Sword Beach to Bremen., A Veterans tale. Sapper

Looking forward to the next installment.

 

Thanks for that Carl.
I sit at this computer day after day producing these memoirs. Not bad for an old one. I was thinkimg about publishing some of this.
Brian.

 

Thanks for that Carl.
I sit at this computer day after day producing these memoirs. Not bad for an old one. I was thinkimg about publishing some of this.
Brian.

 

Thanks for that Carl.
I sit at this computer day after day producing these memoirs. Not bad for an old one. I was thinking about publishing some of this. But then at my age, I tend to be lazy
Brian.

 

Quite welcome sir, its a great priviledge to have you here.

 

By now, perhaps, I have been able to give an insight into the atmosphere of war, for this bit should certainly help in that respect. Try to imagine existing on biscuits and tinned food, while living in holes in the ground.

Food. Glorious Food.
A better description.

Living on "compo" rations is all very well for a little while, but biscuits, soup, and tinned food, are not much to keep a healthy young man of nineteen going. Many of us were often hungry, so the addition of some fresh horsemeat and spring onions cooked in freshly made Norman farmhouse butter was something that tasted out of this world!

Cooked in a billy-can all mixed up together, it did not look all that appetizing, but to us, it was a feast, washed down with strong army tea all out of the same can. Nectar sheer Nectar, never had anything like it since. Bit of a shame, I lost my knife and fork and the second part of my billy-cans in action, the Germans took a distinct dislike to my eating tools and blew them up, all my meals and drinks came out of one tin and with one spoon.

The redoubtable ‘Spud’ (You may have heard me mention him before) was an artist at finding a nice little pig, he chased them into the most inaccessible place before dispatching it with a 303 rifle bullet. He then brought it back to our harbour area where our cooks hated the sight of him! The very last thing they wanted to do was cook fresh food, all they ever wanted to do was to open tins and dish out biscuits. One short and one tall, they seemed to spend their whole time moaning. Shortly afterwards, we had moved to a new location and ‘Spud’ had given them another pig to butcher and cook.

That night we got back to our harbour area and wearily dug our holes and settled down for some rest. Now all was reasonably quiet, nearby, we heard Germans whispering amongst themselves a short distance away. Too damned tired to do anything about it, we left them alone for the night, (Sort them out in the morning), came morning, they had fled leaving behind a sack full of schnapps.

One brave fellow volunteered to try it, and found it much to his liking. First light we were away, returning that night tired and hungry, we found that the two cooks had been drinking our schnapps all day, passed out, and rolled down a steep slope, about thirty feet down from the cook tent, dead drunk, both of them laying in a stream at the bottom. Out of this world. We got our own food that night. We have heard tales of revenge in the battlefield, I have never seen it, but at times like that. Well, it makes you think!

Before I leave this little episode, let me enlighten you about are rations. First! If you think ours was bad? You should have tried the Germans food, That was bloody awful, especially their tinned herrings, More of that later.

Our food was all tins and biscuits. In the renowned Compo pack was everything to sustain 14 men, for 24 hours, Tins of soup, tins of bacon, bully beef. Never any bread. There was sweets and toilet paper, and cigarettes, Mostly the cooks would get a large pot and fill it with water then chuck the tins in and boil them up. Sometimes they would open the tins of soup and crumble biscuits into the soup and serve that. Fine but after a while we became short of energy.

The sweets we saved, for sometimes we came across French children, and shared the sweets out between them. Then there was the famous cry of “Cigarette for papa” only to find the French kids would sit down and smoke the cigarettes.

Let me describe a typical meal. Biscuits and a piping hot tin of bacon. Firstly, if you held the tin after it was removed from the boiling water you would burn your hands, so you got hold of it with a bit of cloth, then with great care you would pierce the tin to let the steam out, (best with a Commando knife), but! point it away from you, for when it was opened a scalding hot jet of steam, hot water, and scalding fat would fly out, if you caught it, then you would be badly burned. After opening the tin, you would drag out what appeared to be the whole side of a piece of bacon, a slice right down the side. It was wrapped in grease-proof paper and rolled up, One had to unroll the bacon and try not to eat the grease proof paper. That bacon was quite nice, but very dangerous.

There had been a lot of talk about our bread being pinched by the rear echelons, for it never reach us. The first half a pint of beer did not reach those of us at the front, until we were in Holland. Then it was one half a pint of beer, I shall always remember it was “Tennants” a Scots beer and the only drink we ever had. More of that later.

This story is about one third through so far.
Sapper Brian.

 

The next part of this narrative will cover:
The Booby trapping of their own German SS oficers.
The American in the German army.
The terrible carnage inside the Falaise pocket.
Sapper.

 

Oh! I forgot , if there is anything you want to know, then by all means ask.
Sapper.

 

Sapper, Thank you for your answer on the 12th SS.

 

Hi Again to those reading the “Sword Beach to Bremen” tales.

One of the things that I found most despicable about the war experiences I came across, was the very nasty habit the SS had of booby trapping their own dead. I cannot for the life of me, understand the thinking, or the mind process, that condoned this behaviour.

Even in war, no matter how savage, how can anyone come to terms with this barbaric practice of booby trapping their own dead comrades? Comrades, that shortly before they had fought alongside. That for me, is something that I will never understand!

Always on the move. The British and Americans had broken through into the open French country side, and then their tank columns had turned North, to enclose the Enemy in what was to become known as the “FALAISE POCKET” We were pushing at the back of the pocket, driving the Enemy towards the ever tightening noose at the head of this great trap.

The Germans in some places were running for their lives, in others they stayed and fought it out, in some skirmishes they fought like demons. During this time the line between our forces and the Enemy had become very fluid, one was never sure if we had passed the Enemy, or whether he was still in front. To pay tribute to the Germans, they put up a fierce and spirited resistance in some of the rear guard actions that took place, actions that were fought with the purpose of giving their comrades time to get away.

Our Company was battling down the Vire-Tinchebray road in hot pursuit and had stopped for the day for food and refueling. We set about digging our fox holes and needed something to keep the rain off, doors keep you dry and also give one a false sense of security Spud! Now there is a name to conjure with, Spud Murphy our D.R and myself always tried to share the task of digging our holes! First back from that day's operation would start the hole for both of us.

We both decided that a door over our hole would improve our creature comforts and set off for a farm a short distance away, when we got there, all seemed safe and quiet, no sign of the Enemy, we started to look for our door, no sign of civilians, they had long departed for safer areas. While looking for our door we found the farm cattle in an enclosed yard, all suffering from wounds that had been sustained by setting off booby traps, this had an immediate effect of making us a great deal more cautious.

Still in search of our door for the night, we came to a farm outhouse, this was one of those typical Normandy outhouses, where they kept the great cider barrels up on racks at the back of the cobble stone floor. Spread-eagled on this cobbled floor was a dead German SS officer, resplendent in full uniform, with sword and Nazi dagger, his medals pinned on his chest, including the iron cross. Knowing the Germans and their dirty tricks, we were only too aware that moving him would set off a booby trap of some description. Spud and I talked about “MAKING HIM SAFE” by putting a rope round his feet and giving him a pull from a safe distance, to set off the very loud bang we knew would follow, in the end we decided against it, some else could do it, it would be far to messy. We certainly did not want to become covered in the blood and flesh of a very dead SS officer, for the explosion would have made a shocking mess.

There is no way that I could ever bring myself to booby trap the body of a dead comrade. That was unthinkable. It was not even clever, for he was so obviously dangerous to touch, that not even the stupidest of souvenir hunters would have touched him.
Sapper. What are the views of those that read this? Would you do it? I would be very interested to hear what you all have to say on this subject.

 

Sapper, this is interesting for I was not aware that this was a common practice. In answering your question, I would have to agree that I could not do that to a comrade. I have not heard my grandfather mention this practice.

 

It was not always W-SS truppen. The practice was done in the Ardenne in late 44/45 as well, often by using the bodies of dead Americans as the US medic teams were removing these soldiers to safer quarters. I have also heard about this in Sicily and Italy as well.

E

 

I have heard this being done in the Pacific theater. Interesting.

 

Ive also heard if it being done in Russia. "A Squad goes to check out a house. They cautiously enter the house and check for hidden Russians and explosives. Upon finding none, and with the house still full of furniture. A homesick soldier sees a dust-covered piano in the corner of a room and he goes to it. He cautiously opens the door (For lack of proper term) to the keys. He sits at the piano, and plays a few keys. The men gather around and the player pounds more keys--then a sudden explosion--killing the squad."

Ive also heard of barrels of Beer being booby trapped as well. Soldier goes to lift it and boom--it explodes-killing the soldier.

[ 23 October 2002, 03:26 PM: Message edited by: C.Evans ]

 

Hello again.

Thanks for all your answers, We found the German booby traps devilish cunning. The S mine was a terrible weapon, and no one could ever say they could clear them with ease, The Schu mine was a very difficult weapon to find, and to make safe, it was a small wooden box containing explosives, just enough of a charge to blow a man's foot off or if he was unlucky both feet off,

They were made of wood and could not be detected, we tried everything to clear them safely, without much success, I may add. The Schu mine had one other thing going for it, The idea of mines of this nature is not to kill the enemy, it is to wound them, and by so doing overload the services. The most terrible thing about the Schu mine was that it almost always blew the feet off, and then left the remaining bone split apart rather like when a stick of Rhubarb goes when you cut into it.

The other terrible thing was the loss of the young men's genitals. For that was the saddest thing one could ever witness, for those young men so afflicted, there would be no happy marriage or children of their own. Not Bloody funny!

The accepted manner of clearing Schu mines was to prod in front of you with a bayonet, hoping that you would not prod it in the wrong place, for bending over it was certain death. If you would like a pleasant evening's work, try prodding for Schu mines under heavy mortar fire, it is certainly exciting, if you like that sort of thing.
Any views on this subject?
Sapper Brian.

 

Hello again.

Thanks for all your answers, We found the German booby traps devilish cunning. The S mine was a terrible weapon, and no one could ever say they could clear them with ease, The Schu mine was a very difficult weapon to find, and to make safe, it was a small wooden box containing explosives, just enough of a charge to blow a man's foot off or if he was unlucky both feet off,

They were made of wood and could not be detected, we tried everything to clear them safely, without much success, I may add. The Schu mine had one other thing going for it, The idea of mines of this nature is not to kill the enemy, it is to wound them, and by so doing overload the services. The most terrible thing about the Schu mine was that it almost always blew the feet off, and then left the remaining bone split apart rather like when a stick of Rhubarb goes when you cut into it.

The other terrible thing was the loss of the young men's genitals. For that was the saddest thing one could ever witness, for those young men so afflicted, there would be no happy marriage or children of their own. Not Bloody funny!

The accepted manner of clearing Schu mines was to prod in front of you with a bayonet, hoping that you would not prod it in the wrong place, for bending over it was certain death. If you would like a pleasant evening's work, try prodding for Schu mines under heavy mortar fire, it is certainly exciting, if you like that sort of thing.
Any views on this subject?
Sapper Brian.

 

Ive also heard of Shuh mines and Glass mines. All I can say is that im glad I wasnt A Tommy or a G.I. having to do that kind of job at the end of a bayonet. You guys sure had lots of Cran, and have all of my respect.

 

Totally agree. The Germans usually tried to cover minefields with a heavy machine gun. Can't imagine having to clear up mines with the brrrrp sound of the MG42.

 

Hi Again.Your comments are very interesting indeed. Now have a look at this and let me know what you think about such bizarre events.

The American.
The most willing prisoner

After finding the dead SS officer spread out on the floor, waiting for some idiot to move him, we now proceeded with even greater care. We moved on to a hay-loft, a door that had very narrow steps leading up to the loft from the outside. On the left hand side of this outhouse was an open part of the building containing farm implements, to the right was the stairs. Now! I can still see those steps, grey in colour and worn from constant use, the treads of the stairs hollowed by years of scuffing farmers boots, a nice door, Just what we wanted!

We had both decided that we would get it off its hinges, when we heard footsteps coming down the loft steps and a pair of German jackboots appeared. Spud pointed his empty Sten gun at him and I drew my trusty Bowie knife that the Yank had given me, prepared to do this fellow some very serious harm, when a voice called out. "I want to give myself up" in a voice with an American accent, in these unusual circumstances and with great caution, we let him come on. Having seen what they were prepared to do with their own officer, we took no chances. None!

I have never seen anyone so keen to give himself up. He told us that he was the son of an American mother and a German father, while they were on holiday in Germany from the USA, the war had broken out, and he was unable to get home, subsequently, he was called up to serve in the German army, sent to Normandy, he told us that his mum had told him to stay behind and give himself up to the Americans. Having listened to him for some time, he seemed so relieved to be able to surrender that I was quite convinced that he was telling the truth.

We gave him a cigarette and had quite a long chat before turning him in, he was not far away from the American sector, they were quite close, but not close enough. For many years I have wondered what happened to this man? One cannot be anything else but curious when faced with such bizarre events. I would give a lot to trace this man, just to find out what happened to him afterwards? Sometimes I lay awake, and wonder about these people. Did the officer who asked me to cut his leg off live? What happened to the German paratroop doctor? Where did the ‘American’ prisoner end up, was he telling the truth? OR for heavens sake was he telling yarns to get good treatment?

If you are out there somewhere? American that served in the German army? I’ll bet you will remember the two Sappers that captured you on the farmhouse hayloft stairs, and the long conversation we had after. If you were a German? and filled us up with utter rubbish! Then good luck to you! And, I would still like to know what happened to you, for I lay awake at night thinking about these mysteries.

What do our readers think about such odd events? Sometimes, I am a bit reluctant to recall these odd happenings, for there is always the danger of being looked at as though I was telling “Porkies”
Comments anybody?
Sapper Brian.

 

Hi Sapper--I was rivited with your posting. I have heard of this happening before--only in the cases I heard about--they were told to me by Knights Cross Recipient Remy Schrijnen, who served in SS Sturmbrigade Langemarck.

He told me that there were several Americans that he had served with that were in his unit--which was an SS Anti-Tank unit stationed on the Eastern Front. What you said that the German/American prisoner said--is exactly what Remy told Susanne and myself--when we stayed with him for the day at his home in Hagen.

I'll be glad to tell you more of our visit if you want to know more--also if you ever want to write to him--let me know and his address will be yours.