大象传媒

Leaving Barnsley

I registered at Fenton Street, Barnsley, in June 1939 for a six-month period in the 'forces'. I was twenty years old. The boss at work, on knowing I was to register, handed me a slip of paper, which said I was to register as a metal machinist and be exempt from military service. Of course, this was before War had been declared. But I registered as a surface labourer as I wanted to do six months in the forces, to broaden my outlook on life.

About three months later, war was declared and on 15 November 1939, I was called to serve in the Royal Artillery at Oswestry on the Welsh borders. I'd had my medical previously in October and had been passed A1.

So off I went. I caught the bus to Barnsley and then went to the Railway Station to catch my train. I was feeling lonely already. At the station, I saw about a dozen lads from the Barnsley area, all going to the same camp. We soon got talking and as we were all in the same position, it made it better for each of us. We stuck together for company and went up to the camp in a group. It was a very big and busy place, full of 'rookies' like us. It was surprising how quickly you settled in and made friends.

Well, we got on with our training. It was very tough. The discipline was frightening. Each night we flopped on to our beds, dead-beat. All we wanted to do was rest. As time went on, we actually started to enjoy it. There was a lot of competition with marching, rifle drill, gun drill and PT. We were taught to drive, shoot and read maps. Once you settled in, it was hard but enjoyable. The thing nobody liked was the spit and polish.

Once our basic training was done we went off to the Welsh coast near Aberystwyth, a village called Towyn. It was a camp from where we marched to a shooting range out over the sea. We fired 3.7-inch heavy anti-aircraft gun and also an old 3-inch field gun. One day we were firing, one lad lost his nerve. He shook and shouted. The officer detailed three men to hold him under the barrel of the gun, while it was being fired. I felt sorry for the lad. I don't know what happened to him after.

I suppose the range was about three miles from the camp. Those who remember that winter will know that it was very cold, and water was frozen for weeks on end. The camp was in the mountains and water was very scarce. For days we couldn't wash and baths were out of the question. We had a brainwave. We would go down to the sea and have a dip. The small ridges in the sand were frozen over. We all went to the beach, but I'm afraid all except six changed their minds. It was too cold to get undressed. The rest of them stood on the top of the cliffs and watched us. Of the six bathers, three were from Barnsley and three from Liverpool. We took our clothes off and ran into the sea. Not for long I can tell you! Our legs were going numb with cold. We had to help each other out of the sea. Once out, we had trouble getting dressed, it was so cold. We helped each other into our shirts and trousers, then got our boots on. It felt great then, we didn't feel the cold. We laughed and gave the rest of the lads some rub after that. They were still frozen. It did really feel good.

One time we were marching up to the firing camp, three columns of us, when a dispatch rider rode past the column, to the officer in the lead. The column was halted and we closed ranks. The dispatch rider gave the officer a paper. From the paper the officer read out eight names, mine was one of the eight. We were ordered back to camp, we didn't know what was wrong. On arriving at camp we were told to pack our kit immediately and get ready to move. They put us on a train with a special coach of our own, not saying what it was all about. We arrived at Oswestry station and a truck was waiting to pick us up and take us to the camp. By now we were in a right tiswas, we could not think what we had done wrong but it must be something very important. The truck dropped us off at the guardroom and we were marched in. From there we were marched to the commanding officer's office, by now we were just about nervous wrecks. We marched into the office scared to death; we had only been in the army about nine weeks and to see the C.O. was like having to see the Prime Minister. The C.O. told us to stand easy which eased the tension a bit. Then he sort of apologised and told us we had to go on leave right away, as we were going on draft to France.

We thought that going to France meant going into the trenches, as they did in the 1914-1918 War. Leave was miserable, we had time to take our coats off and put them back on again. That's about all. I think Mum and Dad invited some friends for a farewell party, but I think I must have been a bit of a damp squib, as I can't remember anything about it.

France

We could only have three days' leave, the rest of the draft had been on leave over a week, but were eight men short, it looked like we were the unlucky ones. All the blokes in camp and they pick us eight to go. Again it was three Barnsley lads Wall, Wilson and Wood, the other five were from Liverpool; I only remember two names: Jacob and Wynyard they were pals in civvy street. As far as I know, none of the Liverpool lads did come home from France. All three Barnsley lads did, in fact two of us finished up as sergeants and we were all in the same regiment right throughout the war.

I don't remember anything about that leave. It was too short. In fact the next thing I can remember was going to France in a ship. It was the same that I came back from on a holiday at the Isle of Man the year before - The Lady of Man. It was camouflaged but you could see the name on the lifeboats under the paint. We went from Dover to Calais. This was the first time in my life that I had been abroad.

From Calais we went on a three day journey by guard's van down to a place called Pontesway, it was a horrible train journey. The camp was on the coast and was a tremendous size with thousands of soldiers in tents. It was the main base camp. It was unsettling in this foreign land with their bright coloured houses. You have to realise that people from the South of England were foreigners to us!

After about two days, we were told we were going up the line to the front, all eight of us. We couldn't understand it, there were blokes in the camp who had been there for months and they picked on us again. (Why us) Now we were really getting worried and nervous, we did not understand it.

We set off again by train, we were travelling for about three days, but at least they were railway coaches. They had wooden seats with straight backs, but I don't think the train had any toilets. Our next stop was near Vimy Ridge; a small town called Pont-a-Venden. We stayed there for a while. We saw how the French lived, learned how to ask for egg and chips in the cafes and noticed the backward ways of French life. It was quite an experience!

We joined a Scottish mob (Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders) ex 9th Battalion, now 54th Light A.A. with Bofors gun. They were nearly all Scots from Glasgow or Dumbarton and weren't too pleased at having English in their mob. They did have one or two English with them, one was an old soldier, a regular, Bob Pool. He came from Sheffield and took me under his wing. He helped me a lot. He worked in the kitchen and made sure I wasn't short of anything. Officers and men alike respected him. After a while we became one of the lads, being Yorkshire we got on well with them. I remember one time I was driving a truck with a party of the lads in the back, when I went round a sharp corner too fast, I tipped it on its side. Before I knew what had happened, the lads had jumped out and pushed it back on its wheels with a few tasty remarks. Later I was told it was a regular thing - the truck had the wrong body on the chassis. It was nicknamed "the Prairie Schooner".

At one point, I was detailed to be an officer's batman. The officer was a Scots Captain. A good bloke. I had to clean his boots and equipment, make his bed, and ensure he was ready for any duties he had. But I missed the lads and there wasn't enough to do, besides it wasn't my line. A lot of blokes would have given anything to get the job. No drills, no duties, or parades.

The captain was being posted to some other unit. I think it was another country and he would like to take me with him. He was a good bloke and I considered it, but turned it down. I made my mind up to stay with the lads I'd got to know. He said it was all right, thanked me and gave me a 100 Francs note, wishing me luck (I've still got a piece of that note). I couldn't spend it. I felt rich. That was my one and only term as a batman.

The "cold war" was still on. We moved about Northern France quite a lot. The only German I saw, we took him prisoner. He begged us not to hand him over to the French. We were at Arras, Bethune Armendeeps and Lille. In fact, I had a spell in hospital with a high temperature there. Then, when the trouble started we moved up into Belgium, to Ghent, Zelzat, Menin Gates, Ypres and Coutres. The Belgian people were cheering and waving to us - a few weeks later it was a different tale - we were going the other way.

We had our first taste of action, a good basin of shelling at a place called Vichti. We moved up to the village. It was empty. All the civilians had gone leaving everything still in their homes, the table was laid for a meal in some places. We took up position in a kind of club with a bar and concert or ballroom upstairs. In fact, they had left some of their musical instruments.

The club was just on the brow of a small hill or more like a sloping road. A fellow called Des Moore and I were given a rifle each and sent to the crossroads, maybe 75 yards away. When we got there, we saw a big house with a short drive and a garage built just in front and under the house. It was right on the corner of the crossroads. We had only been there a short while when an infantry regiment came passed us, being driven on by their officers with pistols drawn. They were retreating and looked in a bad way - sort of dazed. It was just the beginning of the real war and it was a fearful experience.

We had heard all the firing and noise of tanks and guns. Then all hell broke loose. Shells started exploding all around the crossroads. Most were short fused shells. They exploded in the air just above your head. Shrapnel rains down about you. Each time we heard the guns we dropped in the garage. The infantry dropped where they were. Some were wounded, but not as many as you would have imagined. They were quite a while passing us, then we were on our own, apart from groups of stragglers.

We were there for quite a long time and every few minutes we would get another barrage. The noise was getting nearer. The stragglers stopped coming, we didn't see any for a while. Leaving Des and me on our own.

The noise got louder. The shelling got thicker. We got a barrage which gave us no chance to take cover, we dropped just where we were. There was Des on my left and a straggler on my right side, all close together. The straggler got hit badly. Des yelled, "I've had my leg blown off." I told him his leg was alright. He wouldn't have it. He said, "I felt it hit me. It burned and now it鈥檚 numb. I can't feel it. Shoot me, I'm not going home with one leg." It seems quite comical now.

My tin hat was hit in two places and my rifle was useless. It must have been knocked out of my hand. A piece of wood was knocked off the stock and another piece off the butt; the magazine and rounds were scattered all over the ground. Des had got a small piece of shrapnel in his thigh. I stayed at the crossroads while Des crawled on to the club to see what was happening there and to get his wound dressed and to send a relief out. I waited and no one came.

In fact, no more stragglers had been passed since the fellow got hit. Then I saw Des waving to me for me to go to him. When I got there, Des said, " We are alright now, all our blokes have gone and left us." We didn't know where or even which direction to go. The noise of the tanks seemed very loud now.

At the side of the road was a water truck. We thought it had broken down, as there was nobody in it. The tanks were coming nearer. I tried to get the truck moving, without success. Then Des had a go and got it started. There was a shout and about twelve to sixteen men came over the brow of the hill, running like mad towards us. They were the remains of the rearguard that the Infantry had left behind to give them a chance to make new positions. We waited and they hung on to the truck any way they could, urging us to get going as the tanks were only just at the back of them.

We drove on to the crossroads. The tanks were a few yards behind, but couldn't see us for the brow of the hill. At the crossroads we turned right. We saw the tanks just coming about one hundred yards away, but we were round the bend and behind the house before they could lay their guns on us. We were relieved, but we did not know where to go. We had no idea where our Unit was, our policy was to get away as quickly as possible. Shelling was coming in from all directions.

Eventually we caught up with the Infantry regiment and dropped off the rearguard with their own lads. We found our own regiment a few miles further on and rejoined our mates. We had not seen any of our tanks at any time.

You must understand that we were civilians in soldiers鈥� uniform. We had no training, apart from very basic, no leader, officer or N.C.O.

Make for the coast

The next few days were all mixed up and many incidents occurred. One such incident happened when we were put on patrol in a wooded valley. I don't know where, only that it was somewhere in Belgium. There would have been about ten of us. The shells were whistling over our heads from all directions. We did not know which was ours and which was theirs. We could not move. We did not know how to or where to. We could have been taken for British or Germans, so we were at a dead loss what to do.

After a while an officer came looking for us. He had realised our predicament but was not much wiser as to what to do. He told us to keep our heads down and follow him. It was a real show, because nobody seemed to know who was firing at who as the Germans had advanced so quickly. We were lucky to get out of that scrape.

On another occasion, we got mixed up with a long line of refugees. So we took a side road to the right. On the left hand side of the road were semi-detached houses, on the right hand side were fields over which we saw planes bombing and strafing the refugees. Some soldiers were mixed up with them. We had just one gun - a Lewis machine gun, which we put on a post to fire at the planes. It was hopeless; we had hardly any ammo.

All the people had left their homes, left everything they had, all refugees together. We broke into a garage and got some eggs, got a fire going and hard-boiled them. We stuffed our pockets with them, as we had no food except what we found in the houses we passed. We'd had none issued since the hostilities started.

With us going up the side road, a lot of refugees started coming up the same way. There was quite a number of nuns. Some very old. Darky Higgens and me found an old pram and a can of oil. We oiled the pram, got some rope and fastened the nuns bundles of belongings to it. They were upset. They thought we were going to rob them. When they understood what we were doing, they were very happy. They gave us their blessing, thanked us and wished us luck.

Some time after we got a truck. I don't know from where. Whilst travelling on the truck, I dropped my mess-tin. There was no food in it, just a few keepsakes, like a little thing my sweetheart gave me when I went abroad. I didn't want to lose that so I stopped the truck and jumped off to pick it up. We were being fired at, but I ran for the mess-tin. The men were going mad and shouted to the driver to get going, which he did, leaving me in the road. I got the mess-tin and ran like mad to catch up. I didn't think I could do it, but when I got near, some of the lads pulled me in. I thought I must be mad. They said I was.

Eventually, we arrived at a field where there was a lot more of our mob. The C.O. was there. He had us counted. I believe there was just over one hundred of us left. We didn't know what happened to the rest. We had very few arms between us. We also found out, that two of the original eight, were lost. Bill Winyard and Ralph Jacobs. It seems that Jacobs got wounded so Bill, being his pal, went to help him. Neither was seen again.

The C.O. gave a short talk. He told us to make for the coast and pointed in the direction that it was supposed to be. We should get food and water wherever we could. (In fact, that's what we had been doing for a long time). Also we should find a stick for protection, keep to hedge bottoms and away from towns.

We had very few arms between us, but we did have a Boyes anti-tank rifle, which was no good at all against modern tanks. Anyway, they gave me that, and another fellow the ammo box, which was now empty. The bloke with the ammo box said, "This is no good," and threw it away. I carried the Boyes a while longer, before I threw the bolt away. Then a bit later the rifle.

On my way to the coast, I kept with George Wood. I don't know where we were, but I think it was somewhere near Bruges in Belgium. A group of Belgian soldiers passed us and said for them the war was over. I remember being in a truck at one point, but where we got it from, I've no idea. We weren't in it long, before we had to dump it in a field, as all the trucks were being burnt, so the enemy could not use them. We saw lots of Belgian soldiers for the next few days, it must have been after they accepted peace.

If we saw any houses or shops, we looked for food. There was plenty of good stuff to loot, but food was more important. We plodded on. All the time it was as if all hell had been let loose. There was continual small arms firing, shelling and bombing. All we could hear was the continual whistle of bullets - but we saw no-one.

At one point we saw a signpost for Calais. Well, we knew that was on the coast, so we set off up there. There was a lot of firing and shelling and as we got further up the road, the noise got worse. A D.R. stopped us and told us we were walking up to the German lines. We should go back as Calais was surrounded.

We didn't know what to do, but decided to take the D.R.'s advice. We plodded on back down the road, tired, hungry and lost. We did not know the day, date or where we were going. After a long while, I don't how long. It could have been days or hours. We saw a big town being bombed, with clouds of black smoke coming from it. We kept going towards the town, because we did not know where else to go. I don't remember seeing anyone at all at the edge of the town. Then we came to a canal, but all the roads over it were destroyed. We were too tired to cross without one. We had had little sleep or rest for about three weeks.

Then we had another bit of luck. A 15-cwt. truck pulled up with some Redcaps in. They asked us who we were and what regiment we belonged to. We asked them what town it was, as we had been heading for Calais, the only place on the coast we knew. We had probably travelled forty miles from Bruges. They said the town was Dunkirk.

Dunkirk

Dunkirk? We had never heard of the place. They said it was a port and that the beaches were full of troops waiting to be picked up. The whole town was very bad and we would have to climb over the rubble as the roads were useless. They gave us a lift over the one bridge left over the canal. Then we made our own way through the town. Stukas started bombing again. They seem to come at regular intervals, as we were clambering through the rubble.

At one point, some heads bobbed out of a cellar, motioning for us to join them. They were the French Lascars sailors, but we both said we would sooner face the bombs than go down to them! They were French Arab soldiers. We didn't like the look of them!

We finally reached the beach, but it was the opposite end to where the smoke was. There were sandhills. What a mess! There were blokes all over the sands and sandhills. Rifles and equipment were scattered all over the sand. It was a nightmare. George said, "If you get home, kiss the town hall steps for me." We couldn't imagine it being possible for it to happen. Most men looked like we felt - in a daze.

We stayed on the sandhills for quite a long while. In fact, we came upon some more of our lads and we all thought it much safer to stay there than go down onto the beach. We could rest there except when the Stukas came over, which didn't seem as often as before. There were blokes kneeling down with their hands together praying like children do. Possibly that was the first time they had prayed since being little kids. I suppose everyone was praying in their own way. I know I was. It was journey's end as far as we knew. We had gone as far as we could. We just intended to rest, hope and wait for developments.

Out at sea was a pretty big ship that had been sunk. When the tide was out, you could see the rust below the water line. We wondered how many had got out of that alive. We stayed in the sandhills and watched. We had no leader officer, I don't think we had a N.C.O. All through the day there were officers and N.C.O鈥檚 shouting out names of regiments, trying to find their men. They were walking up and down the sands. We had no leaders, we were stragglers and not organised like the units with officers.

After a while, I don't know, days or hours, some sailors came round us all, telling us to go down to the Mole. There, there was a soup kitchen where we could get food and drink. It looked good. They must have just come over. They were clean. We were dead scruffy and nearly in rags. Things got quiet, so we went to see what we could get. We did really need something as we were very hungry and our morale was low.

The Moles, from memory, would be one to one and half miles away. It was down where all the smoke was coming from. As we got nearer to the Mole, we could see it was nearly a quarter of a mile long, and it was full of soldiers queuing up right to the end of it. We thought it would be better waiting on the Mole than on the sands, although when the planes came over, we would be "sitting ducks". There was no shelter at all.

After a while, a ship pulled in at the sea end and the queue moved up slowly. As we moved on, we were lucky. Some planes came over and bombed the Mole. It got hit, but it was quite a way in front of us. Also just to our left on the harbour, there was a Bofors gun very near to us. We saw it get hit. It slid down into the sea.

We were slowly moving on the Mole, when the queue stopped. A few yards in front of us, the Mole had been hit. A big piece had dropped into the sea leaving a hole about eight to ten feet across. It was a big space to get over. Then somebody put two planks down to act as a bridge. We were in an unstable condition and some blokes had difficulty balancing whilst crossing. It was quite a drop down to the sea. Anyway we made it. Although I must say I was very hesitant and was glad when I was over. The point was that it was the only way we could go, and the ship was getting nearer. Under normal circumstances, it would have been easy. But we were in very bad shape and many had lost hope.

We had to leave our equipment behind, as men were more important. The more kit we had, the less men could get on the ship. Some men had been doing some looting and didn't want to dump their spoils.

As we walked on, one bloke said to me, "Have you got any water in that bottle, mate?" I had forgot I had it. So we all had a drink then I threw it away. We finally got to the end of the Mole and worried that the ship would be full before we got to it. But we were O.K. we got aboard.

Homeward bound

The ship was a cargo vessel with a big hold. If you have seen a ship's hold, you'll know its dark and it seems a very long way from top to bottom. Anyway we finished at the bottom of it. How we got down or back up, I don't know. There was so many of us down the hold, that we could not lie down. We had to stand or sit, we were squashed in. The sailors kept throwing sweets down through the top, but you were lucky if one came your way.

The ship must have had a gun on deck, which they occasionally fired, I suppose, at the planes. The trouble was, each time the gun was fired, the ship rolled and we didn't know whether it was the gun going off or a plane had bombed the ship. Can you imagine what it was like? If the ship got hit, we had no chance as the hold would be first to flood.

It was a nightmare of a journey, some prayed, some tried to sing hymns, one or two were inclined to panic, but they were soon shut up. The majority knew what it would be like if panic took over, but most were not scared - rather more puzzled or anxious.

I don't know when we sailed, whether it was dark or not. The thing we were wondering about was where we would land. Would it be in France lower down the coast, to start all over again? We didn't expect to be going home. We more or less thought that we would continue the war in France.

At last we landed. The nightmare was over - we landed in Dover! I don't remember us getting off the ship, but I do remember rows of tables with food and drinks, with ladies handing them to us.

As we passed on, we came to a railway station with a train standing in. We entered the train and some ladies gave each of us a plain postcard. We had to put "arrived safely" on one side and our address on the other, but nothing else. It was all a rush job as there were more and more coming in. We still couldn't believe we were in England.

I don't remember the train ride, I would possibly be asleep. I can remember riding in the back of a truck through a town, there was a number of our lads with me. There
were people shopping and working, all dressed up in good clothes. It seemed like a different world, as if we were coming out of a bad dream.

We then saw one of our officers, all clean and dressed up, walking around the shops. We were astounded. We were like scruffy tramps. I could not repeat the language that was shouted at him. Mind you, he could have been on leave when hostilities started, but we didn't think of that at the time.

We arrived at a training camp full of new recruits, and were put to bed. There was an inspection by a series of medical officers and orderlies who dressed wounds and other items which had been neglected. They fed us. The recruits looked after us. I can't remember having a bath or a wash before we were put to bed, but we must have done.

I had plenty of time to think what had happened and made my mind up to be a gunner, leaving the driving to someone else. I had been a gunner/driver up to then, but it was no fun sitting in the cab being shot at and not being able to shoot back.

I got a pleasant surprise one day when a young recruit came round. He had just been called up. In fact, he worked with me before the war and when I was called up, he took my old job over. He lived in my village; his name was Selwyn Bower. We were left to rest in the barrack room for a few days, with the rookies to watch over us. I don't know how long for. I supposed I slept most of the time. All I know is the Orderlies and M.O. kept visiting us and we had to answer a few questions.

Then on Sunday morning (although we did not know what day it was), an officer came round and said that there would be a Service of Deliverance in the cinema that morning. If we would like to go we should make out way over there. To my knowledge all except one man got up and walked to the cinema for the service. It was the first time we had got out of bed. But I think we were all thankful and wanted to show it.

The new recruits were on church parade, they were lined up outside until we went in for the seats. They followed us in and stood round the sides. After the service we all went to the mess and had our first sit-down dinner for quite a while. I have no other memories of the camp, other than sleeping.

The next thing I remember was being in a tented camp in a large field near Watchet in Somerset, I think. That's a camp I'll never forget. We were only in the camp a few days, when we were all lousy. Everyday we were going round our clothes with lighted candles, killing all the lice especially in the seams. When you ran round the seams with a lighted candle, you could hear the lice popping. You could tell the ones which had bitten you as you could see the blood in their bodies. We had to put all the affected clothes in a big pile in a field and set them alight. What a bonfire! The result was we had to be given new clothes for all affected ones. I've heard people talk about being lousy, but did not realise how bad it could be.

A day or so later we caught a lad scratching himself, so we stripped him and found he had some lice in his clothes. He was in real trouble they really put him through the mill. He would be very careful in future.

Our next move was down to Cornwall, to Penhale and Perranporth. Here we did light training, but mostly patrolling the top of the cliffs, looking out to sea, half expecting the Germans to invade. It was also a place where the Unit was regrouping. Everyday we were on the look-out for more of our lads coming in, they were being gathered from all over the south of England. It was an exciting time. It was a matter of, Hi Bill, Hi Jack, as they came, many we thought we'd lost and would never see them again. Then reaction set in and we were more miserable than any other time of our service - thinking about missing faces.

We stayed a week or two doing light drill and grumbling because everyone else was getting short leave and we had to stay on duty. We then had another move by train up to Abergele near Rhyl in North Wales. We were still short of men, down to an eighth of our number. As we disembarked from the train, we were all brought together on the railway platform and an officer stood on a table to give us a talk. He said, "I know you have been complaining because you have had no leave and most other troops from Dunkirk have had a 48 hours pass to see their folks. Well, now it is your turn and you have been granted 7 days as a special privilege, half to go this week and half next week." He threatened what would happen if any failed to come back on time. Surprisingly, I don't think anyone did.

While we stood listening, one of the lads started shaking and wobbling up and down the platform. The officer shouted, "Stand still that man." He couldn't, he was suffering from shell shock. The officer went mad and said he ought to be in hospital. Everybody was in good spirits with the news of a week's leave. But, lucky me, I'd to wait until the second week for mine. Those of us on second leave, started doing some training.

My mam and dad came over to see me, I was a bit disappointed that they didn't bring Norah with them. We were engaged to get married. I don't suppose they would think to bring her, they were so happy that I was home.

Rhyl was soon out of bounds. The lads lost their heads and caused lots of trouble in the pubs and dance halls. It was as well we were only there for a few weeks.

From Rhyl, we went to Cark in Cartmel at the edge of the Lake District, here we were brought up to strength with a lot of new recruits from the Liverpool and Manchester areas. About this time, we had some very good news. Some of our regiment had managed to get down through France and finished up in Gibraltar. At the time we were being pushed north up the coast, they were being pushed down through France. There was a lot of them who got through. In fact, more got out that way than through Dunkirk.

The new lads outnumbered us, so it was a totally different Unit now and obviously we weren't too pleased. They were older than us and we had to do the training with them right from the start, which was a bore. It was like losing a family and getting a new one. We did eventually accept them, I suppose it would be as bad for them as it was for us. They had just been called up and they were a number of years older than us.

In fact, it became a very good regiment.

Waiting for the enemy

After the new men were fully trained, we moved down to an aerodrome and shadow factory at a place called Woodford near Poynton in Cheshire. A new aeroplane, "The Manchester", was using the aerodrome, it was being improved and finished, as the great plane "The Lancaster". The plane and the factory were very "hush-hush" and discipline was very strict. We were there for quite some time.

Whilst I was at Woodford, my Grandma died and I asked for a short leave to go to the funeral. I was refused, but the officer said I could go if I got there and back in one day. So I thought I would give it a go. I got home all right, went to the funeral and set off straight back. I got as far as Stockport. It was raining heavily and all public transport was stopped after dark. I was stuck. I looked for a Police Station to ask them to phone my Unit and tell them of the trouble. The result was that I stayed the night in a cell in the Police Station. The one and only time I have ever been in one. However, they fed me leaving the cell door open. The next morning I got back to camp all right and no questions were asked. I made some good friends at Poynton - the Bancrofts and the Siddals. In fact, Nora visited them and they came over to Barnsley on the day we got married.

At that time I was stationed in Norfolk. The wedding was set to take place on April 12th 1941. It nearly didn't. I had applied for leave to get married and they used to put your name on the leave list on the notice-board, giving you time to get your kit ready for an early start on Saturday morning. I had my kit ready and was ready for the "off", when I noticed my name was not on the board. I think I panicked a bit and dashed round to Headquarters to get in touch with the officers. It was sorted out, but it was going to be a near thing to get there in time as there was a lot of travelling to do. It worked out o.k. in the end.

Again when I was stationed in Norfolk I had problems with travelling. I was to go on leave and I had first to travel by train to London, then on to Sheffield. St. Pancras was the station used for Sheffield, but I didn't get there till after the last train had gone. So it meant that I had to wait on the station until the next morning. This meant that I was going to lose a day's leave. I decided to go to King's Cross station to see if I could get a train to Doncaster. I got a train all right, but I didn't get to Donny until after the last bus and train had gone and again I was stranded on a station

I had my kit-bag with me and thought it was a long way to have to hump it home. I decided to find a police station to see if I could either spend the night or see if they could get me a lift in a lorry. Just then I saw a "Tracky" bus from Barnsley, without lights, but the driver sat in the cab. "Are you going to Barnsley?" "Aye, but it's a private trip. I'm waiting for a train to come in carrying some young women, who are working in an armaments factory. I drop them off in the villages between Doncaster and Barnsley. I can't take other passengers." But after a bit of persuasion, he said, "I can't officially let you on, but after the women get on, I'll leave the door open as I set off and if you want, you can jump on as the bus starts off."

I wasn't missing this chance. When the bus started moving, I chucked my kit-bag inside and jumped in afterwards. There was a great roar from the women and I had to stand a lot of ragging. They were a real common lot!

On the journey, the driver was dropping the women off at each village. It was in the middle of the night and pitch black. When all the girls had gone, the driver switched his lights off. (It was th blackout and all lights had to be low.) He had forgotten me and I had to remind him. He told me to drop off when we got to the Sheffield Road traffic lights. From there I walked to Nora's grandma's, where we were staying during the war.

After I had been back at camp a while, we were sent down to London at the time of the "Blitz". We were surprised that we went down without guns. We watched the planes having "dog fights" and "hedge-hopping". We were put in schools or church halls and then into civilian billets. We lived in their homes while they slept in the air raid shelters.

I was in the home of three young women with three young bairns between them. Most civilians stayed in the tube stations, if one was handy. At the time I didn't know what good we were supposed to be doing, but now I think we were there to keep the morale of the people up. How they did not crack up, I don't know.

One evening, two fellows saw me writing letters and asked if I was going to the pictures with them. I was undecided at first, then said I would continue to write my letters. That night, the picture house at the bottom of the road got a direct hit and the fellows were never seen again. One of them was the old soldier, Bob Pool, from Sheffield, the other was Nat Tinker from Holmfirth.

After a while we left London and did a few schemes. We were part of the 9th Armoured Division, which had as its sign a Panda. We travelled all the country, living on hard tack, which is bully beef and hard biscuits. The biscuits were really hard.

If we were near a field of spuds, we would crawl between the rows taking an odd potato off each root without damaging the tops. I've known us do that while the farmer was working in the field!

We spent quite a long time at Haltwhistle where I was given the job of Limber-Gunner. After morning parade, while the troop was drilling, doing P.T. and route marches, I was fallen out to clean and maintain the gun. It was a good job. I was on my own the whole time.

At another place, I don't know exactly where, we were training with live grenades. One recruit brought his arm back to throw his grenade and being a bit scared dropped it behind him. I was stood nearby and so picked it up and threw it into the lake nearby. The officer commended me and it was obviously a dangerous situation, but I had completely forgotten about it until I re-read my diary recently.

At one time we were at Scarborough and having a general's inspection right on the cliffs above the Spa. It was a boiling hot day, we were in full kit and the hot sun was on the back of our necks. We were stood for ages and some of the lads dropped in the road in a faint. There were crowds of people there watching and some were grumbling that the lads who had collapsed were left where they had fallen. I felt faint, so I came to attention, took a step out of ranks, turned right and marched off. I thought I would be on a charge, but the sergeant-major said later that I was sensible for not cluttering up the parade!

Every so often we had to have injections for T.A.B, Tec Tox and Typhus. You lined up in a long line, a medical orderly wiped your arm and then a medical officer gave you a stab. On one such occasion, I moved up in line and had just been stabbed by the officer when someone called to him. He left me with the syringe stuck in my arm for quite a while. The fellow behind me must have been worried about injections, because he fainted. The medical officer didn't realise what he had done and after the parade we went for dinner and rested up in our tents as normal.

The next thing I knew was a sergeant shaking me. I hadn't turned up for parade. I was out with a temperature and my arm had swollen up. I explained about the episode with the M.O. and they rushed me to hospital for a day or so.

Some time in 1942, we greased our guns, got new equipment and set off on a move. We thought it was another scheme we were on. We went down to London and parked up for a while. We got Mae Wests and moved onto the docks at Gravesend, I think it was. We were boarding ships, when all of a sudden, word came through cancelling our move and we went back. We found out much later that we were going to a second front in North Africa, but the general said that we would be needed in England. He perhaps knew about the "doodle-bugs", which were to come.

We had another sea adventure and it turned out to be a real one. We went down to the south coast, I think it was near Worthing, and we lived on barges. Five people on each barge, three soldiers and two sailors. We did a lot of training on guns and also helped the sailors. We had navy rations and were under navy command. Our address was a land base one, but no-one was to know that we were practically at sea. We did unusual training - we used to go out for a cruise in the English Channel - we had to learn some navy barge drill.

The big trouble was that they were not sea barges, but Thames river barges - the ones that carry coal. They had a little cabin at the front end and a small engine - room at the back. It was an interesting time, but a pretty hopeless one. The barges were tossed all over the place on the sea and firing guns was a waste of time.

One morning, very early, we were brought to the dockside and given a talk by a naval officer. That was to both soldiers and sailors. He told us we were going out to sea, very near to the occupied French coast. We would be all right as our air force were all standing by. The idea was that our fleet of barges with five men on board would look to the Germans like an invasion fleet. The Germans would open fire with their coastal guns and attack us with their planes. Our planes would be standing by to attack their guns and airfields, thus revealed, which would help the real invasion.

We sailed right up to within a few miles of the French coast. We saw no-one. If kids had been on the sands we could have watched them play. It turned out to be a washout, thank goodness! The sea was very calm, no wind and a very sunny day. We were relieved that there had been no response. By the way remember this was in 1943, a year before the invasion proper.

From there we went to Walton-on-the-Naze where we had a pretty good time. We were in boarding houses on the prom, no civilians! However a very sad thing happened here. Four lads were sat round a table, writing letters and reading. One was cleaning a machine gun. He didn't check it properly and he shot and killed one of his pals on the other side of the table. He was locked up in the guardroom, pending trial. The guard wouldn't speak to him. It was making him ill. The officer was worried about his mental state and asked me to go and have a word with him. He was a Yorkshire lad and the lad he killed was a Scot.

I went a number of times, but I was getting black looks from the Scots. I could feel the tension mounting whenever I went to the guardhouse. But everything turned out all right in the end, and in times like that, so much happened, things that seem horrible are pushed to the back of your mind.

By the way, a long time after, the Yorkshire lad came up to me and asked to be put on a charge as he had done something wrong. I didn't know about it, so in case an officer found out and I got in trouble, he confessed to me and asked to be charged.

We spent some time at Gosport, a naval base near Portsmouth, which was also a submarine base. We used to see the "subs" come in from battles out at sea and see them set off on their duties. We also saw the big ships which took supplies to the subs, which patrolled in the Atlantic.

Another time between convoys we stayed at Scarborough for some intensive training. It was all Infantry work. We did a fifteen miles forced march with full kit, including ammo and guns. The march finished at a quarry at Scalby in the North Bay. We had to compete by firing rifle and Bren gun at targets on the cliff face. Another time we had to practise firing Sten gun and Bren gun from the hip at targets whilst on the run. We did more of the same sort of stuff in the South Bay and crowds of people watched us. We then had to go on the Bofors and were in competition with other units. We had to fire at a flag being towed by aircraft. We got a number of hits. Other targets were model tanks towed by some sort of contraption. We were set up on the hill half a mile away on the other side of the valley. We did very well we hit four out of ten. Mind you, they could not fire back!

One time around February 1943, when the convoy went down to Clacton, we were billeted at Butlin's Holiday Camp. We did a lot of firing and schemes in that area. One was when we had to manhandle the Bofors down roads, through fields, woods and one time down into the quarry and out again. There were seven men to each gun, we were given long poles and gun poles. I should think a Bofors gun would weigh about 100 tons, so you can imagine the sweat and toil. It was while we were at Clacton that we had regimental sport competition. I got through the first round in the boxing, but lost to a Welsh lad in the second. We also had a bit of comic wrestling match. We were not put together by weight - it was just a case of you wrestle him. They paired me with Big Paddy Cribben who must have weighed 15 stones to my eight. I was like a midget against him. Fortunately he was a pal of mine but our pairing caused quite a few laughs. We sparred around, then I butted him in the belly and grabbed his legs. He fell over. The lads cheered, but that was the end. He picked me up like a bairn and swung me around his head. He did this twice winning the match two falls to one.

Bosworth was the location of one stay. It had only one street, with houses and shops on either side of the road. There were only two pubs; one about halfway down the street; the other at the very end. We were under canvas in a private park just outside the village. An infantry regiment was stationed in the village itself. They didn't like the lads going to "their" pubs and a few fights occurred. One evening some of our lads went down for a drink, the infantry regiment blocked the road and had fixed bayonets. Our lads, who had been stopped, raced back and spread the word. A whole gang of our lads returned and set to with sticks and stones. A real to-do occurred and we were then moved out of the area.

During our build up to the invasion, different weapons were tried out. One was a new grenade, known as the "sticky bomb". It was like a spongy ball covered with a sticky substance with a cover on. It was held with a stick type handle. The idea was that you crawled up to a tank or pillbox and stuck the grenade on the wall or tank side, then took cover. A timer was activated when contact was made, giving you possibly ten seconds to get clear. The idea was that the explosion would go inwards, where most resistance was detected. I only know of one being used, so it could have been one of those ideas which went wrong.

On another weapon training scheme, we were moving up with WASPS, which were Bren-gun carriers with a flame-thrower at the front. A Bren-gun carrier is like a small tank with a open top having a Bren-gun inside the carrier top. The flame-thrower was fired in short bursts. One time on the scheme, some of us foot soldiers were advancing alongside the WASPS, when those on our right stopped (broke down I think). But they kept on throwing out flames. Burning oil was dropping on us as we were moving up. We were only at the edges of the flames, but we had quite a number of burns from the blazing oil, quite serious in some cases, before the gunners realised what was happening.

Apart from sorting out our weapons, the men were also being sorted out. One time we were drilling on a village road, the captain kept calling out different squad members to act as N.C.O.'s at the front. My name was called but my officer told them that I did not favour stripes. I was told to report to the O.C.'s office after I had drilled the squad. Later, I very nervously marched into the office and was given a lecture on refusing stripes.

" You could be put on a charge for refusing stripes. Why don't you want stripes? You've had more experience. You know your job better than the others. You are an old soldier," he said. "When you go into action, would you want someone with less experience to be telling you how to do the job?" I told him that I didn't want to be a parade ground N.C.O, but in action I would prefer some command. I got away lucky, but still had to go on a cadre course, whether I wanted to or not.

The result was that as the Second Front got near, I went on leave. On returning back to camp, the sergeant-major saw me and said, " Wilson. You are improperly dressed." I was at a loss to understand how or what was wrong. Then he told me to look at Battery Orders. There it said that I was promoted to lance bombardier from the day I went on leave. So the first job on my return was to sew stripes on all my clothes.

About a month later, the sergeant-major came up to me and said," Does your arm ache?" I was a bit flummoxed and told him no. "Do you think you can carry another stripe?" "Yes sir." I was quite pleased to get two stripes because it gave me more money and a bit of authority. I held those two stripes for quite a while before I was made a sergeant, which was my rank when I was de-mobbed. I must have been one of the smallest sergeants in an active unit in the army.

Back to France

Time was going on, it was now 1944. The South of England was like a massive military camp, but you didn't see many soldiers about, they were mostly confined to their own areas. D-Day came, but we were still on normal duty. We listened to the news of the invasion, wondering when we would be going.

I don't know the date we went, but we landed on a golden beach on a Mulberry harbour, while the first landing parties were fighting at Caen. It seems our job was to do the chasing. We went miles, all we saw were French cheering and waving. We met very little resistance, but saw the aftermath of different battles.

Also, there were bodies which hadn't been buried, they were just left where they had fallen. At one town as we went through the market square, there were French crowds pulling young women onto stools and shaving their heads. They were collaborators. They were pretty rough with them and we couldn't understand it at the time.

There were flowers and fruit thrown to us, but we rarely stopped. It was one mad rush, it looked as if we wouldn't stop until we got to Germany. No such luck! We could hear firing ahead, it seemed to be at our right hand side. We came to Rouen and made a dead stop. We pulled up at the docks at the side of the river Seine. The German Army must have retreated faster than we did in 1940!

What a sight and smell met us! There were about three or four bridges across the Seine - all destroyed. There was also a tunnel - that had been destroyed as well. We were stuck. We were the first there, we couldn't get back to find another way, as others were following behind.

We then got a bit of action. The other side of the river was a wooded hill and some firing was coming from there. S we stayed where we were for a while. The stench was horrible. Some Germans were there before us and according to some Frenchmen, our planes came over and destroyed the bridges and tunnel. They also destroyed the Germans who were trying to cross. When we got there German bodies and equipment were all burning. The smell of burning bodies, oil and rubber was terrible. All we could do was to push the bodies to one side and make space to live. I'm afraid eating was out of the question. We were only there a few days, but it seemed like a lifetime. The whole dockside was just a mass of burnt bodies. You couldn't move without treading on them.

If you touched a body, the flesh dropped off and left bones that were pure white. The Seine at Rouen is a tidal river and each time the tide came in, it washed up more German bodies, then as it went out, the bodies passed us again. We tried to get the French to clear them up, but they wouldn't. They would walk round spitting on the burning Germans. In the end, German prisoners came to clear them away.

We left Rouen. I can't remember how we got over the river. We went to Elbeut, a good few miles away, where the main battle took place. We set off again . Travelling mile upon mile, passing through village after village, town after town. I think we hoped that it would carry on right into Germany. People were at the roadside nearly all the way. I suppose our big attraction was that the piper, on entering a town, would stand on a truck and play the bagpipes.

The next main stop, I think, was at Ghent or Zelzat in Belgium where we had to dig in for a while, as the Germans made a surprise counter attack. We took over a German dugout in a sandy area of the town and hollowed out shallow trenches and laid in them with our rifles. We had to dig frantically and as we had no digging tools, used anything including spoons. The counter attack failed, so we were on the lucky side again. I think it was about this time we had forty eight hours leave behind the lines.

It was there that two members of our unit, brothers they were, got involved in an incident. I knew them, but not very well. They weren't very sociable and kept a lot to themselves. One did something at Headquarters; the other was a driver. Well word got round that they had made a pact to shoot each other in the foot, so they could get back to Blighty. Both got arrested and we never saw them again. We never heard what happened to them. I don't think anyone cared for that matter.

While we were there, a few of the lads got a souvenir or two. In fact, a Belgian boy about twelve years old came to us with a camera, took photos of us and told us a bit about the Germans. I've still got that photo somewhere.

I think it was there that we were troubled with snipers. We judged that it was coming from a tower. Another lad and me were told to go and get rid of them, as they were making our life miserable I suggested blasting them out with a Bofors barrage. Thankfully it worked.

We spent some time at Ghent and Zelzat as we were possibly short of supplies. We made a few friends there. I have a photo of one young chap, about 20 years of age, who wanted to help us. We were often invited to his home.

Zelzat was near a canal, alongside of which we were to set up a gun position on a grass covered hill. We were struggling to pull the gun up the hill with ropes, when a priest brought a band of men to help us. We were surprised. They looked as though they were mentally ill. They shouted and acted very excitedly and we eventually realised they were from a mental asylum. We were a bit apprehensive, but the priest said that they would like to help. They got hold of the ropes and began to pull the gun up the grass bank. There was no doubt that they had done this sort of thing before most likely for the Germans. The priest stood with them shouting, " Heave, heave for the Fatherland."

It was a game for them. They did enjoy it. They did a good job. The only trouble was that almost immediately after they got the gun up the hill, we were moved up the line and had to get it down again! It was almost a bit of light-hearted entertainment.

About this time, the Germans made a surprise counter attack and we had to dig in frantically. I think the next place we visited was Antwerp, which seemed to have missed most of the trouble. They said the Germans had pulled out before the action started.

Somewhere about this time we had to cross a wide river. On the far side it was thickly wooded which gave the enemy good cover, that's if they were there. It was decided to bring up some Bofors to the riverbank and give a heavy barrage. I think we had six Bofors (that's a troop) lined up, blasting away at the woods. A shell is only two pounds, so it can't do a lot of damage on its own but each gun could fire up to a hundred shells a minute, providing they could be loaded fast enough. They were automatics with a range of one mile. The shells would explode on hitting the smallest twig, thus raining shrapnel on anyone in the wood.

We moved on through Antwerp into Holland in the Polder area and at the side of the river Scheldt. While we were at Terneuzen, a big battle was going on a few miles away at Wacheren. We put the Bofors just behind the dykes that were holding the sea back. We slept in the barn owned by farmers called Van de Welans. (It sounded something like that!). Granddad, Mum, Dad, Robert, Youn, Agnes and Willy. I have a photo of the four young ones. We got on pretty well with them, but they let us know that they were Boers and not particularly fond of the British in general.

It was winter, the last one of the war and it was a bad one, particularly because there was plenty of snow. In fact, one night there was a blizzard and while it snowed, it also thundered and lightened. It was a bit scary. We thought "Jerry" had got a new secret weapon and were too near victory for that to happen.

On one day, January the first I think, we excelled ourselves. A load of German fighter bombers came right over us, very low. They machine-gunned us and we fired back and got twelve of them. The Dutch went mad. The Van de Welans were cheering and dancing each time we fetched a plane down. Through all the shooting and the noise, they stood and cheered. We were heroes after that. It was very satisfying!

Just one of our guns had been hit, but nobody had been hurt. We stayed there all winter, couldn't move because of the conditions. We had a break in Antwerp. We had a look round but when darkness came, there was practically a total blackout. During the day, we were told we ought to go the zoo. When we got there, there were humans in the cages, all collaborators. They put them there for everyone to see.

It was dark when I said that I was going back to the football stadium where we were staying. A few dark trams were running, so I stopped one and asked some soldiers in it if it was going to the stadium. A fellow with a rolled umbrella and bowler hat said, "Aye, lad. Come on in." I was dumbfounded. He said, "Come and have a drink and meet the wife."

I agreed and he took me home. He was a manager on the docks and during the 14-18 War, he had been evacuated to England. He said, "You come from Yorkshire, don't ya? Do you know Huddersfield?" "Aye." "Do you know Slaithwaite?" "Aye." "Do you know Hill Top?" "Aye, I've got relations there." I said.

He was all over me. His sister lived at Hill Top and they hadn't been able to get in touch with one another since the war started. He asked if I would write to my relation and ask her to let his sister know that they were all right, which I did. They gave me some ersatz soap and I gave them some of ours. They were delighted - their's was like sand and didn't lather.

It was a real shock to meet a Belgian who spoke broad Yorkshire. I did visit them again about three months later for an hour or two. They had a soldier living with them who worked on the docks. I was introduced to him as the soldier who help liberate Antwerp, it embarrassed me and I don't think he was too keen on me visiting them. He had his feet well under the table. I never returned there, as we moved further away and I didn't get another pass. We only got passes when conditions allowed. In fact, I think that was the only 48 hours pass I had since arriving from England.

When the weather was slightly better, we were given a 48 hour pass to Brussels. While there the Germans made a counter attack and broke through the American lines at Ardennes. The American military police stopped us and told us to report to an American unit to help them stem the attack. I should imagine a lot did, but we had no intention of joining them. We wanted to get back to our own lads and we had been with the Yanks before!

At one spell, we went to strengthen their lines, but we went as a unit. It was great for a short while, the food was smashing, where we had hard tack, they had tins of fruit, meat, sausages, proper biscuits and milk. However, they were short on discipline and we felt uncomfortable.

The war was just about over. We moved out of Polders and went on to the Rhine, where we crossed over a long Bailey bridge. It was so narrow, when you looked over the side of the truck you could see nothing but water. The driver had to drive very slowly.

We went on into Germany. It was a wreck, worse than anything I had seen in all the other countries. I remember the first town we stopped in was Luneburg, we took charge of a pretty large house which belonged to Himmler. Opposite the house, on the other side of the road, was a small kind of barracks where his personal guard was. The house was quite large with a good number of trees.

We took charge of high ranking German officers there. A real job! One day one managed to escape, but was shot by military police.

They used to strut up and down the drive. They tried to ignore us common soldiers. One or two of them were black uniformed S.S., but they were soon taken away, which made it much easier for us as the ordinary officers accepted their position.

There was a table in the house with a secret drawer, but we never found out how to open it. The house was on the edge of town and we used to take the officers a walk on to the heath after the S.S. had gone.

One day I was in charge of a detail taking them for a walk, when a middle aged woman and perhaps her sister, asked if they could speak to one of the officers. He turned out to be her husband. I let them walk on the pavement and speak as long as they did not touch each other. After all, the war was over and we found him to be a decent bloke.

On another occasion, I was in charge of the guard of the house when the highest ranking officer there said he was sick and wanted to see a doctor. He didn't want a military one; he wanted someone special out of town. I explained to our officer who agreed as long as I was there in the room with them. The officer prisoners still had their batmen and private rooms that we could not enter. They were classed as gentlemen. The doctor came and I took one of my guards with me to the German commander's room. The commander went mad and told me to get out. There was about another six officers with him, all looking at me with disdain. I motioned that if I went so did the doctor. Anyway we stood against the door until the doctor had finished. I had no official complaint from our own officers so all was well. I had certainly no intention of giving way to a German Commander.

Another time we took over a builder's house and yard for billets. We used the work-shed as a guardroom and had an electric bell rigged up from the gate at the end of the drive. When I was guard commander one day, the bell rang, so I ran up to the gate. Ginger Jackson was on guard and he was talking to two middle aged women, or trying to, as they were all excited about something. They were Danes, who had been brought to Germany as forced labour, now they were free and trying to work their way back to Denmark. They were excited and pointing to a big smart German, saying "S.S." He had been in charge of their camp.

Ginger and me rang the bell for the relief, so we could follow the S.S. man. When the German went round the corner, we ran after him and kept him in sight for another three corners until we could catch up to him. I touched him on the back and asked for his "papers". He looked at me with disdain, as if to say "who do you think you are". Ginger realised the position, grabbed him from behind and brandished his rifle.

Ginger was bigger than me and looked aggressive, ginger hair and all. The S.S. man handed me his papers, which I pretended to read and conferred with Ginger. We then marched him off. We hadn't gone far when, luckily, a truck carrying Red Caps went past. It stopped and we got in, after telling them what we were doing. They drove to a building with civilians in it - they were an Intelligence Unit. We handed him over and stayed until we were told to go, but they didn't tell us anything just thanked us and that was it. We never got to know what happened to him.

The German was as smashing specimen, well over six feet tall, well proportioned and very smart. In fact, I can see him now, looking up at him; his chest was like looking at the sloping roof of a house.

On another occasion, we were given the job of guarding S.S. prisoners from the Russian front. They weren't very tidy. They looked as though they had had a real rough time. A lot of them I wouldn't trust. They were in a special compound of their own. They were given no privileges and least said about them the better.

The ordinary German soldiers were mostly like us, we didn't bother them. They just walked round the camp waiting for their release. They were no real trouble. I had more trouble with the wild life. One night I was going round the men in the towers to ensure all was well, when I saw a rabbit in the searchlight, I fired at it and missed. That was a tasty meal gone!

Some of our sergeants at that time got some real jobs. One had to take a party of prisoners to Yugoslavia and another took a party to Belgium. The one who went to Belgium said they were lining up to shoot the prisoners as he went into the camp. He had a job stopping the massacre, but as he had signed them over to the Belgians, he said that was his job done. With us having so many prisoners, we had to split them up with other countries.

The time was going on and we were all wondering how long to our release. I got leave home just before Christmas 1945 - my first since going to Germany for the second time. I was due back in Germany on Christmas Eve and tried to get an extra day so that I could have been home on Christmas Day, but it was hopeless. It would have been my first one at home since 1938. We were still not allowed to speak to the Germans, except in the course of duty, although they were relaxing the fraternisation a little bit. I did a pre-release course and then left for home on March 14th 1946. I was due army leave until about the middle of June.

Then the following Christmas 1946, was my first one at home since 1938. It seemed very strange. Our daughter was two and half years old when I came home, if anyone said "Where's your daddy?", she would point to my photo on the dresser, and I could be holding her at the time!

One big disappointment was just before my release, I along with Sergeant Bing Thomson put in for pre-release training at the local college. We did about two months and then were sent to the 49th Anti-Tank Regiment. We never saw our own lads again. We had been with some of them for over six years and it still leaves me sad. It was like losing a family. We did not have chance for a good-bye party. We had been through a lot together; we ate, slept and helped each other along. Some never made it. I have made attempts to try to locate them in recent years but possibly due to the fact that they came from a fair distance away - Scotland and down south - I have been unsuccessful.

Footnote: Alf Wilson died on the 17th March 2000. He spent the remainder of his life in the village he was born in 鈥� Staincross near Barnsley. When he retired he could be seen selling poppies around Remembrance Day, very proud of having 鈥渄one his bit.鈥�

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