A DESERT RAT'S STORY
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CHAPTER 11
THE NORMANDY LANDINGS
GOLD BEACH
On 1st June 1944 I was called to the Squadron Leader’s
office and was told that I had been selected with ten other officers and senior
sergeants to help a relatively untried Division when they landed on the other
side. We all looked on it as an honour to be chosen and longed to get in action
again knowing this was to be the final push. The following morning, we packed
up and all boarded the lorries which were headed for an isolated place twenty
miles away. There we were deposited in a meadow with several bell tents.
Nothing happened for the next three days and I was bored stiff. Taking a chance,
I decided to slip away the next morning at four o’clock and take the
mail train to Waterloo to spend a few hours at home. I took the underground
to Trinity Road and walked to Streatham. As I entered the kitchen I heard
the radio blaring out the news, The Invasion has started!
I stood there in horror. Not waiting for Mum to make me a cup of tea, I shouted
goodbye and ran all the way back to the tube station and headed for Waterloo.
The train journey took one hour but seemed like twenty. After a very anxious
journey I ran toward the camp. I could see from half a mile away, much to
my relief, that the tents were still up and the lorries were being loaded.
We were on the move an hour later. As a very responsible keen sergeant, I
regretted such a stupid act caused by sheer boredom.
We went to the docks in London and after a short while were on our way over
the Channel, that would be on June 7th. It was a rough journey and even rougher
at the other end as the fighting was extremely heavy. Our first wave of troops
fought a very hard fight. We came down the ramps as fast as we could as this
was the safest way in. Crashing ahead, the advance party waited at strategic
points to help the Division following us. Many of them were nervous and needed
re-assuring,
We had landed on Gold Beach and our Division was heavily engaged in making
a breakthrough to Caen. One of the 2nd Lieutenants with us said he was looking
forward to getting some good cheese soon. I thought at the time that it was
a childish thing to say, he had never before been away from England and it
showed.
The noise of gunfire kept me awake most of the time and I soon became weary
of the whole war - the desert in North Africa, Syria, the Sicily invasion,
the Italy invasion, and now France and the prospect of fighting for at least
two more years. Foremost in my mind was keeping out of more trouble.
The American troops were attacking from another landing point. I heard they
were very brave but suffering heavy losses. We were all in the same boat then
and just had to fight our way out.
I linked up for a while with some of the th Paratroopers then attacking Caen.
The casualties were huge and horrific. My brief was to assist untried soldiers,
but it didn’t worked out like that. Yet again I was fighting my way
out of danger. The paras took a bad beating and some terrible losses. Many
were killed by German machine gunners before they hit the ground.
Suddenly the breakthrough came and our Army started to get out of the deadlock,
and our particular Division no longer required any help. By then we had been
there for two weeks and during this time men and stores were landing every
few hours. We got back across the Channel on a returning tank ferry. The constant
years of combat were now getting to me. I felt absolutely drained and so tired.
Reporting back to Royals H.Q. we got as a reward a three-day pass back home.
Turning the corner leading to Ribblesdale Road I was shocked to see the front
of our house missing. A Doodle Bug bomb had been dropped slap bang in the
road, destroying several houses. All the furniture was exposed and none of
my family was in sight. I secured what I could and after telephoning the Police
Station I learned that all my family were safe and had been billeted elsewhere.
The Doodle Bugs were sent over from the continent in pilotless planes.
The front door being off, I started to move furniture into a safer place.
After two days of this I could see that it would be a long time before the
place was habitable. I telephoned the office at Hothfield Camp and asked for
an extension of leave. It could not be done, said Sergeant Midwinter, on duty
at the time, as we were due to leave for France two days later. He advised
me to get back to camp the following morning and prepare for the move. When
I finally caught up with the regiment I was told Midwinter had been killed.
Ted Hartland in 1944
I managed to find Mum and Viv in Streatham Vale about a half mile away. The
story I got was that as the bomb exploded Granny pushed Viv under the kitchen
table to shield her from the debris. Mum and Dad were out working at the time.
No doubt Gran saved Viv from some injury. Gran did not live long after that,
the shock must have done her harm and shattered her nerves. She was buried
in Streatham, and Syd and I traced her plot number, 26243 Square 21. No one
knew she was buried there. It so happens that when searching through some
of Dad’s papers I found a receipt for a burial plot purchased in 1942.
Curiosity led Syd and I there to investigate in 1996, at which time we were
told that a person was already buried there. After I made further enquiries,
I was told that the person’s name was Kate Hollidge. We had a plaque
made and I hope it is there to this day .
The following morning I went to an emergency depot in Croydon and told them
that my parents had been bombed out. After they had investigated the matter,
I got a seven-day extension. The Royals left without me the following day,
and I spent the rest of the week getting us all settled. Once this was done
I tried to get over to France but found it very difficult, as the regiment
had left no personnel behind. I reported in at the nearest Armoured Corps
Depot and was then sent up to Colchester ready to go over on the next replacement
group. This in fact took several weeks. In the meantime I was asked to give
talks to recruits on armoured car warfare. I told the blunt truth about the
desert with its wide open spaces and the fact that the continent is so totally
different the enemy could be lurking in places quite near to them and they
would see nothing until fired on.
They were all itching to get away from barrack life and the free and easy
ways of being on the move with a proper and experienced regiment. Finally
the time came for me to leave and with a dozen other N.C.O.s went over to
France. By the time I arrived the Army had moved ahead a great deal and had
pushed through to the edge of Belgium. The only way for me to get to them
was to hitch lifts in supply trucks, getting the odd meal in whichever place
the lorry was delivering. It took me two weeks of searching as the regiment
did not hang around. When I reached them they had moved over into Holland
and were in the thick of a great deal of trouble. Out of the frying pan into
the fire as far as I was concerned. The weather had changed a great deal from
autumn into winter. Now came heavy frost and icy winds. Holland, being so
flat, gave little shelter and we piled all our clothing on. When I arrived
in the town of San Hertogenbosch, the Squadron Leader immediately gave me
a troop and a brief outline of our position. I found that all my former troop
were intact with the addition of Ron Triggs, recently promoted to sergeant.
They were billeted in an empty cafe down the road, a hundred yards from H.Q.
All the Squadron were scattered covering the entrances. Within a few hours
we became surrounded by German troops and were cut off from the remainder
of the regiment.
Hilvarenbeek was a horrifying place, bitterly cold, dark and dangerous. When
it became dark we crept out to the road entrances to the town and placed trip
flares. Once they were in place we moved fifty yards behind and lay down with
guns cocked and ready to fire. The conditions were nothing like sentry duty
with two hours on and four off - that would have given the game away. So there
we stayed until daylight came and tried to get some sleep during the day.
The performance was repeated the following day. On the third night, after
being in position for three hours, we heard an enormous rushing sound coming
towards us and in a blinding flash the ground around us erupted with mortar
bombs. We had been attacked by a Nebelwerfer, a huge gun capable of firing
twenty mortars simultaneously. Amongst those dead were Corporal Herbie Holltum,
who had joined up the same day as me, Trooper Green, a Jewish lad married
with children, and three others. In fact all in the group were wiped out in
seconds, leaving me standing with only one other survivor, S.S.M. Morgan,
without a single scratch, just standing shock and horror looking at the bodies
of our dead comrades. A few seconds earlier they were so full of life and
hopes like us.
It was obvious that the Germans knew where we were and pinpointed our position.
Suspicion centered on a local man occupying an invalid wheelchair who always
seemed to be around wherever we were during the day. We had no proof of this
so nothing could be done about it. All we could do was warn him to remain
out of sight of all of us, and we moved our positions.
Something had to be done about our lack of sleep, so patrol numbers were cut
and on the third night after the attack several of us slept in a cellar. I
recall it became extremely hot with the number of bodies and no air coming
in, but as my head hit my rolled up overcoat I was asleep and did not awake
for eight hours. I felt fresh and fit after that.
Those surrounding us were beaten off and soon we went forward to patrol the
River Maas. I found an empty factory building and with a couple of squaddies
got to the top floor and found I could clearly see the other side of the river.
Noticing cars continually entering the building on the other side, I sent
a man downstairs with a map reference. Back came the answer that our artillery
had been advised and that we should observe and report on where our barrage
landed. Five minutes later over came the shells, landing about a hundred yards
away on the other side and blasting a couple of buildings to smithereens.
A message went back giving this information and the next salvo was bang on.
One car managed to get away from the ruined building but my troop below spotted
it and I sent over a couple of shells pinpointing them and soon they were
blown out of action by some heavy shells from our artillery.
The weather now was unbearable and there was nothing anyone could do to get
warm. It was not possible to start a fire as this would draw attention to
our position which was still in the open. It was late in December and Christmas
was drawing near. We moved a couple of miles away and found a bombed out and
deserted monastery and it was decided this would be our base for a few days
if possible. We occupied the monks’ cells, which were completely bare.
We stayed on the top floor with parts of the roof missing. Taking our chances,
we all made small fires in the cells which helped a little but the heat warmed
our faces and went straight up into the air.
Christmas day came and we all got some extra rations. Amongst them were a
packet of sugar almonds for each person. Tapper Rapkin and I kept ours as
we had decided to make a visit to Eindhoven if we could. At the time this
was to the rear of the front line. We wanted to repay some kindnesses shown
to us a few weeks earlier.
Shortly after the trouble at Hilvarensbaek, it was decided to pull our squadron
back for a few days’ rest. The town we were allocated was Eindhoven.
I pulled my troop of five cars into a small square off the centre and walked
down Henrik Casimar Straas and stopped at number 2 . A young girl answered
the door and I introduced myself and asked whether her parents had room for
three soldiers. They readily agreed and in I went with two others and we took
over just the one room. Others in the troop did likewise nearby and we all
took our rations in with us as at that time the whole population in the path
of the war had very little food. The family name was Genefaas, the girl was
Yvonne, the eldest at sixteen years of age. She had eight brothers and sisters
all packed in a tiny terrace house and yet sacrificed one room for us.
We stayed for a three days and found them a wonderful family who were having
great difficulty feeding themselves. Mainly their diet consisted of apples
and potatoes stored in the attic. We were not much better off but we had bully
beef, which we shared with them. This was our first introduction to the life
lived by those on the continent just after the Germans had been beaten out.
Most of their produce was exported to Germany and then on to their troops.
Despite the privations they all seemed a happy and contented family.
During a patrol a few days later we came across a huge pig and decided that
we had to have it as food for the next few days. No one seemed to know how
to kill it. One said a sharp blow to the centre of the head would do the trick.
This was tried and the pig just squealed and ran away with us chasing him.
He was damaged and fell into a ditch but was still very much alive. We all
were saying that it was a mistake ever to have started it. After some shots
with a revolver the unfortunate animal died and with the help of several others
we managed to drag the carcass out of the ditch. We carved it up into pieces
and shared it around among the whole troop.
Finding myself twenty miles from Eindhoven and having time to spare, I went
back to the Familie Genefaas and presented my piece of pork to the mother,
who cooked it beautifully. Then when we were all seated, eleven of them plus
myself, Mrs. Genefaas offered me the plate containing all the meat. I was
a little embarrassed as I didn’t quite know what I should do or say
so I passed it on. The potatoes came around and I took some of those. Meanwhile
the meat never came back and I was really wanting some. I had the impression
that Mrs. Genefaas thought that I did not eat pork. I later realised that
she was just showing good manners in offering the plate first to the guest.
By then it was too late to explain that I had been eating out of mess tins
for years and was lacking in table manners.
Around this time the Germans started the Ardennes Offensive. an attempt to
get behind our lines. They succeeded for a while and caused a lot of havoc
among the American Divisions, particularly when they used our captured vehicles
and some wore British and American uniforms. Ultimately it was a failed attempt,
but by no means were they beaten.
We found that every time we came up against their airborne troops we had an
especially rough time. During the middle of March we patrolled around San
Hertoganbosch, Boxmeer Asten and other surrounding towns. Later we prepared
to cross the Rhine and the Royals had a big job to do in connection with this.
A huge barrage of our artillery opened up on the 23rd March, oddly enough
the same date as Alamein. The shells crashed on the far bank hour after hour.
The Germans themselves had five hundred guns on their side.
We did get infantry over and some amphibious tanks, and overhead we heard
a thundering noise as the th Airborne Division flew over. They dropped in
the enemy’s rear but many of our paratroopers were dropped too soon
and were slaughtered in the air. It was horrifying and there was nothing we
could do to help .
However, another bridge was taken over the River Ijell and our engineers started
to build Bailey bridges. On completion our tanks poured over and this time,
despite strong resistance from the small town of Rees, we forced our way through.
The Royals as a regiment gathered together at Appeldorn to prepare for our
crossing and over we went on the 28th. We had a few men wounded but sadly
our Medical Officer was killed at this time whilst helping out elsewhere.
By now the end was near for the Germans and many started to surrender. Many
were older men and some young boys. They came in droves, happy to be alive
and safe as prisoners of war of British troops. However, the battle-hardened
veteran German troops retreated and fought back as hard as ever. We were near
Uelzen, a town heavily defended, when Tapper Rapkin`s car got hit. The car
was abandoned and Tapper was wounded in the leg and taken prisoner. We did
not know how badly he had been hurt. This was reported to Squadron Leader
Major Fisher, who, knowing that the Germans would soon be surrounded and would
suffer casualties, sent a subaltern with white flag to negotiate an exchange
of prisoners. This was done and Tapper and the officer came back in a German
ambulance. The driver was given a breakfast and petrol and sent back to his
own lines - chivalry on both sides. Tapper spent months recuperating, then
rejoined the regiment.
CROSSING THE RHINE
We crossed the Rhine and were in continuous action. By now the enemy was in retreat but still dangerous. On one particular occasion I led the troop through the centre of a small town. I saw no civilians. It seemed very odd and was nerve racking. Half-way through the town I just glanced to my left and to my horror saw the muzzle of a Tiger tank pointing at us. Luckily I shouted down to the driver to reverse just in time as a split second later the 88mm shell was fired, missing my car by a few feet and exploding a brick wall alongside. It was almost a repetition of the Foggia incident. I then saw on the other side another tank and neither could fire on us for fear of hitting each other. We got away and radioed to the H.Q. car. It seemed only a few minutes later that our planes came over and bombed them out. We then entered the town and still saw no civilians, so I assume they had all evacuated.
Not so lucky was Sergeant Owen. Always ready for a fight, he
knocked out two armoured cars and then dismounted to look around. He didn’t
come back and he and his crew were never seen again. The car must have been
wiped out without trace, with every member of the crew presumed dead.
Although we all knew the war was ending in our part of the world, it was still
a fight to the finish and by no means could we take any chances. The Germans
fought back and shelled us at every opportunity, as we did them. Horrible
events still took place within the close confines of small towns, with hidden
guns and tanks lurking in side streets ready to fire their huge guns on a
second’s notice.
The day after we lost Sergeant Owen, I walked into what looked like a deserted
farm. After a few paces I saw a German officer. Pulling out my revolver, I
yelled out “Hande hoch.” Out from the barn came about fifty men,
including several other officers. Realising their war was lost, they were
just waiting to surrender in safety to British troops. We took all their arms
and sent them off to the rear. Many were young soldiers who had been called
up in the last desperate attempt by the Germans to replace their losses. I
motioned them to get in the corner of a yard. Thinking they were to be shot,
as we all had machine guns and revolvers ready, many started to cry out their
ages, “Sixteen! sixteen!” We turned away, to their obvious relief,
in contrast to the treatment given to those captured by the Germans.