A WORD FROM WALES

Memories of Taffy Grey

I enlisted for the Tank Regiment in January, 1941. After basic training at Otley I was posted to A Squadron 9 RTR under canvas. There were no tanks in sight, so we were allocated to crews of five soldiers, and were taught our formation drill by walking over the Yorkshire Moors. From then on we waited eagerly for our tanks to arrive. When the great day came along we paraded and marched to the Railway Station to pick up our tanks, first delivery. I think ours was third or fourth on the Railway Flats. The first one came off amid a clapping of hands. Unfortunately the other tanks would not budge ‑ our first breakdown. The first of many trials and errors.

Our next move was to Eastbourne on the South Coast. How we got there still remains a mystery. The next "highlight" in our lives was the visit of Winston Churchill. 'A' Squadron was chosen for him to inspect our tanks, and by this time we had almost a full complement. The large number of tanks caused really heated arguments with the locals. The trouble was that we were parked in the streets around our billets, and those billets were the local school.

We were instructed to clean up the tanks inside and out, but the bother was the petrol and oil we used to clean the tanks. We were duly inspected by Winston Churchill. The fact that our tanks were the first Churchills to be delivered was the main reason for the visit.

After Eastbourne we went to Lancing just outside Worthing. Our tanks were at Goring Woods. From Lancing we travelled to Stalisfield. This was really in the backwoods. So one of our Squadron personnel was found to be a "Theatre Producer" and he decided to put on a play, and asked for volunteers. Being one of the volunteers he gave me the part of the Butler. I remember Ginger Gadd was the leading lady. Whilst learning my lines in our hut, everybody was also learning them at the same time. First night I opened the play with the lines "Your mail, Sir," and everybody spoke up in unison. That set the scene for a real good farce. We never did reach the West End.

From Stalisfield we moved to Aldershot, where we prepared and waterproofed our tanks for the invasion. When we set out from Gosport it was a beautiful calm, sunny evening, and we never expected the storm that raged that night. I remember Trooper Webb saying, "I will never go back to England ever again." Strange enough he was wounded on 26 June, and was one of the first to be sent back to England.

Many things happened in Normandy, but just a few come to mind. I think the first to be killed in A Squadron was Harold Killick, always known as Nobby. I will never forget his name; he was a real trooper. I think that was the one and only time we held a burial service. After the initial shock we saw tragedy and comedy in all things. The first bit of comedy concerned a farmer who asked us, the crew of our tank which was named Irate, Tony Lyall, Danny Butterfield, Jackie Hughes, Johnny Carnell and myself Taffy Grey, if we would like some Calvados. We said yes, and promptly filled our water can and celebrated. We put Jackie Hughes under the tank to sleep it off. The trouble was he tried to sit up, and gave himself another headache.

Another time we were returning to laager when it was getting quite dark, and there were many bomb craters on our way. The tank we were following disappeared into one, and of course we stopped to help him out. It was pouring down in sheets and we could not use the wireless or lights to attract anybody, so whilst getting him out we had to reverse. While we were doing this, the tank that was behind us had now gone past us. We did get the tank we were helping out of the crater, but now we were the last tank, so off they went with us following. Next thing we know we are now in a bomb crater ourselves, and what's more we had to stay the night. With two Welshmen in the tank, it had to happen to us.

I think the strangest thing that happened to me was during and after the Battle of Maltot, where we lost most of our Squadron. Ourselves and Frankie Quinn finished up in a small apple orchard, and between us and the thick woods there was a large cornfield. So Frankie decided to make a dash in his tank across the cornfield to the woods. We were watching him when suddenly, a cloud of smoke told us he had been hit. Next, we saw German Infantry standing up, then the crew of the tank jump out with their hands up.

Now then this is the twist in the tale. Frankie and his crew were now prisoners. We managed to get back via the farmhouse backdoor through to the front door, and then back to the Squadron. A few weeks later we were taking part in the capture of Le Havre. We were holding our position covering a fairly thick wood occupied by the Germans, and while we were there we received our mail from Blighty. Imagine my surprise when I opened my letter which was postmarked 'SWANSEA' to find that it was from Frankie Quinn.

Apparently, the Germans had taken him to Paris where he was put into a hospital for his burns. When they Yanks entered Paris, Frank had hidden himself in a cupboard until the Germans had left. From there on he was put on a train for Calais, then onto another one at Dover which took him to Swansea to a Military Hospital. Two months after I saw him being taken prisoner, he was having a cup of tea at my home in Swansea.

From there to Eindhoven, and then to Best where we took our first and only prisoners. We were told that there was a small pocket of resistance from the German Infantry in a wood nearby, but when we got there they just ran across the field and jumped up on our tank. That must have been one of the few times a tank crew took prisoners. We then moved to Roosendaal where another episode happened ‑ a civilian railway worker stepped on a mine on the railway line. We rescued him in a wheelbarrow.

The last episode, as I said in the beginning ‑ tragedy and comedy. Just before we crossed the Rhine we were in a small wood waiting our orders. We came across a German tank. Of course, curiosity meant that some would climb on and look around. Brian Hubbard also climbed up to look around and took hold of the machine gun which went off and killed him. Brian and Harold ‑ the first and last to be killed ‑ were the best sort of chaps you could meet. Me, I will never forget them.