Sword Beach to Bremen., A Veterans tale. Sapper

Wow Sapper....That took me some time to read every single page in this thread and all I can say is "Wow" Glad to have you here on this site. Thanks for service and thanks for sharing all this with us. Hope to read much more from you.

 

Let me turn now to the treatment that followed being wounded. First, the severity of the injuries would decide on how you were repatriated back to the UK. In my case, they were considered severe, and was to be flown home immediately.
Here is what happened:

Next day, off to Eindhoven airport and was flown back immediately to England in a Dakota ambulance plane, arriving at Corydon airport. I was whisked straight into what was then an Air force 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!

Recently, I used Google Earth to find the Hospital with the two columns each side of the door that I recall the night I arrived…. Found it, recognised it. It is still there.

When I came round, I was lying in bed with clean white sheets and 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.

The oddest thing about all this is the reluctance of the Doctors to tell you what injuries you had suffered…. By constant badgering, I was told that I had a lower spinal fracture. My left leg was very badly smashed into “Little pieces” I had lost the top of my left knee and nearly all my bones were cracked…

What I never did find out? was how they removed me from the stretcher, where the congealed blood had stuck my back to the stretcher..?

Life in a complete body cast is something I would not recommend to anyone…

 

The Bridge.
The Deserted Town.
Spud, yes, the same fellow! the dispatch rider, both of us had been sent to do a job, for the life of me I cannot remember where we had been, but it was on our way back to our company that it 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 to look at our maps, just standing there in the middle of the street with the warm sunshine on the back of our necks. I remember the 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, 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 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, not even a cat, just utter silence in this town and 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.

This is a reprint of something I posted earlier. Why I post it again is that recently that picture in my mind has come to the fore on several occasions, the memory is sharp and clear like a photo….Very Very odd. I know that there are some that will read this and shake their heads in disbelief….. But that is exactly what happened

 

Rkline56
Thanks my friend. I will now stop for a while, this old fellows single fingered typing is not very successful, for when I look up at the screen.... it rather takes on the appearance of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

I have taken part in films for the BBC. Live at the lost village of Tyneham, taken over by the MOD back in 1942. Then a film made around me at my former convalescent home, owned by the Cunard shipping Family. Now owned by Sting and his wife Trudi Styler. I have visited the old Elizabethan Manor house and its beautiful grounds. Had tea with Trudi....

There is another film where I appear, made by Epiphany Films about the "Demob" and resettlement back in civilian life.That is due to appear sometime in the near future.
I Think on the "Yesterday" channel....
Thanks to allk those that have read these pages.
Sapper

 

Sapper, after reading the above message along with this entire thread, I still can't say how glad and happy I am to have such a great man like you on this forum. Truly feel fortunate. Thank you for your service.

 

I really enjoyed this thank you very much for sharing.

 

Thanks, Brian. It is an honor and privilege to read your exploits and have the chance to convey my utmost respect to you and all of your mates! Take care, Sir.

 

Autumn ...Bloody Autumn..Operation "Market Garden" The bridge too far, and now before us lies the Reichwald..... Defended in depth.
The German Forest...This was to be a bloody horror....

 

Not well known certainly. But the bloodiest battle in Holland, was the battle for Overloon and Venraij. Much worse than Arnhem and fought under atrocious conditions. Odd that one of the bloodiest battles should be shrouded and virtually unknown. In Holland it has been described as "The Second Caen"The taking of this small area cost about 1800 or so lives and at least 40 of our Tanks. Overloon was flattened completely.. Steamrollered, even the trees were stripped of branches leaving them as stark gnarled leafless stumps. reminiscent of WW1 pictures.

It beat the Americans, who retired leaving it up to "Monty's Iron sides" Yet this little episode that typified everything that reveals the true horrors of war is little known. After the war a building was dedicated to Third Div at Overloon, but later became the Dutch war museum.

That battle was one where the Sappers played a huge part in the taking of Overloon and Venraij.......A real Sappers war.

 

The Overloon memorial.

 

Great picture !

The SAS. and the Infantry...

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The SAS? Wonderful resourceful and courageous men.... Ideal for special missions. But who gave the most in battle? Much as I respect the SAS. I must come out in favour of the infantry. The PBI. For they fight everyday in all conditions, and the only way out is in a 6 foot hole in the ground, or on a stretcher.

Fortunate those that are wounded not too seriously but enough to get then back to blighty.....For those that landed on D day were still fighting up front on the day the war ended at Bremen.

So I think it is about time we sang the praises of the infantry men of this world. And the Sapper for they also lasted in battle till the end.

 

Son of a Cameron,

Nice of you to post this vid, it is a great addition to this prolific thread. Thank you.

 

If you click on the picture you should see a little video of it.

 

What was life like in the pre-war and early days of WW2.
Would anyone like to read "The Enchanted Isle"...?

 

Is that some more of your great work, Brian? If so, I would very much like to read it.

 

The Enchanted Isle.

Dorset on the South coast of England, was, and in many ways still is, a beautiful County. Even more attractive is the seaside towns and villages of the Purbeck Isle. Purbeck, for it is still largely unspoiled and has a special quality all of its own. Its also our families Ancestral home, where we traces our roots back to the 1500s and beyond. (The Isle of Purbeck is a "land locked Isle")

It was in this place of peace, that back on the 28th of April, 1925, that one Brian Guy was born. In the downstairs “Green Room” in Avenue House. Victoria Avenue. The first of 5 children in the family. Avenue House, a large Private Hotel, with three floors with landings leading to the second floor rooms. At that time, the family seat.

But first; let me describe this place; This Isle of Purbeck, designed it seemed for a young man to grow to adulthood. Truly a place of wonder. The gateway to the Isle of Purbeck is guarded by Corfe Gate. With Corfe Castle standing high on its own hill, Imposing itself on all those around it. Certainly since at least 1100. The true gateway to the Purbeck Isle. That leads on down the valley to the seaside, with the Southern downs on one side, full of abandoned deep stone pits. On the other side of the valley. Stands “Nine Barrow Down” A large imposing hill, a ridge running all the way to the sea. Named after the nine huge communal graves of casualties of battles long ago. Battles that took place in ancient pre-history.

Dotted around, are beautiful little villages, virtually untouched. Some as old as the distant Castle itself. Further to the South, lies the English channel and the Jurassic coast with wild and dangerous cliffs. With the precipitous Saint Albans head. The home of Ravens and Peregrine Falcons. The valley is wooded in places, then the hills rise to the Nine Barrow Down to the North, and the Coast side downs to the South. . Where the valley meets the sea is a wide and attractive bay. But facing East, so a place for Summer sailing only, as the winter prevents any boats being kept in the bay.

Many years after, some 60 odd years later, and just before the family home; Avenue House was pulled down, I walked around that old house accompanied by ghosts of the past, all the memories of the happy times came flooding back. Indeed the attic had not changed, it was exactly the same as I had slept in 66 years before. For me, it was in some ways a sad journey, for it was all due to vanish.

Even though the place was deserted, and in the process of demolition, the feeling of the presence of ghosts of the past was very strong, I could almost imagine the familiar voices and laughter echoing about the landings, and far below, the excited chatter of children, the laughter of children tinged with an air of expectancy, the excited tingle that always hung over the children impatient for Christmas. A big table in the dining room, with a good fire going in the hearth.

Avenue House, in my child hood, was a magical place, and one that had seen many great celebrations and many times of sadness. Before I left the house, I took photo’s of all the rooms that remained, and I still have them, I suppose that one day, after I have departed this life, someone will find these photo’ s and wonder, what ever are these?
Many of you may laugh now. But in those days there was a great deal of village “Tribalism” when my father was courting my mother, he had to walk from Langton to Swanage and in the process pass through Herston, where he was liable to be stoned by the local boys. After I was born we lived at Steer Road, and then, when my father was promoted, we moved to Langton Matravers at Mount Pleasant Durnford. This village tribalism became reality when village football matches took place.... There were no holds barred in those games. Indeed you were in dire danger from the onlookers who were not backward in trying to flatten you if you got to near. Some time they threw the ball away and had a"Proper game"

In my boyhood wild life was plentiful. We had red squirrels and plenty of game to help the dinner pot. The cliffs around Saint Albans head are towering, and that is where is spent my time around the age of 13/14. On my own ! Looking back at where I ventured, makes me feel sick in the stomach. The sheer drops with the crags and sea far below, now frightens the living daylights out of me. So I got to know what is called the Jurassic Coast very well indeed. Much of my time was spent up on the channel coast at “Dancing Ledge” This is a large flat ledge that is fine in the Summer, but lethal in the Winter. In that ledge many years pre-war a bath had been cut out of the rock that filled with fresh sea water regularly.

 

Yes - Purbeck is a magical place.

Brian - you have missed your calling. You should have been a writer not a Sapper. Still not too late even if you are a one-digit novelist!

 

It was at Dancing ledge rock swimming pool that the Durnford boys (prep school boys) where my Dad was head gardener, were instructed in how to swim. But the headmaster would not allow the boys to wear costumes, so any one visiting would be shocked to see a large crowd of stark naked young men and boys jumping in and out the pool. At first the public were aghast, but very quickly got used to the sight of these naked young boys splashing about in the water. My father took a gang of men to Dancing Ledge to empty it each spring, and clean it ready for the new intake at Durnford .

My education…If it can be called that, was at the Langton Matravers village school. Now when I look at it, it is so small…Besides the school ran a lane down to my home at “Mount Pleasant” The house we lived in was constructed of stone like so many properties in the Purbecks. But the internal walls were made of wattle and daub, plastered inside the wall were “Rushes” The Cottage was reputed to be as old as Corfe castle, little windows that you could only see out of if you sat on the ledge built into the wall……One thing stand out about those years.. We never had any of that scarce commodity called money. We had none of that. My education was to say the least, minimal! Being I could never sit in the little old fashioned school when the sun shine sent rays of light through the dusty windows…Specialy when I had my fishing gear stashed away at Dancing Ledge……I played truant very often.,…

Up on the Southern side of the valley, on high ground, lies the beautiful village of Worth. Its got a fine pub there that is often crowded in the Summer. A desolate place in Winter, when the village pubs turned up for the dart match.

Leading down from Worth is a path that leads to a coastal area known as Winspit. To the West, the ground rises so that the cliffs there are precipitous. In one place you can chimney climb between two huge slabs of rock with nothing beneath but the sea far below. At the at the bottom of the climb, about half way down, on the right there is a ledge that travels round the side of the cliff for several hundred yards. There it is possible to walk amongst the Guillemots and Razorbills in their thousands. Oddly enough the birds take no notice of you, and it is possible to sit in amongst them while they sit on their eggs.. Moments of wonder!
The eggs are laid on the bare rock and are sharply tapered at one end to stop them rolling off …. The Guillemots eggs also come in all the colours of the rainbow.

In other places, it is possible to sit quietly amongst the Puffin burrows, while they come so close you can touch them…….Magical….Just magical.
TBC

 

Sadly the standard of living in the Dorset Country side had a lot to be desired. In the days pre-war the wages were pitiful, so trying to bring up a family was a continuous struggle. Everything had to be cooked on the living room fire and oven. A little oven. How my mother managed to keep us fed, was nothing short of a minor miracle. Food however, was not a problem, we kept hens and ducks and collected about 6 dozen eggs a day that were sold to the hotels. The estate was huge, extending down into the valley. We had orchards of every kind of fruit, and soft fruit cages. My father kept young pigs and fed them on the Prep school waste. They were later sold

. Sometimes he would butcher a pig. We would use what we could, but there were no fridges, so the rest was given away to the local old ladies of the village. Coupled with the odd rabbit, or pheasant or partridge meant, that meat was on the table. Vegetables were plentiful, with ever manner available…. But the shortage of money meant that the boys in the family were put in khaki cotton shorts, with a cotton shirt with sandals in May time, and that was what we wore until the Autumn.

In the old house was a large pantry with whitewashed walls, a stone floor and shelves all the way round. In the Corner, was a large red earthenware container, with a wooden lid about two and a half foot across. That was where my father brewed the wine from the thinning out of the black and white grapes. In the other corner was another container, about the same size, That was full of isinglass liquid, where the summer surfeit of eggs were stored, ready for the long winter months. The shelves were full of bottled fruits, jams, pickles and runner beans, prepared and sliced and “Salted” in huge jars kept for the Winter.

At night, we were lulled to sleep by the gentle popping noise from the wine brewing down in the pantry below. The house was warmed by the living room fire. And by the large oil lamp that sat on the living room table. All the cooking done on the living room range. Then one day we had a new radio. Wonder of wonders, with push buttons and a mysterious green light behind the station names when switched on.
Two batteries and an accumulator that had to be charged occasionally down the town and cost 6 pence,. The accumulator was a square glass battery that had to be collected and carried home, about three miles….

Yet with a feeling in England of deep unease...... as the gathering storm clouds of war that hovered over Europe, grew more menacing day by day........
TBC

 

Sapper
thanks for sharing your memories over the years on the forum.