大象传媒

This story has been added ot the website by CSV volunteer Rachel Newland on behalf of the author Marcia Martin who understands the site's terms and conditions.

6th June 1944 - I'll never forget it. As usual, I caught the bus that morning. When we stopped at Laninvet to pick up passengers, someone came running out of the pub, shouting, "We've done it! We've landed!" as though it was the greatest, most wonderful thing to happen. I suppose it was really, but my heart dropped into my shoes and I cried, "God help us all and keep our boys safe."

I spent the day huddled by the radio in the rest room at HQ. Even the grumpy old sergeant didn't come near me - I think he was afraid to order me back to read Home Office Orders! No one else at the station had anyone on active service and I had no idea where my brother was. The rest of the staff were very kind and understanding and kept me supplied with snacks and cups of tea.

The next three weeks were very tense, but eventually I had one of the official postcards. You know the sort of thing: I'm OK, you're OK, so that's OK. Roy was off Normandy about 3/4 months. His ship was a Landing Craft Gun Boat, LCG 939, and there were not many of them. You hardly ever heard them mentioned, but they had a special mission. They were used for close bombardment and to draw the enemy fire.

Each day they would sail along the coast, tempting the Germans to fire on them and then the Lord Roberts and other large battle ships standing a few miles off would try to blast them, not very successfully. There was this one big gun up on the headland which would pick off the smaller ships, but they could not silence it. Eventually it was discovered in a tunnel, into which it would withdraw every time the big guns opened up.

Each night the LCGs and other small craft would get back into the comparative safety of the Mulberry harbour, but every morning would come the moment when the engines had to be started and then the limpet mines, laid by the Germans overnight, would take their toll and ships would explode.

Eventually, whilst on close bombardment, Roy's ship was hit by the big gun. He had trained up one of the gunnery marines crew to help with casualties in such a case, but ironically they were the ones to get the full blast and thus unable to do anything to help. So, there was Roy with all these casualties, some with limbs missing and others with head wounds, all on his own and with very little equipment to help them. The skipper got them out of range very quickly and fortunately, despite a huge hole in the side of the boat, they were still afloat.

Their casualties were off-loaded onto a hospital ship and a few days later they limped back to Poole. Roy came home for a few days survival leave, looking tired and shelled-shocked, but brightened when we heard on the radio that "Big Bertha" had finally been silenced by the RAF.

He went back to his ship, lying at Poole awaiting a berth in Southampton for repairs. So, off I went to Poole, having a most horrendous journey being shunted off into a country halt, no station, no water, no toilets, just a few cattle grids. A friend was with me, thank God, who was going to Bournemouth to visit relatives, so we sat on the ground for about two hours, until a 'puffing billy' type train came and took us down to Poole.

Roy had arranged digs with one of the Royal Marine's family near where the ship was moored. The skipper invited me to come aboard next day for tea, so full of joy I made my way down to the shore and there was the LCG 939 sailing away!

Dismayed, I stood and watched the bunty tosser sending out his message. There was a Naval Officer standing near and I asked him to translate for me, which he did: "Sorry to leave you but orders are orders." Sadly I went back to our lodgings thinking I might as well go home. But the marine and his family persuaded me to stay in the hope that the ship had been given a berth and would turn up in Southampton next day. They very kindly drove me over to Southampton next day and though we searched the docks for hours, there was no sign of her.

The family coaxed me to stay on, saying we were bound to hear of her whereabouts soon, as the marine would have to go back on board after his leave ended. I stayed another two days and travelled over to Bournemouth to see my friend. Getting off the bus that evening I was greeted by a very excited wife of the marine brandishing a telegram. It said that Roy was near Robbie and would see me soon. Relief! I knew Robbie, one of our naval friends and best man at our wedding, was in Fareham, so Roy must be in Portsmouth.

Now, a very strange and moving story, about how people helped each other during the war, sticking together despite terrible odds. When Roy's ship left Poole, she sailed up towards Portsmouth and, as was the rule at that time, tied up to a buoy to await a berth. After a while it was their turn to move into harbour, and as they passed another ship making for harbour, Roy shouted to a sailor on board and asked him to send me a telegram. No money changed hands and it was just a garbled message, but that sailor said, "OK mate" and I received the telegram! We have wished many times we could have thanked that boy - but that's how things were during the war.

Roy came over to Poole and said he was likely to be in Portsmouth for some time while the ship was repaired, and as I had at that time been invalided out of the Police Force with a persistent throat infection, we looked for some digs in Fareham.

We eventaully found some with a retired old soldier and his wife. We had a sitting room, a bedroom and use of bathroom and kitchen. It was very comfortable but there was a portrait of the old soldier, in full dress uniform, red tunic, waxed moustache and all, on the wall of the sitting room, and no matter where you sat, his eyes were on you and you felt you had to sit stiffly to attention! The lady of the house also warned us not to use the bath together. Apparently, the previous tenants had done such a dreadufl thing and had been given notice forthwith!

Robbie, who used to come over from the Naval Hospital to spend the evening with us, thought this was hilarious and informed us he didn't think it was possible as the bath was so small!

After a few months LCG 939 was serviceable again and was being sent to Belfast to be prepared for the Far East War. So, another goodbye and home to Cornwall for me. Then, surprise, surprise, the crew were paid off, another crew took her east, and Roy was posted to Brighton, where the hotels had been taken over and some turned into hospitals.

I went up to Brighton. Our first digs were horrendous! We had a room on the fourth floor of a guest house with one single bed, one blanket and a gas ring. It was freezing. The sea froze as it came over on to the promenade outside. We found to our dismay that the gas meter in our room was also supplying another room on the same floor - occupied by an officer and his wife who could easily have afforded to subsidise us.

So, we searched for somewhere else and found a nice place a little further inland. Roy was unable to collect our suitcases from our old digs until after lunch and we were charged another day's rent for leaving our cases in the hall!

It was now Christmas and some people from the nearby church took us in for the festive season until our new digs were ready. In between we had to spend about a week with an elderly couple. The kitchen was half underground, very dark and with a huge kitchen table, where we sat at one end to eat (just the one ration between us) and the landlords sat at the other, watching us eat. When we had finished the landlady used to take over the teapot, pour some hot water in and use the rest of the tea.

However, in time we moved into our new place and were very warm and comfortable. I had to get a job to comply with war time rules and regulations and found one in a rather up market ladies' store, selling materials.

We had some good times in Brighton, had some lovely walks across the cliffs and met some nice people. The war in Europe was drawing to a close and Roy was posted back to Stonehouse Hospital in Plymouth where he came under the care of Surgeon Captain Fraser Campbell, a most colourful gentleman. Roy took a course in operating theatre work and passed with honours. He would have liked to continue with a medical career but men were not considered for operating theatre work at that time.

So we came home to Cornwall and started life together in a prefab, had our precious daughter, Kay and have been together for 62 years.

We lost several friends in the war: John, who flew Spitfires and went out on a mission off North Africa and was never heard of again; Harold, a rear gunner went on one of the thousand bombing raids and the Lancaster overhead dropped his bombs right through Harold's plane. A neighbour was taken prisoner by the Japaneese, came home but only lived a few months as he had suffered so much he could not get his strength back.

The spirit and kindness of the people who went through it with us is something we will never forget.

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