Apart from a general interest in WWII and the consumption of many books on the subject, my real interest in this site comes from being able to give a wider audience to what my father achieved with his small part in the war.
Douglas Burdon was a signaller, initially with the Worcestershire Regiment. He was sent at first to the most peaceful outpost of the war, Iceland, key to the North Atlantic convoys, to assist in repelling the German invasion that never came. That only lasted a few months and then he was sent back to England for training as a spotter for the Royal Artillery. He travelled to Normandy on D Day +6 with D Troop, 172 Battery, 179th Field Regiment R.A In this hazardous role he served almost continuously at the front, and often ahead of it, for the remainder of the war, ending up in northern Germany. The contrast between those two areas of experience is starkly illustrated in the two halves of his book.
Dad remained a Private for the entire war, his one chance of a stripe or two being scuppered by a badly timed attack of appendicitis. He was a quiet man who talked little about what he experienced, though it was still the subject that would animate him most when he did. Those months of tension and trauma in northern Europe were clearly the most exciting times he ever had in a life in which neither his material wealth nor success in the workplace ever matched the qualities that he had within him.
He died on 30th September 1999 and his ashes were sprinkled on the North Yorkshire Moors above the village where he grew up and from where he moved to the Midlands as a young man. In his later years he and my mother gained much pleasure from their activities with the Normandy Veterans Association and the Market Garden Association, visits to Holland being a regular event for them. My Mum continues to maintain those contacts and will represent him in Normandy this year for the 60th anniversary.
I reflect from far off Australia on what my father wrote about what he experienced. Typed neatly and put away in a box I didn’t get to read this tale until he was gone. It was a labour of love to scan it and edit it onto my computer and print it for the family to read. But so many questions arose from my endeavour, ‘What happened then? ‘ frequently coming to mind, together with questions on military matters of the time that were self evident to Dad but not to his uninfirmed son. Now most of these questions are beyond answering, though perhaps a wider readership will be able to contribute some insights. Above all I gained a new respect for my father above that which the family man of my experience had engendered, and thankfulness for my own existence when I read how close at times he came to death. The moment when an almost inaudible transmission from a comrade at Battery HQ caused him to lean his head forward to listen just as a snipers bullet smacked past it still gives me chills when I read of it again.
I trust that you will enjoy reading his work, which I will post to the website in byte sized pieces entitled "Fire Orders".
Alan Burdon
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