大象传媒

I have attached a short narrative of my William Robinson's war service whilst serving with the 55th Field Regiment, West Somerset Yeomanry.

William Robinson came from Hessle near Hull.

I am keen to locate anypersons who may have known W. Robinson especially around the time of the liberation of Brussels . please contact via e-mail:

richenda@rkemp43.fsnet.co.uk

On the 22nd January 1942, I I was called up to the 9th Field Training Regiment (Royal Artillery) at Uniake Barracks Harrogate. After an aptitude test, I was told I would be trained as a Driver I/C. After passing out as a Driver, I was given a short course in Motporcycle Despatch Rider and also a short course as a Gunner on the 25 Pounder Field Gun and also a smattering of Driver Mechanics course.

The camp was very good. It had a camp theatre were we got some pretty good shows provided by ENSA. It also had a good NAAFI, that is if we had any money to spend in it. Theoretically we were on 2 Shillings a day but after so called voluntary allotments we ended up 6 or 7 Shillings (?). Some of the artists in the theatre were pretty blue, especially Elsie and Doris Waters (Gert & Daisy). The theatre also doubled as a Cinema.

After 3 months there I passed out as fully trained and was granted 10 days leave. After returning to Harrogate, I was posted to the 55th Field Regiment (West Somerset Yeomanry). About twenty of us were escorted down to the headquarters of the regiment at Great Bentley where we were greated by the Colonel who immediately told us 鈥測ou are all young and brainy so you are going to be retrained as Regimental Signallers and you will get no leave until you pass out. It is a six month course but you will do it in three or somebody will suffer鈥�. This was all in basic army English. It went down like a bomb. We were told that for training purposes we would all be posted to 373 Battery which at the time was erecting a tented camp on Salisbury Plain where we would be going the following day. We were then marched away to the Cookhouse for a meal and then to an old building to sleep for the night.

Next morning after Breakfast, inspected and issued with haversack and rations we embarked onto a three ton truck with all our gear and set off in charge of a Bombardier for Salisbury Plain. What an uncomfortable journey, none of usmuch of army transpoirt! We eventually arrived at the Regimental camp site fed up and tired, sore and completely down at the mouth to be greated by the BSM!. The 55th Field Regiment was a Territorial Unit from West Somerset and at first our intake did not get on with them. But eventually we were accepted. We were in our teens and they were all in their thirties, so to us they were all old fogies. What did not help was the fact that during the week, we were on intensive training course and did no duties but at the weekend, the BSM took good care that we all got the weekend jobs. So we hardly ever got out of the camp.

After three and a half months, I passed out as a Regimental Signaller and was duly entitled to seven days leave (record of all leaves in A.B. 64, Part One). After returning from leave, I was transferred to 374 Battery. Thank goodness, out of the way of that perverted BSM who was a regular with a lot of peacetime service (and thought that everybody was below him which made him hated throughout the Regiment).

The formation of the Guards Armoured Division was now complete - which we were a part of. Our Regiment was the Artillery support for the 32nd Brigade and the order of the day was constant training including schemes simulating real warfare. This included field service rations - we were banned from going into any NAAFI or other places for any food. However, on one scheme, my pal and I went into a Canteen in Salisbury and had a good feed: It was only after we left and about four miles away that I found I had left my Tommy Gun in the Canteen. So I had to about turn, dodge the MP鈥檚 and with luck, the lady in the Canteen had found it and hidden it away. I had visions of a long sojourn in a Glasshouse (Prison) after a Court Martial but by the grace of god, it ended alright.

Ever since passing out as a Signaller, I had been driving the spare signal truck which I had to maintain along with the spare signal equipment. One night, four of us went down to a little village near the camp. We went into the pub but we were informed that they didn鈥檛 have any Beer, only Scrumpy Cider at four pence a pint. We had the large amount of ten Shillings between us and all got 鈥榮loshed鈥� on Scrumpy and still had enough money left for another night out. But next morning, what a head; half past six Revelle, P.T. five and twenty to seven - never felt so bad in all my days.

In about October, we moved into a hutted camp at Codford - still in Wiltshire. The Nissen huts were heaven after being under Canvas for so long. While we were there over the winter, I got a months C.B. for telling a Sergeant he was a Stupid Twerp. Even though I was proved right, I was still sentenced and got landed with the job of night stoker in the Regimental cookhouse. It was not a bad job as I did not have to do any guard duties and there was plenty of extra food going. I never got fed so well for a longtime.

Sometime in 1943, we moved out from Codford on another big scheme. After it had finished, ended up in Suffolk at Blacktoft Camp near Thetford. Intensive training was still the order of the day and according to the grapevine our Regiment was picked to show King George and the Royal Family how a creeping barrage worked (after the style of the barrage which preceded the Battle of El Alamein). After a lot of 鈥榮pit and polish鈥� we were inspected by a Guards ranking officer who when he saw me said I 鈥榣ook like a bag of shite tied up in the middle鈥�. After a lot of palaver, I was hauled off to a Guards Tailor who practically remade a battle dress. When I was reinspected, I was told that I still looked like a bag of shite tied in the middle . Also that the best thing to do with me was to hide in the three rear ranks when the royal family drove past after the exhibition shoot (which was precisely what happened).

After more schemes and training, we set off to change our theatre of operations up to North Yorkshire. As I was driving the spare signal truck, somehow I lost my way and ended up in Hessle. So I called in at home for a cup of tea. My mother nearly had a fit when I drove up and could not get rid of me fast enough. She thought that I would get shot at dawn for pinching an army wagon, absent without leave and everything else under the sun. So after a cup of tea and a sandwich, I went on my way. She also gave me a few shillings to tide me over.

After leaving home,I made my way towards Goole and stopped an MP on a motor cycle. I kidded him that I was lost. He had had a lot of dumb drivers and after examining my work ticket, escorted me to the main road towards York where I went to the R.T.O for clearance. Then on to Malton where I was told to drive to Hovingham where I would find the Battery. I thought I had got away with it alright, nobody was any the wiser and I had seen my mother for a few minutes and had a laugh on the army.

The Regiment was deployed as follows: R.H.Q was in the village of Hovingam, 373 Battery was at Slingsby, 374 Battery just outside Hovingham and 439 Battery just to the west of Hovingham. Life went on practically the same as ever - schemes and continual training exercisesout on the northern moors in winter weather. On one scheme in January, I had cut my hand and never bothered about it and I ended up in a military hospital at Naburn, just outside of York. What a way to spend my 21st birthday (i.e. February 1944) laid in bed with my arm in the air giving the Nazi salute. Then I was put on a charge for callimh a nurse a name.. So I was laid in bed while I was tried by the Commandant with my arm still in the Nazi salute and when all the circumstances were explained why I had her called her a name. I was backed up by the Doctor who was looking after me. It did a bit of good as I got cups of tea more than the rest of the ward. In the ward were two Italian P.o.W.鈥檚 one with a leg off and one with an arm off. The one with the leg off used to lay on his bed after suppers and sing Italian songs. He had a lovely voice and it brought a bit of pleasure into what was a very dull life in the hospital day.

After I was discharged from hospital, I went back to Hovingham for a week of light duties and then back and then back to the old routine of more schemes and training. The one highlight was volunteering for harvesting on the farm for a shilling a day extra and also some farmhouse suppers which was a lot better than the usual snack in the NAAFI, consisting of a cup of tea and a rock bun (very aptly named). One morning in January 1944 I was woken up and told to report to the Battery Office where I was told to pack my gear and then proceed on Compassionate leave. No one could tell me why or anything. When I arrived home I found both my mother and father were seriously ill with Pneumonia. Dr Dunn was trying a new drug out on them (MB). This pulled them through but what a job we had getting the tablets down my fathers throat, but we managed after a struggle.

After a couple more months at Hovingham, we moved down south to a place on Pevensey Bay and then to a concentration area, ready for the invasion. (for locations and times, see Adventures of the West Somerset Yeomanry, although written from a persepective of 439 Battery we were not always together in the same battles).

One morning while we were at Pevensey, I received a telegram telling me that my father had died and after a bit of to-ing a fro-ing, I was given a few days compassionate leave to attend his funeral. It was quite a journey home. Crossing through London forever getting stopped by MP鈥檚 because no one was supposed to leave the area. After looking out for my brother George through the Journey (n.b. George was in the Royal Naval Patrol, Service) I got out of the train at Hessle station only to find George stepping out of the next but one carriage. He had been looking for me from London onwards. When we got to our house, we found that Frank, our brother, was at home (Frank was in the Naval Commando鈥檚). The first time we had been at home together since the beginning of the war. After the funeral, we had a couple of days together and then it was back to the service鈥檚 for George and I. Frank was on sick leave (from wound sustained at Anzio) so he stayed at home.

Shortly after returning to Pevensey, we moved into a concentration area near Brighton (note whilst here witnessed a Spitfire diabling a V1 Doodelbug which subsequently exploded on impact with a Wireless station). Then it was to London to the Docks for embarcation for the beaches. We went across on a Yank tank landing ship. The food on the ship was wonderful after living on tinned food for a long time. It was heaven to eat fresh food. Most of the crew were complaining about having Turkey and Chicken so regular. Of course we thought that we would not mind having that sort of food for ever more but that was the difference between us and the Yanks. Mind you, they treat us in every possible way they could giving us fags and bars of chocolate.

Eventually we arrived on the beaches. What a noise was going on it was just like continual rolls of thunder all the time, enough to frighten us to death without anything else. We laid off the beaches all that night. Talk about hell let loose, the Rodney was steaming up and down outside of the anchorage giving support to the troops ashore. I am sure that every time she let go a salvo, the vessel I was on jumped out of the water. Nobody got much sleep with that noise going on and the thought of what tomorrow would bring. Anyway after what seemed an endless night, we were fed and told we would be disembarking soon. The evil hour was soon reached and we started edging into the shore. We were ordered to board our vehicles. At that time, I was driver / signaller on the signal equipment truck. At last the shore was reached, the bows of the ship opened up and it was a case of foot down on the accelerator and keep going like hell for the shore. I drove for the shore like a bat out of hell and was very much surprised when I ended up on the shore all in one piece - when I left the comparative safety of the ship, I was convinced that I would not see my 22nd Birthday. I was sure that very few could live through the hell that was going on. Although we were trained, nobody could imagine the scene that confronted me. When I looked around with burnt out vehicles and dead bodies laid about, not that I had much time to look about. I was soon directed to where to go by a big bawling MP and set off in the right direction where the first job was to get rid of the waterproofing we had on the vehicles (the waterproofing enabled the vehicles to move through quite a depth of water without the engine getting flooded. We had not any time to wonder about what was going on as we were straight into action giving close artillery support to the Infantry who were having a hell of a rough time of it. A few days after, we were on the receiving end of some counter artillery work from a German 88. This was bloody awful to say the least. We got quite a pasting but luckily very few casualties. Suddenly, out of the blue, I heard a shell coming. I shouted to my mate Ken to duck. I dived into a slit trench. Ken could not have heard it because the shell landed at his feet and he got the lot. We rushed him to the first aid post but we could see that it was a forlone hope that anything could help him: From his Pelvis downward, there was nothing left. A day or so later, I was told that he had died. His name was Ken Robinson and he came from Hull, the same as me and during our time together we were always getting mixed up with our duties etc. So I sent quite a lot of field postcards to home in case they got mixed up again and told my mother that I had not been killed in action.

In the course of the next few weeks we were in quite a few battles and took my turn as Wireless operator in the Sherman Tank we used as an Observation Post. We saw a big tank battle near Caen but only from the outskirts as we were not really a fighting tank. The battlezone was absolutely horrific with burnt out tanks littering the landscape and the smell indescribable. After the battle for Caen was over, we moved about the beachead through the Falaise Gap where we had entrapped the German Army. It was an absolute scene of carnage. The stink and sights going through the gap were horrific - piles of dead bodies alongside the road intermingled with dead horses which the German Army used quite a lot. Put me off Corned Beef for a long time. After breaking out, it was hell for leather as fast as possible. Nobody knew for sure, just bash on as fast as possible. The scenes in the towns and villages we liberated were fantastic. The people went crazy, the scenes absolutely indescribable. When we got into Brussels it was hell let loose. We were the first troops into Brussels, we just beat the 5th Brigade. By the time we reached the city centre, it was complete chaos. We were called upon for some Artillery support as the Guards tried to force the crossing of the Escaut Canal, so we dropped into action in some parkland in the centre of the city. Every time we got fire orders, the Belgian civvies fought each other to fire the guns at the Boche and paid the Gunners for the privilege. Also a number of the local women were saying they wanted a Souvenir in the shape of an English baby. It was perhaps not surprising that they did not have any difficulty finding someone to help them achieve this ambition!

The women who had collaborated or had had German lovers were shown the error of their ways. They were stripped naked and all their hair shaved off and paraded through the streets like that. We could not stop them even though we thought it barbaric. But the people had suffered so much under the German occupation that they had to give way to their feelings someway and that was the way of doing it. We were told not to hand any prisoners over to the Resistance forces because they just stood them against a wall and shot them in cold blood.

After two or three days of this sort of war, we limbered up and moved nearer the Escaut Canal to prepare for Operation Market Garden. The 鈥楪arden鈥� was to be spearheaded by the Guards Armoured Division to force our way to the Zuider Zee and cut Holland in half. At first the 88鈥檚 caused a lot of tank losses but the tank busting Typhoons sorted them out pretty sharp. We started swanning up the centre line on our way to Appledorn on the Dutch coast - or that was our original intention. But things do not always go according to plan. At this time, I was driving the troop signal truck and we were told that any casualties had to be laid at the roadside and marked and left for the Ambulances which would be following at at the rear of the Spearhead columns. After a lot of delays, through stiff resistance, we managed to reach Nijmegen, where I managed to overshoot the troop position and went over the bridge in quite a flurry of shellfire . I was soon turned back because no soft skinned vehicles were over there. After re-crossing the bridge, I managed to find the troop position and was quite thankful to do so. We were well dug in and were supporting the Yank Para鈥檚. They were quite pleased at having us there to help them. After a couple of days, I went to the O.P. as relief and right in the front with the Para鈥檚. They were getting supplied by air drops so we were living on Yank rations. Plenty of fags and even some ice cream. We said we were in the wrong mob and would have been very good if we had been on their pay as well. Mind you, while the yanks were in the front line, they were not too bad with their 鈥楤ill鈥�, however in the rest areas they were a pain in the neck.

Eventually as we could not our way to Arnhem, the troops that could be withdrawn were. They had been through hell and back with a lot of casualties. A lot were taken prisoner. We then moved about quite a bit supporting wherever we were required.. We then went to a village on the Dutch - German border called Leyenbroek. After digging the guns in and getting prepared for a line holding we were billeted in the civil houses. I was billeted with a lovely family by the name of Aretz and when off duty, it was like heaven to sleep nice and dry under a roof. The people were practically starving but by fair means and foul, we helped them out (by reconnoitring the countryside for food).

Soon we were on the move again, this time to the rear areas in Belgium to a place called Tirelmont. We were going to have the guns re-barrelled as they were pretty near worn out with the amount of firing done since we had landed in France. We were going to have Christmas in a back area. But no such luck, Gerry made a breakout in the Ardennes in the Yank sector so we were sent back in to help stem the breakout - but according to the Yanks, they did it all themselves. Our Christmas dinner consisted of a tin of Bully Beef and a packet of biscuits. So much for a Christmas in a bit of piece and quiet and a nice cooked dinner with a drop of Beer. After the advance had been stemmed and driven back, we moved to Namur for a couple of days and then back to Rirelmont. For a while we were looking forward to a bit of an easy time. No such luck, bags of 鈥楤ull鈥� to keep up the tradition of the Guards - spit and polish - even though we were not Guards we had to keep smart to be part of the Guards Armoured Division.

Sometime in February we moved out back up to Mijmegen where we took part in a massive bombardment to clear the Germans out of the Reichswald Forest. There it was, a hell of a bombardment and we returned to just outside of Nijmegen after the barrage. We were all slightly bomb happy with the continual noise from the guns. Thus was followed by more 鈥楤ull鈥� and training. One good thing was the fact that short leaves to Brussels was on the go. So it was a big relief to go and have a few days of near normality.

The month of March came and after supporting roles, we eventually moved out to another concentration area. Then shortly afterwards, under the strictest camouflage, we commenced digging gun pits and ammo dumps for the crossing of the Rhine. Everything was under a thick blanket of smoke. It was enough to choke anyone and one day, I sneaked off into the back areas for a bit of fresh air when a funny thing happended. I heard a voice shout 鈥榶our鈥檈 all right now lads, the Navy鈥檚 here to look after you鈥�. When I turned around, there were two big tank transporters. But instead of two tanks being on them, there were two MTB鈥檚 whose function was to patrol the Rhine when the bridge was put across. Funnily enough, about 30 years afterwards, I was telling this story at work when someone turned around and said I was a Leading Seaman on one of those.! Anyway, the bridge building started and we were continually giving fire support where it was needed. Eventually, the ballon went up, it seemed as if the sky was covered with aircraft. First the Paratroops, then the Glider Troops. What a sight. There seemed more this time than for Market Garden. After a while, we crossed a bridge named 鈥楲ondon Bridge鈥�. Then the Guards Division broke out and we went swanning off again. This was evidently the beginning of the end. Dropping into action regularly, sometimes for a couple of hours and then limbering up again, sometimes for a while longer where ever our assistance was required. Things were quite dodgy at times with the enemy pretending to give up and then opening fire. So in the end no chances were taken. Quite a few casualties were suffered what with Sea Mine鈥檚 buried in roadways and with the centre line being so narrow, there was quite a bit of sniping from the side lines.

It was somewhere in this area that we relieved a PoW camp full of British naval ratings and merchant seamen. Leading the troops, sat on the turret of a guards tank, flying the White Ensign was a naval captain. A lot of prisoners captured at the St Nazaire raid. (Note, after the War, William Robinson was friendly with Tommy Boyd, local trawler owner. He was in the van of the St Nazaire raid in an MTB). Also among the prisoners was a pal from Hessle. I never saw him but he saw me and let everyone in the Granby pub. I bumped into him after the war was over and I had gone on leave. .

It was a funny sort of time from then on. At times we would ring up the next town on the telephone and ask if they were going to surrender.

Then one night on the 大象传媒 news, we heard that war was going to finish the next morning. At first, no one could take it in but when it was confirmed from Divisional HQ, it was such an anti-climax. Nobody went mad with joy or such, just a massive sense of relief that it was going to end. We were still lucky to be still alive.

The orders came through from Divisional HQ that the next morning at ten minutes to eight, all the guns in the army were to give ten minutes rapid gunfire with High Explosives and then smoke. It was an impressive sight seeing all the different coloured smoke on the horizon. Then we limbered up again and went hell for leather for Cuxhaven where we were confronted by two German Divisions who were still fully armed. Apart from the odd little incidents they behaved themselves. There was also quite a large amount of German navy at large as well ). We soon pulled outside Cuxhaven to cover , under open sights, an armoured train. Quite a few of us managed to obtain Luger pistols which we thought might come in handy later on.

After a few weeks went by, with us more or less acting as Policemen, we were told that we were on the move again. This time down to central western Germany. All our guns had to be handed in. We went to Aachen for occupational duties. It was not too bad and was right on the Dutch border. The non fraternisation ban was in force, but it was not strictly adhered to. About this time, demobilisation started also home leave. My name did not go into the hat with the first lot because they said that I had been on Compassionate Leave before D Day. Also, sorting out was going on for the far east. By this time, I was so fed up with parades an 鈥榖ull鈥� that I volunteered as trainee cook. It seemed to be a good number and I soon got into the swing of it. Soon we were on the move again, this time to the north of Germany to Sleswig Holstein. Just after we got settled in, I was sent on an ACC cooks course at a place called Lipstadt. I passed and transferred to the Army Catering Corps. When I returned to the Regiment, I went on home leave.The first time I had seen my family in nearly two years. It was a hell of a journey home all the way from Hamburg to the Hook of Holland by train with no windows. It didn鈥檛 seem to bad going homewards but we did a lot of grumbling when we were returning. Anyway, I had a smashing time at home because with not drawing much money for some time, I had plenty to spend. The time passed quickly and then back to Germany. Not long after returning, I was sent on an upgrading course back to Lipstadt which I passed with flying colours. I was promoted to the exalted rank of Corporal - such dizzy heights to achieve. Within a week I was left in charge of the Regimental Cookhouse. After a few weeks I was sent for by the Colonel who asked if I had thought about signing on for a few years. He told me to go away and think about it. Next night on regimental orders, I was promoted again to acting unpaid Sergeant. It was a carrot for a Donkey. After a week, I went in front of the Colonel and told him that I was not going to sign on. He told me that I was missing a very good opportunity and my demob was deferred five groups. Nothing much happened after that just a case of organising the cooking and feeding arrangements for anything up to a thousand men - at times we acted as a transit camp for troops on the kove. By this time we had moved to Flensburg where we located in an unoccupied Police Barracks. There was a smashing Lido on the waterfront and a pretty good time was had except for a few incidents caused by so called Werewolves but they were soon put paid to in one way or another

Leave came and went and eventually my demob group came up. After a string of goodbye parties, I set off for Cuxhaven for transit home. As luck would have it, the demob run was Cuxhaven - Hull. About half a day after leaving Cuxhaven, we sighted the Humber . After laying alongside the Quay all night we started to disembark. The Customs practically turned us inside out (Souvenir guns etc were thrown overboard) but eventually we boarded the train for York for the demob centre. It was tide time as we passed St Andrew鈥檚 Dock. It was whilst passing I saw my brother Frank. I gave him a shout but he never saw me. We went to York where everyone was so polite now we were being Demobbed. On the first of December 1946, I was given the D.C.M. - 鈥榙on鈥檛 come Monday鈥�. We had a good night out that night. That was the end of my military career.