compliments’ asked me to stay behind and look after the wounded. I accepted this as necessary. Last thing before leaving, he bought me a map showing the evacuation routes, so that I would be better able to find and deal with the casualties of the withdrawl.

That night the regimental aid post was relatively empty for during the day we had evacuated many of our patients through the lines. The noise however gradually increased as 30 Corps artillery put down an extremely heavy barrage to accompany the more sporadic ‘local’ firing, with the appropriate German response. To me it seemed not only to be getting louder but also to be coming more on top of me. Eventually there was a lull in the casualty inflow, presumable because of the evacuation from the area around, so I took the opportunity to lie down on the floor. I must have been so tired that, although the noise was getting louder and nearer until I was expecting it to completely encompass me, I fell fast asleep.

I awoke about dawn, I think because it was so quiet, in fact it seemed unreal. I checked the casualties in the regimental aid post and then went outside in the uncanny quiet. I first started my tour around the regimental aid post. There were a number of Germans around, including some stretcher-bearers. As I was widening my search I was somewhat surprised to see the assistant director of medical services drive up in a jeep. I never did ask him where he came from! He took over my maps of the evacuation routes, said that he would deal with these as he had the jeep, leaving me to spend the day collecting the local casualties and putting them into ambulances or trucks for evacuation. During the course of my searches, I had come across the royal artillery trailer with which I had originally left the UK, so when I had finally finished my collection of casualties, I went back to examine it. I found that although it was pretty badly damaged, quite miraculously the small pack of my personal things was still there, unharmed, so I collected it before the Germans got it and must have been one of the few POWs from Arnhem who had a clean shirt etc.!

Eventually the central area was cleared of all British personnel, so I too climbed onto the last truck and trundled through the sad tattered streets of Arnhem and on to Appledoorn.

Here, quite unknown to me was Lt Col Hereford Royal Army Medical Core, who had earlier come across the Rhine in an attempt to negotiate with the Germans to allow some medical supplies to be sent over for our troops. He had not succeeded in that, but had succeeded in getting them to agree to set up some accommodation for our wounded. The place chosen was a block in an empty pre-war Dutch barracks. There were no facilities but with incredible negotiating skill, helped by a German fear of an impending further allied advance, he gradually built from nothing the beginnings of a dressing station, even the primitive basis of a hospital. The Germans tried to keep us isolated but the Dutch people were quite wonderful, gathering at the gates trying to pass in food and what limited medical supplies they had. I shall never forget some nurses standing there with some bottles of much needed blood which were eventually allowed through.

Intense negotiation gradually got some rudimentary facilities such as cooking and a few medical supplies. It was my fist introduction to proper bandages and ‘feltstuf’, paper substitute for cotton wool and similar dressings. Although pleased to get even these, I never really got used to them.

Despite lack of facilities we were soon running as a sort of dressing station even with some limited operating. Needless to say the Germans were anxious to get as many as possible away to POW camps. Everything possible was done to delay this but after they had dispatched one group, including some still quite poorly injured, on a typical cattle wagon train, we created so much fuss that the next group was put on a proper hospital train. To my great disappointment I was included in this group, for like most others we were still expecting that 2nd Army would soon be coming through but it did mean that once again I was lucky and had a very easy trip to the ‘famous’ Stalag 11B. But that is the subject of another memory.

Just as postscript, in 1992 the Airborne Museum in Oosterbeek arranged for my glider pilot John McGeogh and me to meet there after all those years!

It has always seemed to me that the real heroes were the wonderful Dutch people, who as always fought so quietly but so tenaciously for a worthy cause.

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