大象传媒

In 1939 I was a regular soldier serving in the 1st Medium Regiment of the Royal Artillery stationed at Portsmouth. I was aged 19 and a qualified signaller able to read and send the Morse code. I was also a qualified driver and graded a Driver/Operator. My Battery was stationed at Fort Widley, which was one of a series of Forts situated on the Portsdown Hills.

Upon the declaration of war my Regiment was mobilised and put on a war footing. It was not long before we were on our way to France as part of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF). We embarked at Southampton and sailed to Cherbourg. We were equipped with 6鈥� Howitzers, old guns that had been converted from horse-drawn to being drawn by tracked vehicles called 鈥楧ragons鈥�. They were similar to a tank but without tops. They conveyed the ten-man detachment and also towed the gun and limber, the limber carried a number of 100lb shells and charges. Our voyage across the Channel was a great adventure because it was the first time that most of us, if not all, had ever been to sea. I well remember one of the deck-hands telling us to eat plenty so that if we were sea-sick we would have something to bring up besides our guts. Strange how there things stick in your memory.

We eventually arrived a Cherbourg and had our first look at France. We disembarked without incident and travelled in convoy into the countryside of Northern France. Our guns and vehicles were dispersed mostly into orchards where the trees were loaded with apples and pears. We found out, to our cost, that too much fruit is an excellent laxative and the freshly dug latrines were well used.

We slept in our vehicles, on the tailboards or under them. The weather was mild and so it was no real problem. Little did we know that things would get a lot worse than this. Our bedding was one blanket and a groundsheet, with your tin helmet or gasmask for a pillow. That was to be the norm from now on. We moved around Northern France from position to position, spending most of our time digging gun pits and slit trenches and filling sandbags to build dugouts. We also carried out our respective training in preparation for what was expected. Twenty-four hour armed guards were also undertaken and our Bren gunners were placed on full alert for air raids.

This was to be the pattern of life September 1939 to about the beginning of May 1940, a period which came to be known as 鈥楾he Phoney War鈥�. The powers that be decided it was safe enough to send us home on leave by rota. I was granted one week which I enjoyed with my girlfriend, Olive, who later became my wife. Unfortunately I returned to my unit twelve hours late and was charged with 鈥榖eing absent without leave whilst on Active Service鈥�. Next day I was taken up in front of the Commanding Officer who sentenced me to be reduced to the rank of Gunner. I lost one stripe that I had proudly worn. We were then sleeping in a barn in warm straw, but I was quickly detailed to mount a 24 hour guard.

Soon after that incident we were on the move again, but I went down with some kind of fever and was conveyed by field ambulance to a casualty clearing station. Here I was left on a stretcher next to a blazing combustion stove for about ten hours before any one came to see me. I was then given some so-called 鈥榖eef tea鈥� in a tin basin. It was vile, with grease floating on top. I spent a few days there and then one day the MO said I was fit to return to unit.

I rejoined the regiment near Douai, a mining town in Northern France, where we were able to visit the pithead baths, a luxury only to be had by rota, which worked out about once a fortnight. Again our daily lives followed the same pattern as before, digging gun pits and maintaining equipment and training. A single gun pit for a 6鈥� Howitzer is the size of a circus ring. It was not all work though. Off duty, we made our way to the local Estaminets, where we drank the local Vin Blanc and Vin Rouge, and ate loads of eggs and chips, 鈥楶ommes de Terre frits avec oeuvres鈥�. We sang all the wartime songs and even learned one or two new ones. I had found an old piano accordion in an empty house and began driving them all mad by trying to play a popular song of the day, called 鈥楽outh of the Border鈥�.

Christmas 1939 came and we made the best of it. Our rations were adequate though some may say that good food was ruined by our cooks. The winter was the worst I could remember. The water was freezing in our water bottles and we washed in snow, sometimes saving a little tea to shave with. We were all glad to see the spring arrive. Then in early May the 鈥榖alloon went up鈥�. Hitler had invaded Belgium. We were quickly made ready to leave Northern France and move right up through Belgium. We lost no time in reaching Brussels, where we received a wonderful reception. Cheers, flowers, gifts of wine and chocolates and kisses from the girls. That night we rendezvoused in a massive port overlooking Brussels and moved off at first light next morning.

Eventually we arrived at Kemmel Woods, our rendezvous for the next 48 hours. We were in the grounds of a large chateau. Our vehicles and guns were parked under trees as camouflage from the air, and we were ordered to dig slit trenches by every vehicle. The trench was to be 6ft deep and able to accommodate each detachment. Just as
half-hearted efforts were being made the whistles sounded for an air raid warning. Nobody took them too seriously until the drone of aircraft could be heard. We were about to have a very nasty shock 鈥� they were Stuka dive-bombers.

They came out of the clouds like an express train and before they reached the ground they straightened out, dropped their bombs and began machine-gunning us. It was terrible, the first time any of us had come under fire. The raid lasted about fifteen minutes, it seemed longer, and then they disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. Our Bren gunners sounded the all clear with long blasts on a whistle. We began to examine the damage and casualties. Then an order came to prepare to search the woods for paratroopers. None were found but we were all badly shaken up. The digging of slit trenches was much more enthusiastic from then on.

Shortly after, the cookhouse wagon appeared with an issue of stew. We took out mess tins and they were filled by a cook from the back of a three-tonner. Just as I was about to set about my ration the air raid warning sounded again. I quickly dived into a nearby ditch and lost half of my stew ration in the process.

We were detailed to be up and ready to move by first light the next day. We all knew this was it, action at last. All out training was to be put to the test. We were all confident we had been well trained. As we approached our gun position the next morning, about 6am, to our great surprise we saw a German plane quite low approaching us. Twenty 303 rifles and several Bren guns were immediately trained on him and simultaneously fired. He dropped like a stone. I never knew what happened to the crew because we kept moving towards our chosen position. It was not long before our guns were engaged on a target. It was our first action. Some of the ammunition numbers were scrawling obscene messages for Adolf and the lanyard to fire the gun. Some one drew our attention to a balloon high up in the sky. We thought it was one of ours. It wasn鈥檛, as we soon found out, when shells began to rain down on us. This was it, men and equipment were hit and the queue to pull the lanyard quickly disappeared. We put up a terrific barrage and so did the enemy. It was sheer hell. One of the worst effects is on morale and some men are more affected than others. We soon knew the meaning of 鈥榮hell shock鈥�, (more fancy names these days). Whatever it鈥檚 called it鈥檚 the same thing. Life under fire is like nothing else 鈥� you do what you are trained to do. Rest and sleep when you can. Toilet facilities are practically non-existent, wash and shave when you get the chance.

Between moving gun positions the endless streams of pathetic refugees fleeing their homes with whatever possessions they could carry continually hampered us. Some had a horse and cart (they were the lucky ones). Others had prams, dog-carts, anything that would help to ease their load. There were old folks and children sitting on top of bedding, etc.

Some gun positions we occupied still had farms which the occupants had refused to leave. Other farmers had gone, leaving their cattle to fend for themselves, and so the cows needed milking. Some of our lads were able to milk them and get the benefit of fresh milk. Eggs and chickens were also sometimes available. These were sent to the cooks to deal with to augment our rations. Field kitchens were in use of course.

My job was OP signaller (Observation Post). The OP party consisted of one officer, a signaller and a driver. Our mode of transport at the time was a Bren gun carrier (a small tracked vehicle). I sat in the back with the wireless set No.1, which could be operated on the move or in a static position, transmitting and receiving. We used Morse code or speech. The wireless set was used as a first means of communication, but as soon as an OP was established and alternative means of communication had to be provided. This was usually Field Telephone and sometimes visual (lamp or flag).

I had several hairy experiences at and en-route to OPs. On one occasion we were at an OP near the Albert Canal observing German troop movements. The OP officer, Captain Jackson, (later drowned at Dunkirk) had sited the OP in a farm building on a ridge where he could get a good look at the enemy. I thought we were a bit exposed and said so, to which I received short shrift from Captain Jackson, who continued with his observing and passing orders for me to transmit, which I did. This went on for some time. Captain Jackson was up on the first floor of a farm building calling the fire orders down to me. It started to rain, so I put my groundsheet over the set, message pad and myself and carried on. Suddenly it felt as though a house had fallen on me, the German trench mortars had hit the building we were by and bricks and rubble fell on me, completely covering me. It wasn鈥檛 long, however, before I felt some of the weight being taken off me. Captain Jackson and the driver, Bloomfield, had begun shifting the rubble off me. I remember the first thing Captain Jackson saying was, 鈥淚s the set still working?鈥� It wasn鈥檛, and I told him so. He decided without hesitation to return to the gun position for a replacement. I thought that I would also be relieved. We travelled the six miles back to the guns, where on arrival some gunners were detailed to get me out of the carrier and change the set. It was while they were changing the batteries from the platform immediately behind me they pointed out two bullet holes right through them. I had two lucky escapes that day, someone was smiling on me. I had a mess tin full of tea, was detailed to remount the carrier and test the new set, then we set off for a new OP with the same team.

With communication re-established our guns re-commenced firing and put up a terrific barrage, until I received the message 鈥淐ease firing鈥�. I wondered what was happening, and then I had a message to return at once to the gun position again. On our return we could see much activity, we had also passed units of the Belgian Army coming back from the front line. On our position everybody was putting guns and vehicles out of action, blowing up ammunition and putting pick axes through petrol tanks. In fact, destroying everything that might be of use to the enemy.

Then our battery commander, Captain Terry, called us all together and all he said was for us all to make our way back to the coast to a place called Dunkirk. He was the only one with a map so we were to keep with him.

We started on foot in groups of about twenty. We quickly arrived at a road where we saw other troops making their way in the same direction. It wasn鈥檛 long before we came upon abandoned vehicles in the ditches. By then some of my party had already fallen by the wayside with blistered feet. Some looked like raw steak and I thanked God for my good feet, I had no trouble with them. By about midday I found myself walking alone and approaching a river. I walked down the bank and looked for the narrowest part to cross. Suddenly a voice behind me said, 鈥淗elp me get across, I can鈥檛 swim.鈥� I have always been a good swimmer, so I said to him, 鈥淗ere, catch hold of my belt and keep your head up.鈥� We got across but I never saw the lad again. I鈥檝e often wondered if he made it home.

I continued on my way until I saw approaching me at a gallop, a small group of French cavalry. We were on a narrow road with ditches on either side and away in the distance to my left I could see a church tower. Seconds later I saw about six explosions among the cavalry. Horses and men flew up in the air. It was like a nightmare. I had to make my way through the carnage, men and horses were maimed, killed and crying out for help. I was helpless, they were beyond anything I could do, so I gritted my teeth and picked my way through. The church tower, I assumed, had been a German observation post.

As I continued I could see a town ahead of me. It had been heavily shelled and bombed and was still smoking. Bodies stuck out of the rubble and I heard lots of cries. Again it was obvious to me that many others had already passed this way by the number of wrecked and abandoned vehicles. I picked my way through the rubble and noticed the contents of many shops strewn about. One such shop had been for musical instruments and I saw pianos, violins and a piano accordion all smashed up. These things stand out in my memory and my recollections of that horrible journey. I was just nineteen.

By late afternoon I came to what turned out to be Dunkirk. Again I encountered the same scene of devastation, bomb and shell damage, buildings wrecked and bodies sticking out of the rubble. I picked my way through; it was like a horrible nightmare that I wanted to blot out of my head. I eventually arrived at the sea front where I remember seeing part of a monument of a plane. I think it was to the Wright Brothers who flew across the Channel.

Down on the beaches were groups of soldiers just waiting, for what? I didn鈥檛 know then. Off shore could be seen the wrecks of several small craft and two or three larger vessels and debris lying all around. Off to my left I saw plumes of thick black smoke and the remains of oil tanks burning. I made my way down on to the beach and no sooner had I got there I heard the sound of approaching aircraft. They were back again, the enemy planes flying low over us and bombing and machine gunning everybody. Everyone dived into the sand and some began trying to dig themselves deeper into it. I ran towards the sand dunes and lay flat. It was terrible. I tried to bury myself, absolutely helpless. After about ten minutes they flew off. When they had gone I got up and had a look around. I saw many wounded and dead lying around. The sounds of men crying and shouting will stay with me for the rest of my life. I appeared to be OK. I saw some stretcher bearers appear from the large buildings on the sea front, they took some of the wounded there. As I recall these events I see some of the sights again. I will never forget it. I see a young sailor with a bottle in his hand, staggering along singing and shouting. I thought he must have looted the bottle from one of the sea front hotels.

Some officers were trying to organise us into groups of about fifty ready to board whatever vessel arrived at the beach next. Some units had managed to stay complete. I saw no sign of any of my regiment. Until I spoke to some of the other lads I had no idea that we were being taken home to the UK. My impression had been that we were going to be landed at some other part of the coast to fight again. It was May 30th and I was unaware that by now many thousands were already back in the UK.

I gave no thought to the fact I had not eaten or drank anything for the last 48 hours or so. Neither had I slept or washed and shaved, but we were all the same, some worse than others. Our main priority was to survive. The raids went on for some time and it seemed that every time the enemy planes went off ours flew over head, much to the annoyance of us on the beaches. There were a few choice words hurled at them.

Towards dusk we saw a small steamer heading towards a damaged jetty three quarters of which was submerged. I managed to attach myself to the group forming, ready to board. We made our way into the sea, then up on to the bomb damaged jetty and eventually made it on to the ship. The crew who helped and encouraged us urged us on. First thing I did was slump down against something on deck and as I did we received a near miss from either a bomb or a shell, which sent us all to one end of the deck in a heap. Some were wounded and one or two dead bodies could be seen. Somebody near me said we were on an Isle of Man ferryboat, but I couldn鈥檛 confirm that fact.

After a rough voyage in total darkness we arrived in Dover, which I only discovered when we disembarked and made our way to the waiting train. Here we were met by those wonderful ladies of the Women鈥檚 Royal Voluntary Service (WRVS), bless them. They plied us with hot tea, sandwiches and pork pies. They also gave us each a Field Post Card to fill in and hand back to let our families know we were safely home. We looked a dishevelled lot. Tired out we all fell asleep until we were awakened by calls at a station. Here we had buses waiting to take us off to our new temporary home, which turned out to be Blandford Camp, Dorset. We were marched off to huts and told to sleep. On waking some 24 hours later we all had showers and then proceeded to the camp dining room where we had a truly wonderful meal.

Some days later we were dispersed to join what was left of our units. I went to a tented camp on Salisbury Plain. Whilst I was there a very pleasant incident took place. Our mail, which had been held up, arrived and was distributed. Among my letters was one from my dear sister, Gladys, she had very thoughtfully enclosed a ten shilling note, a fortune to me when I had nothing. Without hesitation we headed to the canteen with my mates where I bought teas for us all and a ticket to play a game of Housey-Housey (now known as Bingo). I could hardly believe it when my numbers came up and I won ten pounds. That meant suppers all round for me and my pals.

Some days later we were dispersed to reform our units and proceeded on 48 hours leave when I married my girlfriend by special licence.

鈥淭here is no glory in war鈥nly death, destruction, shattered bodies and disturbed minds.鈥�

William Douglas Gough 鈥� Father, Grandfather, Great-grandfather.
October 16th 2003

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