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Near the railway crossing on Heerma van Vosstraat, eight soldiers, friends of George Marsden, from the 'A' company of 7th Battalion, Duke of Wellington’s West Riding Regiment, were killed on the 29th of October 1944. These soldiers were buried on the 30th of October, 1944 on land near the farm owned by the Kerstens family.

George Marsden himself was accustomed to being attacked severely by this kind of action and was taken prisoner.

After the war their bodies were exhumed and reburied at the Bergen-op-Zoom English War Cemetery, Noord-Brabant, Netherlands.

SEE THE LIST OF THOSE KILLED DURING THIS ACTION.

Name Rank Service No. Age Next of Kin Grave Ref.
Cyril Henry Taylor Private 1740136 24 Son of Henry Sturgess & Isobel Ann Taylor of Belper, Derbyshire 7. C. 11.
John J Begley Private 5053570 31 Son of Mark & Annie Begley of Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent 7. C. 12.
Reginald Arthur Wilcock Lance Corporal 14550916 20 Son of Arthur & Lillian Wilcock of Nelson, Lancashire; husband of Winnie Wilcock 9. A. 22.
Harry Ollerenshaw Sergeant 4609203 36 Husband of Hilda Ollerenshaw, of Mossley, Lancashire 9. A. 21.
Gordon Brook Private 14677008 19 9. A. 19.
David Brindley Private 3771448 24 Son of Benjamin & Florence Brindley, of Willenhall, Staffordshire 9. A. 16.
Walter Watson Private 4616257 27 9. A. 15.
Thomas William Lefevre Private 4916400 24 Husband of Ellen Lefevre, of Blakenall, Bloxwich, Staffordshire 9. A. 13.

A Teenager at War — Part 2

By
George Marsden

I opened my eyes after a while, it was now daylight, I was lying face down and saw someone lying beside me, who was beyond any help, but when my eyes focussed I saw an earth made shelter a few yards away, I slowly dragged myself toward it, and although I heard German voices nearby, I made it to the entrance and crawled inside to be confronted by an old farmer and his wife, sitting on a box with a Alsatian dog lying at their feet, who started whimpering. I reached up with my good arm, wrapped it around the dogs mouth to prevent it from barking, but passed out again, until the next thing I knew was waking up to see the Dutch couple. The dog had gone and I could hear someone shouting.

I turned my head and saw German soldiers putting a rifle up to his shoulder in the firing position, so I raised my good arm and waved to him, where upon he shouted, "Come". I dragged myself toward him as he lowered his rifle and said, "Ah, wounded". I put up my thumb as a way of saying, "Thank you, for not shooting me". He smiled and patted me on the head.

I was carried away and placed in the coal cellar of a house nearby. As I lay on the concrete floor, I looked into the far corner and saw two German soldiers who had bandaged heads, when I coughed, they crawled toward me, one of them put his face close to mine. Then they started to punch me in the face and body. I shouted out and someone came and dragged them off me, but as soon as he had gone, they came at me again. I shouted out again, as I felt blood running from my eye. The German came down to me again and pulled the bullies away from me, and as I looked up through the cellar grate, I saw some of my comrades who had been captured.

I shouted, "Hey don't leave me down here," not knowing what my fate would be, they were surprised to see me. As they carried me up the cellar steps, I was glad to be out of there. To this day, I can still see the glazed look in the eyes of my tormenters as I lie in bed at night.

I was carried down the street and watched by some Dutch women, who stood on their doorsteps weeping, but I remember feeling ashamed at my appearance, a closed and swollen eye, one sleeve of my battle dress missing, filthy ragged trousers held together by safety pins, when a R.A.F. plane flew over firing rockets which demolished many of the houses down the street.

I was taken into a house for shelter, where a young couple lived with their young son, who was crying whilst sheltering underneath the stairs. The lady washed my hands and face as one of my friends, brought my small pack into the house, and said, "Good luck to you, we are going to leave you for now, goodbye."

I asked the Dutchman to take all my rations of cigarettes and chocolate from my pack, telling him to keep the cigarettes and I handed my chocolate to the boy who stopped crying when his dad told him what it was.

My captor came in and said it was time to go, so I said my goodbyes and was on my way, walking down the street with my arm round my guard's neck, whilst he looked most uncomfortable with his arm round my waist and wearing a great big overcoat on top of his uniform, Jack boots, a scarf around his neck, a rifle over his shoulder and taking big steps so that I was being dragged on my toes most of the time until we reached a big building. As we got to the top of the drive, I realized we had arrived at a hospital. I was relieved as we walked through the door, until I saw all the people laying down on the floor after being injured in the air raid I assumed.

Then my guard dropped me to the floor and went to fetch a doctor, who came. He looked like a monk to me, and lifted the covering on my shoulder, stood up, shook his head, ordered two orderlies to put me on a stretcher. This they did and not very gently, then they picked up the stretcher. I thought, "Good," until they carried me through the door, up the drive, through the iron gates and tipped me onto the pavement. A pool of blood had collected on the plastic stretcher, it poured onto me. I looked up at them; they scurried away. I thought if that eases the pain of the air raid victims so be it.

I was taken to a large house which was the local Head Quarters, and placed on a chair outside, then a civilian, whose house it may have been, brought me a bowl of soup and placed it on my thigh, but I couldn't hold it there with my bad hand and I let the bowl crash to the ground. The man started to pick up the pieces, when an officer came out and shouted something at the man who scurried into the house.

A military officer doctor then took me in his car to an old building, which had been utilized as a hospital, where at last I had my uniform taken off to be replaced by a white gown. I was taken to a small room which looked like a kitchen, where I was placed on an ordinary table and had a operation. After I had struggled and kicked against having a knockout fluid being dripped through a gauge into my mouth, four girls held my arms and legs. I thought I was being poisoned, especially as every one just wore civilian clothing. Anyway, I woke up again in a bed where a tall lady in a long black dress, brought to me a Bible, inside which was a notepaper containing the latest B.B.C. news from England, it was like being in a thriller.

The next thing I vaguely remember was being carried into a railway station and then into a carriage filled with wounded German soldiers. I was placed on a straw filled mattress bed in the middle of the carriage, opposite a hot, coke burning stove where a soldier was cooking some kind of evil smelling stew. I don't know how long it was since I had had something to eat. I refused the offer of a small bowl of the stew; everyone else devoured their share. The smell put me off, but I was to eat worse later on.

I had been put in this bed, just as I had been dressed by the Dutch people. There I had my operation, complete with boots, ragged trousers, torn battle blouse and cellular pants stiff with dried blood. I went to sleep for a while and was awakened by someone who was shouting out with pain, as the train trundle along. It was dark and eerie with just one lamp swinging to and fro' in the middle of this long carriage.

I tried to turn over onto my side when I felt a hard lump on my thigh. I put my good hand into the big map pocket in my battle dress trousers, and felt two grenades, still un-detonated. I realised then that no one had searched me in the place where I had been, even when the last time I had not been alone. My friends were searched with their hands up in the air. I was laying on the ground; the German soldier just looked down at me and must have thought, "It's no good searching that ragman, he can't have anything hidden away." As I thought of this, I started sweating, thinking how lucky I had been when the only people who had handled my trousers had been my Dutch friends at the hospital.

I started thinking of all sorts of things to do, I thought, "Should I try to throw them through the window?" But there weren't many windows that weren't boarded up, so should I just throw them up in the air and do as much damage as I could? But I reasoned with the thought that if I didn't get killed, it wouldn't be long after before I would be, so that wasn't a good idea. I tried to think of a lot of crazy things to do; I was rubbing my hands along the side of the mattress and I felt a gap where I could feel the straw. "That's it!" I slowly took one grenade out of my pocket and slowly moved it and pushed it into the straw whilst looking the other way through the gloom, but nobody moved as I got rid of the other one, what a relief.

As the train stopped, after what seemed a long, long time, I was handed over to a big hulk of a man, complete with a great coat and a steel helmet, who took me into a nearby building where I was taken to a small room, placed in a chair and left alone for a while, until two men dressed in civilian clothes, complete with black overcoats and large trilby hats, sat down with a table separating us.

These men sat looking at me for a while until I started to feel a bit dizzy and rested my head down on the table. One of the men held me back in the chair and gave me a drink of water, I was then asked about military things that I knew nothing about. I told him so, and he said, "I suppose you'll just be giving your name and number and that's all?" I said, "Yes," and started to give it to him, he just smiled at that.

He then pressed a button on the table and a man appeared, stood to attention, and was given the order to strip me, assisted by the other man, who never spoke at all. I was soon stripped naked as the man in charge said, "Take him in there," pointing to a door, which, when slightly opened allowed some sort of white haze to blow through. I thought, "Is it a gas chamber?"

I thought afterwards, "What made me think of that?" It was something I knew nothing about, but I was determined that I wasn't going through the door, so I dropped to the ground and kicked away at these men, until they got angry and grabbed my legs and hair to drag me through the door into what was a big room with showers all down one side. There was a long queue of wounded German soldiers waiting to have their wounds dressed by two overworked nurses. I felt a fool at the way I had been acting.

The hospital porter who had helped to drag me in, gave me a smile, then grabbed the plug that had been put through my shoulder, and pulled it out. I immediately collapsed in a heap, and then awakened, slumped inside a shower tray full of blood coloured water. the man who had put me in the predicament was waiting for me and wiped me down with a towel, then put me in a queue for medical treatment. The chap at-the back of me said, "Your shoulder's in a right mess, I'll take you to the nurse at the front of the queue." This he did amidst a lot of shouting from the other casualties. I was in a bit of a daze and can't remember who this man was or what he looked like.

The next thing I remember was that I was wearing a white gown and being taken on a horse and cart along some cobbled lanes, to the amusement of the local people doing their shopping. After a short journey, we arrived at a grand building, which happened to be the local hospital.

I was examined immediately by a doctor and was then wheeled away for some more surgery. I was awakened to find myself swathed in nice, fresh, clean bandages. It was a nice comfortable feeling, as I was put, into a proper bed with spotlessly clean bedding. It was a pity that I could not speak to anyone because of the language barrier, but the German nurse was very good to me. My one complaint was when the doctor, on his daily rounds used to push his fingers straight through the holes in my shoulder and smile, saying, "Pain, Pain," as I grimaced with the pain he was talking about.

In the next ward to me, sick and wounded German service men were being treated, and one of them, a young Luftwaffe pilot, came and sat on my bed. To my surprise he spoke English and said he would wish to bale out of his plane when he was flying over England, if he could be sure that he would be treated fairly by his captors. I reassured him that he would be.

When it was time to leave this hospital, the nurse and the German airman came to wish me well. She gave me a writing pad and the pilot translated the nurse's message: "Write to your mother," which I have always remembered.

My next port of call, was a prison hospital, where only male German soldiers were employed. I met up with the officer who was wounded and captured with me, plus a Canadian, American and a British Officer who sadly died because of his injuries. A very young Russian boy who, whilst doing some odd jobs, was caught stealing some bread from the cookhouse. He was shot by a member of the staff; he didn't kill him, but the boy howled in agony. When our officer protested, he was shown a notice on the wall that said, "It is a serious offence to steal food."

So that was that, we were informed that a high ranked officer was to pay us a visit, so the room was tidied up. When the officer arrived, he looked resplendent with his highly polished boots and array of medals whilst carrying a golden baton, which meant he was a field marshal. At least, he marched down one side of the room, about turned then marched down the other side and out of the room.

We then heard a lot of shouting and a uniformed German came in and announced that the General was not pleased with out attitude. "He expects that all patients stand to attention by the side of their beds, and the bedridden are to be placed in a sitting position. This is so that all can give a smart salute when he passes your bed. The penalty for disobedience will be a shortage of rations, I will knock on the door before we enter, you understand?"

We soon heard the marching to the door and as they knocked, bang, bang, one of our crew said, "It's the Kings Keys," so the commander received a few smiles to go with our guard-like salutes, which he grudgingly said was an improvement as he left.

Pr-BR

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