THE SECOND WORLD WAR OF
CORPORAL JOHN H. THEOBALD ARMY CATERING CORPS
ATTACHED TO THE 9th and 4th BATTALIONS ROYAL TANK REGIMENT
My Grandfather John (“Jack”) Theobald put his reminiscences of the Second World War to paper in the early 1980’s. This prompted me almost twenty years later to research details of his service from published material and army records.
The story begins before his army call-up, as a plasterer in the construction industry he was in a reserved occupation and subject to the “Direction of Labour” laws. Jack was directed to work on building a munitions factory in Kirby and an airfield in the English Midlands. He was eventually called up in January 1943 and was posted to 22nd Primary Training Centre in Derby after completing his basic army training Jack was posted to the Training Battalion Army Catering Corps at Aldershot on the 3rd of March 1943.
The Army Catering Corps (ACC) was only formed on the 22nd March 1941 and placed under the control of the Royal Army Service Corps (RASC). Prior to that regiments had their own cooks some of whom were trained in one of the two cookery schools at Aldershot and Poona (India). Equipment was generally poor and in many units meals were collected in bulk for consumption in the barrack rooms. In late 1936 Leslie Hoare-Belisha was appointed Secretary of Sate for War and appointed Major General Beck to investigate the question of cooking and food service, his proposals for a dedicated corps were turned down on cost grounds. The Secretary of State then appointed Sir Isidore Salmon as Honorary Catering Advisor for the army with the remit of looking into army messing standards. By June 1938 he produced a detailed report giving all the measures needed to make improvements. Mr R.A.A. Byford was then appointed as Chief Inspector of Army Catering in the rank of colonel followed by the appointment of civilian catering advisors and the building of a new catering school at St Omer Barracks, Aldershot. It was not until 27th July 1940 that the Quartermaster General once more raised the question of an Army Catering Corps, whilst not unanimously supported the ACC was formed in March 1941. During the Second World War the ACC became highly successful in maintaining morale and many civilian experts were called up to manage army catering and the training of cooks. On the 29th May 1943 under Army Order 819 of 1943 the ACC became an all tradesman corps. ACC cooks were attached, often permanently, to other army regiments.
Jack attended the cooks course at Aldershot between the 4th of March and 26th May 1943 and was mustered with the rank of “Private” as “Tradesman Cook Group ‘B’ Class III” with the Administration Battalion Army Catering Corps. On the 3rd June 1943 he was posted on permanent attachment to the Royal Army Service Corps, West Riding District. This “permanent” attachment did not last long, Jack was posted on 16th June 1943 again on permanent attachment to the 9th Battalion Royal Tank Regiment at Charing, Kent (close to his fathers birthplace and the ancestral district of the Theobald family, although not known at the time he would have had relatives in the area).
After much preparation and training the main fighting forced of 9RTR sailed for France thirteen days after D-Day embarking from Portsmouth on the 19th June 1944. Jack embarked from Portsmouth on the 6th July 1944 with the remaining support units of the 9RTR.
The 9th fought many fierce actions in France around Caen including Operation “Epsom” on the 26th June (before Jack arrived in France), Operation “Charnwood” on the 8th July, Operation “Jupiter” on the 10th July and Operation “Goodwood” on the 18th July. Between the 26th July and 17th August the 9RTR broke out from the Normandy Bridgehead to Longueval north-east of Caen then south to Falaise with the Canadians. (All these operations are well documented, I can recommend “Overlord” by Max Hastings and “Tank Tracks; 9th Battalion Royal Tank Regiment at War 1940 - 1945” by Peter Beale). These actions were followed by the “Battles of the Bridges” as the Allies including 9RTR swept east and crossed the rivers Dives, Vie, Doigt, Touques, Calonne and Risle. The 9RTR then carried on to Rouen before swinging to the north-west and on to Le Harve where they supported the 146th Infantry Brigade (49th Division) in the capture of city between the 10th and 12th of September. The 9RTR then rested between the 13th and 29th September in billets to the south of Dieppe.
As a cook with ‘A’ squadron Jack would have been in a supporting role close to but generally behind the front line but often in artillery and mortar range. Each squadron had a Corporal cook and four tradesmen cooks and a 3-ton 4x4 lorry to carry the mobile kitchen and rations. He would have been responsible for sustaining the squadron as well as assisting with the supply of water and fuel and other duties when the tanks were on the move or in battle. The 9RTR had four Squadron’s ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’ and a Headquarters Squadron. ‘A’ Squadron consisted 148 officers and men, eighteen tanks, armoured recovery vehicle, scout car, 4x4 four-seat car for Squadron Quartermaster, 15-cwt 4x4 truck with officers mess equipment (and three batmen!), 15-cwt 4x2 water truck, Carrier TCP with a slave battery, three 15-cwt half tracked trucks for mechanics and relief personnel, eleven 3-ton lorries for, ammunition, petrol, baggage, mobile kitchen, rations and stores.
On the 27th of September 1944 Jack was admitted to the 23rd Light Field Ambulance with an infected shrapnel wound to the hand. His reminiscences are not clear on where this happened, there are two likely scenarios. First that he was wounded some time before the 27th September possibly at Le Harve or during the “Battles of the Bridges”. Or secondly and I think more likely, that he was wounded in Holland a few days before the 27th September. Although the main fighting force of the 9RTR was resting near Dieppe it is probable that some supporting units of the 9RTR formed an advance party to set up bases in Holland near the front line. The initial wound may not have appeared that serious and possibly became infected some time later, it did become serious enough for Jack to be admitted to the 113th General Hospital at Hasselt on the 1st October 1944 where he was operated on and transferred to the x(ii) wounded list. He was discharged from hospital on the 11th October and transferred to the x(iv) wounded list and the 51st Regimental Holding Unit (RHU). On the 1st November 1944 he was posted to the 40RHU, passed his STT (trade test?) and upgraded to “Cook Group ‘B’ Class II”
Jack started his return to the 9RTR on 1st December 1944 via the 32RHU, 54RHU (9th December), 39RHU (12th December), 2nd Armed Refit Unit Royal Armoured Corps (15th December) rejoining the 9RTR on the 18th December 1944 at Brunssum. The Battalion was at this time moving back to Belgium into position as part of the defensive screen for Brussels and the River Meuse formed as a response to the German Ardennes offensive. When that danger had subsided the 9RTR moved south from Liege on the 28th December to the Ardennes to act in a counter-attack role.
On the 19th January 1945 Jack was admitted to the 50th Field Dressing Station and put back on the x(ii) wounded list. His earlier wound had probably become infected again and it wasn’t until the 28th February 1945 he started his return to the 9RTR via the 53RHU, 54RHU (1st March), 34RHU (4th March) rejoining the 9RTR on the 6th March 1945 at Nijmegen. The 9RTR moved on to Deurne on the 13th March 1945 to overhaul and refit and were kept in reserve as the British 2nd Army and the 9th US Army forced the crossing of the Rhine on the 23rd March 1945. The 9RTR remained on the western side of the Rhine until the 6th April when it crossed and took control of Gelderland and an area in Germany called Bocholt. After a hard campaign, with 68 killed and 244 wounded out of a total compliment of 708, there was to be no more fighting for the 9th Battalion Royal Tank Regiment.
The battalion was given numerous tasks including the control of a Displaced Persons camp responsible for thousands of Russians and other nationalities. The 9RTR celebrated VE day on the 8th May 1945 at Castle Bentheim, Germany and became part of the occupying force known as the British Army of the Rhine (BAOR).
British Army of the Rhine (BAOR) and Central Mediterranean Force (CMF) from VE Day to Discharge
Jack was transferred to the 4th Battalion Royal Tank Regiment on the 26th June 1945 (shortly before the 9RTR was disbanded) and served with them as part of the BAOR. On the 26th January 1946 the 4RTR entrained for the Central Mediterranean Force (CMF) and peacekeeping and stabilisation duties in Italy, including a show of force in Trieste, then being threatened by the newly communist Yugoslavia.
Jack was promoted to (Paid/Acting) Corporal on the 19th February 1946 and (War Substantive) Corporal on the 20th May 1946. He started his discharge process in July 1946 and touchingly was given an engraved watch by the officers and men of the 4RTR. He started his return to the UK on the 27th July 1946 and on the 31st July 1946 was posted to ‘Y’ List (Class ‘A’ Release) and finally released to the Territorial Army Reserve on the 21st October 1946. Jack’s Army record states a total service of 638 days. He was awarded the France and Germany Star, the 1939/45 Star and the 1939/45 War Medal.
On his return to Liverpool Jack describes how strange it was adjusting to civilian life, the image he paints of being back on a building site in a de-badged battledress with a home made trowel is very poignant.
Below are Jack’s words as written, I have included some minor explanations in italics, introduced paragraphs, some punctuation at appropriate points and the abbreviation “sic” to denote “as written”. It is clear from my research that the reminiscences are not in strict chronological order and occasionally a little confused, however the broad chronology is correct. The reminiscences are at times tragic, at times humorous and present a personal story from a man who played his part and did his duty well.
John Theobald, November 2001
I received an exemplary discharge from the 4th Royal Tank Regiment in July 1946. I never knew the name of the Dutch girl who hauled me off to the field dressing station with my hand and arm swelled but I feel she saved me losing it or my life. I often wished I could thank that girl. I write this not for heroics but as a few happenings during those years. Squadron Sergeant Major David who when possible put his ground sheet at the bottom of our tarpaulin with which we always made a crude shelter always said “Tich” (JHT’s RTR nickname) was lucky. I felt it was something stronger as I prayed often as I have all my life not for special privileges but to be watched over and I still believe I was. Never will I forget those who are still out there and never came back. Are men forever to destroy each other and this wonderful world? I sit and ponder when alone is it part of the world force? In other words has it been predestined and impossible to avoid.
The news was full of Hitler and war talk and all Europe was now uneasy. He gained territories by the playing on the faint hearts of other countries. Britain had now told all eighteen and twenty year olds they had to register for military service in case the need arose as the law of conscription was still in force from the 1914-18 war. My young mate (plasterer’s mate) J. Findlay was one of these and in spite of him being cheeky and troublesome I had had from when he was seventeen and was fond of him. Thinking he might have his own call-up soon we talked it over and it was decided to give him a holiday he was to leave Pollacks (building firm) and me. This was not the case and he was so fed up he went to work at the docks. What he did I don’t know as he still came up to the site and insisted on helping me to eat my dinner.
Direction of labour was now being used to get people to work where the government required. My stepfather went to work at the small arms factory which had been built on part of Findlay’s poultry runs in Stopgate Lane and I had to agree with his bitter retort that “I owe the fact that I am working there to a bloody German named Hitler”. As men were finishing up on housing which was being stopped unless ninety percent complete they were “directed”. I went on the hod carrying to bricklayers at the huge munitions factory at Kirby and the cod hod (supervisor) was my own ex from Pollacks Hughie McGovern. After a few days he said “Jack will you take a shovel and water and keep going all along the boards and keep the compo (mortar) soft as these London brickies are moaning all the time”. I had to keep on the move with so many and he was right these London blokes wanted carrying about.
I was there about six months when I was sent for an interview with a Mr Picking who was manager for the Unit (construction company). He said, “Mr Pollack gave me your name and the Unit are going to employ plasterers direct and he says you are ideal for the job of boss plasterer”. I asked him for more time to think it over as working as I was for Sir Alexander Gibbs all of us Liverpool blokes were getting more cash off the London firm. I decided for the cash much to some spreads (plasterers) disgust as an Ernie Thomas got the job and he was not very popular. I was next directed to Springwood Depot for filling sandbags at buildings that had to be protected.
Lots of blokes like Bob Hughes had joined the fire brigade hoping as others did that if they went on essential war work when it came their turn to register they might be kept out of uniform. I was sure it was not for the cash as the pay was low for the firemen. Joe Rhoden worked from fourteen years old with his dad at Milners safe works and they only for years had to walk out of their door in Carlisle Street and in Milners no travel at all. His pay like most engineers was about £2.10.0 (two pounds ten shillings now two pounds fifty pence) and then his firm was bought by Halls Engineers who moved to Speke. This firm went on to make tanks and after the war became Leylands.
The war was declared on the Sunday and the German submarines must have been waiting as to our horror the ship called “Athenia” was sunk a few hours later. Our Joe (half brother) was navvying and decided instead of waiting as he had registered to join the Grenadier Guards and after an emotional farewell went to Chelsea Barracks. After three days to his disgust when he was being kitted out they said, “you are a quarter of an inch too short”. After being told they were not able to break the rules and that he was to go back to Liverpool he was nearly arrested for some of the things he said and did. A chap who worked with me (H. Greenwood) although he had been a regular soldier in India said he was “scared stiff” he was to be called up and said he was going on a course to be an engineer which he said would keep him out. H. Greenwood ended up on tanks where Joe Rhoden was (Halls Engineers) and then Leylands like Joe.
I was told that merchant seamen were to get on top of their pay £1 a day danger money as they were civilians. This compared to a soldier in danger who received 2/- (2 shillings or 10p) a day pay, seemed a bit off. After a talk with Rene (JHT’s wife) I went down to Renshaw Hall and volunteered for the Merchant Navy quite sure as they were sinking ships I would be in. After my tests he phoned up Leece Street and came back and said, “sorry you are still reserved, you will have to wait”.
We had all been given Anderson shelters to put in the garden and street shelters were being built with no cement in the mortar at first. Our Joe Watkins had joined the Royal Air Force but not clever enough for aircrews was ground staff. Ted Watkins was in ack-ack (a type of anti-aircraft gun) and I still like others had not been told to register. Bombs began to drop on most big cities and after once going in the shelter Rene said get a mattress on the floor we are not going in anymore. The children had suffered whooping cough and other things and it is heartbreaking for any parent to nurse them through.
We were busy at Springwood first-aiding homes for people to live in when I heard on the radio that my age group had to register (JHT would have been 31/32 years). I received notice to go to Leece Street Exchange and there was a crowd of spreads and to my surprise Bob Hughes and others who had been with the fire brigade. We were given travel warrants and told we were to go to Market Harborough where an airfield was being built on Dorothy Paggets estate the race horse owner. I was told that this was a ploy to get family men used to living away from home and their families. I believe this was the truth for how else can one explain the daft situation for thousands of men getting moved around. It was nonsense as when we got to Leicester railway station it was full of building workers who told us they were being sent to Liverpool to do our jobs. This the truth as daft as it seems. We were left on the station for hours, Bob Hughes and I went to the police who told us if the transport never came for us we must go back to Liverpool at midnight. Our hopes of this were dashed when at a quarter to twelve the coaches arrived.
We arrived on the site at a quarter to one with dreams of a meal and found to our disgust you could buy a stale cheese sandwich or a bad meat pie and even the tea was unfit to drink. We were told to choose any of the huts to sleep in. Next morning we looked for somewhere to wash to be told no water was on it was frozen. We ended up breaking the ice on the racehorse’s trough and washing in it. The next was a scramble to try and get a bite to eat at the canteen which was a problem and not cheap. After we were put to work navvying in the mud and slush and an Irish Free State (Republic) boss who walked around telling us to “dig faster as there is a war on”. This got us down as the as the only ones doing well were these blokes as they were not liable to military service. At the time of Dunkirk when they thought England was sunk they were waiting all night at Liverpool landing stage to get back to Irish safety. We put up with this for a while then four of us went to the site office to ask the manager if he had any work with a British foreman and we were dubbed the “Liverpool Rebels” and set to work putting up the huge Nissen huts for airmen and planes. The conditions on the camp were awful and after work we just watched the racehorses and sheep. The miracle of seeing mares having foals who were running around the fields shortly after.
We jumped at the chance of going into digs in Leicester and what a shock it was. It was in King Street opposite the prison and the landlord and landlady ought to have been among the prisoners. We were a cover up for a whorehouse and found we had to sleep two in a bed and four to a room. Not satisfied with this as we got out of bed four night shift workers jumped in. These were the workers from the factory jobs in nearby Coventry and Nottingham. I was all for going back to the camp but four “Micks” had taken our bunks. At night late on Yanks and others arrived with their birds and it was a carry on, booze and lots of action in the rest of the rooms. One morning we came down stairs and the landlord was glum because a Yank and girl came at three a.m. and asked for a bed, but Mr F (the landlord) who slept with his wife in a back sitting room said they were full and the Yank asked if they could use the sofa in the front sitting room as he had to be in camp early. He agreed and said it would be three pounds each. At 6 a.m. the Yank tapped on the landlords sitting room door and said “don’t get up I will shut the door after us” and went back and pinched a lovely brass clock and wrapped it in the tablecloth. Knowing he daren’t I said go to the police and he said, “no I will get the other Yanks to look out for him”.
Our packing out (pack lunch) was four rounds of thin sliced bread with sliced pack cheese which we ate or threw to the animals. After a week of this we asked the landlady for a change and to our surprise she had given us bread and dripping. At night it was spuds and a shop bought meat pie and cabbage and after this nothing.
I was sent for my army medical at Leicester and passed A1 to my surprise as some blokes as big as houses were being rejected. The eye doctor said “you are long sighted” and thinking I was witty I said “I will see them coming before the other blokes” and he tore a strip off me saying it was as bad as short sight. I decided to go home to my loved ones and asked the dragon of a landlady for my ration books and the witch charged me for a full week and when I got home Rene had found she had taken all the months coupons. I won’t ever forget Mr and Mrs F from King Street Leicester who I hoped were not typical of the people we were fighting for.
I was glad the time had come for to start my army life not that I ever wanted to leave my family who I loved so much but I felt I was now able, for to know that Rene and my children were to have a regular amount of cash every week. I had to go to Derby where I was to get my basic training. Nothing seemed to fit I had to have different sizes. I was going for dinner when a loud voice demanded, “why is your pullover outside your pants” I lifted up the pullover to show him why and he said, “I see you are in the awkward squad”. What a waste of material all the pants were long enough for Guards and kept the tailors busy and yet the Yanks were able to ask for and get the exact size from their stores.
Well we sure went at it and not allowed out and one day after we had been over the assault course three times I was prodded in the back and the RSM told us to get to the billet at the double. I told him “not for him and the King of England were we able to double”. First with a rifle and fixed bayonet we had to jump a tank trap, scale a wall the small men pushed up first to sit astride and hold down a rifle for the big men. Next we had a bridge over a stream and you were lucky you never fell in, as the bridge was a big tree. All the while they are throwing bacerlite (sic) hand grenades and next up the nets and down the ropes you are then to crawl on your bellies etc etc till you feel you are better off in heaven.
My six weeks at Derby ended and we were allowed out and the RSM went with us. He said he was proud we had done so well for our age group. I was posted to the Royal Army Service Corps at Roundhay Park, Leeds and then after my trade training at Aldershot on to join the 9th RTR (Royal Tank Regiment) in Kent as a cook.
I had a hell of a journey arriving very miserable 11.30 p.m. at Ashford station. A voice in the blackout said “you for the 9th” and I replied “Yes” and the voice said “put yourself and your kit in the back of the truck”. After another long ride or it seemed to be I was taken to HQ and given a bunk for the night nothing else. I was desperate for a fag having smoked all of mine and I took one that never belonged to me from a bloke’s kit who had gone on leave. Next morning I was told “you are for A Squadron” and once more on the truck and up narrow lanes, it seemed to be a long climb. I found out afterwards it was the highest part of Kent, Charing. A bloke called W. Harrison called me “Tich” and I was called Tich from then on by everybody.
A new rule came out or A.C.I. which said that all regimental cooks had to go to Aldershot to be properly trained by chefs. I had heard a lot about this place called the home of the British Army and not much of it good. I dropped a clanger on my first day as a staff car passed me then stopped, I was given a telling off for not saluting the flag on the front which was a Brigadiers pennant. You also found out that it “was safer to blow the fairy lights off your nose” (no idea what this means!) than chance putting your hands in your pocket. We had no rest at all for after your parades and lectures you had drill assault course and gun drill and all the scribbled notes from lectures had to be written up neatly to be signed by the instructor next day. We were also shown films about V.D. which were enough to put you off sex for life.
Church parade was a must but not all were picked, it was overcoats and gloves no matter how hot it was until May when it was shirtsleeve order no matter how cold. One Sunday we had all been sorted out in our different religions and I was surprised how many. One bloke was still standing by himself, the RSM said “I have called every so and so religion what are you?” “Agnostic” came the reply. “What’s that Theobald?” he said, I answered, “he is a non-believer Sir”. “Oh is that it?” he said, “when I march this shower off I will see you”. At 11.30 p.m. he (the agnostic) fell in the billet and as he passed my bunk he said “I will have a religion by next week, I have been through it all right”. He had been to the officers mess and washed thousands of glasses and scrubbed the mess hall floor ready for a Sgts dance and had all the seats to put back after.
I had been on guard all night and was writing home to Rene when troops scattered and in walks an officer and said to me “on guard in twenty minutes” I said “I have just come off guard sir and had had no sleep” but I still had to go back, no wonder the other troops scattered as I would have done if I hadn’t been writing home. The training was all go, go, go and it was certainly a marvel how we managed to fit it all in and under the constant threat that we were never to get leave unless we passed. We had a Captain Entwistle who as soon as the bugle started in the morning was pulling us out of our bunks and at night used to walk around to see no one shut any windows. He once caught me trying to shut the transom as I was on the top bunk the wind (cold wind?) used to blow my head off.
The rules were that you went for meals in BD (battledress) and not with denims on and Captain Entwistle used to chase blokes who then lost their grub, it was a rush to get to your billet and change, have your grub and change ready for parade. There was the usual mickey taking when the RSM asked who was good at painting, you put your hand up and found yourself in the swill and refuse gang. And when they asked if anyone could play the piano you found yourself moving one from the officer’s mess to the sergeant’s mess. One day the police came to the dining hall and we were ordered to put our utensils on the table and stop feeding. The NAAFI had lost a lot and they were looking for them. After Captain Entwistle said carry on one loony said “hurrah”, the Captain said “son you will parade every hour and heaven help you if you are not smart”. He was true to his word, every hour up until 9 p.m. and then said “I am getting soft hearted don’t parade at 10”.
They bought a bloke in one night when I was on guard and he was put in the cells and kept up a racket. Denstone and I were detailed to take him across the parade ground to the cookhouse and the Sergeant Major told us to shoot him if he made a move. We were astonished but he said that he has put two in hospital and one Staff Sergeant is critical. I had my finger on the trigger the whole time in case he never gave us trouble.
At parades the RSM was critical of everything, I was told to get my haircut after he had told me the day before, I waited from 5.30 p.m. until 10.15 p.m. and there is no ducking as you have to have your signature to show you have been. The trouble is how do you tell the RSM who tells everyone they cannot talk on parade that you had had a haircut the night before.
Aldershot training was indeed something that had you wondering if your stamina was enough to hold you together. We went on the assault course time and again, ten mile route marches, weapon training it never stopped. Lectures, building ovens with old oil drums and mud (and they worked) we had at night to write pages and pages of what we had been taught each day. It was knocked into us that we must look after our weapons, as they were able to get men more quickly and easier than guns! All this and you still had your shift to do in the cookhouse where the civvy (civilian) chef instructors gave you the works. I had been on guard and on a lecture dozed and was thumped in the chest and asked “don’t I interest you soldier?” I tried to explain I had been up all night but he said I must stay awake “or else”. I remember years later when I was in Trieste and NCO in charge when General Morgan was inspecting the camp, after I had brought everyone to attention he stopped in front of me and said “Aldershot trained I think” it must have shown somehow.
At Aldershot I had been asked by the RSM one day “what weight are you Theobald?” I said “eleven stone sir” and to my surprise he said “good, I have a match for you in the ring”. I thought he was joking and said so but like others I had to obey an order. When I saw my eleven stone giant climb into the ring with arms like King Kong it was a cert what was going to happen. He bled my nose first go and as I tried to rush in he belted it again. After the first round I was once more hit on the nose and it made my eyes water. I then knew I had to do something or else his left hand was going to be nailed on my face so I put all my eleven stone in a desperate punch below the belt with lots of blokes calling dirty basket (sic) I was disqualified for which I was happy but my face had Vaseline on for a week, they let me be billet orderly for four days. I still have a funny end on my nose.
I was now at Charing with ‘A’ Squadron, 9th Battalion, Royal Tank Regiment and able to get a shave in hot instead of cold water, warm tea and endless parades. I did love the church parades though and the march past with the bands playing even though to be sure of getting on it you had to bull (polish) and be smart.
Petrol used to come in tin cans not jerry cans and some of the handling used to cause leaks. As there used to be thousands of cans it was a right rollicking the lads got off the Major one day when he arrived while the crews were having a break. They were calmly sitting smoking on the square cans as seats.
We went on manouvers or schemes but the worst and the toughest was on the South Downs. Everything was rough in very cold weather and we used to wake wrapped in your groundsheet and covered in frost. We were part of the Welsh Division and the “enemy’s” first job was to take the food wagons and lots of compounds full of “prisoners” in shocking weather had to suffer. One night there was a breakout at one prison compound, they were worse off wandering around in the blackout in pouring rain and sleet. One Welsh lad we tried to comfort was weeping as it was his birthday and he was thinking about his mother’s home.
There were the inevitable deaths and the padre said prayers for those killed on the scheme. We had a very forceful Sergeant Major, Monty Bradley who would overrule officers a lot of the time. He used to displease them by taking off his tunic, rolling up his sleeves and unloaded shells with the rest of us. Long lines he organised passing them along. He used the word “bastard” a lot as lots of cockneys did and called a new bloke it who objected and put in a request to see the CO. He was astonished and as I was passing he hollered “Theobald”, I answered “Sir” and he said “how often have I called you a bastard?” and I said “too often” and turned to BH (the complainant?) and said “you see what I mean its an expression, but you can still complain if you want”.
We used to go cherry picking on our off duty day, we were given a small basket to take up the tree with us and keep bringing it down to empty into a big basket on the ground. There was a Taffy Davies up one tree and we split our sides laughing when a cow put its head into his basket with Taffy yelling, “shoo shoo cow” but the cherries were going down its neck. The farmer said after his day picking 2/6 (12.5p) for half a basket and Taffy said “the other half are in your cows stomach” but the farmer gave him no more. Five bob (25p) was what you got for a big full basket and they seemed to have no bottom.
AD was our sanitary man; he had the rotten job of keeping the buckets empty. The farmer gave him a shilling a bucket and Arthur had to sort the paper out so though we laughed he was always telling us to use less paper.
I was ordered with an advance party to the tank firing ranges at Kirkcudbright in Scotland, tank trains when on the move have to be shoved into sidings so they don’t disrupt passenger trains too much. This made the journey unending and we spent hours bored stiff from time to time. Twenty-five hours after we left the village of Charing we arrived. There was the ruins of a huge monastery we passed on our way to the 14,000 acres of the ranges. We were joined by the 7th RTR and the 141 The Buffs who hadn’t liked being turned into a tank regiment. They also had a squadron of fearsome flame throwers which sent flame one hundred and eighty yards. The first shootouts used to start at 5 a.m. and breakfast at 7 a.m. One evening the wild Geordies LB and JM said “Tich come with us we have lots of bunnies on the range we will shoot a few” I said “ a 303 will blow them to bits” but off we went to start my nightmare and put me off rabbit forever. It was nice for a while I could see the Firth of Forth and ships, I let myself get separated from the lads. It went dusk before I had rejoined my mates who I heard but was unable to see it was dark. At first I was not alarmed but I began to get worried when I fell in ditches and got caught on barbed wire. I tried to light a fag but the lighter refused to light. I was getting desperate as I went around in circles coming back to one building three times. Hour after hour I went around until fright was now getting to me at being alone. Once I ended at the targets, I found a road that used to be tree lined now blown to bits that led down to the water. To my delight there was about thirty fishermen’s houses but my joy turned to horror they had all been shelled I knew it was no use if I tried to sleep in one which I badly needed. I looked up and saw in the pale light railings on the cliff top and I started to climb them. It was an awful task but I was so desperate I made it, but as soon as I fell over the railings into a field a notice said “Danger Army Fighting Vehicle Range”. I made my way to a building in the field and there was a chink of light. A Pioneer Corps Sergeant said, “where the hell have you come from?” I told him “for seven hours I have been walked the 14,000 acres of the range please tell me where the tanks are!” It took me an hour to get there I was shattered. When I arrived LB and JM were sitting on a table in the cookhouse they said they were going to tell the RSM and stop the shoot and started singing “Where is my wandering boy tonight?”
Was I glad to get back and get a fag, I was more scared that night than at anytime in France, Holland, Belgium or Germany because I wasn’t alone. There were a few scary times when some Buff gunners made a couple of ships weigh anchor and another going along with his machine gun full blast all hitting the road fortunately. At last the month was ended and we were going back to Charing and my first task was to ask the QM for a new BD mine was in a hell of a state. He gave me the usual f--- off which everyone got, I was so mad I threw the suit on the floor and he said, “I want non of your temper here”. I saw Captain Mockford (sic), the QM then sent word for me to go to the stores for a new suit.
They used to put a truck on for Faversham for the pictures once or twice; I was unaware at that time that my father had come from there. I wish I had known because perhaps it may have meant finding relations.
One Liverpool lad Trooper P seemed to get lots of parcels and girls enquiring after him. One day I said to him “how come you get parcels so often and so many young ladies” he simply said “I go to church and people befriend me”.
We were not back at Charing long before we were off again we were seeing plenty of the country, this time we ended up at Brighton. The Pier had been cut for security and the beach made awkward for anyone coming from the sea. There were complaints from residents that the tanks were damaging the roads, they were lucky when you think what some towns had suffered from bombs.
We were sent to Aldershot to be toughened up some more and handed over to the PT boys who first day gave us a ten-mile route march that didn’t go down well with us at all. Next the assault course and the gym where he had us over wooden horses, nets and ropes. They were trying hard to kill us and one Sergeant went to see the Major to ask if we were on punishment. When he said that we were not he took two of his blokes in who could hardly walk, the route march the PTI had planned the next day was called off and we were marched to the swimming baths where the PTI took delight in pushing anyone in who dared stand on the side. This resulted in one or two having to be rescued, the PT Sgt said he didn’t believe they never could swim.
We were all on parade one day and SQSM Acklam was seated at a table with an MP at each end. We had to go past single file and me being nosey I said, when told to sign, “what for?” I knew it wasn’t pay. He said, “it is for overseas and if you get killed we can show your signature to say that you asked for it” this brought a laugh and another when I said, “what if I don’t sign?” He just pointed to the military police and said that “they are here for that”.
We are on our way to Thetford Norfolk and the whole regiment will be together, we travelled through some lovely countryside with people giving us cheerful waves on the way. It is a lovely place among lots of trees and what spoils it is the endless waiting for inoculations. If you were at the back of the queue the needles felt like navvies picks and after five in one day and more promised one feels fed up, the medics must be tired out!
We are soon to move off again and no one seems to know where. We move off once more and after hours and hours of travel arrive at a huge camp site and are too weary to wonder where we are, its like a prison as its surrounded, we are told we will not be allowed out. Daylight shows us its all tents and a mobile cinema and canteen. We are not allowed to mail in or out so we are sure now something is cooking. We heard on the radio that allied troops have landed in France and pushing on, Yanks taking a heavy beating on Omaha and Utah beaches but holding.
All of us wondering when we will be going but it seems our tanks are too heavy till the RE (Royal Engineers) get beaches ready, crews are busy making engines waterproof. On our way now to embarkation area Portsmouth, Lord the roads are jammed one wonders how it ever gets sorted out its something one can never forget. Mobile canteens going up and down the lines of vehicles noise is so load it gives you a headache. What time will we reach our landing craft I cannot imagine as we slowly move on towards the harbour? At last we are near our LCT (Landing Craft Tanks) and it is now turned midnight we are going aboard and each get six vomit bags and our Mae West life jackets.
Next morning the sight that met our eyes we were in the Solent it was one vast armada of boats but we were not moving yet. 11 a.m. now we are on the move for the first time, I see the sea planes as we pass the Isle of Wight, it is starting to get rough these flat bottomed tank landing crafts seems as though they don’t want to float as they just keep going down and down. Blokes’ faces started turning a nasty green colour including your own. A black Yank anti-aircraft gunner said “this channel is crazy, one day sleepy next day like a vixen” I said “Oh look there’s that destroyer that passed before” he said “you ---- if there is not twenty six with this convoy I am getting off!” There was lashings of food if you are able to face it but not many takers even though there is tinned fruit for afters something we had not seen for a long time. One bloke said it might be better laying down and like a dope I tried it, I thought it might be a good idea. What a hope ones whole world seemed like a volcano and that crazy ship seemed to be doomed.
Daylight is coming and we are still battling on towards Arromanches Normandy in spite of that crazy channel. The Yanks loaded up the cooks’ trucks with cases of tinned stew and stuff to eat as they said it might be a while before you can get stores which I thought was a kind gesture.
We have landed and one can only stare at the huge Mulberry Harbour made out of concrete and the massive concrete gun emplacements of the Germans. The Beach Masters are hollering leave the beach get to hell out of it of course with the volume of traffic its no wonder. Told the 7th RTR had a boatload of tanks have gone down but not may lives lost as it was near the shore. We are as in England part of the 31st Tank Brigade with the 7th RTR and the Buffs 141 besides 75mm on some Churchill tanks flame throwers fearsome on both sides.
I see quite a lot of the terrain while with the water wagon helping Ronnie Dix to keep water supplied to the crews. Very difficult some days to get water made more so as we found out by being an independent Brigade as unbelievable as it sounds we were chased out of some established water points by redcaps (MP’s) because we were not part of their Division. We filled up with buckets sometimes at fountains and even rainwater ditches then in went the chloride of lime and after a few hours the taste removers. One night Ronnie forgot the removers and no one could drink the tea (murder).
We are getting used to sleeping on the floor on a ground sheet, you have to snatch some when you can. Still no bread, the dog biscuits we try soaking in water but they defy all human efforts and blokes think of the crusts they left back in England and wished they had them. We heard that a load of Blanco arrived much to everyone’s disgust.
We have our first dead; it makes us all downcast and sad.
Before we left England most of us had our haircut at the barber, Trooper Stewart had been ordered to shear us so it was no wonder the French said “Le Boche” when they saw us.
We are on the Tilley sector on the flank of Caen, no wonder the scrap merchants made millions after the war, tanks and vehicles were in hundreds, Tigers, Panthers, Churchills, Shermans etc. When it came to daylight the German long-range gunners opened up thinking they were still coming and alive.
Still no bread but told the Yanks would send some soon. All we needed was a tin opener, tank crews each take a turn even troop officers take a turn heating up the meat and veg out of the compo packs which also has seven fags a man in.
Jerry cans had now been sent in place of the tin petrol cans which I said before leaked when knocked. I was now on a three tonner (truck) helping the drivers taking Jerry cans up for the tank crews, if under fire you had to hang about hours to lots of grumbles from some.
We have more killed and cooks are on the burial squads, the padre a brave man who picks up dead and wounded says prayers over them, the dead are just wrapped in a blanket and buried. Some of the effects salvaged from soldiers pockets and wrapped in a tank pennant ought to have been destroyed and not sent to families. I saw half burnt photos, I was told to mind my own business when I said you surely wont send them home.
The stench is terrible, besides humans, bloated cattle and always some joker who punctures the bloated cows and horses.
We had now to go to Maltot and our CO Major Ballantyne like the man he was told us it would be easy enough, the loses were dreadful fourteen tanks out of “A” Squadron alone and the Major himself killed among lots of others. How well I remember him calling the Cuckoo at Charing. (“B” Sqn also lost plenty; it was a miracle some escaped one young fellow was the only survivor from a crew but badly hurt and burnt, spent years having skin grafts).
A month later when Maltot fell after heavy fighting we saw a mound (possibly a temporary grave) with the body of an unknown British tank Major and Major Tresise (sic) from HQ asked who was Major Ballatynes batman, when told Trooper R. Ransome he sent for him and said “I think that may be Major Ballantyne do you think you might recognise him if we dig him up?” Bob Ransome said “I would recognise his socks as he never war army socks always civvy ones” and that was the case. Most of the others (dead) were still in the tanks in a bad state. It seems the major left the tank to see if he might contact the infantry CO to find out what had gone wrong, of course when he ventured out the German machine gunners got him.
Big Jim Cardwell and his brother, both cooks, seemed immune to the task of the burial squad, but I stayed on the water and supply wagons.
The following day to all our surprise fourteen new Churchill tanks arrived by forward tank delivery squadron, Joe said “I cannot go in one” so he was sent on transport.
Caen, what is left has fallen and was now as we went through one vast rubble heap and the smell awful.
We had lighter sides of course, like the white leghorn chicken that used to sleep at the top of our heads at night under the tarpaulin we used to sling from the side of the truck, we used to put it aboard when we moved and let it loose when we stopped. It was happy in a field one day near Brettville (sic) when we came under heavy fire and had to move fast. We nearly got killed looking for it, BL and myself, but had to give up and were most upset at our loss, it is a cert that it would have looked for us. That scrawny chicken had found a place in our affections and we were last to leave looking for it.
Bread has now arrived, one loaf between five, it was pure white Yankee bread, a bit smaller than ours but Lord how we valued it, it must have been like manna from heaven.
As tanks were destroyed the unit called Forward Delivery Unit had fresh ones brought up to keep the Regiment on the move. Mines were a problem and it was the blast that took mens heads off I saw three at a farm at La Houge (sic).
We had just come out of line and the 7th RTR had gone on standby in our place. It seemed a bit peaceful and most of the lads were taking it easy when to our shock the Jerry long-range artillery opened up. I dived over the railway line to help two artillery cooks who had both been hit and their truck set on fire. I tried to pull off the burning tarpaulin but it split down the middle and the burning pieces fell inside, the petrol did the rest. One cook had been hit in the back and I said, “come with me, our ambulances are nearer” after I took him over I went back for but the other bloke refused to cross back with me. I was forced to leave him with an able-bodied artillery bloke trying to hop across a field to his unit. Only when I got back did I find out how many we had lost. Some of the lads said, “blimey, we were safer nearer the Jerry”.
Near Cormellies (sic) I saw a strange sight when a farmer took hold of me and said “comrades” he took us to his farm there was four Durham Light Infantry soldiers dead on their backs one a young officer with glasses on and a pair of binoculars had fallen between his legs. Opposite were four German dead soldiers who had fallen on their faces and (as they had no arms or rifles) it was obvious that our blokes were trying to take them prisoner. We found the killer dead against a tree with a Spandau (machine gun) still in his hands. We fetched our QM but just then a Red Cross officer came with three of his men and said these are what we are looking for. He said creosote was needed for a couple of the Germans on account of the maggots. It must have been a shock for the DLI as they were quite close. I can even as I write see that young officers face in my mind.
We were now moving up to the outskirts of Falaise where we were told the escape of the Germans was to be cut off. One had by now become used to seeing dead.
Pioneer Corps men were always hard at it trying to fill in the huge craters so the vehicles kept moving, what a state some where with the dust thick on them.
We were keeping on the move and now with the 34th Tank Brigade was on the way to Le Harve and the first attack was called off due to the heavy losses with mines until flail tanks went in, some of those went up as some mines had been thousand pound ones and a small mine on top to trigger it off.
The huge blockhouses where some Jerrys still held out the flame throwing tanks ringed them till they had to give up.
What shocks when we saw how many troops there was as our intelligence put the garrison figures at eight thousand and instead there was fifteen thousand and about four thousand Russians who said they were labour gangs but they all had uniforms on and like the rest went into the prison compound. All transport like trucks were taken over to for to transport them.
Tasted Champagne for the first time and we took a few bottles with us. But the weather had turned nasty and as we slopped through the rain we missed in the dark one of the Geordies and in the dark went down the lane to look for him. Blow me down if he had not gone in the ditch with water in and took his uniform off and put it on the side of the ditch, we dragged him out and next day had to go with him to face the wrath of the QM and tell him JB had fallen in so we could get him a suit of uniform. We never found the bottle of Champagne he had even though we searched in daylight. I often though he had drunk it and that’s why he went to bed in the ditch.
Here (unfortunately he does not say where “here” is) had my arm and hand all swelled up due to a shrapnel burn on my hand which was trivial at first. We were standing watching the firework display (battle?) and of course at the side of your truck you put your hands on. The Geordies said to try soap, sugar and bread poultice and it will draw it but it gave me hell and we were on the move, after three days I was real sick. A Dutch girl at a farm barn were about twenty of us were said in English “are you sick?” I showed her my hand and arm and she said “that is not good for you. In spite of my protests and telling her I must see the Sergeant Major no one could stop her putting my overcoat on and taking me to a field dressing station.
Here I received a rollicking as the MO said “see that red line up your arm it is moving fast and if it not checked fast you will die”. I told him it was because we had been on the move it had not been easy to get seen to but he brushed that aside and said “your regiment will get a rocket if anything happens”. I was given several injections of penicillin plus tablets to try and arrest it. Next day an ambulance came to take me to Hasalt (sic) were 113 Hospital was and later I learned Montys HQ was. My companion in the ambulance was another cook who was burned so bad they were unable to take off what was left with his clothes. The orderly told me a fool had filled up a jerry can marked ‘W’ for water with petrol and the cook had picked it up and poured it into the Sawyer boiler and up it went. He looked horrible and it looked as though he was dying. I was in pain but his agony must have been dreadful. The fool who did it I hope was told.
When I arrived at the hospital two theatres were going non-stop and the wounded were lying on stretchers all nationalities. My name was on a huge blackboard but the Sister told me “I know you are in great pain but you will have to go last as you cannot go to the theatre either one as there are lots of lads going in for amputations and we dare not risk you infecting the theatre”.
A German kept bringing me a urinal bottle each time I wanted on he had been shot in the hand.
They kept giving me penicillin and it was 3 a.m. when I was wheeled in by two Belgium blokes. When I came round I looked and was relieved to see I still had it. The nurses had to keep the cut on my hand packed to make sure it never closed until the poison was out and sinews were hanging out like string under the dressing.
There was a young bloke opposite me from Preston who had his leg off and what guts, he had us all going. He kept putting up his stump and shouting “heavy ack-ack” and when Sister asked him to be quiet he said “I am trying to work my ticket”. And nurses who came to attend him for bed soreness his hand used to wander and when he was slapped he said “well marry me and it will be OK”. One day brass hats were to come to come and inspect and “Preston” had with his high jinks got the big dressing off his stump and he put it on his head like a tea cosy. When they came near his bed the Matron said “my god he has the dressing off get him straight to the theatre at once”. When he came back he had a plaster over his dressing so he was unable to remove it, he was delighted at having a bigger gun.
I was asked one day by the Sister had I done any wrong as a Sergeant Owen wanted to speak to me I said “how could I have done anything?” When he came he told me he came from Liverpool and he said, “I don’t know how to tell you this but I am the post Sergeant and we don’t got any one named Theobald but was you expecting any letters or a parcel?” I said, “Yes my mail and some duty free fags. He said “I am sorry but a Theobald died of his wounds and when your regiment sent yours on I never looked at the number I just wrote deceased on and gave them to the Padre. I said “will you send a wire to my home to make sure my wife is told?” but he said, “I might lose my stripes”. I asked the Sister to send the Padre who was more sympathetic to him than me. He said “have you wrote to your wife from here?” and I said, “of course” so he said, “well she will know you are alright”. I said, “she may have thought I had a relapse”. Anyway they wired not to my home but to the people handling dead soldiers mail to hang on to it. I never saw any of it again.
Dressing my hand a nurse said “I think those sinews hanging out are dead” and gave them a tug and she said, “I am sorry they are not ready”. I was assured I was to go back to the 9th RTR now I was allowed up.
We lucky ones who were able to go back up the line were packed in railway wagons and arrived Amsterdam where we spent four days. To my surprise crossing a canal bridge I met one of our lads H. Chadwick who told me that after years in the 9th it had come out he never had been on strength and should never have been with us, he was waiting for a posting.
On my way to the front we billeted in the same camp as some French Foreign Legion it cost me my boots and razor, a new one my wife had sent me.
I was on my way to Brunson (sic) on the Dutch border where I rejoined my mates only to find the two Geordies had flogged my kit but said we had to because we had no cash but we will get you some blankets.
A Dutch family sent one of the children and asked me and two others to their house, all spoke English and insisted we spent the night as frost was outside. A kind act, they took our addresses and wrote after the war to find out if we came through.
Lots of soldiers who were able to be buried had a rifle bayonet down, pushed in the soil as a marker and a tin hat on top but thousands had no identity at all. The Red Cross were fantastic picking up what they were able.
Empty Jerry cans now had to be collected after the tank crews emptied them not like the days early on when we just chucked away and some of the drivers I went with were not happy hanging around if shells were whizzing over. And of course if engines were not cool enough you had to wait or go back later.
On transporters and moved back into the line we broke through over the border at a place called Brunson (sic) and into Germany at a place called Geilenkerchen (sic) and what mud and desolation. Now we heard that Jerry had broken through the American lines in the Ardennes and were driving for Antwerp, we were ordered back in to Belgium but what a journey.
The Americans turned the German tide back and those (Americans) I have met have been great blokes generous to a fault, rubbish about not being good fighting men which some British talked about (and long after the war finished gets me annoyed).
We were on our way to the Rhine and a town called Wesel (sic) and the dead Jerry soldiers trying to stop the allies were more than we had saw before it turned your stomach up. The Hitler Youth, we saw lots now as they had been pitched into the war. Snipers still hung in their harness out of trees they had been killed in.
Curfew was 11 p.m. and anyone out after was at risk although there was a few blokes chanced it who were on with Russian girls. The weather was good and quite a few of us thought we were seeing things when quite a few females went swimming in their birthday suits and the Commissar said “what can you do? Peasants don’t have costumes” Lots of Russian blokes smoked long stemmed clay pipes and were drinking spirit made with their own stills and a few had died with it. Some Russians had said that they had been told by the Jerrys if you go to Germany to work we wont take your parents but the Commissar said the parents were put on the next batch. It seems none were happy at being sent back and even the Commissar asked if were we able to get him a uniform as he spoke good English he wanted to hop it.
Told by the Sergeant Major my number had been drawn out of the hat for a trip home on furlough with others taken by trucks to a transit camp. We arrived next day at Nijmegan (sic) and we were all getting fed up as we were told there was no trains for us. The Yanks were a bit upset at the miserable appearance of some of the British troops, out of the goodness of their hearts from their stores some of our scruffy ones were given new suits Canadian style khaki green much to the wrath of some of the British officers. We were again loaded on trucks and it was a nightmare getting home which took three days. When we sailed from the Hook of Holland the Channel was like glass I quite easy felt I could have swam it. What a difference from the year before when our ships had performed so many acrobatics.
Not long after this we were told we were to be off and we still wondered where thinking it might be the Far East when we heard that the Japs had surrendered after atom bombs had been dropped. How people today go on about it beats me when you think thousands of Allied soldiers would surely have died invading Japan.
Lots of us were transferred to the 4th RTR myself included and as we marched across the bridge for our new abode the rest of the 9th RTR stood to attention each side.
Now it was official we were going to Italy where Marshall Tito was making trouble over Trieste. We were told to get there we had to ravel from germany all the way back to Calais and we were to be taken by train through Switzerland but not the tanks or any arms. After a tiring journey we arrived France near Calais and we all had to hand our kit in and I watched the QM and storeman going through them removing Luger pistols and anything the Swiss may take exception to.
We of course had a new RSM who was a tartar and six foot three and when we got down the dock area at Calais loads of trucks were there but he made us march loaded like pack horses to the trains and air force and other troops waving on the way past. One bloke tried putting his kit on a pram that a French kids were wheeling with the object of a few francs but he made him get it back.
It was a journey I don’t think any of will forget. The wonderful panorama laid out before how could one doubt the Lord created a beautiful world man was trying to destroy. When we passed Lake Geneva glistening far below it made you feel fit to burst with the wonders of it all. We were stopped a few times by Swiss guards who walked through the train and of course we were held up at the Swiss border, we were there about five hours before we went on through Austria to Milan Italy.
The squalor after coming through Switzerland hit us and hordes of youngsters and a few older ones with hands outstretched hoping for something to be given. The thought came to me about the slums of Edge Hill (Liverpool) and St Arnaud Street and the area around. We were ordered on to trucks driven by some of our own drivers. We were taken to a camp at a place called Costosa (sic) up in the mountain area and it was alarming sometimes as it must have been for other troops before us of whatever race. Huge pieces of rock crashed down on to the tin roofs and some had even gone through.
We had some Italian workers attached who were not very fond of it and none were in sight when siesta came near and I found them hidden with eyes closed and head down, it was impossible to get any work till about 2 p.m. when they seemed to come back to life. Poverty was accepted and when our blokes had meals as they came out of the dining hall children and a few adults were waiting with tins asking for any leftovers and some even went in the swill bins after it. I felt distressed with it all.
We had trucks put on for the nearest city Vicenza (sic) the original opera city where it still went on, Italians were incensed at troops being allowed a certain amount of seats, my first opera was the Barber of Seville and nice it was although it was packed.
We went to Padua on a liberty truck there were crowds of children begging and lots of girls on the game with touts telling you how good they were. We were told 10 p.m. be at the trucks, it was ten minutes to go and like a clown I went to a dance hall to get LB and J M and managed to pry them away. What a shock when we got to the picking up point to find the lousy so and so had gone and not given us a few minutes. We started to walk the fifteen miles back and on the way tried to get a lift but drivers of all Yanks and Canadians had been ordered to pick no one up because the Italians were pretty slick at hijacking. No truck had to go along unless two soldiers rode at the back as lots of trucks had been boarded stores thrown out for picking up by the Italians.
It was a terrible walk and as time went by very lonely and dark, we passed lots of shrines and were glad to be near the camp now at 3 a.m. We went to the guard room and the commander said as he saw us “what the hell is it Tich?” and I said, “I want to book in as Corporal R left without us” he said “you are all booked in by someone” so except for our sore feet we got away with it but R and I had words over it and he said he was sorry but he had his orders.
The city was out of bounds but I went in with the JB and LM, it was incredible the crowds shouting and falling out amongst each other. The police drove straight at the crowds and just started banging their batons on their heads. We were entranced until the crowd started to run and so did we. We turned up a side street but so did the crowd. Our breath was going and we stopped and dived into a shop doorway and were thankful the mob swept on.
We were to have a camp inspection at Palmanova were we were now stationed and the senior Sergeant who we thought should be there had gone to Costosa (sic) with three trucks as acting unpaid Sergeant I more or less stepped in knowing General Morgan was coming, I had quite a few German prisoners to keep occupied, one an officer (who only work if they volunteer) helped a lot as he spoke English. The inspection went well and I was asked by General Morgan if I was Aldershot trained. I had a moan at the Sergeant but he said all the trucks had been requested for transporting prisoners.
I was asked to write to my wife to ask her to agree to come out and live in married quarters in Venice so I could be given a third stripe. I knew the answer the answer I was likely to get even though I complied with the major’s request. He laughed when I showed him Rene’s reply which was a short and sharp, this is how it read, “come home to your responsibilities ALL THREE OF THEM” (his children) with the last four words filling the page.
Some amusing things happened in Italy, they decided they wanted a bigger parade ground so our RSM ordered our small Honey tank to knock down the shrine that stood in the roadway saying “they wont miss one”, The town of Vicenza went up like another war had begun, millions of lira were now being demanded.
We had sent dozens of men over to England to join the official victory parade in London including the Sergeant Major, to their disgust on their return they found out that the trip was to go against their privilege leave.
LB, M and I out one night were past the lights out time of 11 p.m. and were making our way back down the lane to the camp when the headlights of a Jeep came tearing down, we quickly jumped in the ditch, it went past and after a few minutes we continued on. Imagine our shock when we went down the lane, the Jeep had pulled into the grounds of a big house and put the headlights out and the Sergeant Major waiting. He said report to the duty officer a Lieutenant Hendries who calmly said to us “---- off to bed”. Next morning the Sergeant Major went in the Squadron Office and found no charge on the sheet so he put one down and we got three nights CB (confined to barracks). Now comes the sterling qualities of Major Hall who was most unhappy at the Sergeant Major going over the officers head. This is what happened according to Corporal JK the office corporal who heard it all. The major sent for the Sergeant major and asked him “did you have a late night pass for last night?” “No, Sir” “Well, as you have given three days CB out to three soldiers it is only fair as you were out at midnight as well you will be duty officer Friday, Saturday and Sunday” The Sergeant Major was mad!
Major Hall was to be discharged and I took charge of the catering side for a party for him and we had the regimental band, he was very touched by it all, shook my hand and said “if in civvy street you ever need help every one knows me in Blackpool”. He had given me the highest character possible on my records “exemplary” not given to many (my father had the same on his after six years in the RFA before the 1914-18 War)
My time was getting near and the major realised that my Rene was not likely to go into married quarters and now they had decided to give a farewell party in my honour and a presentation of a wristwatch engraved on the back. July 1946 I was on my way after a moving farewell after my party and presentation.
We arrived at the Hook of Holland to get a boat to Southampton where we were to get civvy suits, our ration cards and cash. The customs went through our kit, I had a few thousand fags they never bothered about. I was fitted out and passed A1 by the medical squad and told I was on ‘Z’ Reserve which meant I was liable for recall, so that meant I was A1 in and A1 out. They said I had eighty days paid leave due after discharge and eighty five pounds cash to come which was handy those days. I had to get my ration books checked at Liverpool and I was able to convince the electoral role people in Liverpool that I was alive but it was three years before I came back on the voting register (after Sergeant Owens boob at 113 Hospital).
It is strange for men in the army to return to civilian life, it is so unreal, no bugles, no parades it is so different. I stayed home for a week and said to Rene I might as well go and see Mr Crane at the Corporation depot at Springwood. He had said I hope you are coming back because we have so much bomb damage work around Smithdown Road, so I agreed to turn in on the Monday. I wore my battle dress for work without its badges, I had no tools and I was forced to batter a tin out and put a float handle on it for my first day back. It was our Joe who came down and sold me two trowels his mate was selling. I was given a trainee to work with, George Poulson and a Bill Evans as a labourer.
It will take a while to become used to home and family life and the sunburn is fading away.