© By Terry Brew. No reproduction without permission, please.
This is my Fathers first hand account of his time in the army from when he was called up in June 1940 until his discharge in 1946. My son Richard and myself, with the aid of the 4th Battalion, Somerset Light Infantry history, have compiled it from notes my father made in preparation for a book, which he never got around to writing. The title comes from the fact that he survived ten months of constant battles from Normandy to Germany, having been involved with every action the battalion was engaged in and one of only four left from the original group that landed in France in 1944.
Dedicated to 10 Platoon and all my Dutch friends, the Bloomen family of Treebeek and the people of Lochem, upon whose insistence I wrote this account.
Way back in 1932 I applied to join the army, and at the medical the doctors tested here, there, cough, so far so good, and then one doc said “I'm sorry mate but its no good, I'm afraid I’ll have to fail you”, as I had a terrible stammer, when I asked him why he said “well, if you was up the Khyber pass, before you could shout for help, your throat would be cut!” so that was that, and no army for Dicky Brew.
The next six years passed, and I was working as a baker in a biscuit factory and I was seeing a lovely girl called May, whom I married on the 20th of August 1938, just as the war clouds were gathering, but thanks to good old Chamberlain and his useless bit of paper, we got a years reprieve. War came to us on the 3rd of September, and on the 21st of December 1939, we were blessed with our first son, Terry. We were very happy, but the crunch came for us as it would for thousands, and I had to sign up in my age group, the 24 year-olds, and undergo the same medical that I had in 1932, so I told the doc, “sorry mate, but it’s no go” and I explained about my stammer. He looked at me, up then down, and said “Bulls--t, you’re A1 now” and enquired in a velvety soft bellow which mob I would like to join, and in all my innocence I said that I would like to join the R.A.S.C, as I had been in the bakery trade for 10 years, and with a smile he wrote it down.
One fine day in April, May my wife, brought me up my call up papers, I looked at them carefully, and saw that I had been posted to the “Somerset Light Infantry” well I had never heard of them, but I read on, and they wanted me to report to Taunton, and my first thought was that I was very lucky to have been posted to the seaside, but my joy was short lived, when it was pointed out to me that Taunton was in the West Country, I had got mixed up with Torquay.
The great day had arrived, the 13th of June 1940, Paddington station 9am, 300 men for the Somerset's, and 300 men for the R.A.’s, they were going to Norton Fitzwarren. What a bloody shambles! babies crying, wives crying, mother-in-laws laying down the law, as if they had done all this before, “do this, don’t do that, don't go here, do go there” although my mother in law stayed calm throughout, thankfully.
Well with the goodbyes all over, it was time to start my military life with a four hour trip to Taunton, we pulled into the station to the friendly tones, loud and booming, of dear old Frankie Holt, with his green beret, R.S.M. of the depot, and in charge of all parades and our lives. He made us march up to our new quarters, 14 Mount Street, and what a mess it was, 300 men that had never marched before swinging empty suitcases, it seemed very depressing. We had soon dumped our cases, and made our way to the mess for our first meal, and I can still remember it, our first Cornish pasties, peas, potatoes followed by rice pudding, it went down a treat, as it was the first thing that I had eaten for along time.
After dinner 30 of us was issued with straw mattresses and blankets, and marched down to the Oxford Inn, at the back of the Angel Pub. It was so bleak and dusty, and as we looked about us someone asked where the beds were, the sergeant in charge of us, once he had stopped laughing, just pointed at the floor and left. I can honestly say that no one slept that night, and it’s another reason that I shall never forget the 13th of June
The next morning was another complete shambles, as 30 men attempted to wash and shave in just two cold taps, then it was another march back to barracks for breakfast, porridge, one egg, toast and jam washed down with a mug of tea. Then after breakfast came the biggest mess I have ever encountered, the issuing of kit. Major Scott, second in command of the depot was fussing about like an old hen, and all the sergeants that hell could spare were shouting “WHAT SIZE MAN!!” They wanted to know everything straight away, what size boots, beret, neck, chest, waist, leg about the only thing that they didn’t ask was how big below! I have often seen it in films but it can never match the comedy of that day, far better than any Charlie Chaplin film. Then we were sorted into platoons, one of “A”s and “B”s, I can still remember them now, Ayliffe, Brome, Brimley, Brew, Bentley, Bridges, Brighton, Board, Brimble, Besant, big Jack Bowen, Taffy Bowen, and Bowen from Bridgwater. I palled up with Jimmy Brighton and Alf Board from New Cross. The next day we had our jabs, and to see the grown men flinch was fairly comical really, but the next day some of them were quite ill really, and excused duty for the next 24 hours, next came the dentist, and I think most of us would rather have gone and fought the Germans there and then.
We had been posted to Nuns Field by now, and guess what? real beds complete with mattresses, although these were more commonly known as biscuits, and with good reason. Our N.C.O`s were Sgt Donnelly, Cpl Chow and L/Cpl Paddington, who, incidentally was quite mad. He was a bully, and he made us run with our gas masks on at the alert. Our Platoon officer was Lt Good who was 6ft 3ins and was absolute bloody murder to march behind, as he had such whopping great strides. Our training was all done by numbers, one stop, two stop, three stop, four, and in two to three weeks we was near perfect, and we was beginning to look like soldiers, we even got equipped with Canadian Ross rifles, though there was no sling so we had to put them over our shoulders with strong string, and as it was the time of Dunkirk, we only got issued with five rounds of ammunition each, and wherever we went, so did those five rounds! I have not mentioned the drill parades, as they are all just as dull as you would imagine, except for one, in the car park of the Gaumont cinema, where all the townsfolk stood and watched us, and I experienced for the first time a pride in what I was doing.
One Saturday at about three in the afternoon, our lives for the first time took on a more serious role, we got confined to barracks, and the flap of all flaps was on, as someone had reported a German sub in the Bristol channel, so us highly trained rookies was sent down to Porlock Weir to deal with it, it was taken very seriously, and we were each issued with ten extra rounds of ammunition each, and told to dig in, two men to a trench, the only trouble with that order was that the beach was a pebble beach and every time you dug into it, it collapsed. Eventually orders came round to sleep, one man at a time, the other to keep watch, and what a long night it was, cold, hard, and uncomfortable, and after all that it turned out to be a false alarm after all. I have often been back to the beach with my family, and I grin a little grin to myself, as they were happy days really.
After all that excitement we were excused parades as we were all dead tired, until we received orders to move only fourteen miles away, to Dunster Beach. We were given the holiday makers huts to live in, and our hut had the name “Nobby” over the door (which I have still got over my shed door), seven of us lived in there for three and a half months, we spent our time digging trenches right along the coastline up to Blue Anchor. Once a week they gave us a five mile route march, which gave us no trouble at all as by then we were all fit men, but even so if you got behind Lt Good, you would still suffer with his giant strides,
It was at this time that we got some good news; forty-eight hours leave at the weekend, ten men at a time. We picked names out of the hat for the first ten to go, and I was lucky enough to get one. There were three of us for London, so come half one Friday we got the train from Taunton and had a good leave at home, and it was bliss. We had decided in advance to catch the midnight milk train from Paddington, and we met up and got on the train, with no problems, and arranged for the guard to wake us up before Taunton. We all settled down for the ride back and dreamt of the ones we were leaving behind again, and I woke to warm rays of sunlight gently coming through the train window. The silly git had forgotten to wake us up, it was full daylight, and we was supposed to be back in camp at half nine. The next stop was Newton Abbot, and by Christ what a mess it was, as it had been bombed the night before and we was a bleeding long way from Dunster. We contacted the transport officer on the platform and explained our troubles, and he phoned Taunton for us. We jumped on the next train back and got to the depot at midday, were R.S.M. Holt arranged for us to go back on the ration truck, and finally at half two we got back to Dunster. We got taken straight to the company office on arrival where C.S.M. Harvey listened to us patiently, and then sent for Major Ludlow, but as we had informed the R.T.O. At Newton Abbot we was let off.
May and Terry, and my mother in law got evacuated down to me, and they got lodgings in the village of Dunster, in the house of a gardener called Tom, who worked in nearby Dunster castle which was owned by the Lutterell family, as it had been for many years. The people of Dunster was angels to us, as we was their own regiment, the vicar, Ron Ballerina, and his helpers used to fuss over us, tea was only a penny, beans on toast three pence, all of it made us feel so at home. I have often gone back, as my mate Johnny Martin used to live in Minehead, but I'm sorry to say that he passed away in 1991.
In October we was posted back to Sharford camp, where we first of all had bayonet practice, and what a laugh it was, even the instructors had to laugh, but we all passed somehow. Shortly after all that we was summoned, and told that we was being posted to our battalions, I got posted to the fourth, and it was to be my home for the next five and a half years, we were known as “R” company and shipped off to Great Chesterford in Essex
It was now November 1940 and there was plenty of air raids, so our journey took a little longer than expected, just over eight hours, when we eventually arrived it was nine at night, but they still rounded us up, formed us up and counted us up, just in case someone had done a runner, as London wasn't all that far away. They marched us for a mile to a tented camp, and my god it was awful, even though it was dark all we could see was water, our tent had a whacking great pool of water outside it, inside it, and all around it. The staff packed us off to a dining tent, and we were so cold and wet that I cannot remember the meal, talk about Fred Karno’s army, this was the worst!!
The next morning outside our tents was a pond, covered in a sort of green slime. We wasn’t really sure what we had done to deserve this, but eventually we settled down to life under Sgts. Pike, Fiander, and Mole, and Csm Thurston. I wrote to my wife, May, and told her that it was a really nice village, so she made her way down, and managed to get lodgings, but the landlady was a cow, she pinched May’s rations time and time again, so rather than cause trouble, she went back home. One of the few things that we did together while she was there was visit the local pub, where they sold new bread for two pence a slice, and they had a bowl of dripping on the bar for dipping into, it reminded us both of times past, and of home.
Our stay there was a short one, thankfully, and we were posted to Shorncliffe barracks, I got left behind on rear party, and when I caught up with them, I found they had got me into the married quarters, which was a good thing, but there wasn’t any beds, which was a bad thing, so we was on the floor again, which to be honest we was getting fairly used to by now.
The next day was one, which I'll never forget, more for its stupidity, than for anything else. It was November 1940, and the bloody Germans were still roaming around the skies of the South-east, looking for trouble, but forgetting that, or not caring about them, R.S.M. Holley called a drill parade, and while we were all stood there like targets on the range, two sodding great Messerschmitts came roaring over the fence. They probably couldn't believe their luck, because they didn't open fire, and if they came back, well, I for one was deeply under cover by then! So there weren’t any large parades after that. I was posted to “B” company a short while later that, in which I stayed for the rest of my army days and I was lucky that I was able to pal up with my mates Shallard, Clements and my dear pal Roy “Mucky” White, I've never been so close to a pal as I was to him, he even got wounded three times with me and we still keep in touch to this day.
We was up on the hills of Folkestone, and our H.Q. was the Valiant Sailor, it was very much the front line in them days, as Hitler could have come over at any time, so we took it all very seriously. Our job was to stand to at sunrise and sunset, and to search the buses from Deal. We was allowed out one night in ten, so we went down to Folkestone to see a film, having to push past people in full kit in a complete blackout was a bit of a trial, and the locals would sometimes get a bit fed up with us, but we couldn't help it
Soon enough we was off again, to Deal this time, staying in miners cottages, with, as usual, no beds. It was very nice there and the people were very sociable, so I told May to come and stay, and I picked her lodgings this time, and it turned out that the landladies sister was my sisters neighbour in London, its strange how things turn out. We had some dances in the local hall, and at one I recall, our Colonel, Bobbie Bakewell, was holding our son when, horror of horrors, he peed all over him. It took a long time to live that one down.
Our main job at Deal was to be the construction of the beach defences. The work was hard, but it passed the time away. We built the defences all the way from Deal beach to Folkestone, including the St George golf course. May went home again as the Germans began shelling Deal, as well as Dover, and she reckoned that it was safer in London. I had a seven day leave coming, but it was passed over in favour of a forty-eight hour pass, so on the fourth of March 1941, I went home to a new house, and May had worked very hard to make it nice for me to come home to, and the hours began to pass very quickly, three days after I came back the Germans dropped land mines on the east of London, and one fell next door to May, it killed our neighbours, and destroyed most of the street, if I had of had my weeks leave it would of got us too, but luckily May had gone round her mums for company, as she was unwell. I heard about it in a telegram saying “House Wrecked, All Safe, Lost All”, I applied for a forty-eight hours compassionate leave, and Major Roberts said I could go, but that I must bring back proof that our house had been bombed. When I saw our house it had been razed to the ground, we had lost everything and it was heartbreaking. When I went to Plaistow police station, and explained that I needed proof of the bombing, the desk sergeant said, “Good God, it was a good job you was away from home”. Needless to say he gave me the police headed notepaper saying that the house had indeed been totally demolished. When I got back to Deal I was marched straight into the company office, placed the proof on the desk, saluted and walked out, without a word. The strange thing was that a couple of nights later Bath was bombed and half the Battalion was Bathonians, and they all got their leave without a word said.
Our next stop on our tour of Britain was East Studdal, a quiet little place; there were three little Nissan huts, which came, unusually, with beds. The local egg farm let us buy what we wanted, and a very old grocery shop sold tins of fruit and corned beef, so when we got a day pass we was well loaded, we even got Daffs, which grew by the roadside.
Summer came and we was posted to Lenham, near Maidstone. We were in tents Mucky, Jockey Archer, Eddie Old, Pete Hole, Shaky Adams, Bill Tricky and me. L/Cpl Chick Fry also shared with us, and one night he came home drunk, opened the tent flap, and peed all over us thinking he was in the toilet! What we never called him.
Monty was coming down to see me, and find out how I was liking the war, so it was Blanco, Blanco, Blanco and rehearse, rehearse, rehearse, over and over and over, but on the night before a mock inspection I left all my kit out by accident, and by the morning it had gone all pale, and as though it hadn't been touched. The inspection was by Captain Johns, who had been out in India for a long time in all that sun, and had taken to tying his revolver to his leg, like a cowboy, (too much sun, we all said), well when he got to me, he stopped, looked me up and down, and he enquired, “Have you polished your kit?” I opened my mouth to answer, and Capt Johns bellowed to Sgt Everrett, “TAKE THIS MANS NAME!”. Well come Friday I found myself in the company office, under the charge of failing to prepare my kit, I tried to explain what had happened, but I was cut short with “No excuses!” His exact words were “Don't be a bloody fool Brew”, and then he turned into Susie, his pet King Charles Spaniel, and asked her “What shall we do with him”, and that sodding dog barked three times, so I got three days jankers. It was just like we said; he had had far too much sun. The three days jankers I got was Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and Sunday was my birthday, and Mucky and some others had come down for a drink, so I made my mind up not to get into any more trouble as I missed what would have been a good night.
The C.O. Was mad keen on courses, and he sent Mucky on an anti tank course, and me on a signallers course, I ask you, first they wont let me join the sodding army because of my speech, then they want me to be a bloody signaller! I told Sgt Barnes that there was no way I would be able to complete the course and explained why, but he said there was nothing he could do, and that I should just go and try my hardest as no harm could come of it. After four days of the two week course the instructor wanted know which bloody idiot in particular had decide to send me on such a bloody waste of time, and struck me off the course. Finding myself at a loose end, I was sent back to Lenham, and my journey took me through Paddington, and as luck would have it, there was five hours between my arrival there and my departure, so I went to visit my mum and she was in tears the whole time, and as a bonus halfway through May turned up and was thunderstruck to see me. All too soon I was on the train back to camp, but I arrived just after they had all left for an exercise, so I got to hang about doing nothing for five days. The C.S.M. was there as well, and he must have heard about my departure from the course as no more was ever said about it.
As you already know, we was Montys best division, the 43rd Wessex, and he had a wonderful idea, the kind of idea that made us wonder as to our futures. His big idea was to turn night into day, not sure why, so our new day began with a church parade at ten at night, and a route march at two in the morning, on one do we was out all night, and our grub came up at one in the morning, as we lined up to get our food, which was soup, I held out my mess tin and the soup was poured in, I kept my tin out and the cook, Jimmy Hear, slopped my pudding in on top. I just couldn't sort the mess out so I ate the lot in one go. I was never allowed to forget that either. It was at that time that our second in command got permission for an armoured column, and they just looked like boxes on wheels, with armour plate 1” thick. We practised attacking them for about two weeks, but fortunately it all died a natural death.
We were given a regular route march to Laden sport ranges, which was about ten miles in all, there and back and I could manage easily despite having to sleep funny hours because of guard duty, and even when I was off guard duty I didn't even have a bloody bed to sleep in. On one occasion I got to the bottom of Folkestone Hill, and I just couldn't go any further. I had never backed out of a route march, or anything else, and I felt a strong sense of having let the side down, as well as myself. Major Stewart came up and asked me what was wrong, and when I told him that I felt I couldn't take another step, he put me on special sick leave because he knew as well as I did that it was out of the ordinary. The next morning I was in the medical quarters at nine, and by ten I was in Canterbury hospital. I had been diagnosed as having septic scabies, but how I had got such a thing was a mystery. The orderlies had to scrub me with stiff brushes, and the bastards loved it, they took off all the scabs, and then painted me with blue unction. I was in there for five days before I was cured.
Our next move was to Manston aerodrome, where the air ace Sailor Malan was in command. The place was heaven compared to what we was used to, with real beds, real food, a club room, night passes, but the march there was sheer hell and all our feet was red raw. We were allotted an RAF Cook, and when we was on duty in the cookhouse we used to get free food off him, but it turned out that he was a pouf, and that we only got so much food off him because he had taken a shine to me!
When I look back at all the travelling we done, it was no wonder they called us the Kent home guard, we did nothing but moan at the time about it all, but we were the crack defence troops, the first line if the Germans came, and although we didn't know it, or care, there is no doubt that we were the fittest we had ever been, or would be again.
While I was at Linton I came down with sceptic dermatitis, with sores in every crack of my body, far worse than the scabies. I got put into hospital for twenty days and I became really worried that I would be put into a holding battalion. It was now December the twenty-third, and I asked to be discharged so as I could be with my mates for Christmas, I was so pleased to be going back. It was at this time that a young 2nd lieutenant joined the battalion, a man named Hutchinson, and I must say that I took a liking to him and that that friendship was to last the rest of our lives. He would, in the future, prove himself a man amongst men many times when the going got tough.
We were soon on the move again, down to the coast near Dymchurch, at St Mary's Bay. We were posted to a whacking great big house overlooking the sea, and we even got beds again! The hot water was rationed by our orderly, “Indian Summer”, as we used to call him owing to his dark complexion. His real name was Chuckie Harris, and he made sure we never got it too luxurious! We were chosen by Montgomery to do some tests, two miles in two minutes, and ten miles in two hours, in full kit. Before we left we got our pulse taken, then once we got back our pulse was taken, had to do an assault course, fire five rounds, and throw a grenade through a window. There was no question of cheating on the run, as at every corner was a C.S.M., and if you failed the run you had to do it at a later date. I did it in one hour fifty-eight, Mucky did it in one hour fifty, including stopping for a pee! He was one tough bloke. Our stay at St Mary’s came to an end after that, and we moved back to Dymchurch. We received a new intake, and they became known as the Bodmin Boys, and we could not have wished for a better bunch of blokes. Our battalion was by now made up of young men, Dave Evan's, Dick Evan's, Ken Tremaine, Johnny Martin, Baby Riley, Jack Keevil, Debbage, Warr, Duke, Ward, in fact the average age was just nineteen, and I felt really old at twenty seven! Johnny always said I was like a father figure, and I felt that was a really touching remark. A few days after we left St Marys Bay, a terrible thing happened there, when Lt Wilson was demonstrating Hawkins Mines, and one exploded, killing him and, I think, twenty eight men. The battalion was shocked, as Lt Wilson was well liked by his men and fellow officers.
Summer of 1944 came around, and the invasion was in the air, we were all on edge. The Flying Fortresses were going backwards and forwards by day and the Lancaster's by night, one fortress came very low over our village and crashed, and unfortunately it killed four of our men and that gave us a little scare as it just went to show that when your time is up then you've got to go! I had been offered my tapes time and time again, but had always declined as I was already IC 2nd Mortar, and mucky was IC of number one, but when Major Stewart took me into his office and showed me a letter stating that anyone who refused his tapes would be transferred, I accepted promotion to Lance Corporal as the invasion was coming, and I didn't want to be separated from my mates. The pay was a bit better of course, so I had the extra made over to May, so she was happy too
The great day arrived, The Sixth of June 1944, D-day. I was in charge of the coal orders from Ashford, and when I got back to the coast, the huge concrete slabs floating off the coast had gone, we never knew what they were, but found out later that they were part of the Mulberry Harbour. May had heard that the Somerset's were down the London docks, but all she found was our transport, and my mate Dick Whittington, who told her that we were in fact in East Sussex. We were marched down to New Romney, and all along the route the locals were cheering and waving, it was impressive, but I somehow found it all a bit sad, as I knew it was the last thing some blokes would ever see, and that some of us would never see our loved ones again. We carried on to Newhaven, where our American landing craft was waiting for us, we finally embarked on the eighteenth, at midnight, twelve days after the invasion troops, but that was because we had been trained for a specific purpose, the breakout from the beachhead. During the night a storm had blown up, and god it was rough. Our supper had been sausages, lovely great big ones, but we were paying the price for them now, me and three others were manning a Bren gun up on a raised platform, and as the boat wallowed we felt every sway and dip, and was I ever sick. Once off duty I went to the toilets, and I was sitting on one toilet, and throwing up into another and sitting next to me, in the same predicament, was my mate, one Lt Hutchinson (Hutch).
Eventually the crossing was over, and we disembarked, cold, tired, wet, and ill but after a little while ashore we all felt a little better. We had just survived the worst storm in the English Channel in living memory. We bivouacked in place called Rhys and it was here that we had our first casualty, though it was nothing to do with the Germans. Charlie Ball was to be woken up for sentry duty at about half four in the morning, but it was found that he had died peacefully in his sleep. It was a shock to all of us as we were still unaccustomed to death.
Major Stewart had told us to get bathed in the river Don, so about ninety men, stripped naked and leapt in, generally larking about, and so far enjoying the war, it was nice to get clean of the smells of the crossing. It was at this point that a small punt came around the corner of the river and straight through the middle of us, with two women and a man in it, I would imagine that it is a sight that none of them ever forgot.
Major Lipscombe took over the battalion, owing to “Chopper” Curtis going home sick, and this was the beginning of our war. We advanced down through “Death Valley” onto Cheux. As we walked along the dusty French roads we came to a farm, and in the road the farmer had set up a table, full of bottles of Calvados, the local Norman cider, and as we passed every one of us got a bottle. It was a wonderful gesture, as it took our minds off the battle that we knew lay just ahead, perhaps only minutes away. As we entered the valley the shells started to land among us, then the rocket mortars started up, the Germans had a good line of fire and we started to take casualties. Dicky Evan's and Bob Seymour were killed, and Jack Keevil was wounded. These deaths meant more to us than the deaths we had so far seen, as they were the first of our close pals to die, men we had trained and lived with, laughed and joked with over that cider, just an hour ago, and the platoon went into a kind of shock. Hutch came over to us and said some kind words, which were a comfort to us, which was good of him, as it was all new to him as well. Slowly our life began to move on, and we were now getting our own share of Moaning Minnies, and just in front of our waterlogged slit trench was a dead Jerry, so me and Mucky did a stupid thing, we went and had a look, to try and adjust ourselves to the death that was all around us now. How we never got picked off by a sniper I will never know. Pure luck.
Major Stewart detailed Sam Hurley and myself to recce a lane near our front, to see if there were any Germans in it, so we crawled the hundred yards to the edge of the lane and stuck our heads through the hedge. Blimey! It was absolutely full of German troops, so we turned and ran back to our trenches. It seemed obvious that there were plenty of Germans ahead of us, and they wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. The fighting was getting a little more intense now, and one of our boys, Wally Hammond, went bomb happy, it was a pitiful sight as I had known him since day one, as he was in my call up group.
Lt Hutchinson had to take out a fighting patrol, to try and get a German prisoner, and he picked his trusty team again, Kenny Tremaine, Dave Evan's, Debbage, Mucky, Collings, Sid Mann, Ted Wells, Warr, and me. We left our positions and moved cautiously to the bottom of a rise, just over the river Odon, it was a cornfield really, that rose gently into the darkness. It was marked on the map as hill 112; little did we know that it was to become famous, and that it would be awarded to the regiment as a battle honour.
The big push inland had begun, and it was not a bit like we had thought. The noise was terrific, tanks firing, guns firing, snipers firing, Moaning Minnies coming over, I realised then that I am not a brave man, just very scared. Our mates were going down like ninepins, and all you could do was to stick their rifle in the ground, with their tin hat on top to mark their position, so that the medics could find them in the long corn. The prisoners were coming down in droves, and Kenny made four of them dance by firing a short burst at their feet, but Hutch told him “Not to”, but I think I saw a glint in his eye. We had nearly made it to the top, when we were ordered to dig in, and Mucky and me did just that, mighty quick or die. The shells continued to rain down, and how we survived I’ll never know, for after the battle we had a hundred and ninety two killed, wounded or missing. It was a terrible price to pay, so many of my mates just gone, we all felt numb but in time we got used to it, there was no reason why it was one bloke and not another, when it was time to go, well, so be it.
Four days in all we were on Hill 112, with no hot food or drink, as the runners couldn't get up to us because of the snipers in the corn. Sgt jack Whiting took over the platoon when a shell landed near Sgt Bickhams trench, the blast snapped his rifle but left him unharmed, but he was taken back with shock and we never saw him again. We came down from that hill as battle hardened troops, it was something they could never have put us through at battle school. We retired to a rest area but we had only been there a couple of hours when the shells started to land among us, one of which got a lucky hit on the company Bren carrier, which went skywards with a mighty bang sending ammo all over the place injuring Len Hawkins, when he failed to get himself out of the way in time. After the bombardment we found Dusty Miller lying down, and we all thought he was having a kip, but he had also copped a bullet, and like so many others disappeared into a casualty clearing station, and we never saw him again.
Our guns were fantastic, they never seemed to stop, I have met in later years some of the Cornwall's who were also up on 112, and it is one of the main things they remember, the constant express train like noise of the guns slinging the shells over our heads. After the rest area had been shelled, we were pulled right out of the line to recover and check our stores, and we were even visited by a mobile bath unit, and it was the first decent bath we had had since the river, and it was a real boost for our moral. By a stroke of good fortune I knew the officer in charge of the unit, as we were members of the same swimming club before the war, so all my boys got new underwear, not the cleaned stuff. The trouble with the clean stuff was that they were cleaned with steam, and though it killed all the nasty`s, like lice and mites, it didn't kill the eggs, so that after you put them on again, the eggs would hatch. After our short but pleasant rest, we were once again on the move, back into the line.
Briquessard loomed up ahead of us, but I can’t really dwell on this battle, as it was all chaos, for me any way. Lt Spenser was killed by a sniper, which greatly upset his platoon (No 11), but we had our bright moments too. Dave Evans, Kenny Tremaine and I made a recce to find out more about our position and as we approached farm I spotted a bid “Hogs Head” barrel, so me being of the naturally inquisitive type decided to check that there wasn't any German generals hiding in it, and I could hardly believe my luck when it turned out to be full of cider! We all filled our water bottles, and made our way back to the platoon, who were busy digging themselves in and upon hearing our good news, took it in turns to sneak down and get a good fill of cider. If the Germans had of attacked that afternoon, they wouldn't have met much resistance. We achieved our objective in Briquessard, the bridge to the south of the village, without much fuss, and we were relived by our 43rd recce.
We were on our way again and this time the objective was Mont Pincon, a very high, steep hill. We was held up at the bottom by heavy small arms fire, and we took shelter in a long hedgerow, and we were all lined up looking at this big farmhouse, and the crack and hiss of bullets passing through the hedge told us that this was not a good place to be, then I heard the hiss of a bullet very close by, I didn't know where it had come from, but it passed so close it cut the straps of my equipment, and as my pack went backwards, I went forwards, I shouted for Mucky and he came like a shot thinking I had been hit. He cut away my battle dress and I was so relieved when he told me I had only a “Crease”. It was a very lucky thing, I have often thought that if that bullet had have been one inch over then I would have been upstairs with the boss, but thankfully it was not my turn. Major Thomas and Jack Whiting were killed in this battle, and it upset us, as they were both popular, particularly Jack. We left our start line in the hedge, and fought our way to up the top, it was a very hard battle as the Germans had a complete view of the battlefield, and could move about easily, covered as he was by thick hedgerow and high banks of earth. It was only when one tank fought its way through the various minefields that we reached the summit, and it was dark and cold by then, and we were still in our shirtsleeves that were so comfortable in the hot dry afternoon. We knew that was no chance of a hot drink or food reaching us in our exposed positions, so I decided to go over and ask the tank commander nearest us if he could let us have some water for a brew, and he kindly let us have some of the water in the jerrycans strapped to the side of the tank, but as we drank it became obvious that the cans had also been used for fuel, and we were nearly all sick. So now we were still cold, thirsty and now sick. Me and my bright ideas.
While we were resting after this battle, a patrol was called for, and Bob Brooks asked if he could go along and the company commander, Major Watts, said that it would be all right, and Cyril Bryant lent him some grenades to take along. The patrol passed off uneventfully, and when they returned bob started to take the grenades out of his pouches, but as he did so one exploded. No one really knows what happened, but he was killed outright and it was another example of how death could come out of the blue to an ordinary bloke at any time. We didn't sleep easy that night.
When we came down from Mont Pincon General Horrocks congratulated us on a job well done, and I got made up to a full corporal and I made the extra money over to May, as I had no use for the stuff, although just after my birthday I got “left out of battle” and given three days leave in Brussels where I had a good drink, a good bath and generally unwound. The joke however was that I got back to St Noireau the regiment was in a rest area, so I didn't miss anything at all. It just about summed things up that I got leave when there was sod all happening anyway.
Action was in the air again, and we all knew it, a fleet of amphibious DUKW’s (Ducks) arrived to take us up to and over the river Seine, and on our journey we was given a fantastic welcome by the French people, who lined up all along the route of most of the towns we passed through. Eventually we pulled up for a rest in a big field, and we were grateful for a rest from the noise and vibration, and the chance to stretch our legs. Being inquisitive young men we soon found some large mounds covered with tarpaulins, and just in case they were German strong points, we lifted the tarpaulins to look underneath, and found to our dismay that we had stumbled upon a food dump, and even worse, it was officers food, tinned fruit, cream and all the best stuff. In our defence I would like to say that each man only took what he could carry, and I found that kit bags were best for this, and that two were even better.
Eventually we arrived at Vernon, and Major Watts fell off the duck, and had to be transferred back to the Regimental aid post, and Hutch took over [See Note 1], we were given storm boats to cross in, and to be honest I thought they were a bit dodgy, but we got nine of us in it and set off for the far bank behind Hutch, we soon managed to get ourselves stuck and sinking on a mud bank, and as we worked our way off it a bullet hit the side of the boat, a bare two inches from the side off my face, but it wasn't the Germans, Pte Maclean had accidentally discharged his rifle, and nearly sent me upstairs. He was lucky that I never threw him out there and then. We landed; ten platoon leading, number one section first. We had been under small arms fire, but had taken no casualties, and got successfully over our first water obstacle. We had two guides with us, men of the resistance, and they led us into the approaches of the town and I thought that I could hear the sound of men approaching, so I told every one to keep still and quiet, it was very dark as it was almost midnight, and then a shout of “Hände Hoch”. Bloody Germans. I dived into a doorway with Gitsham, and God was really with me this time as the door wasn't locked. We had walked, or been led, directly into a German strong point. Bill Goss was hit in the chest by several bullets and died instantly, and all was confusion, and the rest of the platoon didn't know what was happening, or what had happened, and went to ground accordingly. It was small consolation that the Germans were unsure what had happened to us, and expertly rolled grenades into the doorway, until they were sure we had bought it, which, if the door hadn't of opened, we would of, and silence descended. We spent the night in silence, taking turns guarding against the Germans and watching for our own boys, lest they tried to shoot us as Germans. We were trapped and we knew that come daybreak we would not be able to move, and that if we tried in the darkness then we were as liable to be shot by either side, as we had no idea of anyone's positions. All too soon the sun rose and I risked a peek out of the window, and I could see the German post, and surprise, surprise, seven Jerry's carrying ammo down to it, so I gave them a good long burst with my Sten, not stopping until the magazine ran out. The result was that the carrying party was dead and the men in the post had taken cover, and by firing my gun my mates knew we were still there alive and kicking, and they shouted out to me. It turned out that they were foxed up in a square about seventy-five yards away, and without showing myself I shouted that I was coming back, and if they could try their hardest not to shoot us, we would be grateful.
We escaped by putting the bayonets on our rifles and digging holes in the soft plaster walls of the house, and after we had gone through three houses like this we went downstairs into the basement, and found the rest of the boys in there. Was I ever so glad to see anyone, and found that mucky had posted us as missing as he was sure we was dead, he was really glad to see me, and I him. We had a nice brew up and I showed them how we had dug through the walls, and we soon all got on the job, I looked over and saw that Maclean had made no effort to get up and help, so I shouted at him to do so, but he held up his arms and said “I cant corp”. He had been shot through the muscles of both arms and they were a real mess. I said something kind to him, and turned to get on with escaping, when we heard friendly voices, and it was the Worcester's come to relieve us, as in the hour or so since I had shot up the Germans, they had withdrawn. As we stood there talking over the battle so far, a sniper shot one of the Worcester's and I dragged him to safety, but his foot was still sticking out of the doorway where I got him to, and that bastard shot him through the foot. I had never really hated the Germans until that point, but there was something so nasty about that act that I decided never to give them the benefit of the doubt after that.
We regrouped later that day, and were told of our next job. We had to go through the “Foret de Vernon”, which was on the road to a place called Gasny, we advanced towards the area, and came upon a small Chateau, which after a light battle we occupied, but no sooner were we in and having a look round, when we were counter attacked. We did seem to get our fair share of trouble. We beat them off after a short but furious battle, and the Germans withdrew, peace descended, and the bastards came back for a third try but this time we saw them off for good. We lost three dead from 11 platoon. We pushed on up to Gasny, where the local people took a liking to us, and we got billeted on a women called Josephine. One day all hell broke loose, and Ken came in laughing his head off about something, and turned out that the local resistance had rounded up all the girls who had been German soldiers girlfriends, and shaved their heads bald. Then they had marched them through the town with the local band playing in front, and the people turned out to boo and jeer them. In all we spent about two weeks there, and it was very pleasant. We passed our time getting our gear back up to scratch, and training the new boys, and all the corporals got made up to sergeants, so I had that extra money made over to May again, because as I said before, I had no use for it, and who knew if it was my turn tomorrow?
Orders came through, and our short-lived peace was over. We mounted up to travel we knew not where, and had a most pleasant ride through the country, and all the towns we passed through had the usual crowds cheering and waving, pleased to see allies after so many years of occupation. We arrived at a place called Linhout, and we got our briefing for the forthcoming battle, then on to Dissent, where we made company H.Q. In a farmhouse, then we went on and on and we realised the Germans was in full flight, the Dutch people was fantastic, it gave us real sense of what we was fighting for, and they made us feel like heroes and we were certain that the war would soon be over, we kept on until we arrived at Nijmegan, then we went a little further to Elst, after crossing the Nijmegan bridge. The dead Germans was everywhere, no-one would touch the bodies for fear of booby traps, but most had their boots carefully removed by the Dutch, as they were such good quality, and the poor Dutch were deprived of everything by the Germans. We, ten and eleven platoon, dug in around a house at Elst, and in front of us was a dyke, and on the other side was another house, which twelve platoon had. Well all was fine at that time because the Germans left us pretty much alone whilst they concentrated on the airborne boys up the road in Arnhem, and when they finished with those poor sods they came for us, and the next four days was constant shelling, and as a result we lost a lot of men killed, including Major Stewart, who had sent us on them bloody courses a lifetime ago, and all this in what was supposed to be a safe area! All those that got killed are buried in Arnhem cemetery with the airborne boys. The Germans attacked twelve platoon over the other side and overran them, and they captured one of their boys, twelve regrouped and counter attacked and won the house back, but the Germans continued to lob grenades over at us, and they blew our doors and windows out, and we came under some shell fire, and one shell got a direct hit on the roof where Kenny was, with Warr and Duke. I heard a scream and went running towards them, and when I got there I found that Kenny had been hit by a large piece of shrapnel in the foot, which had taken about half of his foot away, I gathered him up and carried on my shoulder to the basement, and then on to the aid post. [See Note 2]
Major Hutchinson had to organise a fighting patrol to find out where the Germans had put themselves, and he was about to detail someone, as no one would volunteer, and as I looked about at all these tired young blokes I thought, sod it let them sleep, and I volunteered. A new lieutenant came with us, lieutenant Peter potter, and he didn't know a great deal about fighting. We slipped out of our positions and crept forward, and we reached the edge of some woods, I called a halt and listened carefully. We could hear a foreign voice, but we were too far away to place it, so I decided to go forward. I told Lt Potter that if he heard the Germans firing that we would get down, and to open up with the rest of the patrol (Ten men). He reckoned that that was too dangerous, bloody cheek, but he couldn't come up with a better plan, so we stuck with mine. As we got closer we heard English voices, and it turned out to be twelve platoon doing the same as us, and the foreign voice was their Canadian Sgt, talking French to somebody. But it goes to show, our Lt was all ready to open fire first, and ask the questions later, so he was lucky that he had some experienced blokes with him. As we all pulled back to our lines, we came across a new minefield that had been laid in our absence, that's how close the two sides were to each other. We reported in and got told that the American 82nd Airborne were taking over, and that we would pull out that night.
We withdrew to the river Maas, each man holding the coat of the man in front, as the night was that dark, in front of me was Baby Riley, and in front of him Parsons, and beyond that I couldn't tell. I was the last in a long line, so I was a bit worried when Parsons turned to me and said “Sgt, I haven't got hold of the man in front anymore”, well that was it, we were alone, but by great good fortune we stumbled back into them all, and made our way to the river, and found that we had transport in the form of ducks waiting for us, and we were the last to get over, as we had been the last out of Elst, and the Thirty of us (ten platoon) jumped on to our duck and set off. It was a wide river, and half way over we started to round and round in circles, I looked at the driver, and he just shrugged, and shouted “That's it, the steering has gone”, and with that we started to drift off to towards the Scheldt Estuary, which off course was heavily mined, but we was spotted from the far bank and they came to get us. If it wasn't the bloody Germans trying to get us, it was the bloody service corps! We got out on the far bank, and went to the marshalling area for a hot meal, and when we were given cold soup I started to look for someone to complain to, but there was no one there, and there was nothing they could have done anyway. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.
From there we went to Groesbeek and Mook, and all we saw on the way was smashed up gliders, left over from the Market Garden landings, we stayed in Mook for four or five days, and then we went back to Nijmegan, where we prepared for another attack, but we stayed there for another two days, and then advanced up to the Reichswald Forest, getting ready for the assault on the Seigfried line, and we was a bit worried about it, for we had heard a lot of tales about it and how well it was defended. The whole area was flooded because the Germans had opened up the dykes, but it didn't stop us advancing onto Kleve, which the 15th Scottish division had cleared, but as we moved into the town we came under heavy fire, as the Germans had let the Scottish through, and now hit us hard, and we lost a lot of men. We eventually got to our objectives, but the town had been absolutely flattened. We went from there onto Bedburg, and we had to attack several buildings, one of which was a lunatic asylum, and the patients were wandering about the grounds, they kept on saluting us, and doing drill, it was funny at the time, but we all felt sorry for them afterwards. Sgt major Davies was killed by a shell which landed out side a house he was in. A piece of shrapnel came through the wall and hit him straight in the side of the chest and got his heart. It was bad because he was leaning on a wall, and had he of had his arms by his side he would only have been wounded. It was a shocking sight, it was appalling what we went through as young men. Pure chance could still get us, no matter how good we thought we were. We advanced and then that was us, those that were left, through the Reichswald and onto Xanten, it was a hard fight and Mucky got himself wounded, and he got the MM for directing fire onto enemy positions with Ernie Grimes. From there we moved back to the Till-Gennep area for a rest, and we stayed there for about two weeks, and it wasn't a bad little rest.
We were now on the banks of the Rhine itself, and for the crossing they gave us Buffaloes, bloody enormous tanks with the turrets taken out. They were huge, how the hell they were going to float I had no idea, It was about the scariest thing I had ever done in the war, going over that bloody river in a solid lump of iron that looked like it wanted to sink. When we got to the other side we had to jump out of them, and as they were about six foot off the ground, it was a wonder that we didn't all break our legs.
We broke out of the bridgehead on march the 29th, and we fought a running battle with stubborn and fanatical rearguards, slinging mortar and spandau fire at us, we fought our way through Sinderen and advanced to Varsseveld, where we ran into strong opposition, so we waited until nightfall, then we took the place without getting into too much trouble. We woke up in the morning after about an hours sleep, and got put straight onto transport, which took us to Ruurlo, on the way we had a small fight over a red cross building, and then we advanced to Lochem. My section was given a house right on the edge of the town, almost the first house. We had to attack over a cornfield and as we crossed the barbed wire fence I got caught and I reckon it saved my life because by the time I got myself free the others were all dead. Killed by sniper fire, I had been in full view but did not get shot. I ran back and got a tank to fire at the trees where I thought the Germans were, and then out they came, 30 odd Germans. I went among them, looking for the sniper badges, I don't know what I would have done had I found any. I then went over to the house we had to capture originally. The tank crew were already there having a cup of tea, and suddenly there was a ping as a bullet came through the window killing the tank driver. It could have been me or Johnny Martin, who was nearby, but it was his turn. The tank crew were very upset, as they had been together since Normandy. We put the body on the tank and went back to company headquarters and stayed there for a couple of hours and had a hot meal and a drink.
It was April the first and four years to the day since my wife brought me my call up papers to me in bed in London. Then I was secure in a nice house, young son and a caring wife. Now they had been bombed out and lost everything, and I was a long way from home, in a ruined farmhouse with the five bodies of my friends being taken away for burial, it was a brutal reality. By the next day the town had been taken and we were on the way to Haarlo, where we rested for a few days, then on to Hengelo for four days. While we were there we found the headquarters of the local SS headman. We smashed every single thing in that house, not one thing of any use or value remained. I remember having a lot of fun in there. We also found an egg packing plant and we put out the word for everyone to come and help themselves. We had them, boiled, scrambled, even raw and every which way. We all had wind for a few days which gave us all a laugh. We then moved on to Oldenzaal as reserves. I don't remember much at this time as I was stilled dazed by the events at Lochem.
We moved on through the countryside, but we no longer had contact with the Germans, and when ever we did catch them it seemed that someone else got the job of dealing with them, so apart from some shelling, and the odd bit of sniping, life had become fairly quiet, and we eventually got to Bremen. The battle for Bremen wasn't particularly hard for us, and we took no casualties. From there we were supposed to take Bremerhaven, but Monty said stand down, and that was the end of the war, it all felt a bit strange. When we heard for sure that it was over Tommy Handley said to me “Come on Dick, lets have a service”, but I said “No mate, you take one if you want, but I'm going for a walk” and I took myself off to be alone. There were only four boys left who had started out anyway, and I wanted to remember the mates I had lost in my own time. We was posted back to Celle and life was good, it was very relaxing, and all we had to do was guard duty, keeping the Germans safe from the Poles, but that's another story.
| Richard Henry William Brew |
| 2nd August 1915 - 13th August 1997 |
Notes
1. Major Hutchinson took over the operation, despite; in his own words “Having been taking it easy up the back, and as a junior officer, I never dreamed that I would be thrust into command. To be woken up and told that you are about to lead men into a battle, not having listened very hard to the briefing, is never easy!” He did, however, rise to the occasion superbly.
2. I never saw Kenny until after the war, when he invited us all down to see him, but he got admitted to hospital just before we got there, as his foot had gone sceptic, so we went to see him in hospital. May sat next to the bed, and as she sat down the chair collapsed. Well I have never seen anyone laugh so much in all my life, and as I looked around at him and all his family, smiling and happy, it was difficult to remember that this young boy had made the Germans dance by firing at their feet on hill 112! I was glad that they never got him.