Sword Beach to Bremen., A Veterans tale. Sapper

Hi Everyone. This again, is one of those odd things that happen in war. To this day, I have no explanation for the mystery of what follows, for it was very odd and a bit disturbing.

The Bridge.
The Deserted Town.

Being by now, a trusted and reliable Veteran, (aged 19) I had been roped in to carry out the duties of a dispatch rider in addition to my normal active service duties while we were at our Winter quarters. Spud Murphy, yes! the same fellow, the company dispatch rider, both of us had been sent to collect dispatches, and on our way back to our company this happened.

I can recall that it was a beautiful calm and sunny day, warm with no wind, just a very pleasant autumn day. Somewhere, we had taken the wrong turning and arrived in this little town. Stopped our bikes and took off our helmets to look at our maps. Standing there in the middle of the street, with the warm late sunshine on the back of our necks. I remember the November golden autumn sunshine lighting up the buildings of the main street, a neat and tidy little town, with no war damage at all, unusual in this war area.

One of those days that stays in your memory, Standing there in the main street, all the World seemed at peace. At the end of the main street, about three hundred yards away, was a bridge, a large grey steel bridge, a bridge with a single arching span and shining in the sunlight, I do not know what river it crossed, we could only see the top half of it and never went to look. Our instincts told us there was something very wrong, it was all far too quiet.

Slowly we began to realize that the place was deserted, everything was silent, nothing moved, no people, no dogs, just a cat watching us furtively from a corner. Just utter silence in this little town. A town completely undamaged by warfare, something very rare and unusual on the Maas river line. On this beautiful day, just a small and peaceful country town, but a place of this size ought to have some sign of life? some people around? after all there was no damage and no sign of warfare? Stood there in the middle of the street, the hair on the back of our necks stood up!

It’s an odd feeling being in a deserted town, no damage, no people, nothing, just utter silence. Spud and I looked at each other, we both had the feeling we were being watched, had we gone through the Enemy lines? We had done so before, on several occasions. Slowly and without appearing to look scared, we got on our bikes started them up and shot off down the road as though the devil himself was after us. After leaving, we took precise notes of where we were, and later reported the existence of this town and bridge to our officers, nothing came of it, they even seemed disinterested. One thing is for sure, I will not forget standing in that warm and sunny street with the hair on my neck standing up. I can still see that street in that little town with the shops and buildings lit up with golden autumn sunlight. Even today it’s like a photo, sharp and clear, something, I will never forget or erase from my mind.
The next episode; “Good night nurse. Oh no! not again”
Followed by “The Gates of Hell”.

 

Hi. Things are beginning to go wrong.

Good Night Nurse.
Bloody Hell! Not again!

Having been wounded back in Normandy I had the feeling that I was now safe, lightening never strikes twice does it? As stated previously, I had been roped in to do part time dispatch riders duties beside my normal duties. Being one of the more experienced and trusted 19 year old soldiers, I had been entrusted to collect the next day’s battle orders from HQ back at Venraij, leaving at about midnight, or one in the morning.

At that time there was in operation, a bank of searchlights set to illuminate the countryside, a sort of artificial moonlight shining in the direction of Overloon and the Enemy, making night driving much easier. The first night I took an armoured half-track to collect the orders, much safer to have some protection when on your own, and carrying sensitive material. There had been, for some time, what was described as ‘desultory’ shell fire on that road. That simply means that one would not know when the next shell was coming.

I had collected the water proof sealed case containing the battle orders, and was on the return journey. Driving at night in a half-track is an ‘adventure’ to say the very least. One has to peer through a narrow slit with thick bullet proof glass and your field of vision is very restricted. Consequently, I was half way back when I took the wrong turning and drove into a tank road, (they were kept separate, some roads had to be for wheeled vehicles only) the half track sunk into the mud churned up by the tanks, right up to the doors in deep sticky Dutch mud, try as I might, I could not get the thing out.

The thought occurred to me that I was in danger of stopping the war. How to get out? Then I thought, those searchlight boys ought to have something big enough to drag me out, with time getting short, I scampered off in the direction the nearest searchlight, as I approached a voice called out “halt who goes there” when I answered “friend” he called out “hang on, I know that voice” “Come in!” this man from my home town and had our typical Dorset country dialect and recognised it immediately. He invited me into his tent and made me a very generous mug of rum and strong tea, plus a yarn, he got a very large Scammel truck with a winch on the front, drove down to where it was stuck and pulled the half track out like a cork. Luckily the war was able to continue.
The second bit of this later.
Sapper Brian.

 

Hi. Lets finish this episode off now, for this is the end of my war.

After that shambles, I decided to take a motor bike the next night, no trouble going, but on the way back, disaster! In the vicinity of the Molen Beek that had caused so much trouble for the R.E earlier, I was about to discover that lightening does strike twice. There was a dark red flash, a violent explosion and blast, I was sent tumbling down the road over and over, the bike had parted company with me, and with its momentum had carried on down the road in the same direction. What caused the explosion? The most likely, a shell, I do not know for sure, nor ever will, whatever it was, it caused a great deal of damage and for many years afterwards, I spent time picking bits of shrapnel out of my body as they came to the surface. (Still do) I still have some floating about, just to remind me, one under my watch strap, never had it removed.

Oh dear! Laying in the deserted road, unable to move, and all was quiet. I remember thinking, “here I am, lying in the road unable to move, and in dire danger of being run over” It really did look as though I was going to stop the war this time. How long I lay there, I do not know. Time has little meaning when you are badly wounded.
Some soldiers in a lorry driving to wards Venraij had collided with the bike in the middle of the road, quite a distance away from where I was, they realised that there must be someone on the road from that bike, they looked around and found me, and stayed with me until a medical officer came to deal with me. While we were waiting it started to snow, I remember the gentle feel of the snow softly falling on my face.

The doctor told me “This will hurt a little” one of the soldiers lit a cigarette and put it in my mouth, when the doctor started to tend to me, I bit the cigarette off and it went down on my chest and was burning me, the soldiers were searching for the fag while the doctor tended to my wounds.

Taken back from the front line, I found myself in a school at, Helmond?, my stretcher balanced on top of a school desk with a large window alongside. Unable to move, and partly deafened by the blast, to my amazement a young English nurse came to give me some treatment, “are you an English nurse”? “yes, of course I am” She walked across the room with a hypodermic syringe that looked like a knitting needle on the end of a half pint milk bottle, a huge thing full of green liquid, “you’re not going to stick that in me?” “got to” she said, “anti gas gangrene injection, stops you getting gangrene in your wounds” after, I had this very large green swelling on my arm to add to all my other disfigurements. At that time I had no idea of the severity of my wounds, nor any inkling of what it entailed. Or come to, that the agony that lay ahead for me.
The next episode.
“The Gates of Hell”
Sapper Brian.

 

Hi Everyone. What follows now, dispels all the imagined excitement or thrill of war.

The Gates of Hell.
This is no place for a Dorset man.

What followed next can only be described as a living nightmare, a nightmare of sheer agony. Loaded into an army ambulance with other wounded in racks on each side, and in a very confined space, the inside had been blacked out so that we had to lay there on our stretchers in pitch black darkness. The Journey in this square steel box of an ambulance took us over the uneven and cobbled roads all the way to Eindhoven, in the South of Holland.

This journey was the nearest thing to Hell on Earth that it is possible to imagine, with my broken bones grating and the indescribable pain of my back injuries.

In the beginning, at the start of the journey, I had been determined not to join in the moaning and groaning with pain, but it was not long before I was crying out in pain just like the other wounded, so much pain that it was not possible to talk to the other five men. Hell and back is not an exaggeration. Nor is the term Nightmare, I still find it very difficult to convey just how ghastly that journey was. I never knew who the other wounded were, and I do not think it was possible for the others to have survived the journey. As we drove on, the groans had become fainter and fainter and eventually stopped. Yet, still this square steel box of an ambulance, trundled along over the broken and cobbled war time roads with its precious load of three dead men and one nearly dead.

This is the other side of war, being badly wounded, a side that nobody wants to know about. Arriving at what I think was Eindhoven? They were so short of space that I was put into a little cupboard full of cardboard boxes, with my stretcher balanced precariously on top of them, with just enough room inside the cupboard, still lying on the same stretcher that I had been on for many hours.

During the journey the blood had soaked through everything, even under my back and into the stretcher. So bad, that thick congealed blood stuck me to the stretcher. By now the pain had become unbearable, given morphine, the pain would still not subside and a nurse told me, "you must not have more, you will become an addict". Transferred later to a small ward with beds crammed all round the room, several other wounded were there. Trying to get to sleep was impossible, the pain being bad enough, some of the other men kept waking up, screaming.

Picture this scene, if you can! A small dark, square shaped ward, with all the curtains drawn, dimly lit from a small red light in the centre of the ceiling, The overpowering and sickly warm stench of human blood pervaded everything, with beds crammed in and almost touching, men with terrible wounds and with limbs missing.

Some men, motionless, wide eyed, still, silently staring at the ceiling. God knows! what thoughts held them in this silent manacled iron grip. Blood stains everywhere, some men had thrown the covers off the beds in their agony, some sitting up leaning on an elbow, the low moaning of men in great pain, your own continuous and unremitting pain of back, leg, and knee injuries. Sleep, because of pain, was only possible for very short periods when exhaustion overtook us, then! To be wakened by the blood curdling screams of men who had suffered the agony, not only of body, but also of mind. Men, who had seen the worst of the hell of war. Dante’s Inferno had nothing on this.

For here, was a glimpse into what lay beyond the ‘Gates of Hell’ For me, there is no escape from that vision, for many years I dreamed about, and relived the memory of that dimly lit ward, that ward that still exists in my mind, still there on the pathway that leads to the portals of the ’ Gates of Hell’ Even today, some 58 years on, that ward still remains with me, every detail, sharp and clearly defined. It was a place that any normal person would run screaming from, saying, “For Gods sake! don’t make me go back in there”

Next day, still laying in my own thick, dried, and congealed blood that stuck me to the stretcher I was driven to Eindhoven airport and was flown back immediately to England in a Dakota ambulance plane, arriving at Croydon airport, I was whisked straight into what was then an Airforce Hospital ? Straight along the corridors and into the operating theatre. I still remember being taken through the portals of the Hospital, still on my stretcher and being hurried along towards the operating theatre, my recall stops there!

Somewhere along the line, someone had to peel me off the stretcher, for the blood had congealed so much that I was well and truly stuck. When I came round, I was lying in bed with clean white sheets, in a large ward all bright and clean with a nurse bending over me. As I came round, I found that my whole body was encased in plaster, All of me, from the tip of my toes to my neck, the whole body! My legs, everything, the legs had been set slightly apart and a hole for natural functions to take place! they had a flap cut in the plaster to treat my left knee, some of that was still in Holland. A complete body plaster, rather like a mummy case. The name of this? I believe it is called a "Spica" it certainly spiked you, the only part free was my arms.
Sapper Brian.
The next episode?

 

Many Thanks for those stories Sapper Brian. They fit in wonderfully with the stories I am reading elsewhere about the fighting in Venray and Overloon. I have two Q's for you at this time.

- Where you involved in or do you remember the pontoon bridge the RE tried to put over the Molenbeek? Their first attempt ended when the whole construction fell sideways in the Molenbeek itself. I have a pic of it and will post that later.

- Do you remember a Sapper called JAMES HAROLD DAVIES? He was from Whitchurch, Glamorgan, and was killed on September 27, 1944. He was 32 at the time and with your unit, the 246 Field Coy., Royal Engineers. He is buried here in Holland, at the MIERLO War Cemetery. I am trying to collect information about him.

Thanks and looking forward to any reply you might have!

Stevin

 

Hi Stevin.
Thanks for your question. Bear with me, I will look up my old papers and try to find out something for you. I will also answer your questions about the Molen Beek.
Sapper.

Hi Folks. Just for a moment, stay with me while I try to describe what life is like for those returning wounded. But first:

Meanwhile, behind us now, lay the rotting remnants of war. The battle fields of Normandy, Caen, Vire the Falaise pocket.All across France, Belgium, and Holland. That long sad journey, where we had left many good friends.

Many of our dead still lay where they had died. In some cases, gentle Mother earth had gathered them in her arms, as slowly the bodies seemed to vanish back into the ground, returned to their origins. Here and there on that long journey, for many years to come, under hedgerows, and amongst trees and cornfields, little bundles of Khaki uniform with a tin helmet nearby would be found.

Family photos of loved ones, army webbing, mess tins and small arms, letters from home. Tanks and Recce cars still contained the remains of those left behind. Remnants of young men that had fought and died for freedom. Young men, far too young to lose their lives. Now, long forgotten. For the purpose of all the preceding pages have been to recall the sacrifices of all those that gave their lives. Sadly now, I cannot recall those young faces, after 58 years their faces have gone, leaving only a memory of the vitality of youth.
Sometimes I wonder, Oh God! Was it all worth it? So many young men, so many! A trail of death stretching from The Beaches of Normandy all the way to Bremen. Was it worth it? Was it worth it? For many thousands of those who were wounded, their future life would be one of pain, suffered alone. For the World quickly passes on, and all that is soon forgotten.

Now! Let me return to Croydon.
The nurses, Ah yes, the Angels. The kindness and care that those angels gave me was beyond praise, they spent their own money on me and brought me little presents, I remember those angels with tremendous gratitude, they even wrote my letters for me and would not even take the price of the stamp.I just wish that it was possible for me to express my gratitude to them, sadly, I shall never be able to thank those wonderful girls. But! I will never forget those Angels. If any should read this? Thank you from the young man you once had to cart about like a plaster mummy.

For some reason, Doctors do not like telling their patients what is wrong with them, or what they are suffering from, the same syndrome applied here, only by constant questioning was I able to discover that the top of my left knee was left behind in Holland, my left leg between my knee and my ankle had a hole and a comminuted fracture, it means the bone is chewed up into little tiny bits. I had also fractured a part of my lower spine and nearly all my bones were cracked.

Now only someone who has had a plaster cast will know the sheer bliss of being able to scratch down inside the cast! The nurses, bless them, bought me some long knitting needles that would reach down inside for a scratch. Bliss Sheer Bliss. Bedpans! What a performance, the Nurses, several of them, would lift me like a wooden board turn me over and wash me, all the time making me feel that it was no trouble for them, even though it took six of them.
When beds were made, I was carted off and placed on another bed, then carted back again. One night, loud screaming woke me up, to discover it was one of the nurses screaming for help, somehow, I do not know how, I had levered myself out of bed in my sleep and was leaning like a tree trunk against the side of the bed, the nurse was screaming for help to prevent me from toppling over. How I managed to get out of bed in my body plaster I shall never know, day time, I did not have enough strength to lift my head off the pillow.
Thanks Croydon Hospital. If any of you get to read this. Not only for their expert care, but also for the gorgeous nurses and for all that they had done for me. Without a chance to say thanks, I was whisked away again on my stretcher, this time by train and in the guards van on a stretcher, all the way to Warwick Hospital, not a pleasant journey.
Sapper Brian

 

Hello Stevi

I have had a look at where we were on that date. Weert! No, I cannot remember Sapper Davies, it is true that he belonged to my company, but we were so spread out that not remembering him is not that unusual.

Up to the 30th of September we were at Weert. Having recently captured that little town, The fact that Sapper Davies died there, is not unexpected, for where ever we went there was always a steady loss of men. Often by mine, sometimes by direct enemy action. The only people that were not at Weert during that period were HQ staff, they had gone on ahead to the monastery of the “White Brothers” to refuel and re-ammo etc

The fact that he is buried at Mierlo is not unusual either. The burial squads followed up an collected bodies to a place where lots were buried. Thus, the huge war cemeteries. My best friend was killed alongside me while chasing across France, he is buried in either Belgium or Holland.

Spr Davies definitely served with my company, though I do not know what platoon. The trouble with tracing the fatalities is that they are not often recorded in the company records. If they are, it is as Ors, or other ranks. If you were an officer then it would be recorded, there is not even a recorded OR s death around that time. That again is not surprising for there were fatalities that were never mentioned.

Now the Molen Beek. Oh yes! I remember the Molen Beek, it was a dreadful place, it was mined everywhere even under the water. The approaches to the Beek and all the surrounding areas were heavily mined. We got the infantry across the Beek by kapok assault floats, a string of kapok floats strung together and held by lines. If you stopped on one, it sank, so it was crossed by running over.
The bridging was terrible, we had got a bridging tank that got a bridge across but soon bogged down, we got another across and that bogged down as well. Eventually we built a trestle bridge that got everyone over. It did not fall down while we were there, but, it was never made for permanent use.

The Molen Beek was one of the worst actions for us, for it all took place under heavy enemy fire. The casualties mounted and it never stopped raining. NOT NICE! Oh Yes, Stevin, I remember the BEEK.
Best Regards to you.
PS
I wonder what happened to my old Friend from Holland, we called him Byonic Bill because he was so badly injured and put back together again.
Bill Huyberts
2 r s V orthenpoort b3
5211 n d
S’ Hertogenbosch.
Holland.
He knows me and my friends.
Sapper Brian.

 

Hi. And welcome everybody.
ACTIONS.
WELL SOME OF THEM!
Many of you that read these pages sometimes ask about the dates when certain actions took place. To that end, I have briefly included here the operational dates.
For what follows is an account of some of the wide ranging series of actions that the Company took part in as part of Eighth Brigade, (our habitual brigade) we always seem to be given the task of leading off the opening assault, (it seemed to be expected and assumed) that Eighth brigade with 246 Field Company R.E up, would normally lead the initial assault.
246 Field Company. Royal Engineers in the Company of Eighth Brigade always managed to get to the forefront of every battle. I have listed below only the major events, there were many more other events that took place, to numerous to mention.

D.DAY THE 6TH OF JUNE 1944. The Company had been given the vital task on D.Day of landing on Sword beach first, to open up and mark a mine free path from the beach to the road beyond, armed with flame throwers and Explosive charges, despite the odds and the opposition, that had been done, we had then joined the infantry as an extra Fighting section.
D.Day. Later, when all were present, our next task was to open up a path to Hermanville and under enemy attack, that was accomplished.
D.Day. The next major task was to assist in the taking of the huge German defensive position, code named "Hillman" a heavily mined and fire swept area, under intense enemy fire this was also accomplished. Gallantry medals, Croix de Geurre
7TH/8TH OF JUNE. The next task, again under intense enemy fire, and low level air attack, was to bridge, and raft, between the Airborne and Third British Infantry over the Orne canal and River. (Pegasus Bridge) this was also successfully accomplished.
9TH/10TH OF JUNE. Repair to bridges and rafts due to heavy enemy shelling. Repairs due to air attack. Charted enemy mine fields round the battery at Ouistreham.
11TH OF JUNE laying 400 mines in front of the East Yorks.

12TH/22ND of June laying mines, lifting enemy mines supporting infantry attacks through the villages, Gazelle. Periers sur le dans.
23RD OF JUNE. Sections in support of the attack on the Chateau de La Londe with the South Lancs, captured the area, but driven out with a panzer counterattack. Tank track and 8th Brigade laying protective mine fields.
JUNE 27TH. The attack to retake the Chateau de la Londe in support of 8th Brigade., then on to le Mesnil wood. A tremendous battle with hand to hand fighting, nick named "The Bloodiest square mile in Normandy"

28TH OF JUNE. Laying 2000 mines under the nose of the enemy at night, all completed safely by morning. At first light.
246 Field Co R.E. took part in all the horrific battles that led up to the capture of Caen
JULY 1ST / 9TH supporting attacks by the infantry in the approaches to the City of Caen
JULY9TH. Preparation for the attack on Caen. Moved to Beauville. Blainville. Attack on Caen under heavy enemy fire from Mortar shell and small arms. Swept routs clear of mines, foot recce into the City, a few of us were the first to enter the City by the left hand route.
JULY THE 10TH/14TH Withdrawn from Caen, to prepare for the Assault round Caen code named "Goodwood". Lifting own minefields with casualties.

JULY 14TH. Warning of move over the Orne in the evening. Quietly!
JULY 15TH.JULY 24TH. Co moved to Heronvillette. Heavy shell fire on our position at night. We then played a major role in the "Goodwood" offensive with the left hook round the City. 8th Brigade and 246 Field co R.E. leading off as usual. This was a real shocker, we were under heavy fire continuously from shell, mortar and moaning Minnie fire, coupled with concentrated air bursts that caused a lot of casualties. Intense machine gun fire from the surrounding woods and hedgerows. (Can I please go Home?) We captured Touffreville. Sanneville, and Banneville on the road to Troarn, No sleep at all during this operation. Escoville.
JULY 25TH/27TH. Returned to Benouville to regroup, clean up, with fresh clothes, repair battle damage, Sorting ourselves out for the next operation.

JULY 28TH/31ST. Besides Company refitting we lifted our own mines laid at the Chateau de la Londe and at Mathieu. Some defensive road cratering!
AUGUST 1ST / 2ND. Company moved to area South of Bayeux and harboured at St Honerine du Ducy.
AUGUST 3RD /8TH. Company actively engaged at Caumont. St Martin de Besaces, and Mont Bertrand.
AUGUST 8TH. Co arrived at Iven N.E. of Vire. Orders issued for the attack on Vire. Company to attack in the company of of 44 Royal tanks sqdrns, (at night) others to advance in the company of the infantry battalions.

AUGUST 9TH. Having left the Caen area altogether, we now abutted the Americans and took part in the battles in the Vire sector where I was wounded. (See war Diary at the end of this book) "Three sappers wounded on a road block" Actions on the Vaudry-Vire ridge and all forward routes opened and cleared.
AUGUST 10TH/15TH. Company concentrated forward of Vire, preparing for the forthcoming advance, Advanced down the Vire-Tinchebray road.
Further actions in the company of 3rd Recce Regiment and 4 Coldstream Guards tank battalion.
AUGUST 15TH/16TH. Company with the South Lancs Reg; probed forward to Tinchebray. Night building of bridge over stream, finished at first light, 100 Churchill tanks and S.P guns crossed.

AUGUST 17TH/19TH. Crossed at Tinchebray to Montesecret. Followed by the drive to push the enemy towards the narrowing neck of the Falaise pocket. Fierce local fighting took place as the enemy desperately tried to halt us with fanatical rearguard actions, The drive through this great trap where thousands of the enemy died was traumatic!
AUGUST 19TH/25TH. Co moved to harbour area S.W of Flers. Company in training ready for an assault crossing of the Siene river in the company of Churchill tanks and 6th Guards tank brigade.

AUGUST 26TH/ 28TH. Further training with "Storm boats" for the Siene crossing.
AUGUST 29TH/31ST. Folding boats and close support rafts dismantled and loaded ready for the advance Warning to advance to the river with forward parties.
SEPTEMBER 1ST / 2ND.Company rested.
SEPTEMBER 3RD/5TH. Company moved to St Andelys. Advance down St Andelys road.
SEPTEMBER 6TH/10TH. Moved to Vernon on the Seine. Further crossing training.
SEPTEMBER 10TH/ Recce party for new location near Brussels. Warning to move in convoy to Gisors / Arras / Brussels during the night.
SEPTEMBER 10TH/13TH. Company arrived at new location Thielt. North of Louvain. Close support training for the possible crossing of the Rhine. (In Brussels).
SEPTEMBER 13TH /16TH. Further training in Brussels.
SEPTEMBER 18TH. Moved to Peer I mile North of village by nightfall in preparation for operation "Market Garden"

SEPTEMBER 18TH. Recce at the Escuat canal. Night time assault across the canal at 1am with storm boats and a folding boat assault bridge at Petite Brogel. Confused and desperate night fighting around the crossing with heavy machine gun fire down the canal and mortar bombs in it! Infantry over and spreading out. Very frightening assault at night against determined resistance.
SEPTEMBER 19TH/20TH Over our own bridge during the night, advancing towards Weert in the company of C sqdrn 3rd Recce Reg.
SEPTEMBER 21ST/23RD. Advance eastwards along the North side of the canal to Weert. Town occupied in the afternoon.
SEPTEMBER 23RD/25TH. On the capture of Weert, I prepared explosive charges to blow the houses as road blocks, in case of enemy attack. Prepared bridges for demolition against expected counterattack.
SEPTEMBER 25TH/30TH. The monastery at Euvelwegen. Near Gemert, where we were out of action, fueling and preparing for next thrust.
OCTOBER 1ST/ 9TH. Continued driving North taking towns and villages to harbour in the vicinity of Nijmegen and the Reichwald Forest. At Linden near Mook bridged at Heunen. My lonely reconnaissance on the Arnhem road.

OCTOBER 10TH/11TH. Coy moved to concentration area North of Overloon for operation Aintree.
OCTOBER 12TH. Battle for Overloon. Clearing mine free tracks through the minefields for the infantry and tanks. Very heavily mined with R mines. Great number lifted during the day. Very heavy shelling, one direct hit wiped out one section of Company. Worst and most frightening battle so far! Terrible.
OCTOBER 13TH /15TH. Reorganisation after battle. Preparation for the coming battle for Venraij. Further mine clearing through the pine woods. Coy moved North of Overloon.

OCTOBER 16TH/18TH. Battle for the crossing of the Molen Beek. Entry into Venraij. During the night, trestle bridge built under heavy fire over the Beek. More erected near Kleindorp. Engineers tanks bogged down in the heavy and mined mud, and under very heavy enemy fire. All this with 11th Armoured division and the Guards Armoured brigades. Anti personal mines and schu mines everywhere. Lots of debris in the streets. My worst battle so far, a real hard fought battle amongst the pine woods, where the mud and sand was infested with mines.

OCTOBER 19TH/20TH. Coy moved to hutted camp, former Dutch youth SS camp just North of Venraij.
Many mines laid as road blocks, the whole area infested with Schu mines, continuous casualties. Company spread far and wide in defensive roles. Widespread shelling.
OCTOBER 21ST 31ST. Very many events all over the place. Coy lifted no less than 7000 mines and investigated the problem of the Schu mines. Enemy still active with shelling
OCTOBER 22ND. Bailly bridge built between Overloon and Venraij.
OCTOBER 28TH/ NOVEMBER 15TH A wide ranging series of tasks kept the Company busy. Shelling.

NOVEMBER 16TH. Fighting patrols, at night, out on the desolate wet lands of the river Maas. Vortum. Several nights out there. Makes a change!
My departure! Not sure of the date, Wounded for the second time, this time severely, while collecting the Companies battle orders at night. Near the Molen Beek.

The next episode will cover the long journey to recovery, and some of the fascinating events that took place, then the Companies actions until the final victory in Bremen.
Sapper.

 

Hi Everyone. What follows is the route taken be the company until we parted . To say it is a circuit route is an understatement. For if you get a map out and Trace with pencil, it wanders all over the place

The Route.
A Lot of Heartbreak along the way. BG
Newhaven. > Southampton > Piccadilly Circus>Sword beach.>Queen Red and Queen white sectors>Ouistreham.>Hermanville>Morris"German position.>Hillman" German defence position.>The Orne canal and river>Pegasus Bridge.> Benouville.>Coleville S Orne >St Aubin d Arquenay >Blainville >Beauregarde >Herouville >Periers sur le Dan />Beuville > Bieville > Lebisey > Gazelle > Le Mesnil > Cambes > Chateau De la Londe > Le Landel > Le Homme > Escoville >Epron >La Bijude > CAEN Across Pegasus bridge toHerouvillette > Touffreville > Sannerville > Troan Road > Bonneville > Back across the Orne > Benouville > The Long move to Le Beny Bocage > River Allure > Vire and villages around > Wounded S Mine > The mad charge down the Tinchbray road. >Tinchebray > Flers >Falaise gap > The Chase across France toThe River Seine > Les Andelys > Amiens > Arras >Lille >BELGIUM > BRUSSELS > Porte Joie > Thielt >Escaut canal.Lille st Hubert > HOLLAND > Weert >.Helmond > Heumen / NIJMEGEN > Recon; on the Arnhem road > Linden > Mook> The River Maas > Vierlingsbeek > Boxmeer > Vortum > Groeningeng > Ooplo > Overloon > The Molen Beek > Venraij > Overloon to Venraij road in the Limburg area. > Severely wounded /Shelling > Helmond > temp Hospital in school> Eindhoven > Hospital Airport fly to Croydon > Croydon Hospital > Warwick Hospital > Poole Hospital > Bovington Hospital >Shaftesbury Hospital > Lady Leas Lytchette > Hospital > Lake House Rehab Hospital >Egham Rehab > At last back to .Home Sweet Home!
sAPPER

 

Great additions Sapper--thank you very much.

 

Hi Everyone, and Thanks for your message Carl Evans. Its quite odd, for when I write these pages I am never sure that is being read. Its only when I get a message, or a query, that I know someone is there. Before long the company will be back in action again, though the journey to recovery has some quite interesting bits. Would you believe with an old Veteran from the war in South Africa. An Old chap that then went on to serve in the Great war and then done his bit in WW2. Sounds daft dosent it? but he was a lovely old man and I was very fond of him.I have been back to my old convalecsent home, now the pop star "Stings" house. and had tea with them.
Sapper.

 

Warwick.
The Best and the Worst.
One of the first men that I met in my ward, I had known in Normandy, he was just learning to walk again with an artificial leg when I arrived. The Gods of war deal some very odd hands at times. This man had been on patrol when he came face to face with the Enemy, the German let fly with an anti-tank weapon, ( Panzerfaust. Tank Killer) the projectile hit the corner of a farmhouse wall and showered him with shrapnel, he dived into a foxhole alongside of a burning haystack that promptly fell on top of him, getting out, he badly burned his hands and face. Now, badly injured, with bad burns to hands and face and lots of shrapnel wounds, he made his way back to get aid and trod on a schu mine blowing his foot off.

While in that Hospital I received a very nice letter from an old pal in the company. Corporal Ford, who sent me a complete set of my company badges and insignia with the message "don't want you looking like a rookie, Brian" What a lovely thought from one who was in Hospital himself with double pneumonia, having taken a dip in the Rhine while forcing a crossing. I wrote back, but never heard anymore from "Ginger Ford" I do not know if he was invalided out of the army or if he returned to active service, try as I might I have never heard from him again. It's a great pity, I have not found more than a handful of my former company that made it through to the end. Not surprising really. Third British Infantry Division was the only unit to take part in all of the battles in North West Europe. While at the same time taking into consideration their very high casualty rate.

One of my greatest disappointments, (Heart break even!) was that while serving in Holland and just before I was wounded again, my Platoon officer had told me that I would be getting The GOCs commendation. I had better explain; Field Marshall Montgomery thought that there was a gap in the British army awards, they were few and far between. To that end he had awarded his own style of recognition for those soldiers who the officers thought had contributed beyond the normal call of duty. They were called “Montie’s Certificates” One of the things that helped me during my time in Hospital, was the knowledge that sooner or later my “Montie’s Certificate” would catch up with my travels around the hospitals and all that I had contributed would be recognised. Sadly, it never arrived. Out of sight out of mind? Can you imagine the thrill and excitement that I felt at the time? A young 19 year old who was to get a “Monties Certificate”. Not only that, but because our division was his old command, he would award it personally on the field of battle. Just try to think how important this was to a young and patriotic Country lad?

Can you imagine what it was like, waiting in Hospital with suppressed anticipation for the award to arrive. Sadly it never did arrive, and all that I have suffered for my Country, from Normandy till my departure in Holland were as nothing compared with the feelings of disappointment, being let down, and to be quite honest, heart broken. Even today, some 58 years on, I still feel that the same pain. I was not to be put up for this award. I had been informed that I would get it. I know I am being a daft old buffer, but it meant so much to me, but Damn and Blast it! still does! I still feel cheated
Warwick Hospital was a very friendly place, the nurses mostly Irish were (like all of them) great. While learning to walk again, first time out of bed I was sick all over one of them. Some of the local people visited the Hospital and were very kind, a very nice young lady came to see me regularly and always brought her mum and dad and a little gift for me, sometimes the pure luxury of fish and chips. A charming Girl, I had pledged to take her out for an evening when I got back on my feet.

Empty promises, a very long time was to elapse before I was able to get about again. It never happened, I never even got the chance to say thank you to all those wonderful folk for all their kindness, it happened time and again, very often transferred away and never had that chance to say "thank you"

One night a young Dutchman in the next bed to me went berserk, crying with rage, he had lost a leg in Holland and had been brought back to England for treatment, only about seventeen, someone had asked him if he was Dutch, thinking they had asked him if he was Deutsche, or German, he was inconsolable, luckily I was able to clear the matter up.
One of the older nurses when on night shift got very nervous, she came round and whispered "are you awake" I would then have to go and sit with her for the best part of the night, lovely older lady, she made cakes and little luxuries that we shared, such a lovely lady, I never got the chance to thank her either.
The next episode; terrible stuff that penathol!
Sapper

 

Good morning Sapper. I read your postings daily but sometimes have no time to reply. Thats the same with some of the other guys here.

One thing I do regret is that I dont think I ever met a ww1 veteran. I was born in 1967 and all the vets I ever got lucky enough to spend time with--were ww2 and Korean War vets--which I am greatful for.

 

Stevin. Did my answer to your query solve anything? One of the things that makes recall so difficult, is what happened to one of our men. He was posted officialy as absent without leave. and the company orders every day notated that he had still not reported back and was still absent. That in the field of action is very serious indeed and he could have gone to prison at least, when he was caught. Eventually they discovered the poor fellow had been killed by enemy action. For obvious reasons I will not name him. But it does go to show just what the "Fog of War" can do. Looking at the Company war diaries, there are many days when there are no entries at all. not surprising when in action, for the last things you want to doiss fill in forms!
I would have loved to see what Overloon and Venraij look like today and would love to visit the museum there, sadly, that is not on.
Sapper

 

Thanks for that Carl. Yes it must seem that old Veterans come from another age, and for all intents and puposes, we do! The old South African Veteran was a Regimental Sergeant Major and a very imposing fellow indeed. It was an odd friendship between a very old man and a young nineteen year old, but a good friendship. I recall the old chap with great fondness, for if ever you have seen the carictature of an old guardsman. then he was it! But more of him later.
Sapper.

 

Thank you Sapper--and that reminds me of a caricature that I once saw that was done of USMC Master Sergeant and two time Recipient of the Medal of Honor--Daniel "Dan" Daly. I think he would also fit that picture very well. This man won his first MoH while serving in China--fighting with the American and German Litigations in Peking during the Boxer Rebellion.

He was alone on a Parapet--was being shot at by Chinese Snipers--and was shooting back at them and at times--engaging in hand to hand combat with Chinese soldiers running up the parapet. This continued til Marine and a few German Soldiers came up as reinforcements.

Anyway--I mentioned him because he was a household word in our house and being a well-known hero who also fought in Haiti and in France in ww1. I heard a few veterans talking about him.

Most of the vets I talked to--were ww2 vets. I just wish I could remember all their stories. I only remember the ones about my Grandfather--Uncle and Father in ww2 and Korea. Now as im older--I have met many many vets--American--British and German. I save all letters I get from these great people and want to preserve their words. Im very glad that yours are here for all of us to learn from.

 

Interesting tales Brian. I truly love to log in every day, simply to read your posts. Thank You so much for sharing your life with us all!

 

Hello again everyone. Nice to hear from Peppy! Always very pleased to meet folk!
(Even if only by the internet)

Still at Warwick Hospital.

One Winters evening there was the terrifying sound of young women screaming, the walking wounded dashed off to see what was happening, only to find that the morgue was close by the ward and two young nurses had gone to lay out an old man that had died, when he died he had drawn his legs up and died in that position, the girls pushed his legs down to straighten him up (to get him in the coffin). when he sat up, because his hips had rigor mortise, the air in him also made a noise, it is no wonder that they fled screaming. I think I would!
. After that, my left leg would not join or heal, so they decided to whisk me off again on another move, this time to the old Cornelia Hospital in Poole, another long journey under very difficult conditions and again by rail.

Some time had elapsed. My spinal injuries seemed to have healed, the top of my left knee had been all gathered together to make it look better. BUT, my shattered leg showed no sign of healing, so far my Hospital mileage had taken me from Croydon to Warwick then on to Poole, whoever was in charge of my treatment seemed to be moving me about trying to find someone who would put me back together again, this idea gained more momentum as the months went by. The final battle and the aftermath.

Poole Hospital.
Terrible stuff that Pentathol!
The battle to get back on my feet again was to take far longer than it had appeared earlier. The old Cornelia Hospital was a very sparse place back in 1944. The service men patients had the idea that we were not really welcome, in the event, we were banished to what was known as the 'balcony, it was just that, a balcony.

What follows is one of the most embarrassing episodes of my life. Returning from an operation one afternoon, still under the effects of "Pentathol" (I had better explain)- pentathol was used in those days to put you out, the Doctor would say "count to ten" after having the injection and I never got beyond six. The after effects of this drug were exactly the same as being boozed up, those coming round would often act like they were drunk, with all the stupid chatter that one would expect from someone half cut! Well! It had the same effect on me, I proposed marriage to the matron! Drank a whole jug of water, (Not supposed to drink after anaesthetic), singing and shouting, terrible stuff that pentathol.

What made the matter much worse was that there was a very pretty young nurse in the ward, a truly lovely young Lady. (lost my heart I did) When I came round again into the world of sanity and feeling pretty gruesome, this nice young nurse would not talk to me, what made it even worse was that everyone in the ward had grins on their faces. Time and again I asked her "What have I done?" only to be met with a stony silence. "My Sainted Aunt" Eventually, I found that while on the trolley and on my way back from the operating theatre, I had imparted all of my secret desires about this young lady to all and sundry, and, I may add, at the top of my voice. Thinking? Oh dear I must sort this out, the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass her, I managed to see her privately with the idea of saying sorry for anything I might have said to cause her upset and distress, explaining "it was the pentathol" "That is all very well" she said "but it was in your mind" Well that floored me, because it was the truth, cannot deny it!

Some considerable time later, she wrote to me and told me that she understood. Bless her! I kept that letter for a long time. To the great enjoyment of the other patients in the ward, the Matron came to see me and demanded to know if I was going to fulfill my offer of marriage to her? This particular Matron, like so many, could hardly be described as a raving beauty, though she was a lovely person with a great sense of humour.

Another time when I was coming round from anaesthetic, I recall the hazy memory of a girl I went to school with bending over my bed and kissed me on the forehead and squeezed my hand, saying "Hello Brian, I heard you were in here, cannot stay, very busy" a very attractive girl with very dark red hair I think that she was a Sister at Poole Hospital, That was 58 years ago and I have not seen, or heard of her since. Now my troubles started in earnest, my leg injuries would not heal and I suffered severe pain in my back, I paid a visit to my old Engineering workshop and the lads in there had a whip round for me.

The Foreman pulled me to one side and pointed up at the girder work in the roof, "See that union jack flag up there in the roof Brian, well, we are waiting for you to come back and take it down again" Not knowing what to do with me, they now sent me off to Lady Lees place at Lytchett, a large manor house with Hospital beds on the ground floor and up stairs. The grind started in earnest, back and forth to Poole and then back to Lytchett, like a shuttle.

One day an army corporal turned up with the idea of taking us a route march, I know this sounds stupid, but it is true. Muttering something about getting you up and about, treating us like malingerers, I had to get out of bed with a broken leg that was not healed and with all my back problems, get some crutches, then set off across the fields nearby.
What can you say about a stupid order like this, the place was full of severely war wounded patients for heavens sake! I had not gone far before I passed out, I do not know how they got me back to the hospital, we never saw this idiot again.
Despair. Despair. Croydon. Warwick. Poole .Lytchett. Now the powers that be decided that the army Hospital at Bovington would be my next move. I remember that as being my lowest ebb, all this time I had not progressed at all, my parents had been contacted and gave their permission to have my leg amputated. Silly isn't it, I was still under age!
Bovington was not equipped to deal with my injuries and I have not the slightest idea of why they sent me there? The next thing I knew I was again whisked off to another Hospital, this time to Shaftesbury military Hospital. A huge place built like the letter U with wards branching off all the way round. Here, there was for the first time in my travels, a sense of purpose, I had been put into ward number one. A "privilege ward" for the severely wounded soldiers. I will not bore you with the long drawn out period, but move on to the interesting bits.
Next episode. The Genius.The Comunist. The hut! The Major, What follows next, seems to me to be very interesting indeed, one of the most eventful of times.
Sapper.

 

Hello Forum members. What follows just goes to show how fortunate I was to come under the care of a ”Genius” for he was just that.

Shaftesbury Military Hospital.
The Genius.
Entirely run by military personnel, Nurses, Doctors, Surgeons and medical staff, this Hospital was run in a relaxed and pleasant manner and had an overriding sense of purpose that inspired one to think that the best would be done for you, whatever your injuries, and with the benefit of dedicated staff.
Ward one, was a privilege ward for the severely wounded. There, we had extra benefits such as a pint of free beer each day, brown ale or light ale. And, the company of gorgeous young women on occasions. I think they were chosen for their good looks to make the men feel better. It worked! What better than beautiful young women to cheer up severely wounded men? They served chocolates, books and other goodies that were in very short supply outside. A truly wonderful place that inspired confidence, I have much to thank that Hospital for. Major Charnley, later, Sir John Charley, was an orthopeadic surgeon of great skill and even in those far off days he was looked upon as a genius. He was held in great esteem by all the staff and patients.

When I was first taken into his consulting area I at first thought that this very young and fair haired man, small in stature, could not be the surgeon, he looked like a youth apart, that is, from the Majors pip on his shoulder. I must admit to be taken aback by his appearance. A man that would not stand fools gladly, his first words were "who put this monstrosity on you" pointing to my leg plaster. "Poole Hospital Sir" "Useless, absolutely bloody useless" pointing to the area where there was an obvious gap between leg and plaster. He had the plaster removed completely and although the leg had not joined and could be bent about in the middle it was not painful, the tiny pieces of bone were dead. They left the leg like that for some time while they built me ready for an operation.

About this time, back home, my half brother was dying in a very unpleasant way, anxious to help, I asked the Major if he could get me home, he promptly fixed me up with a caliper that took the weight off of my feet and on my groin, so that I was able to walk with a broken leg.

Came the day! Victory in Europe day would you believe? I was taken off early to the operating theatre, there, the Major removed all the dead bone from my leg, then took out the top of my left hip and grafted that into my leg, that is the bit of hip you hang your trousers on! (Now! Without bracers my trousers fall down!) All screwed together with a steel plate, the plate by the way is stamped with a WAR OFFICE ARROW and with W.D. for war Dept. The arrow is just like those on convict’s uniforms. Bone grafted, not unusual now, but back in 1944 quite something, unfortunately, he could not obtain enough bone to build my leg to its original length, to that end, one is shorter than the other.

V. E. Night woke up with bottom of my bed tipped up at an angle of 45 degrees, blood soaked underneath me and round my back. They had fixed up a screen and were showing a film, the last thing one wanted while recovering from a major operation.

Later, the Major found out that I was an Engineer and asked me if I would like to help him as he made all of his own orthopeadic apparatus, pleased to help, I was taken into a room next to the operating theatre in my wheelchair, when the apparatus was made, he put them on me and photographed me on a bed with a white sheet for a background, he always gave me a copy.
For me, there is a great deal of satisfaction knowing that I had helped, albeit, in a small way, the genius that perfected the hip joint operation that is so common today. (Still called a “Charnley”) Hospitals of this size are little self-contained communities, surprising how relaxed the atmosphere was for a military establishment.

The army nurses had a wonderful sense of humour and nothing was too much trouble for them. I have so much to thank those nurses for and Major Charnley. Genius! Characters? Yes we had the lot, in the top right hand bed of the ward was a very seriously wounded soldier, severely injured, with half his shoulder blades missing and was often in great pain, on top of his bedside cabinet he had an old wind up gramophone, one of those "His masters voice" type with the large fluted horn, the one with the little white dog! On this gramophone he played records, rather like the Salvation Army songs, but with communist party lyrics. When you are as badly injured as he was, you could play whatever you liked.

Some of the nurses in high spirits because the war was over, had put a hot water bottle filled with iced water under this man, the walking wounded did not like this, got hold of the nurse and stripped her naked, put her in bed and made her stay there. While all this was going on, I was yelling from my bed, tipped up at 45 degrees, "Move me bed round! move me bed round! LET ME SEE" but they refused.

R. S. M. Humphries.
The Greatest Warrior.
A great character of those times and a man I am very proud to have known. Regimental Sergeant Major Humphries. Over a period of time there developed a friendship between this young 19 year old and an old soldier who had served in the South African war, the Great War, and was asked back to assist in training young recruits in the Second World War. He had been decorated in all these conflicts and had a long bayonet wound down one side of his face, he was a perfect specimen for a "Giles" cartoon of a Guardsman. With his peaked cap down over his forehead.

Strange friendship between this young soldier and an old military man, he treated me like a son, and I remember him as one of nature's gentlemen. He showed me all of his medals from South Africa and photo's of him in his pill box hat and red uniform, and the first world war medals, I know that he had been awarded a medal in this war for saving a group of recruits when one dropped a live grenade in the slit trench, while on battle practice. I was supposed to have these medals when he died, for our friendship and because he knew that I would cherish them and look after them.
One day I went to visit him at Wareham and found that the RSM had died and was buried. I do not know what happened to his medals. I was very fond of the old man and was saddened to hear of his death. I will never forget him, and I am saddened that I never fulfilled his wish that I should have his medals!

A Canadian soldier suffering from concussion and starvation was in the next bed to me, what strange effect's concussion can have! He had been a prisoner of war and had the typical bloated stomach appearance of starvation, his wife came from Scotland to see him, only to be greeted with "What do you want" often he would ask for a cigarette and then screw it out on the polished bedside cabinet.
Over all of this sat the Sergeant Major, bolt upright in his bed, drinking his beer and the beer of other patients who did not drink. There were Italian prisoners in the ward, who had been brought back for treatment in this country, unfortunately they kept up a night long moaning and groaning with cries of Momma mia, Momma mia!

The Hut.
Ambition.
At the end of each ward there was a partly glazed double door that looked out on to the well cut grass, about a hundred yards away was a wooden hut, all by it's self, inside this hut was a bar just like a small clubhouse with tables and chairs and with a dartboard.
Now! When you could make your own way to this hut you could go there and have a drink with your pals, as you might imagine, it was everyone's ambition to get to the hut, I have seen young men pass out trying. The golden rule was that you had to make it entirely on your own, with no assistance at all, you could have your pals cheer you on, but they were not allowed to help, and none was ever given, all on your own, or nothing. Came the day. Yours truly was going to have a go at the hut!

My mates to cheer me on, "come on Brian, you can do it", as I struggled with my heavy plaster and crutches, (the long period in Hospital had reduced my weight considerably and I looked like a concentration camp victim), took me ages, but with lots of encouragement from my pals, I got there, only to discover that they did not sell beer, only scrumpy, we all know how alcoholic scrumpy is, two pints of scrumpy and my crutches failed to go where I put them, how I got back to the ward I do not know but woke up the next morning in my own bed.
To my dying day, I will remember the nursing Sister, first thing in the morning, coming through the double doors from the direction of the “hut” with a clutter of false arms and legs, and dragging crutches under her arm, all wet with dew, where they had been discarded the night before, exclaiming "Come on now, who do these belong to"?

SO! In the end they did not cut my leg off, it’s a bit misshapen and has lumps where they are not supposed to be. In addition I always set the Airport alarm bells ringing, I am grabbed, and they search me to no avail! I can tell you members, I have had some very quizzical looks from Airport security staff.
Rather a long tale to day, hope I have not bored you, more later. Sapper