大象传媒

Beach鈥檚 War, Chapter One 鈥� The Call to Arms

Note: A volunteer on behalf of Fred Beacham has entered this story. The author has seen and agreed to the People's War House Rules.

The story that I am about to tell recalls my part in the Italian Campaign during WW2. It is true as far as my memory will allow. It is now more than 50 years since I was conscripted, as a thin boy of eighteen living in Bristol, into the armed forces during the Second World War.

I was born on the 18th September 1924, at 12, Clifton Wood Crescent, Bristol and the seventh of thirteen children. On the 4th September 1939, aged nearly 15, I left Clifton National School and went to work at Harvey Barton and Co, a firm of photographers on Park Row. I earned seven shillings and sixpence per week, fixing developed photographs to make postcards. I did not enjoy the work. After about a year, I went to work at the Ashley Vale Biscuit Company, in Melk Street, St Pauls, Bristol. My job was to pack biscuits to send around the country. When not working in the bakery, I undertook fire watch duties and saw the German bombers flying overhead to attack the Filton works. My employment at the bakery was cut short when the site was destroyed in an enemy air raid. I then went to work for the Great Western Railway Company at Temple Meads Station. This post lasted 18 months and ended, when I received my call up papers in December 1942.

I was ordered to report to the Goojerate Barracks at Colchester, Essex. I travelled there alone, after a tearful send-off from my Mother and Father at the station. I little anticipated the events of the next two and half years.

A Corporal, met us at Colchester and we were whisked away to the Barracks. There without more ado, we were signed in and allocated to our respective buildings. I was surprised at the sparse accommodation, which consisted of rows of two-tiered wooden banks with thin metal straps as springs. On top of these were thin mattresses filled with about five inches of straw.

We were introduced to the Sergeant in Charge, who then outlined briefly the layout of the camp. He emphasised that the Barrack square was hallowed ground and not to be walked on. We were then detailed to report to the cookhouse where we were given tea and instructed not to leave the Barracks again that day.

For the rest of the evening, we got to know one another, then, just before 10 o'clock a Corporal burst in and ordered everyone on to his bunk. 鈥� Lights must be out by 10 o'clock sharp!鈥� he said. I hardly had time to get undressed and into the top bunk, when the corporal reappeared and off went the light.

It was a harsh, cold night and I snuggled down between the rough army blankets, feeling far from cheerful and a little homesick already!

I had my head underneath the blanket trying to warm up, when there was a loud bang at the window, accompanied by a loud voice saying, 鈥淐ome on get this window open!鈥� -I thought someone was fooling around and took no notice. A few minutes later I heard footsteps outside again and the same loud exhortation. The man on the bottom bunk told me to open the window as the voice belonged to the Orderly Sergeant. I replied that as he was on the bottom bunk, it would be easier for him to get out and open it. He declined this request none too politely.

I was in no mood to relinquish my slowly- warming bed and turned over, intending to ignore the matter. When I was about to nod off, the footsteps returned, followed by the command- for the third time. I now began to lose my temper. Just as I was about to throw back my blankets and clamber out, cursing, the door was flung open and the lights switched on. 鈥淲ho said that?鈥� I deemed it wiser to say nothing, 鈥淰ery well!鈥� continued the Orderly Sergeant鈥檚 gruff voice. 鈥淚'll see about this in the morning!鈥� The door slammed, he was gone - having opened the window himself.

I thought that the incident was closed, until the Room, or Platoon Sergeant - as he later came to be called, asked us after breakfast, 鈥淲ho was it using bad language at lights-out last night? If I don't get the culprit, everyone in the room will be confined to barracks for a week.鈥� I then reluctantly admitted responsibility, whereupon he took my name and told me that he wanted no further trouble during lights-out.

I am glad to relate that I heard nothing further about it, but this was not the end of my ill-fated links with him. Thus, I started my first few hours in HM Service.

The next day, the sound of the Bugle woke me, a sound I was to hear for the next five years. Reveille, as it was called in the Army, was at 7 a.m. and it was dark, cold and miserable. We went to the Stores after breakfast were we were issued with our uniform and equipment. I always remember my Greatcoat, owing to its size, as it fitted like a tent and later embarrassed me as I walked the streets of Colchester. Eventually I got it altered, but not for several months.

During the next few days, we were medically examined and given shots in the arm to guard against a variety of diseases. During these examinations, I witnessed several men flop to the ground in a dead faint. The 鈥橲hort Arm鈥� inspection was the most disliked. We lined up in single file and paraded towards the medical officer who examined the male private parts and under the arms for signs of infection. I hated it鈥� A slight hollow in the small of my back was discovered on medical examination, so I was sent to a specialised training and recuperation centre at Kingston upon Thames. I fully enjoyed my four weeks there and my hollow back was much improved. I also began to put on weight and became much fitter than when I joined.

I returned to Colchester Barracks, where I undertook a period of intensive training. By the end of a further six weeks, I was pretty proficient at correcting stoppages in the Bren gun - a light machine gun - I could run and walk 20 miles in three hours (if you failed to complete the exercise, you had to do it all over again!). Another unhappy experience during this period of army life happened on a stiff obstacle assault course. I had cleared all the obstacles, when I came upon a large stream. The water was about four feet deep and about thirty feet wide. Over this water, a rope was rigged and troops were already crossing. I waited my turn to clamber up and cross with dry feet, but an officer called out saying that I could not stay there as I was now under enemy fire. I jumped into the stream and waded across. On reaching the other bank I had difficulty getting out, as people who went before me had made it very slippery, so I thrust my rifle butt into the top of the bank to get better leverage. I gave a tremendous heave and managed to clamber onto the side when I felt someone or something fall partly on to my back. I took no notice and continued to run forward, but another soldier ran up to me and said that I had bayoneted a man!

I told him not to be so bloody stupid, but it turned out to be true. The person falling on to my back also fell on to the end of my fixed bayonet and it penetrated upwards into the fleshy part of his inner thigh. What a near miss! It turned out the victim was the Platoon Corporal and he had to go to hospital. I never saw him again.

As a result of this incident, I found myself in front of the Commanding Officer, who inquired whether I had a grudge against the Corporal. I can only say in retrospect, that I am glad I had only been in the camp a short while.

Not all the events of this initial training period were of such a nature. I recalled a rather amusing one, which occurred about five weeks after joining up. At this time, we counted ourselves as reasonably efficient soldiers... We were informed that a rifle inspection would take place the following day and so we all set to with our "pullthroughs", a length of cord attached to a piece of three by two oily rag. The cord was dropped into the rifle breech and then the rifle barrel and pulled through repeatedly until the barrel shone and the rifle was clean.

The next day, the Platoon Sergeant ordered us outside the barrack room, but the inspecting officer was not present. We were told to 鈥榝all out鈥� and smoke if we wanted to. A young recruit, a tall weedy character with a face the colour of chalk, placed his rifle against the barrack wall causing a quantity of dust to fall down the barrel unbeknown to him. As the officer still did not arrive, the Sergeant 'fell' in and looked down the barrel of the recruit鈥檚 rifle. The Sergeant accused him of failing to clean it and threatened to put him on a charge. The recruit protested his innocence in a weak voice, which gradually became a sob and to everyone's surprise, he broke down into uncontrollable crying with the whole platoon looking on. The Platoon Sergeant was so embarrassed that he put his arm on the boy鈥檚 shoulder, like a loving mother and told him to pull himself together. I could not help but wonder how we would fare against the mighty Wehrmacht.

I arrived home on my first leave since being conscripted to find that my two year old niece, Maureen, had died of meningitis. Her mother, Winifred, my eldest brother Jack's wife, was devastated by her death. She always blamed herself for being the cause of it. When the sirens had sounded the alarm, she had picked up little Maureen in a hurry and on dashing to the air-raid shelter, she had accidentally banged Maureen's head as she entered the shelter. Winifred never forgave herself.

I finished my intensive training course and after a weekend of leave, with all the others who had finished, left for the Yorkshire Moors. Here we received further training with mortars. This training was realistic and we used two- inch mortar bombs. Fortunately, no one was injured, although it was a miserable experience owing to the heavy rain and mist which spanned the whole of the moors. We used to arrive back at the billet footsore and weary with huge blisters on the soles of our feet. We spent some of the evening in the nearby town having a drink or two, if we could afford it, on our meagre Army pay. I recall that this was twelve shillings and sixpence a week. The rest of the time, we spent in the NAFFI drinking tea and 鈥榳ads鈥�.

After this very rugged period of training, I went home on a further week鈥檚 leave, the last I would have for two and a half years. I enjoyed it as much as I could under the austere circumstances of the country. Cigarettes were very difficult to get hold of as they had gone under the counter and unless you knew the publican, the supply would dry up completely.

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