Thread: Sapper Brian Guy

Snipers.
Duel under the hot Norman Sun.

We had moved up, and a small group of us were supporting an attack on a village in front of Caen, I cannot remember its name, all that I remember that it was on the high ground that rose up slightly in front of Caen. We were to pass through after the first wave of infantry and take up the attack and drive on. Mustering the platoon amongst some trees on the edge of a ripe cornfield. German wounded and prisoners were already filtering back, I stood there and happened to have a Bren machine gun over my shoulder and watched as three young Germans approached, two of them with their arms round a comrade, supporting him, he was a handsome young blond German and stripped to the waist, with a neat round bullet hole right through the centre of his stomach. As I stood there, an officer gave the order to move out and said to me “get out through the cornfield to that high ground on the left, ready to give us covering fire as we move in “.

A beautiful sunny day, I slowly and very cautiously made my way out into the open and immediately captured a German in the corn, a poor specimen, he had no interest at all in the war, (who can blame him) all that I could get out of him was “minen minen” and he pointed in the direction of where I was going, he was terrified! Who isn’t? I pointed out the way and sent him back on his own with his hands on his head. Mortar fire came down in bursts of three or four at a time, just a little normal “hate” The corn was ripe and just about chest high, setting off again, I tried to run and keep my head down, as I got deeper into the corn I was singled out by a very persistent sniper. Each time I raised my head above the corn this sniper had a go at me, it was there that I discovered that a rifle bullet, as it goes by, near your head, makes a loud cracking noise. A few hundred yards to go he was very determined to get me, time and time again he tried. Now, I had the feeling that it had started to develop into something personal, he was so set on getting me that he ignored others! To my left, standing in the corn, was a Guards Armoured Sherman tank, giving covering fire in support of the attack. I watched with amazement as a Guards officer came striding up through the com, very smart, the tank commander got out of the tank and saluted the officer and they stood talking for a while. “Yea Gods” it reminded me of a Giles cartoon. For heavens sake! Here we are full-scale battle going on with vicious shell and mortar fire; this blasted sniper trying get me and in the middle of it, two Guardsmen saluting each other.

When I reached the brow of the hill in the cornfield I must have been out of his line of fire, he did not bother me any more. Snipers were always a problem and I am sometimes amazed that they were allowed to kill and then surrender. I did not fire at anybody and did not have a clue where the Enemy was supposed to be anyway. Snipers were a continuing problem, they were very good at their job and we were always on the watch for unusual shapes in trees and hedgerows. The battle for the village was hard fought and at a time when the war had become very bitter, this was the period when it was reputed that not many prisoners were taken, the origin of this was the shooting in cold blood, by the I2th SS Panzer Division, the Hitler Youth, they murdered both Canadian and British prisoners. Then there were reputed instances of Germans offering surrender under a white flag, when approached to accept their surrender, another of them would pop up and cut down our men with machine gun fire. After taking the village there were many casualties from both sides, all of them propped up against an earthen bank where we had set up a field dressing station. It was the practice to treat all wounded the same; indeed, it was not uncommon to see a Jerry on one end of a stretcher and a Tommy on the other.

The Pipes the Pipes.
Stir the blood a little.

It is not only pictures that remain with one through the years, but also sounds, sounds that can remind one of times long past. We had now reached the high ground on the left hand rout into the City of Caen, this dusty road that looked down on the Colombelles industrial area on the outskirts of Caen, with the high building of the ironworks far below, all rusty and gaunt. From our vantage point it was possible to see for miles down below and the ground spread out all round in a wide panoramic view.

Blissfully unaware that the area was still in German hands and that he was watching our every move, (we had been told that the 51st Highland div had taken it) After having a long look at the ground down below we the carried on sweeping and clearing our way forward, to ensure that the way was free from the Enemy and from mines.

The Enemy soon put a stop to this, we had just entered and cleared a farm house when all hell was let loose, from the tall rusty looking steel works down below came a tremendous barrage of shell fire. Point blank shell fire, where one does not hear the shells coming until the last split second, when the incoming fire sounds like an express train with the scream of shells, with violent explosions and tearing. shrapnel, the farm house came down about my shoulders, the flying debris, the continuing whistle and flashing fire and explosion of the shells, the cries of those ripped and torn apart by the shell fragments, the pitiful calls of the mortally wounded, an intense barrage, the swirling smoke and pandemonium and ones whole being gripped with fear, my mouth dry and choked with dust.

After the fire died down I started to extricate myself, covered in dirt and dust and splintered wood, the bitter stench of cordite. When in the distance, I heard the sound of the bagpipes, above all that noise, I could hear the skid of the Scots pipes, when I got out of the rubble I looked down the dusty track and there he was, nonchalantly marching slowly towards us, this piper, khaki kilt swaying from side to side, as he made his way forward concentrating on his playing. Sounds of war! Whenever I hear the pipes I must admit to having a great big lump in my throat, I have been into battle with the sound of the pipes and I cannot hear them without being deeply moved.

Food.

A better description!

During the early days of the invasion there was a period when getting supplies to the troops would be difficult, to that end we had been issued with little blocks of dehydrated meat and tea, one was supposed to take these hard little blocks and put them in your billy can and boil them over a little wire stove that was heated by a solidified, white, rectangular block of methylated spirits that we carried with us.

We had been issued with a very thick and dark block of chocolate, contained in a brass tin; a sort of "iron ration" this was an emergency ration to be kept for the time when nothing else was available, for many of us, that was quickly eaten before we reached Normandy. I mean for heaven's sake! Chocolate was a luxury.

To provide food for ourselves in the early hours of the invasion, we had been issued with a small camping stove constructed of wire, with a tray for a solidified block of white methylated spirits, this was our only heating and food source until the main invasion supply force arrived and set up the "Compo" food system.

Just try to imagine dear reader, what it was like! You have dug your fox hole, hunched down in the bottom of it, while all around you the war was at its height, shell and mortar fire that sometimes straddled your area, and you, a very green, 19 year old and innocent Dorset lad, scared out of your wits, sitting in the bottom of your dirty little fox hole, starving hungry. The Enemy shelling had already deprived you of one of your Billy cans and your knife and fork, with just the spoon and one Billy can left. You hunch down, trying to fill your billy can with a half a cup of water from your water bottle to start your first meal. Next, you placed into the billy can of water, a very peculiar, unpleasant and hard, rectangular shaped, "brownish" block of what was described as, "dehydrated mince meat", eventually, after many attempts, you manage to light the so called tablet of "fuel", then, desperately stirring the grey mess with your commando knife, as the tiny little flame flickered and struggled against impossible odds to heat and reconstitute the meal, after some considerable time, all hope of a hot meal vanished, in desperation and with your spoon, you eat this half cooked, brownish grey food with the lumps still in it.

Oh! Lord. What a horrible mess, but now, having hungrily devoured the lumpy, half-cooked meat, the next part of the menu was to make some tea, putting a cup full of water into the same billy can, (not enough water to wash it first), we then added a small brown and white speckled cube, this magic little cube was reputed to be, dehydrated milk, sugar and tea. On reflection, I still have serious doubts about its composition! Again the same procedure as the tiny little flame flicked and spluttered in the wind with precious little chance of heating anything. Desperately stirring this brown and white speckled mess, while a thin film of grease floated on top of the water, all the while this horrible mess was giving a very poor imitation of a cup of tea. In the end, in despair of ever heating the water, the resulting mess of grey, brown and white speckled luke warm water, was drunk, with the unheated bits dry on the tongue. YUK! I have never in my life tasted anything like that, before or since.

Ah! Dear reader, they say you will eat anything if you are hungry enough; in this case it was true. Unfortunately! Ah yes, unfortunately! This revolting brownish mess that you had eaten, before it had been properly reconstituted, then continued to expand and swell within your stomach, with the most unfortunate and dire results. Constipation! Oh Lord. Constipation so severe it made your ears ring, it was bad enough for these totally green and sea sick young men to be thrown in against an experienced, and battle hardened Enemy, but now we had to do battle with the added burden of our own tummy's.

The results of this still expanding "Meat" clogged the system and made your ears buzz and your eyes pop, eventually, when at long last the call of nature came, (Golly! at last, at long last.) nothing was going to be allowed to interfere, nothing! It did not matter if the whole Bloody German army with the 21st SS Panzer division, or the 1st SS Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler Panzer Division. (Hitler’s Personal SS Armoured Guards) came charging over the horizon and in the lead'

Now then! Shall I ever forget that salvation came in this lovely field of green French cabbages, on the side of a North facing hill, exposed to the whole bloody invasion fleet!

When we had control of the coast we were then supplied with the 14-man pack. This was a wooden box that kept 14 men for 24 hours. "Compo rations". No bread only biscuits. This box contained items like cigarettes, boiled sweets, toilet paper, and all the tins of food that would keep 14 men for one day, one thing we noticed about the tinned food, one never had the energy that young men ought to have had, too much tinned food, no fresh food, and we did feel the difference. The boiled sweets? Well, most of us kept some back to give to the French children on the rare occasions when we met them.
Everyone smoked and some that were heavy smokers were at times short of a fag.

We got fed up with the same old tinned food and it seemed our cooks were not very well disposed to serve up any fresh food, if it could be obtained, they were quite happy to open cans and that is all!

Bombing of Caen.

We know now, it was murder.

Awe inspiring, but we know now, that is was a complete waste of time and lives, but it must be said, we did not know that at the time. We were on the high ground and had a grandstand view as we were not far away from the City. The mighty fleet of Lancaster bombers flew low over our heads and a short distance in front of us unloaded their bombs. Caen vanished under a huge cloud of dust and smoke that rose in the air, even covering us with some of the fallout. The result? Caen was destroyed, the roads were completely blocked and had to be cleared to get into the City. This caused a great deal of difficulty for those who had the job of clearing a way through.

There is one fact about the taking of Caen and the battles that took place before its fall, at that time there were Eight SS Panzer Divisions in Normandy; Seven and a half divisions to fight the British army, one half a division to fight the American army. The source of this information? From the book 'A Soldiers tale' by the American General, Bradley, in command of the American Army. The battle for the City that had raged for weeks and had taken innumerable lives, now petered out, ending in a pitiful anti-climax. About half a dozen of us entered the City first by the left hand rout, and with little opposition.

The City we found was a shambles, destruction was so complete that the roads had disappeared and very many civilian lives had been lost, the destruction in itself caused the British and Canadians enormous troubles, troubles that required a great deal of work to open up the roads for transport, indeed, movement of any kind.

The bombing of the City of Caen was a tragedy, it achieved nothing except the killing of the local population and made a mess that we had to spend a great deal of time clearing it all up. The Germans? Well there were only a few there, the fighting troops had retired to the other side of the Canal and River. I still do not know what purpose it served, one thing stands out, and that was that our intelligence was very poor, or we would have known that in bombing Caen, we would only be killing the French. A Tragedy! No sooner than we had taken the City, when we were withdrawn to prepare for further military actions against the Enemy across the Canal. So ended another phase in the battles for Normandy. Bloody Normandy.

The Assault on Caen 9th of July 1944

Captain Edwards’s description of the battle. Preparations for an assault on Caen were being intensified during the 7th 8th and 9th of July, 2 Platoon and Tac. HQ moved across to Beauville, 3 PI went to Blainville and 1 Platoon remained at Colleville with Main HQ. That evening there was a very heavy bombardment of Caen by over 1000 bombers and at first light the Royal Artillery began a very heavy barrage as the advance on Caen started. My first platoon task was to construct a diversion route for tanks on the left flank, filling in a partially constructed culvert using dumpers and lorries of hard core, and marking the route.

The enemy artillery and mortars came to life very quickly and we became targets. In the middle of this, one of the dumpers blew up on what must have been a British mine, laid possibly on D. Day and 5 of my Sapper's were wounded. The mortar fire continued as we were trying to tend the wounded and get them back to the Field dressing station. In the middle of another mortar "stank" who should arrive but Major Gell, dressed as always with his equipment well blancoed, and he then went on his way. The sappers of 2 Platoon passed through us, sweeping the route clear of mines and they also ran into severe shellfire. They were later relieved by I Platoon. The effect of the bombing was very evident throughout the advance and the going through Lebisy towards Caen was slow at first but finally the advancing forces got their objectives, ready for the final drive into the city itself.

That night reconnaissance patrols were made on foot into the rubble. While I was engaged In my recce, I was very fortunate to encounter a young French woman, a member of the Resistance who, knowing the area, gave me considerable assistance enabling me to find an adequate route through a number of gardens behind the main streets. She also showed me the Abbey catacombs where thousands of the inhabitants of Caen were sheltering from the bombing and shelling, and asked that 1 passed back the information to the advancing troops. As I withdrew along the routes we had marked, 1 made contact with the armoured bulldozers, of which there were nine in all, already working along the routes. They continued their task of breaking out the track where necessary and maintaining them fit for tank traffic right up to Battalion Headquarters of the Royal Ulster Rifles in Caen. Once everything was going ahead on this I then had to retrace my steps and report to the CRE there.

Lt Col Robert Urquhart R.E. who had no further immediate tasks for me, and I was able to find n corner in which. I could get a quick nap. We were all pretty tired moving in Caen was very difficult because the streets ware blocked with debris from the bombing and everywhere the fires were still beneath the rubble, and buildings were unstable. We had occupied only that part of the City north of the River Orne, the enemy having withdrawn across the bridges and were now holding on to the south side grimly. For the rest of July 10th, the Company were trying to clear as much debris from the thoroughfares as was necessary for our vehicles to make contact with the forward posts, and then we all returned to Colleville where only 2 sections were required on the inevitable road repair tasks, the rest of us getting rest and a chance to refit. A number of our men were given the opportunity of a day at the Divisional Club which had been established at Luc-sur-Mer for relaxation. By and large, July 11th to the 14th proved to be a peaceful break for all of us.

Peace did not reign for long, however, for on the evening of the l4th.July warning orders were received for the Company to move to the 185 Brigade area to the east of the River Orne. On the morning after, the whole Company moved to a harbour area with one 3 tonner per Platoon, because of the danger of damage from enemy shellfire in the area. That night we were shelled and one of the 3 ton lorries was damaged. We again fell foul of British mines in the harbour area but fortunately it was a stray one near Herouvillette, with limited transport, one M.14 half-track, one Bren Carrier and which blew up the RAOC Bath Unit as it was entering the harbour. Next morning the OC and the CRE attended a Brigade Order Group and then the CRE issued his orders, which resulted in our being engaged during the night on lifting mine fields previously laid by the 51 st. Highland Division. This proved to be rather a difficult task because of intermittent attacks by enemy fighters dropping single bombs from low level, causing no casualties but effecting some rather uncomfortably near misses. Back in the harbour area next morning 1 found that my persona] bivouac had been damaged by a near miss and my cooks cutting out steaks from a cow killed by a bomb fragment so, we had a promise of meat for our next meal Caen to find and mark routes suitable for tanks to get to the city centre. 1 took one of these patrols in and found that the bombing had devastated the built up areas and there were great craters everywhere. Many of the streets were filled with debris and fires were burning under the rubble.

Tilly.

Or, what was left of it.

Now! I have not the slightest idea what I was doing in Tilly, i cannot remember going there, or being on temporary loan, but I did get to Tilly, It may have been while we were on the move, whatever, I have a crystal clear recall of Tilly and could confidently walk down the slope that once was the main road today, without the need for directions.

Tilly was in the centre of the British sector and the battles had raged back and forth over this little town until it was reduced to just a pile of rubble, I cannot remember how many times it had changed hands, all I can say is that the tank battles that took place there had reduced it as though it had been put through a mincer. As usual I was carrying the Bren machine gun and had set up the gun pointing down the slope of what was once the main street, with the Bren leaning on what was left of a windowsill, just a few bricks where the window had once been. I can remember kneeling down with the Bren and by my left leg was a severed arm still with the sleeve on it, and just a foot away, a boot with a foot still in it! All covered in the fine grey dust so typical of Normandy.

I cannot remember anything else except the devastation, a friend of mine on holiday in France, went out of his way to Tilly knowing I had been there, he photographed several scenes of this now quiet little town, (Now returned to its normal pace of life) and I can pick out exactly where I kneeled down all those years ago, even though the buildings are new. This is the annoying thing about recall, some things I can remember crystal clear, others are completely gone, not surprising really, its over 60 years ago!

Prisoners.

Just a young man like me.

The war in Normandy had by now, become very bitter, there had been talk and rumours that had circulated, about the German SS shooting our prisoners in cold blood, both Canadian and British prisoners, and that feelings were running very high over this rumour. For the most part we treated Enemy prisoners very well and with some sort of respect, some of the poor devils had been through pure hell, most of them looked pleased to be out of it anyway, give him a fag, and send them back on their own! Nobody wanted the job of escorting prisoners all the way back. Except the fanatics of the SS, they had to be escorted back and watched, they, were a surly lot and one could feel their hate.

The cost in lives had now become very heavy indeed, on both sides. So, at this time, there was a persistent idea that prisoners were not to be taken, I think it fair to say this did happen, though I do not think it lasted very long, but it did happen. Some attacks had an air of unreality about them. It was while taking part in the attack on another village in front of Caen that I remember this odd feeling of unreality.

We had opened up our assault on this village and the road leading into the village sloped down gently until it was at head level with the surrounding fields. Sat in the middle of a ploughed field on our left was a tall naked infantry man, all by himself, sat bolt upright against his small pack and dead, without a stitch of clothing on him, I can still see him now, as clear as crystal. The pale waxen colour of his body stood out so sharply against the brown of the earth.

The most bizarre scene that I have ever experienced, but that was not the end of this unreal feeling, half way down this sloping road a German had dug a small hole in the vertical bank and had got in there, unfortunately there was no way for him to retreat or fall back, he was utterly isolated, the hole he had dug was not even deep enough to put his rifle in, it stuck out for all to see. In front of him mines had been laid, but on top of the road and level with the enemy’s hole he had dug in the bank. Everybody, who came down the road seeing this German rifle sticking out of the bank, gently lobbed a hand grenade into the top of dugout. I think he was blown up or shot several times because his rifle was still sticking out of the bank when he had been killed, time and time again, all we had to do was to just lift the mines off of the road and the way was clear.

This was not the end of this odd period, there then followed a very tragic scenario, as we entered the village there were British and German wounded laying on a bank waiting for treatment for their wounds, a field dressing station had been cut into a steep bank and among them was a young German grey faced and badly hurt, waiting for the medics attention, I remember him so clearly he had a green scarf with light green squares round his neck, This young German was in great pain and it showed on the poor devils face.

Nearby were a group of three infantry men, all at once one of them went berserk and in an insane and terrible rage, swearing and cursing, he went for this young German, got hold of his scarf and throttled him with it, all the while screaming with rage, his mates grabbed him and tried desperately to drag him off, but they could not hold him, I am sure he killed him. This was the only time that I know of prisoners not being treated well or properly in the prevailing circumstances.

Bloody Goodwood

This was it! This was to be the great attack that would lead to the break out, we were to smash though the Enemy lines in one great armoured left hook round Caen, then into the open country beyond, in this position we could employ our tank strength and engage the Enemy on our terms. Well! That is what was supposed to happen.

Lots of preparation had taken place, we had moved away from Caen and on July the I5th we crossed over the Orne, where the company harboured in a field near Heronvillette, to be immediately greeted by a barrage of shell fire during the night, not a lot of damage as we were now well dug in.

Mr Trench our platoon officer gathered us together and briefed our little band of brothers on exactly what was to take place, Now! I remember this briefing very well because it was interrupted by the sound of approaching tanks. The noise got louder as they appeared round a bend in the road, first came a Sherman tank followed by a captured German tank with another Sherman behind. After this little episode, a sigh of relief. The briefing from Mr Trench gave us a complete run down of our objectives in the coming battle. We were to move out to the left flank and take the scattered villages and then try to take Troarn, but the main task was to secure our left flank from any incursions from the Enemy.

The night before this attack, mosquitoes descended on us in great avenging hordes and created absolute mayhem. Men with swollen faces and infected arms and legs, desperate to get some relief, I poured the paraffin out of a storm lantern over my arms legs and head, got in my foxhole, and as night came, so did the shells.

I have taken the trouble to describe this battle in more detail because for some reason I found this action more frightening than anything that I had experienced before. A beautiful summer's morning, on July 18th RAF and USAAF began a bombardment of the ground in front of us, two thousand heavy bombers. Lancaster's and Flying Fortresses pounded the Enemy areas, supported by seven hundred and twenty artillery guns, plus two thousand fighters and fighter bombers, as this mighty attack went in, the ground trembled and shook as a huge cloud of dust and smoke rose over the target area. The enemy by now, saturated by bombing and shelling.

Eighth brigade, with our platoon up, led off as usual. We moved out with our half tracks and carriers through what looked like a "moonscape" we felt that with that bombardment, nothing could stop us, we took the Chateau De Escoville, then took Touffreville and Sannerville and the lateral road to Touffreville, we then consolidated in the area of Touffreville-Sannerville- Bannerville before our attack on Troarn.

I remember this time as one where we were shelled and mortared constantly, with the added discomfort of a barrage of moaning minnies, and machine gun fire, but most of all, what I found so frightening, were the shell airburst's, I do not think that I have felt so much fear before, or after, I do know, that there are many others who looked back on Troarn with dread. In the middle of this battle, harboured in an orchard where we had been under fierce fire we had to unload boxes of explosives, they were brown in colour and rolled up in grease proof paper, unfortunately, they had become unstable and had started to show small beads of liquid explosive on the outside, very dangerous and to be handled with great care!

Then the trouble really started, stonked and straddled with Enemy fire, above ground at one time was suicidal, It seems that the Enemy had retired before the bombardment and then had come back in again.

Dense green country side around us, harboured in an Orchard, we were subjected to a severe pounding, in the middle of this one of our men went off his head with fear and had to be restrained, he had his commando knife in his hand and presented a danger to all of us! Small arms fire was coming in and our officer was striding up and down exhorting us to fight back, that is until a lump of shrapnel took off part of one hand. He then took cover with the rest of us. Not cowardice! Just plain common sense, when the stonking is that severe it is impossible to live under such saturating fire. The object of battle is not to give your life for your country; it is to make the Enemy give his life for his country.

This hammering continued for a few days, our objective of taking Troarn was never realized. This part of Normandy, it appeared, the Enemy was going to defend at all costs, while we were gathered together, a moaning minnie mortar landed right amongst us, but fortunately exploded with a split in the casing, so that it produced no shrapnel. I have talked to others who were there at Troarn and their response is "don't mention that bloody place".

All the while three British Armoured divisions raced for the high ground of the Bourgebous ridge, behind Caen. Infantry travelled on the back of the tanks, as these three armoured divisions raced for that high ground, on the way they got caught up in a horrendous traffic jam, trying desperately to get through the "Moonscape" with a very narrow clear path through the mine fields, the leading tanks were miles ahead, while the tail was caught up, unable to move.

The tangle was so severe that not even wounded were allowed back, they had to wait until it could be cleared, as the tanks approached the ridge, they were met with the withering fire from a screen of tanks and anti-tank guns, 88s. The bombs had not reached the forward positions and the Germans round the Bourgebous ridge were not touched. As the tanks drove on through this narrow spearhead, they were attacked by anti-tank guns from both flanks. Then attacked head on, by the defensive fire of the 88s from the defensive shield.

The thrust forward faltered, and then died out after a day or so. I have heard it described as the "death ride" of the armoured divisions. We did not have enough infantry to clear up as we went and our tanks paid a terrible price! Our losses? Never given officially, but it has been reliably given as 400 tanks lost, some were recovered, but at the same time the whole area was covered with the black oily columns of smoke that rose into the sky from all our burning tanks.

There was one great saving grace about this battle; the Germans were forced to bring their armour around Normandy from the American battle front to the British army sector, because of the danger of our breakout, thus stripping the American sector of German tanks, leaving it easier for the yanks to break out. When the Americans broke out, their flying columns spread out across France with no opposition, and then in conjunction with the Americans, the British turned North to envelope an entire German army in what was to become known as the "Falaise pocket" but more of that later in these memoirs. After the attack had broken down we were withdrawn and returned to our old harbour area the other side of the Orne. I remember very clearly, how quickly the Company left that accursed place, we came out at speed! I rode out in the back of three ton lorry. Bumpy! When we inspected our gear we found that the anti-tank mines loaded in our transport were useless, they had been shot through with shrapnel and bullets and the yellow explosive had trickled out onto the floor.

There is a very important point to be made here. As an Assault company we had all been issued with commando knives before the invasion, but we had to bear in mind that there was a great danger in being captured with a knife. First the Germans did not like knives and secondly- Hitler had issued an edict that any commando's captured should be subject to summary execution, Shot out of hand! This edict was still in effect. Digging in the bottom of a fox hole where our lads had been captured would sometimes bring up a commando knife. We were not commando's, that did not matter we were carrying commando knives. Troam? Well, we never got there, but talking to others who had fought there, they all say the same thing. Troam had a sinister ring to the name and I would not go back there today! The name still makes me feel uncomfortable, even today. Ominous. The most dangerous thing that I ever did with my commando knife was to open tins of soup; even then I managed to break the point off!

The Fluid war. The reluctant Hero's.

After the abortive Goodwood attack we were switched away from the death and destruction of the Caen front. Glad to leave that devastated killing ground on August the 2nd we moved across Normandy to the American sector and harboured near St Honorine de Ducy. Heading for the town of Vire. There was a great change in the general atmosphere, things seemed much brighter and not so menacing, a feeling that was soon to be dispelled. We arrived along-side of an American unit to be greeted by the Yanks who seemed were genuinely pleased to see the British. With their normal great generosity as soon as we arrived they came over and gave us a large towel full of goodies! K rations, they made our food look like rubbish. We had never seen such luxuries, cans of meat, Cigars, Sweets, and Chocolates, untold goodies! After our soup and biscuits we had lived on, it was absolute heaven. The brown coloured American towel I kept for myself, it was so much better than the skimpy little white thing we had been issued with. Later, to get a right old dressing down for having a dirty towel, would you believe? Near were we had harboured there was a hill that looked down on the Enemy position, far away at Vire there was a "railway gun" a huge thing, it was too big to put on the road and when fired it hurled huge shells at this hill, it was possible to hear it coming for some time before the mighty explosion occurred. Huge amounts of earth were blown sky high every time the shell landed. About this time our CRE came to see this unkempt and scruffy bunch.

Tiger Urquhart, DSO. R.E. A fine imposing gentleman was our Tiger, his reputation of conducting a private war with the Enemy was well known, sometimes to be seen crawling back to our forward troops, who were amazed to find Tiger had been out in front of them. "How do you men feel about staying at the front line all the time so that you can get into action quicker"? We told him "Fine, if you can sustain the casualties". Yes! Tiger had his way. We moved right up in front of the Enemy and dug in on the side of the hill that was being bombarded. In full view of the German paratroopers below who gleefully watched as we made ourselves sitting targets, give them their due, they did at least wait until we were all there before proceeding to blast us with everything they had. We spent the next few hours cowering in our foxholes that were dug in record time, while all around us, all hell was let loose. A continuous rain of fire right over the top of us. While crouching in my foxhole, head between my knees, another Sapper jumped in on top of me, shaking like a leaf, "Lets run, lets run" he yelled. Now I do not know where he thought we were supposed to run to, how he managed to get into my hole without being killed I do not know, but he kept trying to get me to join him! No way' A little while later he fled. Now, that was the only time I saw a soldier break and run under fire. I do not know where he thought he was going, but I understood his reasons only too well. This was also the time that I discovered that there is a very infectious disease called "Panic". I did not succumb to this infection, but I did feel the fear he was transmitting, it was a powerful infection that one so easily could catch. After being missing from the Company for some hours, he rejoined the company, nothing was said. After that severe bashing, we were withdrawn to our old harbour area; we could then sally forth into what ever was required, from a secure base. Glad to get out of that hell-hole alive and in one piece, my cosy idea that life was to be easier and less menacing was fast disappearing, not helped by the knowledge that we had facing us, a German paratroop company, we knew from past experience that they would give a good account of themselves.

Who Needs the SAS?

That night, a small band of Sappers had been selected for a night patrol, a patrol that was to penetrate through the front line, and then venture deep inside the Enemy territory, the purpose of this little band of reluctant heroes was to check that a viaduct? Was free from demolition explosives, (it's such a long time ago), but I know it was a bridge inside Enemy territory. Now! Some 54 years on it all sounds cloak and dagger, but not then! Patrols into Enemy territory are by their very nature, horrible, it's very dangerous and can be guaranteed to set your teeth on edge, night patrols are even worse, seldom do you know exactly where you are going! Lf you arrive at the right place it is more by good luck than judgement. In fact it is a mystery to me that one survives at all, after blundering about the country side, doing your best to keep quiet, but in fact, making enough noise to awaken the dead. As dusk fell, this brave little band of reluctant heroes, half a dozen strong, set off up this leafy lane that led into Enemy territory, dark and overgrown with trees that cut out what little starlight there was.

To cut a long story short we had completed out task. Fine! We then set off back, but before we reached our own lines, all hell was let loose on us again, this time by our own men. The Middlesex regiment, they were the heavy mortar and heavy machine gun group. Now! I have heard it said in boast that a prize crew from the Middlesex regiment could get I8 mortar bombs in the air at one time, I believe them! I believe them.

After this stonking we carried on down the lane that led us back to our area and as we skirted a farmhouse someone fired a star shell into the sky, we investigated with a great deal of caution and I found an English officer in the dark, leaning on his right elbow on the farmhouse steps, one of his legs was severed at the knee with just a little sinew and ligament between the top of his leg and the lower limb. When I discovered him his first words were "Please take my orders and cut this bloody leg off". I had never disobeyed an order before, but I did this time! A brave man, I wonder what happened to him? I wonder if he survived? I also wonder if he would recognize himself from this story? I never knew what happened to him and probably never will, I just hope that he will remember a very young and frightened teenager who came to his aid on very dark night in August and inside Enemy territory.

While we were there we heard other sounds from another part of the farmyard, and after investigating we found several wounded, some of them severely. Realizing we were not equipped to deal with this, we hurried back to our base area where our medical officers were, at that time we had a German paratroop doctor who had helped with the wounded, it was this German doctor that accompanied us back to where the wounded were situated. Let me break off for a moment to describe this man.

A big man, dressed in paratroop smock with a large white square back and front of his tunic, both emblazoned with a red cross, He had a black spade beard and was a striking looking fellow, this man had been with the company for a little while, treating both German and British wounded. What happened to him? again, I will never find out, later we noticed that he was no longer with us, probably in the cage, but I do know that he was a dedicated medical man and one that some British wounded were grateful for his tending their injuries. Sometimes I think of him and wonder, what happened to him? did he survive the war, and would he recognize himself from this story? I also kid myself that he may just recall that dark night in August. 1944.

The next day, the water wagon, while trying to find us, took the wrong turning and had gone straight into the Enemies territory by mistake, realized his error, he reported that the enemy had pulled out during the night; it now became obvious why we were able to get into his lines without being killed on our night patrol. It is quite possible that the Enemy left the wounded behind for us to find and treat. Within hours the company had loaded up and chased after them, it did not take long to find him again!