大象传媒

After being knocked unconscious by a shell burst I went to the regimental CCS (Casualty Clearing Station) to see our MO for a check-up. Doctors being doctors, he decided to take my temperature etc. - it was 104 degrees. He then sent me to the field hospital straightaway, but after a bit of an argument he let me return the jeep and get some kit. I duly reported to the field hospital. They put me to bed and I presumed that I would only be in overnight, as it didn't seem to me to be serious.

Next morning an orderly brought me a cup of tea, took one look at me, and said, 'My God, you're purple all over.' Two or three doctors examined me and decided that I should be taken out of the beachhead urgently. An ambulance was called and I was taken to the airstrip to be flown out. Unfortunately, the weather was too rough for flying - pouring with rain and wind blowing a gale. 'Take them to Port en Bessin for loading on a hospital ship,' was the order.

So bumping and bouncing, our ambulance load went to the quay.
'Only room for three on this launch, back in an hour.'
I had been in the ambulance since 8am and it was now 12 noon. Unfortunately, they took three casualties out of the ambulance and I was the one left behind. About 1pm, a message came back: 'Not loading any more - the sea is too rough.'

I was taken back to the casualty evacuation centre and unloaded. At about 6pm, a decision was taken to use an LST (Landing Ship Tank). Casualties were loaded onto DUKWs (amphibious lorries), cross-wise on the top, in pouring rain, and then swam out to the LST in rough weather, salt spray drenching us. The Duck just managed to get up the ramp after two or three tries...

By about 9pm, 300 of us were on stretchers in the hold of the LST, which stunk of diesel oil (even today the smell of diesel oil takes me back to the horror of that LST). We set sail in a rough sea (the early July gales) and at about 11:30pm, once clear of the breakwaters (Mulberry Harbour), the motion became very violent.

It is almost impossible to describe the scene. Nearly dark in the hold, the smell, the stretchers sliding about, and dim figures moving from stretcher to stretcher. Being flat bottomed, the movement in the hold was terrible with water slopping about under the stretchers, and people were suffering from sea sickness. Aft - a brightly lit area with doctors working on casualties and changing dressings and trying to keep their feet as the ship rolled and the wind howled.

I was on a stretcher in the centre of the hold. Near me was a roped-off area, which everybody avoided. One patient was crying out continuously, 'The U-boats will sink us,' and one of the walking wounded was doing his best to comfort him.

Halfway across there was a tremendous crash. The wind and the rain poured in, and the twenty-ton lift for raising vehicles crashed from the top deck into the roped-off square about six feet from me. Fortunately, it didn't go through to the bottom, but I don't think many people cared one way or the other. The wind blew in and the rain poured down as the crew tried to cover the hole with tarpaulins. We were all wet, dirty, and not very happy. After some hours of this, the sea seemed to ease and I realised we were in Southampton Water.

We duly docked somewhere near Southampton. It was dark and I didn't know what day it was and I'm not sure that I cared.

Ambulances drove up the ramp, loaded and we were driven to a Canadian hospital near Bracknell. The Canadian nurses were terrific and everybody was soon cleaned up and put into bed. Everybody was mixed up including POWs and French civilians we were just casualties. The chap who had been trying to reassure the man on the stretcher that we wouldn't be sunk was complaining in an indignant voice, 'He was a German.' The next morning, after a night's rest, I think, those of us who were movable were put in ambulances and loaded on a hospital train. Twenty-four hours later, the train arrived in north-east Scotland. How long the journey took from the evacuation centre and even what day it was I had no idea.

Everybody was sorted out and sent to the various wards. To the horror of the sister in charge, she found an 'other rank' in the officers' ward, and much to the disgust of the inmates of the ward she insisted on removing him, so we were back to normal! I was closely examined and opinion decided I must be put in isolation to watch developments.

I managed to get to the telephone and rang home. I found quite a panic because my sister in the ATS, who was operating the teleprinters in the War Office, had been taking down the list of casualties from Normandy and my name came up with 'Evacuated with Serious Head Injuries'. They also received a similar telegram at home. Fortunately, I was able to put everybody鈥檚 mind at rest.

After about ten days I returned to my normal colour and the conclusion was reached that I had had Glandular Fever (apparently about which little was known). But fortunately not very infectious, I was also told I was now immune (how wrong they were). After a month in the bracing air of Scotland I was pronounced fit for duty, and, after as much leave as I could get, it was back to the battlefield and the end of my Normandy experience. On to Burma....

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