In October 1941 the 9th moved from Otley to
Eastbourne. As Doug David recalls, Eastbourne was then a town which could have
been the target for a German invasion, and the presence of a Battalion of tanks
was reassuring. In addition the South Downs immediately to the west of
Eastbourne were very suitable for troop, squadron and battalion training in
moving tank formations across country.
Dickie Hall joined the 9th in January 1942. He had
been in the army since September 1939, and towards the end of 1940 was posted
to Lulworth as a Staff Sergeant gunnery instructor. By the end of 1941 the
pressure for instructors at Lulworth had eased, and because Dickie was one of
the junior instructors he was moved to a field unit, in his case C Squadron of
the 9th. As Dickie recalls: "C Squadron was billeted in and around Meads,
about a mile from Eastbourne Station. These roads were slippery with thick snow
and ice and all were lined with elm trees (dutch elm disease had not then
arrived in Britain). The Churchills had those air intakes that protruded some 9
inches from each side of the body of the tank. As we proceeded up the road to
Meads all the tanks tended to slide into the gutter. By the time the whole
squadron had passed that way just about every roadside tree had a gouge out of
the trunk at air intake height! The scars can still be seen today (1993)".
Doug David recalls even further than "many brick walls and street lamps
were demolished by learner drivers during our stay in Eastbourne in that hard
winter".
Both Doug and Dickie remember the German hit and run
raids. Thus Doug: "The Cavendish Hotel received a direct hit from a
Luftwaffe bomb while the RAF who were billeted there were having lunch in the
dining room; many casualties unfortunately." Dickie says of the same raid:
"The plane circled over the town and came directly over us. My gunner
quickly had the Bren gun out and gave it a good burst. The plane came down
along the coast and we liked to think that we had helped in its
destruction".
In some of the training exercises on the downs live
ammunition was used. Dickie again: "I was 13 Troop Sergeant at the time.
One day we were advancing just ahead of the infantry behind a creeping barrage
of 25 pounder high-explosive shells. Someone forgot to increase their range and
as a result we took a direct hit on our front left hand horn. This broke the
track but otherwise did little damage. We had all the hatches closed and did
not realize we have been hit until we came to a sudden halt. It made a bit of
excitement for the day!"
The infantry might well have been those of the 53rd (Welsh)
Division, which around this time was reconstructed into a "New Model"
Division. It consisted of two infantry brigades and one tank brigade, which was
the 31st Tank Brigade. This brigade consisted of the 7th Battalion RTR, 9th
Battalion RTR, and the 141st Regiment of the Royal Armoured Corps (141 RAC).
141 RAC was a battalion of the East Kent Regiment (The Buffs) that had been
converted to armour. The idea of the new model divisions was to develop
co-operation and understanding between infantry and armoured soldiers, each
becoming more aware of how they could help the other. A very important spin-off
was the personal relationship that could develop, and along with it trust and
confidence. These new model divisions were later converted back to being three
brigades of infantry, and the tanks became independent tank brigades. But
co-operation between infantry and tanks had to happen, and in fact the 9th,
then in 34 Tank Brigade, fought very effectively with 53 Division in the Battle
of the Reichswald in February 1945.
Another exercise of a rather different type was one in
which a troop of tanks simulated a seaborne landing from a tank landing craft
(in more formal military parlance these were called Landing Craft, Tank, or
LCT's). This exercise took place on the waters of Loch Fyne in Scotland; to
which chilly venue the tanks and their crews had been moved by train. From
George Rathke: "Each morning before first light one troop of fifteen men
was ferried out to an LCT anchored in the middle of the Loch. The LCT held
three Churchills, and the idea was that as dawn approached the three tanks
would carry out a practice landing on the shores of the Loch.
On the morning that 9 Troop's turn came, we were lined
up on the small pier waiting to board the ferry when who should arrive but
Major Pearcy (generally known as the Mad Major). He asked us if we had our Mae
Wests on. Yes, we said. OK, follow me. He turned, took two steps and vanished
off the edge of the pier. We finally amidst loud laughter managed to drag a
very wet and bedraggled squadron leader out of the Loch. We didn't see him
again for the rest of that week!".
As mentioned earlier, the tanks were taken from
Eastbourne to Scotland by train. Each tank was carried on a "rail
flat". Loading the tanks on to the flats
was a time consuming and delicate operation, and the steps were:
the
string of flats was shunted into a siding which had a ramp at the end of it;
this
process went on until the complete string of flats was loaded; the loading and
fastening were then checked by railway inspectors.
Dickie Hall, 13 troop, C Squadron: "I joined the
regiment in January 1942 at Eastbourne as they were returning from a very cold
exercise at Melksham in Wiltshire in freezing conditions. Their arrival was
dramatic, everything had a coating of freezing snow. As a result driving off
the rail flats was hazardous - to say the least! I think one tank slid
off".
Doug David, talking of the 9th at Eastbourne:
"More and more training here including driving exercises putting our tanks
on and off rail flats at Eastbourne Station. It was here that through
carelessness I received two Mark IV fingers; I carry the scars and deformed
fingers to this day (1993)".
Mark IV refers to the Churchill Mark IV, but all Marks
– and indeed, all tanks – could cause similar injuries; the injuries were the
result of a heavy metal object falling or closing on a person's body, generally
a hand; that object was often one of the hatch doors, but there were many heavy
objects that could move unexpectedly in a tank.
A final comment about rail movements comes from Ronnie
Holden: "Loading tanks on to flats took a whole day in the marshalling
yard. The length of the loading line was such that we could load only eight
tanks at a time. The eight loaded flats were shunted out to where the complete
train was being assembled, and eight empty flats were shunted in. At last it
was finished and the whole train of 9 RTR was on the move. But then we had to
stop at Willesden Junction. Everybody had to get out, unhitch each coupling,
and reverse it to the other way up. This took from 10.30 at night to 4.00 in
the morning, and the reason for having to do it was that the London Midland and
Scottish regulations were different to the Southern. We were not amused".
Some of the places that the tanks went to by train
were gunnery camps. These were camps where the tank crews could practice firing
their tank weapons (as opposed to their personal or ancillary weapons such as
pistols, rifles, and Bren guns). A tank gunnery range has to be in rather a
special location. An armour-piercing (AP) shot fired from a tank's main
armament has a high muzzle velocity and a flat trajectory, and thus tends to
skim or bounce off a surface. This was particularly vividly demonstrated to
some members of 9 RTR who were transferred to 4 RTR in July 1945 and went with
4 RTR to Italy in January 1946. A tank gunnery range had been established north
of Pordenone in the foothills of the Tyrolean Alps. The AP shot was fired into
the foothills, which there rose fairly steeply to a 3500 ft high ridge. But on
a few occasions the shot bounced off the surface, soared over the ridge, and
landed some 5 miles the other side of the ridge. The villagers of Barcis soon
made their feelings known!
One of the ways of dealing with this problem in the
United Kingdom was to have ranges so placed that the tanks fired out to sea.
Obviously shipping lanes had to be avoided, and the locations for tank ranges
were thus remote, and in some cases desolate. Such places were Castlemartin (where
the range was at Linney Head) in the far south-western extremity of Wales, and
Kirkcudbright on the northern shore of Solway Firth.
Gunnery camps had two main purposes. The first was to
give the gunners the opportunity to test and adjust (T & A) their sights
and then check that they had done it correctly by actually firing. Sighting the
gun was done by bringing the cross-wires on the telescope on to the target,
making corrections for distance by elevation or depression. The fundamental
requirement was that the telescope and the gun barrel were precisely aligned
with each other, and this was the process of testing and adjusting.
The second purpose was to give the complete crew the
experience of fighting the tank. The commander and the driver moved the tank
across the ground as smoothly as possible. The commander, the turret gunner,
and the hull gunner engaged targets that presented themselves, and the wireless
operator loaded the main gun and supplied belts of ammunition for the turret
machine gun. All in all, everyone was busy. The targets to be engaged were
visual simulations of men, tanks, anti-tank guns and other targets that would
be met in battle. The simulations were often plywood cut-outs mounted on light
timber frames, and they could be raised or lowered to represent appearance or
disappearance. They could also be checked to see whether the particular tank
firing had made any hits, and then the targets were repaired or replaced for
the next tank.
The unfortunate people who had to manipulate the
targets were called the butt-parties. It was a job that was lengthy, boring,
but occasionally highly dangerous. There was a system of signalling which
indicated when a tank could fire and when it absolutely could not. When the
signals indicated "no firing" then the butt-parties could get out of
their bunkers and go to the targets, check hits, and make repairs. Sometimes,
however, signals were difficult to see, crews were careless or
over-enthusiastic, commanders were flustered or distracted. As mentioned
earlier, some of the simulated targets were cut-outs of men. One tank commander
ordered his gunner: man, 800 yards, fire. But the gunner had glimpsed something
out of the corner of his eye, and quickly traversed the turret and started to
fire at the target. No, no, no screamed the commander, those aren't men. Yes
they are replied the gunner sturdily; they're running.
Jock Cordiner tells a similar story that happened when
he was in training: "The 'powers' having concluded what I was able to do
least badly sent me to train as a driver operator. I drove as well as most and
was quite exceptional at morse (for what that was worth in the tank business).
Very early I was banned from using guns as I had taken out a Pennines
shepherd's hut with a six pounder without (a) permission to do so, (b) checking
that he was far away, and (c) without aiming at it. I thought the 'powers' were
a wee bit unfair to me as drivers regularly dismantled bits of Richmond's
houses without much fuss. Maybe the shepherd wasn't insured?".
Move to Lancing, Summer 1942
Dickie Hall remembers: "Just about at the end of
our time at Eastbourne we were inspected by Winston Churchill. We all stood at
crews front while he walked along and inspected us. Then he said he wanted us
all to do three circuits of the area of the downs in front of him. I think
nearly all the tanks made it, although there may have been one or two failures.
We never heard if he was satisfied, but eventually we went to Normandy so I
suppose he was"
The stay at Eastbourne ended with an exercise which
took the 9th to a new location, a large wooded area at Castle Goring near
Worthing. Everyone was billeted at South Lancing, which was some distance from
the tanks at Castle Goring. As a result the Squadrons A, B and C took turns at
camping at the tank park for three days at a time. Doug David recalls that
"many pints were downed at the local pub called The Fox".
While at Castle Goring/Lancing Lt.-Col. Paddy
Whitsitt, Commanding Officer from the rebirth in 1940, left and Lt.-Col. Sir
Nugent Everard, Bart (also known as Paddy) took over. He was a very keen
horseman, and almost always wore riding breeches. As a result he was given the
nickname "Harry Wragg" by the irreverent – Harry Wragg being one of
the leading jockeys of that time. On one occasion Bob Warren, then commanding B
Squadron, decided he would check the general knowledge of some of the more
recently joined soldiers. What's the name of the Colonel, Dobb? Without hesitation
the answer flashed back "Sir Harry Wragg, sir!".
CHAPTER 2: PRELUDE TO MANHOOD
2.1 Charing: Gearing up for
war
"Charing was heaven. Maybe it always has been.
Even today it is pretty heavenly". So Jock Cordiner remembers Charing, and
indeed it is heavenly, besides having some special connections with heaven.
Pilgrims on the road from Winchester to Canterbury found Charing a natural halt
on their long slow road, a halt where they could enjoy the hospitality of the
village huddled round the old Archbishop's Palace and the Church of SS Peter
and Paul. The 9th also found Charing a hospitable halt on their long road from
Gateshead to Germany, and it was here that they matured into a well-knit
fighting unit.
Dickie Hall recalls the move. "In Spring 1943 we
took part in a huge movement control exercise (probably the one called 'Tiger')
which meant packing up ready to arrive at a new location at the end of the
exercise. This turned out to be Charing, and HQ was at Pett Place. Initially A
Squadron was at Stalisfield, B Squadron at Longbeech, and C Squadron at Halls
Place, which was a large grassy area with one house in the middle. Our huts
were built round the edge. Later B and C changed over and C had the benefit of
gravel paths and the nearness of the tank park. This was on the other side of
the Charing to Canterbury road at Longbeech and consisted of a long concrete
track winding through the woods with bays off it for each individual
tank".
The roads between the squadrons, especially those from
the tank park at Longbeech out to Stalisfield and Halls Place, were narrow
Kentish country lanes with sharp corners, high banks and hedges, and some steep
gradients near Halls Place. With the Churchills moving to the squadron
locations from time to time the roads suffered, especially at the corners, and
in some places existing roads were replaced with concrete sections. These are a
lasting, and certainly useful, memorial to the sojourn of the 9th.
The most remote of these locations was Halls Place.
Cyril Rees remembers this as "a large irregular-shaped field about the
area of two football pitches on gently rising ground. On the eastern side of
the track running through the camp were the nissen huts containing the
guardroom, cookhouse, dining room, officers' mess, sergeants' mess, orderly
room, stores and a NAAFI of sorts. On the western side were the troops' huts,
latrines, ablutions, and some other miscellaneous huts".
The backs of these huts were close to the perimeter
fence and dense woodland, with some mature trees overhanging the huts. "It
didn't take this rookie very long to learn that nobody braved the elements to
stagger up to the latrines in the small hours of a winter's night. You simply
opened the back door and with a couple of steps you could piss through the wire
fence into the wood beyond without too much shrinkage or dying of exposure. I
can't remember that anyone was charged with 'urinating in the squadron area'
under that all-embracing misdemeanour 'conduct prejudicial to good order and military
discipline' ".
While the use of the latrines could sometimes be
circumvented, the use of the ablutions could not. Cyril again: "Then there
were the ablutions, and they were primitive in the extreme – a structure of
corrugated iron on a bed of concrete; and with no concessions to
draught-proofing, the wind fairly whistled through. There were two showers in
the same building, but of course no privacy. You stood on a duckboard laid on
the concrete and the shower head appeared to be a rose from a gardening
watering can screwed on to the end of some half-inch galvanized pipe. It
alternately sprayed scalding and then icy water on the unfortunate bather – not
too bad in summer, but a daunting experience in the colder months. There was no
escape, because you had to sign the bath book to prove attendance".
Stalisfield and Longbeech had some advantages over the
remote Halls Place. Stalisfield camp was at Stalisfield Green, which above all
things had "The Plough" (Figure __ ). There was also a hut which
could be used as a dance hall, well remembered for the throbbing rhythms of B
Squadron band heard dimly through a haze of alcohol. There was a path through
the fields from Stalisfield to Halls Place, a path that late on Saturday night
might well be strewn with bodies of the fallen.
Longbeech camp was at the top of Charing Hill on the
main road from Charing to Canterbury, and thus had more immediate access to the
good roads leading in particular to Maidstone and Ashford. It was also very
close to the tank park and as Cyril says "just a couple of minutes was
enough to reach the tank standings at our usual tank park stroll". But it
was a rather small and cramped site, and nearer to Battalion HQ than the other
two squadrons. This could mean an occasional nocturnal visit from the RSM to
check on the alertness of the guard, not an always guaranteed commodity.
Battalion Headquarters itself was half a mile outside
Charing Village at the lovely old Jacobean house Pett Place.Sections of HQ Squadron were housed in
Pett Place and its various outbuildings, and other sections occupied other
buildings in Charing, as for example Les Arnold: "On arrival at Charing
some of us joined Recce Troop on Honeys and were billeted at the Swan
Annex". The Swan was the pub at the junction of the London-Folkestone A20
and the Charing-Canterbury A252, and the Recce Troop therefore were handily placed
for a drink.
At Charing the composition of the unit was gradually
changed to include some younger soldiers. Many of the original Gateshead intake
were now between 35 and 40. Some had been promoted and posted away from the 9th
having acquired specialist skills or experience, and some were not fit enough
for the rigours of life in action. Thus for various reasons considerable
numbers of people joined the 9th in 1943 and early 1944. What were their
impressions?
Brian Marchant was posted to the 9th from the 58th
Training Regiment at Bovington. "I had requested a Churchill battalion of
the RTR; Churchills, because I thought it had more escape routes than any other
tank; and the RTR because it promised to be less of a blanco and brasses outfit
than, say the 11th Hussars or the 17th/21st Lancers. Of the same mind were
Johnny Oakley, Des Page, and Jack Woods. We might have been mistaken about the
chances of a quick exit, but we were heartily reassured about the
"bull" aspect only minutes after arriving at the 9th, our first field
unit. We had travelled all day by train from Dorset, the first leg being that
to Waterloo and the final haul by the old steam train from London to Charing.
We were picked up by a truck at Charing Station and
whisked into the black wilderness of Kent, eventually arriving at C Squadron,
then in a large field at Halls Place. In the blackout, especially, the place
was unprepossessing, to say the least, and a far cry from the immaculate
'spider' huts and roadways of Bovington. After the usual formalities, we were
ushered into our respective huts. I can't remember who accompanied me on this
introduction, but it was not a happy experience!
The door was opened and shut rapidly, and there we
were. The scene that met my eyes was hideous. The air was blue with tobacco
smoke, reinforced by the fumes from the stove, throbbing with heat, in the
centre of the hut. On this stove was a 4-gallon petrol can, cut in half, being
prepared for general ablutions, no hot water being available elsewhere. The hut
seemed to be filled with double-tier bunks, every one of them draped with
stained denims, sundry items of webbing, Woodbine tins, pieces of half-eaten
cake, various small-arms and a variety of towels. In the depths of these bunks
lurked the actual personnel, mostly in various stages of undress. Somebody was
shaving with a mug of water from the petrol can 'cauldron' boiling on the
stove. It was like a gypsy encampment.
They all looked up at the two intruders who had been
propelled into their sanctuary without so much as a by-your-leave. They looked,
and looked again in utter disbelief. We stood there, in Field Service Marching
Order (FSMO), blanco immaculately applied, brasses gleaming, boots boned to
perfection, trousers with razor edged creases. "We're the new boys from
58th Training Regiment", I said, not without some apprehension. There was
a stunned silence. Only the hiss of the Tilley lamp was audible. "Oh, My
God", somebody moaned. "I don't believe it", said another.
"They look like toy soldiers", said a third. Finally, a voice from
the gloom said loudly, "In the morning you'd better rough up that blanco,
hide those boots and put on the oldest denims you can find, otherwise they'll
have us blanco-ing and polishing every bloody night for evermore".
But from that moment on we were accepted as members of
the gang, and there began for us a period of very happy associations. It was
the first time I had served with men of such varied ages and backgrounds. In
the 58th, we were all "Young Soldiers". Here, we had a smattering of
older men among us, like Jock Usher (I remember him as being much older than
me, but possibly there was not such a great difference), Trevor Greenwood, for
whom I had a great respect, and several others from whom I learned much. I remember
that there was a lot of humour, and, above all, a lot of good comradeship, the
like of which I was never to experience again to the same degree. It was quite
remarkable".
Jock Cordiner came from Scotland, from the back of
Bennachie. After joining the 9th "for the first time I began to feel that
I belonged to something and experienced pride in being a soldier, albeit in a
foreign land with a weird assortment of odd bods whose tongues were equally
foreign; my cockney mate, for example, with his" 'won't be round
termorrer, lie-dy, the donkey's pissed on the straaawberries.' ".
The transition from the spit and polish of the
training units to the relaxed purposefulness of the field units was also
observed by Cyril Rees, Jack Woods, Ray Gordon, Bill Thompson and many others.
For young officers joining the 9th at Charing there was a similar transition,
from the formality and almost peacetime pomp of Sandhurst to the reality of a
field unit. Thus, Peter Boden: "On arrival I was told that I was to be in
C Squadron, but that they were all in Eastwell Park on field training. So off
to the tanks to meet the Squadron Leader Monty Grant. He welcomed me and told
me that I'd got 14 Troop, but for the moment to ride around on one of the tanks
and pick up what I could. The best thing I picked up was in fact 14 troop and
was fortunate enough to remain their troop leader throughout the campaign, one
of the three troop leaders who lasted the whole distance". These three
were Gerry Wells from A Squadron, John Stone from B, and Peter Boden from C –
quite fortuitously, one from each squadron.
Exercises
The function of a field unit is to operate efficiently
as a unit in the field, able to arrive at the right place at the right time and
to have its supply column actually supplying. This sounds easy enough, but many
things can and do go wrong. The only way to gain facility and expertise at
moving from one place to another is by practice, and this was the function of
an "exercise".
Ronnie Holden records that he joined the 9th and
"soon there was to be another of those national exercises, this time
called SPARTAN for one month in the depth of winter; apart from the military
manoeuvres, some few hundred miles on tracks, sometimes on transporters. The
main purpose, however, according to my reckoning, was to test out the human
ability for survival on clothing, cooking, only short spells of sleep under
open air or tentage conditions. Under no circumstances was it allowed to
supplement rations. Towards the end of one day we crossed the Thames by Bailey
Bridge and thence proceeded via some half dozen largish houses, gardens,
fences, garden walls, chicken runs, orchards, until we reached the road. This
all took place in the dark, no lights were allowed except for one very small
rear light to each tank. With approximately 100 tanks, those poor gardens,
those poor people who owned and no doubt loved them! Thence across country to
some larger estate where every tank had to enter between two very large
brick-built gate columns without touching them – 'a strict order'. It was
nearly the last tank to get through that hit one column, bringing it down and
demolishing it".
Other exercises were designed to test the unit's
ability to face up to manoeuvring in a rigorous climate, such as a spell at
Shakers Wood near Thetford in the depths of winter. The wind from the North Sea
howled across the flat lands of Norfolk and made it, said John Powell "so
bitingly cold that we appreciated the warmth of those dreadful issue long
johns. Still, we had a chance to sample the fleshpots of Bury St.
Edmunds".
John also remembers "A training period based in
Hove, with exercises around the Devil's Dyke on the South Downs. This was spent
in pleasant weather, and was spoiled only by an enforced "fast"
designed to prepare us for possible shortage of food on active service. Being
housed in the leafy seaside suburbs with the tanks parked outside like so many
suburban cars was a novel experience for us. The availability of easy train
jaunts to London, with or without official pass, was an added bonus – most
ticket collectors turned a blind eye to our 'Preston Park Return' tickets as we
alighted from the last non-stop London train of the night!" (Preston Park
was less than 2 miles from Brighton Station, while London was more like 50
miles).
The South Downs provided good firm going for the tanks
and plenty of space; their two disadvantages were a shortage of woods (to
simulate the countryside of NW Europe) and some very steep slopes. The
Churchill had a fairly tricky gear box, and the driver's handbook contained a
stern warning to drivers: "never change down on a downhill gradient".
It also contained a warning related to the brakes: "never allow the
vehicle to gain so much momentum on a slope that maximum braking effort is
required to control it. Such misuse causes excessive wear, and in extreme cases
may burn the linings and so render them ineffective".
Johnnie Walker, troop corporal of 8 Troop, B Squadron,
was taking his tank down one of the slopes when the driver, Jack Wakeford,
sensed that the slope was becoming steeper and he needed to change down.
Although a very experienced driver, he missed the change. Jack's instinctive
but mistaken reaction as the tank rapidly gathered momentum on the
close-cropped grass was to jam on the footbrake. To the astonishment of the
other tanks close by two large clouds of white smoke suddenly arose from the
gear box compartment of Jack's tank. It then proceeded to gather speed
relentlessly, until at the bottom of the slope it had probably achieved a
greater speed than any other Churchill ever. Up the slope on the opposite side
it went, quickly losing momentum and slowing down, until Jack was able to whack
it neatly into third gear and drive on up the slope as if nothing had happened;
the applause could almost be heard above the noise of the tanks. All the
fitters had to do was to replace all the brake linings.
In early 1944 Dickie Hall wrote: "About this time
we took part in another movement control exercise called Canute. All vehicles
were labelled with their dimensions and weight to assist in loading at our port
of embarkation. We then made a timed journey to Hythe where we headed for a
newly built "hard" in front of the old lifeboat station. After being
checked in we turned round and drove the tanks back to barracks". These
barracks, as John Powell recalls, were those at Shorncliffe. "We garaged
our Churchills in stables originally designed for cavalry horses".
The War Establishment of the 9th included 85 first
reinforcements or spare crews of all ranks, 65 of these being troopers. In
action they would unfortunately be required to replace battle casualties. But
what could they do on an exercise, merely the simulation of a battle? Jack
Woods explains: "Spare crews on an exercise spent the entire time in the
back of a three tonner relaxing on camouflage nets being transported from
goodness knows where for goodness knows what reason. Once I had to drive a
broken down tank back to camp at the end of the convoy. Its intercom wasn't
working and somebody had to perch on the front to guide me by flapping his hand
to the right or left in front of the driver's visor. All went well until we
came across a convoy of 5.5 prime movers parked in column by the side of the
road facing towards us. One of them was projecting into the road rather more
than it should have been and I showed my disapproval of that by hitting it with
my offside air louvre and taking the side out. Oh, dear! Up on Squadron
Leader's Orders and remanded for the C.O. In telling my side of it I explained
that I had only about a fortnight's experience on A vehicles. He raised his
eyes heavenwards and sighed: "I have to give you something, the artillery
bods have brought the charges. Do you accept my award?". I replied yes; I
have never met anyone who answered no to that question. His award: to pay 7/6d
towards the cost of damages at 6d per week; my pay at the time was 17/6d per
week, so I thought he was pretty fair". In a civilian estimate the damage
would probably have been several hundred pounds.
Because there were more than one hundred wireless sets
operating on the same frequency, it was highly necessary to have tight radio
discipline. This was particularly so because when one set was transmitting it
denied transmission to all other sets on the net. In action the most important
links were between the CO and his Squadron Leaders, and between the Squadron
Leaders and their Troop Leaders. On an exercise the messages were not always so
important. Jim Hutton was in 1 Troop, A Squadron. He has recorded a tape of his
memories, and in relation to exercises he has this to say: "While we were
on one scheme up in Norfolk, over the radio came the message that the CO wanted
his batman who was in B Echelon; the CO called up that he wanted his latrine to
be prepared for him when we got to the end of the days scheme and the batman
came up and said "Would you say again, over" and the CO called out
"Would you have my latrine prepared for me when we arrive at the laager,
where you are at B Echelon; the batman came up again and said "Will you
say again over" and so some bright spark on the radio called out
"Will you have the CO's shithouse ready when he gets to the other end?.
Out". Somebody called out "Will you get off the bloody air!"
The result of all this training was probably evaluated
optimistically or pessimistically by the higher levels of military management.
But John Powell at the coal face had this to say: "Generally a very
amiable and variable fourteen months of simulated battle training which honed
our skills and general competence and made our troops, squadrons, and the
battalion as a whole into reasonably effective units. We didn't learn much
about being 'under fire' but we became passably good at managing our vehicles,
navigating and communicating. And most of the gunners felt confident about
hitting a half-way decently presented target".
Food was a major pre-occupation with young men living
a largely outdoor and vigorous life. Army food was generally very good, but it
did depend greatly on the skill of the cooks. When a unit was static, meals
were cooked and served centrally for each squadron, and the cooks were members
of the ACC (Army Catering Corps). Two members of the ACC are particularly well
remembered. Sgt. Kenneth (Busty) Nuttall was the squadron cook for B Squadron.
He was a regular soldier, and after the war he was chosen as the cook for an
army advertising poster. An ACC officer said: "he has such a cook's
face!" And a cook's body, too. But he and his team turned out good meals.
C Squadron had its catering identity also. Cyril Rees
remembers: "The mention of Jack Loake's stew will no doubt bring a tear to
the eyes of many of those who sampled it – good old Jack!" Possibly an
exceptionally pungent vindaloo. Jack was also remembered with honour for his
specialty for the sweet course, "browpad". This was named in memory
of the padding against which a gunner's brow was pressed when looking through
his telescope. The browpad, also used as forehead protection in other parts of
the tank, was a plastic foam centre covered with leather. Browpad with custard
was undoubtedly an acquired taste!
On exercises or in action crews had to cook for
themselves. It was generally assumed that the tank commanders, particularly the
troop commander, had neither the time or the aptitude to cook for his crew –
almost invariably a correct assumption. But as time went by some really good
cooks showed out. In one of the newsletters published in 1945 10 Troop of B Squadron
reports: "On the recommendation of the whole troop we understand that Doug
Bignell and Titch Caldwell will shortly be transferred to the ACC or the
cookhouse where they will give Sgt. Nuttall instruction in cooking".
Fitness is a pre-requisite for any soldier. In
Montgomery's words: "Total war demanded total fitness from the highest to
the lowest. I remember the case of a stout old colonel who went to the doctor
and said that if he were to do the seven-mile run I had made mandatory it would
kill him. The doctor brought him to me. I asked him if he truly thought he
would die if he did the run; he said yes, and I saw a hopeful look in his eye.
I then said that if he was thinking of dying it would be better to do it now,
because he could be replaced easily and smoothly. It is always a nuisance if
officers die when the battle starts and things are inclined to be hectic".
Evidently the colonel did run and did not die. But
Monty's point is that soldiers have to be physically and mentally attuned to
long periods of stress and to remain functioning effectively. This applies to
tank units as much as any others, even though they are vehicle-borne for much
of the time. The squadrons had PT classes on a reasonably regular basis. Laurie
Le Brun, generally known as Bruno, was the troop leader of 13 Troop in C
Squadron. To his consternation he was sent to a PT course for officers at the
Army School of PT at Aldershot. Emerging shattered but fitter, he was
immediately appointed Squadron PT officer and told to take the PT classes at
6.15 in the morning. He used to say that even if he generally felt rather bad,
he could see a lot of people who were feeling much worse.
At Halls Place Bob Warren, B Squadron Leader, decided
to take a different approach to fitness; the squadron would go on an 18-mile
route march. To ensure that everyone kept marching in the column Bob decreed
that three officers should march at the back and do their best to encourage
people to continue marching. Recognizing, however, that some of the squadron
were nearing 40 and did not normally take much strenuous exercise, it was
arranged that a three-tonner would act as a long stop some half mile behind the
column. Every three miles there was a ten minute halt. After the second halt a
few people began to complain that they could go no further, and after close
questioning as to their reasons for falling out they were allowed to wait for
the truck. John Stone was one of the troop leaders marching at the back, and he
always said that the excuse he liked best came from George Horsfield. George
was quite a short man, and his job in the squadron was to drive that exotic
chariot, the slave battery carrier. He fell to the back of the column with the
obvious intention of falling out. What's the matter with you, Horsfield, said
John, why can't you keep going? And the classic reply: "It's me crutch,
sir; it's too low".
"Folly" includes all those after-hours
pursuits undertaken by all ranks. Many of them were not folly, of course, but
the activities most conducive to subsequent remorse were generally connected
with drink or women.
Caring military custom allowed the use of three ton
trucks to take people to the local centres where entertainment of various sorts
might be available. The village of Charing contained several pubs, and there
were other small pubs in the country between Charing and the outlying
squadrons. These were alright for weeknights, but the weekends demanded wider
opportunities. These might be had at Faversham, Ashford, or Maidstone, and it
was to these towns that the three tonners went in their R and R role of
"passion wagons". Sometimes people were even lucky with the passion
part of it. Freddie Smart recounted his meeting with Trixie, one of the ladies
who frequented the Maidstone dance hall. As he was taking her home she confided
that she had recently been to her doctor and he had told her that what she
needed was a man. I'm just what the doctor ordered, said Fred, and proceeded to
give her the doctor's medicine standing up in a shop doorway.
A passion wagon trip was not always plain sailing.
Harry Hurt recalls: "Another A Squadron character was the three ton truck
driver 'Crackers' Cracknell; his driving explains his nickname. Crackers was
driving a passion wagon back from Faversham; sitting beside him was Gaffer
(Lieutenant Gerry Wells, Troop Leader of 5 Troop), and in the back were thirty
or so others. Crackers took a bend too wide and too fast and turned us over on
to our side in a ploughed field. By pure coincidence a police car came along a
couple of minutes later and took the injured – two people with broken limbs –
off to hospital. I went round to the front to see if Crackers and Gaffer were
OK. Crackers had climbed up through the drivers window, now on top, and Gaffer
then climbed out. Are you alright, I asked Gaffer. Yes, thank you, he said, and
promptly passed out!"
Postscript
Another memory of Harry Hurt's illustrates something
of the spirit that had developed in the 9th by this time. "We had in our
hut at Stalisfield a young soldier who always spent evenings in bed. He was a
very nice quiet lad, but used to get the mickey taken about this habit. Other
lads would come back from the canteen at 9 o'clock at night, wake him up and
tell him that it was nearly time for parade. He would hop out of bed, go to the
ablutions hut, return to our hut and then be told that it was 9 o'clock at
night. Unbeknown to us all he suffered from tuberculosis and died from this
while we were still there. At a subsequent parade our Squadron Leader, Duggie
Ballantine, proposed that we should send £50 from squadron funds to his mother
who was a widow. An unknown voice from the ranks shouted: send her the lot.
This call was immediately echoed from everybody and Duggie agreed that this
should be done. The sum that was sent to the lad's mother was £300 – quite a
lot for 1944".
2.3 Embark:
Preparation and Reality
By April 1944 the 9th were, as John Powell recorded,
ready to fight even if they had no experience of being fired at. They were thus
ready to take part in the invasion of Europe. The invasion was planned to take
place over a string of open beaches, and the link up behind those beaches would
create the initial bridgehead. Landing over those beaches was achieved by using
various forms of landing craft. These were ships of very shallow draught which
were able to sail close to the beach, let down a ramp, and allow the cargo to
exit on to the beach via the ramp. The types of landing craft included Landing
Craft Infantry (LCI), Landing Craft Tank (LCT), and Landing Ship Tank (LST).
There was no guarantee that any of the landing craft
would be able to drive right up on to the beach, and methods were developed for
waterproofing vehicles so that they could land in several feet of water.
Waterproofing required some special equipment, such as vertical extensions to the air louvres, sealants
(notably the ever popular Bostik), and training in the correct methods of doing
it.
Bob Anderson, John Purdy, and Tom Tomney were
sergeants with the 156 RAC (Highland Light Infantry). 156 RAC was disbanded in
1943 and Bob, John and Tom were posted to the 9th, Bob to 12 Troop, John to 11
Troop and Tom to 13 Troop. Bob recalls: "Later in 1943, after I had joined
the 9th, I was sent on a tank sealing course to Bovington. As luck would have
it the course was delayed for a week so we were given an extra seven days'
leave. On completion of the course I did not rejoin the 9th but was detailed to
supervise sealing tanks and other vehicles at Crawley where I stayed for the
remainder of the year. I finally got back to the 9th in January 1944".
Bob must have been a marvellous source of knowledge to
C Squadron generally and to 12 Troop in particular when it came to sealing the
tanks and other vehicles. To carry out this task the 9th moved from Charing –
with much regret – to the area of Aldershot and Farnborough. We were all housed
in peace-time barracks, and in some ways the traditions of peace time lingered
on. This was particularly so in relation to food, which was both good and
plentiful. There was a strong suspicion of being fattened up for the kill.
The process of sealing was in some cases accompanied
by changing the main armament, as Dickie Hall remembers: "We took out the
6-pounder gun and put a 75mm in its place. This meant that all turret and hull
ammunition racks had to be taken out and replaced, plus the tricky job of
hauling the old gun out and fitting the larger calibre in its place. That
having been done we set about sealing up the tank so that if need be we could land
off an LCT into six feet of water (in the event we landed into six inches!). We
fixed metal box sections on to the air intakes and extensions to the exhaust
pipes. These were supported by rods and connected to a central release,
operated by a Bowden cable. All periscopes, air vents, gun mantlet and gun
barrels were covered in fabric and sealed with Bostik. Under each piece of
fabric was a coil of explosive cable and all were connected to a central
switch. At the touch of a button all the fabric would be blown off, and when
the Bowden cable was pulled the two air intakes would fall off. After all this
work we took the vehicles through a deep-water dip to see if we were
water-tight. This brought several small jets of water to light which had to be
sealed again".
Bostik made a strong impression on many people, as for
example Jock Cordiner: "I never, ever want to see, smell or touch Bostik
again. Under water practice in that lake was fun, though". And John
Powell: "We learned how to waterproof our vehicles, and also how difficult
Bostik is to remove from hands and clothes". Les Arnold remembers the
testing: "We tested the effectiveness of the sealing of our Churchill (one
of the tanks forming part of BHQ) at Frensham Pond between Farnham and Hindhead".
Cyril Rees saw at least two tanks test how good their
sealing was
"13 Troop tested their sealing a few miles away
at Cove. An artificial lake with a gently sloping concrete base enabled the
tanks to move into the water, usually in first gear, until the water level was
high enough to cover every area that had been sealed up to the driver's visor
level which hadn't been sealed at this time. For safety's sake we weren't able
to drive on public roads totally closed down. Having reversed out of the lake
on to dry land there seemed to be no water sloshing about round my feet so our
sealing had worked.
I watched one of our other tanks also testing; when
about 30 yards out into the lake with water level half way to the bottom of the
air louvres, sprays of water started to eject from the back of the gearbox. The
tank stopped, and with screaming revs began to reverse out of the lake. From
this time until the tank reached dry land the amount of water coming out of the
top of the gearbox compartment resembled a minor waterfall in reverse. Clearly,
a major breakdown in some area of the sealing. The Sirocco fan, which was a
close working fit between the engine and gearbox compartment, drew air through
the air louvres and radiators and blasted out a warm vertical jet of air from
the rear of the gearbox. Under normal circumstances this was a place to dry wet
clothes or get warm.
The amount of water shooting into the air on this
occasion suggested a desperate bid to reach dry land before the water drowned
the electrics; luckily they made it, and kept
their feet dry".
Other preparations were being made; thus Dickie Hall:
"We were now fully laden with all sorts of ammunition which we were to
need in the near future. We were all issued with a small plastic box with a set
of concentrated foods, water-purifying tablets, sweets and loo-paper; this box
was to see us over the first 24 hours or so after we landed".
To Gosport
The 9th were still at Aldershot/Farnborough on 6 June
1944. Trevor Greenwood was Troop Corporal of 15 Troop, and on this day he
started to keep a diary almost without interruption until April 1945. The first
entry: "6 June 1944. It has happened at last. Heard first rumours at 8
a.m. Much evidenced restrained excitement. We are not affected....yet! Apart
from numerous Lightnings saw little evidence of second front all day. This
evening saw amazing procession of aerial tugs and gliders, all heading south.
Heard radio 9.0 p.m.....King's speech. News later confirmed success of
landings; fighting 10 miles inland at Caen".
Clearly it would not be long before the 9th sailed,
and the vehicles were taken through the penultimate stages of sealing. The War
Diary: "On June 11, the advance party left Aldershot for France and the
following day the battalion moved by train and road to the marshalling area
near Gosport". The composition of the advance party is not certain, but
there was one definite inclusion, the battalion office. Jack Hilton remembers:
"I was a corporal and the Chief Clerk was Vic Masten from the Newcastle
area. I was a clerk as I wore spectacles and had poor eyesight. We were posted
to Aldershot in preparation for the invasion. On 6th June, a beautiful morning,
we had been advised that the RAF in great force would be bombing the Normandy
coast. We were ready for moving and our HQ and office would be a soft top 3
tonner. A tarpaulin cover was slung inside which held all our equipment,
typewriters and personal gear to make sure it would be dry when we landed. Our
personal weapon was a bazooka".
The technical name for a bazooka was a projectile
infantry anti-tank or PIAT. What it says is what it was, a projectile that
could be used by a soldier on foot to destroy a tank at short range; an
essential ingredient was that the soldier should have strong suicidal
tendencies.
The main body of the 9th arrived at Lee-on-Solent on
the 12th and 13th of June. Dickie Hall: "We off-loaded from the rail flats
at Eastleigh, a fair distance from the port area, and I remember travelling
slowly in convoy through the area of market gardens with the locals very busy
picking strawberries. We had been issued with french francs printed on pale
blue note-paper marked "Allied Forces", but we still had english
money so we bought some of the strawberries".
Trevor Greenwood's diary: "Road journey here from
station about 12 miles through rural villages etc. Much friendly hand-wavings,
but no hysterical demonstrations from onlookers; no flags, bands, or slogans.
Just a calm friendliness: even troops waved to us – rather unusual, but they
knew where we were destined for".
The 9th was billeted in whatever accommodation was
available, mainly warehouses and tents. By now there was not much to do except
wait, occupying the time in whatever pursuits could be found. The War Diary:
"An odd assortment of kit was distributed which included a pamphlet on
France and a number of french phrases 'not to be shown in public' (what on
earth could those have been?!). The marshalling area provided less
excitement but more entertainment. The final stage of sealing was completed
within a few hours of arrival, and departure was delayed by the heavy seas in
the channel. During the period of waiting every available penny was raked
together but, owing to the tax on beer, it was soon again in the hands of the
Government".
Jock Cordiner had a more positive experience during
this time: "That Sunday morning in the outskirts of Gosport the outlook
was very unfriendly. Then I spied a house called Bennachie. There's only one
Bennachie, a prominent hill near Aberdeen. Scruffy me knocked at the door. No
hope here, I thought, until in answer to my "I come from the back of
Bennachie" came the answer from Madame "Bring the gentleman in,
Lottie". Breakfast was served for me and a few mates, breakfast as we had
never known it. The lady, it transpired, had been born and raised at the back
of Bennachie".
Dickie Hall managed to meet somebody much closer:
"We were to spend one night here at Lee-on-Solent, where one of my sisters
in the WRNS was stationed. As luck would have it we were more or less right
outside the Wrennery. I slipped away and surprised her, and she got round their
cook to bake us a fruit cake to take with us; it certainly helped to cheer up
the contents of the plastic box".
Most people, however, were without kinsfolk or
relatives, and had to find what pleasures they could. Shep Douglas and Peter
Beale found a pub that said "Open 7 p.m. for one hour only". On
storming in at 7 p.m. they found it full of locals who had used the back door.
Realizing their limited time, they decided to see what they could drink in one
hour. The final tally was eight pints each.
Embarkation and crossing the Channel
The weather in the Channel during June 1944 was not
good. Montgomery writes in his memoirs: "5th June. We met at 4 a.m. A
heavy storm was blowing in the Channel and it was clear that if we had
persisted with the original D-Day of 5th June we might have had a disaster. But
the met. reports indicated a slackening of the storm and a period of reasonable
weather on 6th June. Indeed, the experts predicted reasonable weather for some
days after the 6th June before the next period of unsettled weather arrived. On
that Eisenhower decided to go".
The weather varied between the 6th and the 19th June,
but was not sufficiently bad to prevent a steady allied build-up and the
construction of the Mulberry harbours. However, the morning of the 20th June
was brilliant with sunshine, too coldly brilliant, perhaps. The weather
changed, and for three days the breakers roared ceaselessly on the beaches.
"No such June storm had been known in the Channel for over forty
years" wrote the British official historian; and a very large part of the
9th sailed to Normandy through this storm.
The War Diary: "By June 19 the weather was considered
sufficiently settled to allow further embarkation, and Battalion HQ, A Squadron
and part of B Squadron were loaded on LCT's. There were not, however,
sufficient of these craft for the whole Battalion, due to the number smashed on
the Normandy coast by the rough seas, and the remainder of the battalion were
allotted LST's, one of which was American – those who were lucky enough to
cross on this ship not only had a pleasant journey across, lasting four days,
but also enjoyed the pleasant experience of American food. The Channel,
however, had not calmed to the extent presumed by the embarkation authorities
and neither craft nor ship was able to land until June 21, except for the
Echelons which got ashore on June 19. Each craft had a different experience to
tell; anchors and kedges had been lost; tanks had broken from their chains and
bulged the sides of craft, causing certain alarm; balloons had broken loose and
torn away rigging; and a high percentage of the Battalion experienced the agony
of being seasick".
There are many personal accounts of this journey. Jock
Cordiner: "The big dipper ride to Normandy was unforgettable. The Yankee
crew were prepared to feed us like lords, but the pitching of that
flat-bottomed bucket, plus galley smells mingled with those from the engine
room, was too much for us all. We lay a'deck, nauseated, drenched, and ready to
die – no, not for King and country – just die!"
John Powell: "It was almost a relief to set sail
– if that is the right term for the slow, wallowing, stinking progress of those
shallow-draught flat-bottomed tank landing craft. The sea journey was both
awesome and dreadful: awesome for the long lines of craft marking the passage
between England and Normandy; dreadful for the storm-whipped turbulence of the
Channel and the motion of the ungainly craft. The matelots were helpful in
offering us use of their mess-room and mugs of rum-laced cocoa, but I amongst
others was so sea-sick that I took to the turret of the tank and sat through
most of the long passage nursing a sickbag. Landing against the full might of
the German army would be almost a relief after the miseries of
sea-sickness!"
Les Arnold: "We had an atrocious crossing; most
of us were sick and our LCT lost its anchor and barrage balloon and broke its
back. The scuppers were full of water to the extent that you had to jump for
the toilet basin and try not to land in the water. But at least one good thing
happened to us. For some reason the CO had boarded our HQ Churchill
"Invincible" for the crossing. He must have felt sorry for us because
apart from being sick we had to man the Vickers machine gun in case of possible
air attack. He opened a bottle of brandy for us all to have a tot. I am not
sure whether it was to help us with sea-sickness or to give us dutch courage
for the landing, but either way it was much appreciated.
Jack Woods: "We landed in Normandy after, for me
at least, a horrendous journey. The LST on which we travelled did everything
but sink, and there were times on that journey I wished that it had, I wanted
to die. They tell me the food was excellent, it was an American LST. I wouldn't
know, they still owe me my rations".
George Rathke: "We finally landed in Normandy on
Juno beach after a terrible crossing in appalling weather. At times the LST
seemed to stand on its head, and once several of us had to go down into the
hold to re-chain some of the tanks. They had got loose and were sliding about,
and could have punctured the hull quite easily".
Peter Boden seemed to have a slightly more agreeable
journey: "Finally on to the hard and up on to an LST with a barrage
balloon fore and aft (these later became entangled and had to be cut free). The
American crew did all they could to make us feel at home on their ship – food was
good but the ship was dry! Quoits, games, sickbags, last minute orders and then
cast off only to anchor later because of the storm. Eventually our LST took up
position in the convoy and made its way to the beach at Arromanches. Our
skipper had lost his anchors on a previous trip so had to edge his ship on to
the beach and drop his ramp to provide an almost dry landing – after all the
time we had spent waterproofing!"
Not every LCT landed bows-on to the beach. Peter
Beale: "It was said that LCT's and other landing craft were fair-weather
boats and pretty uncontrollable in any sort of high sea. Certainly the skipper
of my craft found this to be so. During the night of 20th June he told me that
the LCT was no longer under control because the engine had become clogged with
sand. Whereupon he hoisted a black ball and we drifted sideways on towards the
beach, the waves breaking over the craft and copious quantities of salt water
pouring down the air inlets erected to allow the tank to wade ashore. The
morning came and our LCT, along with many other craft, lay broached to on the
sandy beach. John Humphreys got into the driver's seat and sat down in a foot
of water – we had done the waterproofing well enough to keep the water in as
well as out".