1944-45. ENGLAND - ARNHEM - GERMANY – ENGLAND.

by Stanley Holden.

This is yet another book about Arnhem, not as the main feature, but as a prologue to my service in the Palestine Police.

My piece on Arnhem started approximately 12 years ago, when Charlie Mason living in Uppingham, a nephew of a 10th Battalion Scotsman, who had married a local girl.

Charlie thought it would be a good idea to write up our history from its formation in Palestine in 1943, when the 4th Brigade was being formed in the capable hands of ‘Shan’ Hacket. As I had only joined the 4th, in March or April 1944,I promised to put down as much as I could remember. I did manage twenty single pages, which took me to Tuesday 26th September at Oorsprong, and my meeting with the Borders.

Eight years passed with our annual gatherings and I had now written another forty pages of life as a

Kriegie [POW]. By now Charlie had typed my twenty pages and put it in a nice white plastic folder with large letters on the front ‘NINE DAYS IN SEPTEMBER’. I had now shown it to a couple of squadron members whose names appeared in the tale, ‘Vic’ Capper and Jack Standen, who didn’t laugh too sarcastically, another chap asked to see the original copy, and as it is exactly the same I wondered why? He probably thought a ‘Richard Head’ like Holden couldn’t put two sentences together. (Could be right). I was kick started into drawing up the four chapters I had now written, some a couple of times, into some sort of order. I showed my posh copy to a pretty blonde lady married to a Glaswegian, running a Bed and Breakfast, at 3 Candacraig Square, Strathdon, about fifty miles inland from Aberdeen. My wife and myself had gone to Scotland for a wedding in Strathdon. The organiser of the ‘do’ had sent us a map, and a list of B&B’s. We visualised a smallish village, with maybe a square and few shops, we had a surprise when we arrived, after a fourteen hour journey up the length of England and half-way up Scotland, to find our imaginary village stretching for about two miles along the road with a sparse scattering of houses all well kept. The hotel having the wedding being at the other end of the village.

It was after a very well cooked evening meal by cook/owner Ian Edgar and his wife Mary when I showed them my story, and they asked to borrow and peruse. Next morning Mary gave a few well chosen words of encouragement and, as Mary had been a television producer, maybe she read in my tale more than I was able.

Anyway, I will now carry on my tale in my plastic folder with my arrival in the 4th.

I joined the Squadron in March/April 1944 with about a dozen others from the 1st Squadron, before which we had been in the 591 Squadron, in the 6th Airborne Division. Most were younger soldiers who found it a bit strange mixing with the older, seasoned campaigners.

Some of the pre-Arnhem memories are of Saturday nights in Leicester, our usual destination. Dancing above Burtons with a quick dash to a hotdog stall before catching the truck back to camp. Sometimes the stall was sold out, so roll on breakfast. We could sometimes stop overnight in an air-raid shelter for 6d (2.5p) with a cup of tea in the morning. We then had to get up early to catch a paper van, at about 5.00am which would travel via Market Harborough, and villages, and eventually reach Glaston in time lor breakfast; it usually cost 6d for the driver. One night, about a dozen of us missed the truck and had to walk the 23 miles to Glaston. We set off after midnight and arrived home at breakfast time and were put on a charge, not for being late, but for taking so long to walk 23 miles; I think it was George Harris! Another time we again missed our transport, and whilst debating what to do, an RAF 60ft trailer drew up, the driver and his mate happened to be ‘Paddy’ Watson and ‘Jock’ Patterson, they had acquired the lorry from somewhere. As I bunked in the same room as them I got in the cab: the rest had to make do in the wind on the trailer. It saved walking. The lorry was taken along the road beyond the village and left.

Uppingham was our nearest metropolis; there was a forces canteen in the corner of the square for the usual tea and cakes. Dances were run in the village hall; never enough ladies. Pubs were of the quieter type, darts and dominoes, the lower orders never frequented the Falcon Hotel, unless to drink in the bar! One evening a crowd of Americans were in the village, a fight soon started which went up and down the main street until the MP’s came and sorted us out. Once we went into the school for a hot bath in the boys’ pool, for another we went to the swimming pool in Leicester at the same time as a party of RAF aircrew were practicing their dinghy drill. In between enjoying ourselves we were training and generally being kept busy, usually by Troops or Sections. My first officer was Captain Scott-Fleming who had transferred from the 1st Squadron at the same time as our little group. He believed that as paratroops, we had to be self-sufficient and carry everything we would need. So he would have us using four pouches for our ammunition and grenades, instead of the usual two. He was eventually transferred to the War Office, I thought well of him, in my lowly strata of society.

One exercise the Squadron was on took place on the Yorkshire moors over period of three or four days, marching all day then sleeping out in sleeping bags in the heather. The weather was good so it wasn't too bad. The last night of the exercise was spent in Scarborough in a pub with the longest bar in Britain. It looked deserted with just a dozen sappers spread along it, most of us being a little footsore! Another exercise was down south, in conjunction with the 6th Airborne Division training for D-Day; again this was about three days. I missed it as I had been naughty for some reason, and was left in Bisbrooke with one or two others. As we had nothing much to do we decided to go hunting for rabbits to supplement our diet along with another bloke who had been in Italy with the Squadron and had acquired a Beretta rifle. As we had office hours it was after ten before we got out, all the rabbits must have gone to bed because we didn’t see one. We then decided to go fishing, so we armed ourselves with half a dozen gun cotton primers and trotted off to a small river down in the valley across the road from Bisbrooke Hall. We were fairly successful and managed to get enough for a meal, taken in the splendour of Bisbrooke Hall kitchens, followed by a siesta. Army life is not too bad.

Just before Arnhem our Troop went to a lake on an estate where some Poles were stationed to practice watermanship. That is crossing rivers by various methods, such as tying logs together and using jeep trailers to float across. It was the first time I had seen men wearing hairnets to keep their hair in place, it was a regular practice with Polish men and it raised a few comments amongst us.

During this time I blistered my hand and it turned septic, it became so bad I had to go into hospital in Oakham and have a couple of operations to clear it up.

To get home from the local villages and towns, bicycles were often acquired and the local police once called at Glaston looking for them. They found about twenty or so, some stuck up trees! As the year rolled on apples and pears in the orchard at the back of the Hall were becoming ripe and the old gardener came complaining about the fruit disappearing. Young ‘Georgie’ Boyle was with him, dressed in brown shorts and shirt looking very serious.

The inside of the Hall had protective plywood put over some of the walls to save the decorations, and strips of wood on the stairs as a safeguard against our hobnailed boots. ‘Georgie’ Boyle said that the house had not been too badly knocked about. In fact we had improved something, which was the septic tank. Corporal Robert Taylor was in charge of it. I remember seeing him, stripped to the waist, digging holes near the kitchen. Also a sump was dug in the field in front of the house, near the main road. It was quite a hole: about 15ft long, 6ft wide and 6ft deep with a foot or two of dirty water in the bottom.

One afternoon, eight or ten of us were sitting and admiring it when someone suggested it could be jumped over. It was then decided that we all give 6d to anyone who could do it. There were one or two half hearted jumps on the side and a few glances at the dirty water. Sapper ‘Bill’ Coleman said he would have a go, as he was slightly built and fairly fit, as most of us were. He took a long jump and cleared it easily, collecting 4 or 5 shillings which was good money. There were no other takers, the rest of us being too faint hearted. Somebody said it was easier to jump from a plane.

Another moneymaking scheme of the ‘old’ soldiers was working on the land. After duty and at the weekend they were hired by the local farmers to work for a couple of hours. It was a bit of a closed shop, and was only rumoured at and strictly unofficial. Another pastime was playing rugby against local civilian teams, again a bit of a closed shop, probably because of a certain amount of free beer and refreshment. I believe popular opponents were the steelworkers of Corby.

I was on guard in Headquarters when D-Day came over the wireless on the Tuesday morning. That started a succession of operations which never materialised, on some occasions we even loaded the aircraft ready to go the next day. On other occasions we had foreign currency issued which was smartly taken back. I believe there where seventeen aborted operations in all. In the operation before Arnhem, our Division was going to do what was attempted with two American and one British Airborne Divisions. Our Troop was going to drop at a place called Grave, which I didn’t like the sound of!

On the 16th of September we were all ready to go again. It was a Saturday and we were confined to camp. It seemed unusually quiet, the blokes with wives, girlfriends and fiancés, or all three, were saying their last goodbyes. Three of us decided to chance going for a drink, so we crept out of the rear of the Hall and walked down into Morcott and had a couple of pints in a small pub. I am glad we were not caught out, we would probably have been shot!

On Sunday 17th September, we heard of the 1st Parachute Brigade drop and so knew we would definitely going on the Monday. We already had our kit and foreign currency, it was just a case of roll on Monday.

Monday, 18th September 1944.

Reveille on Monday 18th was at 0600h and we were up quicker than usual, probably the excitement of finally going. Breakfast was Machonochies stew and I managed a good plateful. Later I would often dream of the platefuls I could have stuffed in myself.

Mid-morning we left for the aerodrome, passing some people living in a row of houses on the right (now demolished), turning right down the hill and to Spanhoe Airfield. Yes! We went straight to our Dakota to hang about, as there was a delay of two hours on our departure time because of bad weather. We had our last pee on the side of the plane for good luck, in my case three! I was now feeling slightly tense, similar to the first parachute drop, or going to the dentist to have a tooth pulled. We set off at noon, a normal departure except for a group of WAAF’s* sitting on a fence, waving us goodbye. The journey across England was similar to any training exercise, except for a greater number of planes. Later on, across the Channel, you could see a number of fighter planes escorting us. As we closed on the Belgian coast near Ostend, our American dispatcher put on a flak jacket, which made us think a bit. He appeared to be a bit more nervous than us, probably thinking of the return trip. We crossed the coast with wide, sandy beaches stretching for miles (the tide must have been out), and sandhills behind. Our height was about 3000 feet, which gave us a good view of things. Further towards Holland we came on flooded land with the odd farm sticking up. It seemed worse than over the sea. Beyond the flooding we passed over what must have been the battle zone, with spasmodic firing going on. We had been dropping lower as we neared the Drop Zone and the flak increased. We were then ordered, “Stand ready to jump”, having already hooked up and tested our own and each others strop half half a dozen times. (nervous twitch) I have still got it!

* Women’s Auxiliary Air Force.

By now the noise deafening and there was rattling on the roof of the plane, someone mentioned it was shrapnel from the shelling. We had now slowed to our jumping speed and the dispatcher was busy at the door of the Dakota, which had been open during our flight. There were some large baskets and bundles, which he commenced to push through the open door.

Now it was our turn: we huddled closer to each other waiting for the ‘green’ to go. I was about fifth or sixth from the door so I went out quite quickly: a normal exit. The firing was still intense, with more of what sounded like small arms fire. Looking around the drop zone there were more paratroops dropping than I had ever seen (obviously), there seemed to be an awful lot of smoke about, as though the heather was on fire. I don't know how anybody could see the smoke signals we were to make for. As I lowered my bag with my equipment in it, the extra weight made it fall very fast, so I made a grab at it with my hand, causing a scorch mark across the palm. (The kit bags are made to fit onto your leg with the bottom of the bag over the toe of your boot, you then have a line of about 20ft which can be let down. On the line is a tube and handle with which to grip the line. If you don't the speed of it will snap the line, bang goes your kit-bag: maybe forever!) I was now floating down nicely and able to have a good look around and listen to the snap and crackle of small arms fire. My landing was normal and I quickly had my equipment out of the kit bag and on my back. I linked up with others of my Troop. We were sent in the direction we had dropped and came to a sandy track on the left, towards the edge of the heathland. We were met by Lieutenant Ken Evans, who had dropped on the Sunday with the 1st Parachute Brigade, as a guide to help us on our way. I also saw a dead German lying on a bank by the track, I couldn’t see any injury: maybe he was just having a kip! How he came to be so far inside our drop zone, I don't know. There was still a lot of small arms fire going on in the pine woods surrounding the heath, though it had quietened a lot since the planes had left, and things were fairly peaceful.

The Squadron had now gathered towards the left-hand corner of the drop zone going south. We had various discussions and gossip on our actions to date. (We had only dropped ten minutes and already we were ‘line shooting’.) Somebody mentioned that John Bull had a bullet across his chin, which had not been too serious, and that the OC, Major Perkins, had dislocated his shoulder. Corporal Dai Morris put a small bandage on my scorched hand and, as the firing had died away, so everything seemed OK.

I was Number 2 on the Bren with Sapper MacIntosh, a Londoner, as No.1. We slowly walked onto the track and into the pine woods, making for the railway line leading to Wolfheze on the way to Arnhem. We appeared to be near the end of a long snake stretching into the distance. In our briefing in England, the Squadron’s task was to go to high ground to the north of Arnhem to stop any counter attacks by the Germans: we seemed to be tail-end Charlies! Anyway, on this track appeared a German, an officer I think, a massive character who looked over six feet six inches tall, wearing a tin hat and striding up the middle of the track, obviously a prisoner. I don’t know where he came from, but just looking at him scared me! He would have done well in the Brigade of Guards. Further along was another group of prisoners, sitting a little a little dejectedly in a small hollow, not looking too bothered at being prisoners.

We now came to the railway track, left for Arnhem and right towards Amsterdam and the coast. It was stop, go, and at not any great speed or urgency. Somewhere along this part of the track, some Dutch people from across the railway lines were giving out water. A young girl was getting most of the attention, and getting most of our boiled sweets in exchange (these sweets had been issued just as we left and were stuffed in our smock pockets). Up to now my battle had been just a stroll in the sun, very pleasant and not too strenuous or frightening. If we had been back in England we would have been thinking of returning to barracks for tea.

We halted at about dusk and were informed by Lt. Toby Thomas we would be digging in for the night on the railway line on top of the embankment, and across the line of march. Macintosh and myself were ordered to dig in with the Bren facing away from Arnhem. We scraped the stone ballast from two set of rails to make a slit-trench. The rest of the Troop was spread about the track and in the woods below the embankment. By now it was dark and we must have been the last people away from the drop zone, and we hoped that ‘Jerry’ wouldn’t be following us. There were electric pylons along the railway track, these had been broken and cables were trailing down. We hoped this meant that no trains would hurtle along to disturb our sleep! It was from the top of the embankment that we could see and hear the battle going on in the distance towards Arnhem. It was a fight with plenty of all sorts of gunfire and lighting up the sky making it bright enough to read by. The 10th and 156 Battalions were trying to crash through towards Arnhem at a place called Johannehoeve, a mile or so beyond Wolfheze and on the left of the railway track. This fight went on for about an hour or two until some time around midnight (as we had no watches, my times are guesswork). As the row ahead quietened and the fires died down, we settled down to get some rest, taking it in turns to be on guard and peer up along the rails and to hope we could hear any intruders, (as an aside I had acquired a parachute to keep us warm at night, but it had been filched by someone of senior rank). As the weather was good to us and not too cold, we could snuggle down in our little slit-trench and doze off.

Tuesday, 19th September 1944.

We were roused before daylight to ‘stand to’ for about an hour until full daylight. Again we set off along our track and through the trees on our left, we saw gliders on Landing Zone ‘S’. Wolfheze was a little further along the track. On the left was an open space with a row of about ten cottages, some of which had been bombed. There was a small station with a station office, on the right and down the road were various styles of houses, detached and nice looking. Also on the right was a tall, school-looking building which, I believe, was a mental home. This was bombed on Saturday or Sunday and the patients had wandered about on the 1st Parachute Brigades dropping zones. As we arrived, some firing broke out across the railway track: it was some snipers in the hospital, and for a short while a private little battle seemed to be going on. As we did not seem to be very busy I mooched across to have ‘a nose’ poked my head around a corner into a sort of quadrangle, the ‘war’ seemed to be over, probably sorted out by the infantry. So I sauntered back before I was missed. I wasn’t. It had only lasted half an hour.

Our Troop was still hanging about the bombed cottages, and lying on a door was the body of a small girl about 8 years old. She did not appear to have any injuries and was probably killed by bomb blast. It seemed sad and useless. I knew most of the main points en-route into Arnhem had been bombed. Here either side of the railway had received the bombs and not the railway. It was here, at about 1100h, that we were strafed by Jerry fighters, probably ME109s’ They came along the railway track at about 50 feet, so we smartly dived into bomb-holes or behind some large tree. trunks. The raid only lasted about twenty minutes and didn’t appear to hit anyone: maybe we were too quick for them. One of our bosses was a little slow diving into a bomb hole, and landed on a crowd of quicker sappers, which led to some mutterings. We were now ordered to form up to resume our march, along the same track and in the same direction. Just at the junction of the path and crossing, a Corporal, who shall be nameless, accidentally fired his Sten gun, the bullets striking the ground a couple of inches from the foot of a German prisoner. The poor bloke went white, he must have thought he was being seen off. I felt I should apologise for our Corporal.

We were still going along the railway, passing a wooden building on the left. It looked like a weekend chalet, and had been well looked into, the inside being very smashed up. About a quarter of a mile along, the track gradually sloped down into a basin shaped, open heathland, surrounded by the usual pine trees. The railway line was now on the top of an embankment about 40ft high, with a tunnel approximately six or seven feet high and wide, with an oval roof, passing under it. Ever since early morning we had been mixed up with various units and, with plenty of people about, we seemed to have come to a halt. MacIntosh and I were told to take our Bren into the open, about 50 yards from the track, and dig-in. We started our trench slowly as usually no sooner had you got a slit-trench dug you had to move off. We were digging by a small tree six feet tall, our trench was 18 inches down: entrenching tools are not very good diggers in hard-packed soil. We heard the sound of planes, fighters, which appeared beyond the railway embankment and, sneakily, slowly cruising around in circles. Some people were saying they were ME 109’s, others saying they were Spitfires: they were until they peeled off and started firing along the line of the track and the woods on the other side of the embankment. Somebody shouted not to waste ammunition firing at the planes. There was a quietness, the track was deserted with most people huddled in trenches or hiding amongst the trees, ‘Mac’ and me felt very exposed. Now the planes circled out and came firing up the valley at right angles to the track; right over our heads at approximately 50 feet; it seemed a lot lower! The two of us dived into our trench and wished we had been more energetic. It is a bit scary when you have a fighter plane giving you it’s individual attention. I think it only made two or three passes at us. I picked up one of the cannon shells being fired at us it was still hot. I think the fighters were aiming at the tunnel under the railway, which was full of people, some wounded. We were called in from our lonely spot, a bit late I thought. Eventually the fighters went home and gave us a bit of peace. We were not yet on the move, there seemed to be a hold-up ahead, somewhere near ‘Johannehove’.

I think the time was around early afternoon and the weather was very pleasant with a nice smell from the pine trees. One person was dressed in what looked like a RAF uniform, complete with peaked cap. He was crouched in a slit-trench and looked completely lost: maybe he was some sort of liaison officer?

Anti-aircraft guns now started firing again and the sound of planes and small-arms fire came from ahead. The planes were Dakotas bringing the Polish Parachute Brigade reinforcements. They first appeared coming from the direction (Wolfheze?) a mile or so to our left. Again, all sorts of gunfire was going on, and similar to the day before, only on a smaller scale. Viewed from the ground, the sky in the distance seemed full of planes, and we had a grandstand view. As we looked, one Dakota gave a puff of smoke from one of its engines; it carried on for a bit further, then peeled away. Everyone thought it would carry on towards home; instead it turned again and started back towards the drop zone, where the dispatchers started pushing out its bundle of supplies. People were shouting for it to leave “Fuck off”, as by now its engines was well alight. It was in a bad way and getting more than it’s share of ack-ack fire. It was now on its return flight over towards Wolfheze and was dropping all the time, until it disappeared behind the pine trees with flames stretching back into the body of the plane. I think this was the last plane, and if it had not gone around again to drop its load of supplies, could probably have crash-landed with a certain degree of safety. We on the ground were willing it to leave as soon as its fire started (Flight Lieutenant David Lord, the pilot, received the VC for this action and only one person got out alive from the crash).

The Poles taking part in their drop, certainly seemed to be getting it ‘hot’ and, as the planes left, the battle on the ground appeared to grow worse, with a continuous rattle of small-arms fire. It was near this time that I saw a jeep with attachments for carrying stretchers: lying on it was a Pole, with what looked like a wound at the top of his leg. The jeep was just able to squeeze through the tunnel. I think the time was 1700h, and things did not appear too good ahead. Odd blokes seemed to be drifting back and an officer standing on the brickwork of the underpass tunnel was directing people across the railway line. I scrambled up the embankment and, from the railway line, tried to see what was

happening ahead, but was unable to see anything because of the pine trees. On the other side of the embankment several of the Squadron were gathered and seemed to be waiting for orders to move off. (Years later George Harris told me that the Squadron had gone along the track where all the fighting was. Mac and me seem to be having it cushy).

The next thing I recall is being on the road from Wolfheze leading down to the main road into Arnhem, which is called the Utrechtseweg (it actually lies parallel to the river). I saw a vehicle of the Recce Corps with the troopers wearing the light tan berets, (I believe they could have been SAS Phantom or some such funny mob.) and which I naively thought were the Second Army (silly; they said only 24 hours!) As we marched down this road, the Wolfhezeweg, a lady was at the gate of one of the large, detached houses on the left. I think she was dishing out apples, but I was not lucky enough to get any. By now I was feeling peckish as all I’d had was one cup of tea the night before and some of my boiled sweets which were nearly all gone. Further down the road we halted near a track through the woods coming from the right. ‘Mac’ and me a few yards up this track and lay on the ground with the Bren. We heard some shouting coming from along the track, when six paras came running up, making a lot of noise to make sure we did not fire at them. I don’t know if they were a patrol or if they had just been out on the scrounge, I think a scrounge, but they were very relieved to be in amongst us. It was now getting dark and things seemed a little confused and unsettled. We moved down along the road and onto the Utrechtseweg, the main road between Arnhem and a distant Utrecht. During a short halt I found myself falling asleep against a gate to a garden of a large house. The area towards Oosterbeek on the road to Arnhem, has lots of fairly large, detached houses set in their own grounds, all surrounded by the usual pine trees. Eventually we arrived at a very large mansion-type of building known a ‘Sonnenberg’. We were led to a grassy area looking down a field and told to rest up until morning when we would dig-in as we would be stopping for a couple of days.

As it was a dark night we couldn’t see much, only the Squadron out to our left and right. We lay on the grass dozing and seeing all sorts of imagined shapes in the darkness, not knowing that the next six days would make up for the quiet time we had so far.

Wednesday, 20th September 1944.

We stood-to before daylight, as it grew lighter it showed an open field with a few cows grazing at the bottom. On the right were the usual trees, hiding a lane. On the left, a small triangular copse of close-growing smaller trees about 20 feet wide at the top and 30 feet in length, leading again to a narrow path alongside. This field was some 50 yards in width at the top increasing to 100 yards at the lower end. It was about 150 yards long with a gradual slope down. Along the bottom was a minor road leading on the left to the Utrechtseweg [Valkenburglaan]. To our left was another open field where crops had been harvested, and 200 yards distant was a house with a balcony along the upper floor, we could just see the roof and some of the upstairs windows. Our positions were under trees of various kinds: massive oaks, elms, hawthorns and sycamores. We were actually in the grounds of an estate called ‘Sonnenberg’.

The building was similar to a country mansion, and some Germans had been billeted there, some females, I believe. We were at the rear of the house and close to its outbuildings and stables. Our HQ and Major Perkins were installed in the house, after stand-down an officer came to allocate our defensive positions. On our left we stretched along to meet the Glider Pilot Regiment. In the front, in the triangular copse, was Captain Cormie with some of his Troop: by now all the Squadron had become mixed up. On the right we spread down the lane a short distance, all of us under trees. MacIntosh and me were facing down the field with a good field of fire. Major Perkins came inspecting our positions during the morning: I was in our slit-trench trying to look busy. His shoulder was strapped up, he had dislocated it during our drop; he looked reasonably happy. Anyway he stood over me and said to dig well in, as we would be stopping in this place for a couple of days. As Squadron Commanders don’t often converse with lowly sappers, I felt privileged, and even dug out a few more entrenching tools worth of soil from our slit-trench. With so many trees roots it was hard work getting a good depth.

Around this time some of us, about ten or fifteen, were told to go into the house to get some sleep and rest. As we went into the back of the house, there was a cobbled courtyard with steps leading into a large hall. Wide, very steep stairs led upstairs with very high, wide stained-glass windows. On the right was a round-shape room, which was Major Perkins’ office. We went into a large room overlooking a large, grassy field, in which patio doors, led outside to a paved area with a stone balustrade. In the room were two high wooden bunks, but we just lay on the floor, I managed to share a parachute which someone had brought along. This was when I first met Sapper Hanlon, with whom I was to meet and share and ‘muck in’ with when we were POW’s. He had a sleeping bag laid along the doors leading to the patio, overlooking the field with his kit laid, he had made himself nicely at home. As I did not recognise him I asked him in the usual friendly manner who “the effing hell” he was. He said he had only arrived in the Squadron a few days before and was in HQ [2] Troop. I thought it hadn’t taken him long to settle in. After our rest I went for a look around, the outbuilding were shaped around the courtyard, one being a large affair, probably for storing farm waggons. There was a sign to the effect that it was booby-trapped, but I saw a sapper casually going in. He said was just to keep the infantry out (sneaky, but useful.)

Back in our area a certain amount of firing had ... oops sorry! broken out in the woods at the bottom of the field, and a lot of shouting was going on. Some were shouting that the Poles were coming, others that it was Germans dressed as Poles, wearing our yellow triangles. The firing was growing stronger, with the continuous sound of something like a Vickers machine gun drumming out. It started something of a panic, with everyone dashing about and nobody in charge, eventually things quietened down. ‘Mac’ and I had dug another trench, it was overlooking the open field on our right, looking towards the ‘Bilderberg’. ‘Mac’ decided to brighten things up a bit by firing a Bren magazine at the house. All it seemed to do was break a few more tiles on the roof. An officer came and asked what we were firing at, we hurriedly said we thought we had seen some movement at the windows. It gradually became dark, so we stood-to and prepared for the night. There was a certain amount of small-arms fire going on, with flares going up in the field, making everything as bright as day for a minute or two. I think it was more nervousness than anything else. A barrage of shells started falling on the left at the far end of the field. It would be on or about the Utrechtseweg which was some 500 yards away. Somebody said it was the guns of the Second Army artillery. It kept up for about half an hour or so and created a cloud of white smoke, then mixed with a mist that had come down, we had the daft idea it was gas! Things quietened down and we snuggled down to another night in our trench.

Thursday, 21st September 1944

Morning stand-to passed off peacefully, so I had another scrounge around. On the side of the house I came across Sapper ‘Blondie’ Nealon, in a long window set at ground level in the cellar of the house. He was sitting on a chair set on a table, which made the right height for firing. (Blondie’s friend had been killed, I believe he was an only son and it badly affected Blondie.)

(After the battle I found out that it had been Brigade HQ, who where surrounded in the woods across the road at the bottom of the field being led out in a bayonet charge by the OC Brigadier ‘Shan’ Hackett. I don’t know who was the most frightening: the Germans, the Poles or Shan Hackett!)

I squeezed down into the cellar, it had been some sort of store-room or canteen, which was well and truly wrecked with nothing of value left, especially food, though I managed to find a very small tin of Bouillon, something like a soft Oxo cube. There was also some wafer-like biscuit, similar to Ryvita. Somebody said it was German dry rations, but it was too mouldy to try and eat. We had been supplied with two packs of one-day dry rations, these were made up of oatmeal biscuits, which could be mixed with water to make porridge. There was also a dried tea, milk and sugar mix, which made a ‘not very good’ cup of tea. We had some sweets and a couple of pieces of toilet paper, which would be handy, if and when we got some more food. When we dropped we were told we should link up with the Second Army in 24 hours, 48 at most, so all being well they should arrive shortly. Tomorrow? There were various mutterings along the lines of “where the f...k is Dempsey and his Second Army?”

It was now the shelling started, which stopped all movement, all you could do was cower down in your trench and hope for the best. Up to now all I have written sounds like a holiday brochure, even the fighter planes were just an annoyance. It is difficult to give incidents a specific time sequence or chronological order. I saw Sapper ‘Lofty’ Weldon being carried away on a door by four soldiers shouting jokes about ‘Blighty’ wounds. I think he had been shot in the leg by a sniper, but I am not sure if he had been shot during Brigadier Hackett’s charge the day before. One day we received a supply, passing close overhead so that we could see the planes just above, panniers being pushed out of the doors, some dropping to our left. It came with the usual barrage of every type of weapon being blasted off. The enemy seemed annoyed we were receiving so much supplies. I can’t think why, as by all accounts they appeared to receive most of it! I have an idea it was this day Driver Seabrook was so badly wounded he was left to die. He had a fairly shallow trench in the open area inside our lines, he lay there all during the battle. Presumably he was killed by the shelling. I spoke to the Medical Corporal of the RAMC, he said he could not do anything for him. Incidentally, this Orderly did a marvellous job, and seemed to be doing it all on his own. It was all done in cellar of the house, the only reasonably safe place around.

We had moved into our original trench, which was further back under a large tree. I think we must have just had some tea, when Sapper Jack Standen came sliding up to us, with half a can of Machonochies steak pudding from the cellar where the cook, Corporal Tennant, was in charge of what little food the Squadron had. Standen brought another half tin another time and this was the only food I had all the time I was in the battle, except for our two-day ration packs and my boiled sweets, which were only a memory. Sapper ‘Vic’ Capper said I was a ‘blue eyed boy’ as he didn’t get any!

Again more fighting was going on down towards the Utrechtseweg, probably the Germans trying to break through the main road. The wood in that direction had been set on fire and was burning fiercely. Suddenly a horrible howling started from some poor soul, it echoed all around the woods and seemed to quieten the fighting. It went on for a few minutes until it subsided into sobbing moans. Somebody from the left said that he had been hit by a flame thrower though I don’t know if he was German or British. Whoever he was, he had our sympathy. [This was Captain Peter Chard of the 1st Air Landing Light Regiment, R.A. When he tried to put a German flamethrower-tank out of action, he was hit by the flamethrower. He was severely burned and died three weeks later in a hospital in Apeldoorn]

At one shelling, MacIntosh, Corporal Philip Hyatt and I hurriedly dived into a trench. As it stopped and we came up for air I got a blast of air which blew up my eyelids and, for a moment, I thought I was blinded. After shelling us the Germans had sent over some mortar bombs, which had no sound when coming down. One had hit the base of a tree, as we rose out of the ground MacIntosh, who was in the middle, said he had been hit and had got a piece of shrapnel above his left eye. I had only got the blast. Blood was pouring down Mac’s face over his eye. We put a shell dressing over the wound and he dashed toward the house for attention.

I met MacIntosh in Aldershot in 1945 after we had both been POW’s. Although he was blind in that eye, the eye had not been taken out. I suppose he was lucky it was not a larger mortar shell or a larger piece of shrapnel, which would have probably killed him.

Somebody now came and detailed me to go out after dark to bring in a pannier, which had landed in the trees on our left. There were some half a dozen under an NCO. After stand-to at dusk we waited until it was pitch black. Then we went creeping out as quietly as we could to this pannier, which we hoped would be filled with rations, but was unfortunately filled with artillery shells, which are not very light. Anyway, with much puffing and panting we managed to stagger with it to the house, where we put it on the veranda in the front of the building. It was a bit silly really, as a shell or motor bomb would have made a mess of the house if it had struck it. Fortunately, I think it was taken away the next day as shells were in short supply and probably more important than food.

Friday, 22nd September 1944.

I was back in my own trench, which I now had to myself. During the night it rained, not too bad, it didn’t soak me, but was just enough to be miserable. There was more shelling, some close. I think the Germans did it just to annoy us and keep us awake. They didn’t seem to like attacking at night, so we got a certain amount of sleep. Maybe they had a good Union!

In the morning, after ‘stand to’ I wandered off to see if I could scrounge anything, especially food. I wandered into the house, just off the main hall was a round-shaped room used by the OC as an office. It was empty now, as it was too dangerous to be in. In fact it had a shell-hole through the roof and through the walls. As the walls were some 18 inches thick, it must have been a hefty shell. This was the morning the Germans attacked on the right. It started with the clanging of a tank as it approached up the lane [Sonneburglaan]. As this was further over to the right I couldn’t see what was going on, but I fired into the trees lining the lane. The tank was stopped about 100 yards on the right and it seemed to be well in our lines. It was well and truly stopped as it caught fire and blew up, its ammunition making a fine fireworks display. It was during this incident that Sapper ‘Jock’ McKenna was wounded. He went galloping out to do battle, but unfortunately was wounded in his right hand (he told us later in the room of the house). As he bent down to nurse his hand, he got a bullet in his arse - that stopped Jock’s gallop! These attacks were going on all around the perimeter most of the time, and at different points. Again things quietened down, I noticed a Glider Pilot strolling across our position from right to left, carrying a hare. I don’t know how he acquired it but he appeared to be very happy and so would his mates with the forthcoming meal.

I had made a meal out of the dried oatmeal, and added the Bouillon I had got from the cellar. Unfortunately I added it all to the mix and, as it was very salty, I now had a raging thirst and all my water had gone. Luckily it started to rain, so I was able to hold my mess tins under the downpipes of the house and get enough water to quench my thirst. It was a bit gritty, probably as a result of disturbance caused by the shelling but good enough for tea.

After the unsuccessful attack with the tank, the Germans now attacked up the left of the field to our front, up the path leading to the triangular copse. Sapper ‘Jock’ Patterson had taken over the Bren, with me as his Number 2. We were at the top which was the wide end, and about 20 feet away. There was a lot of intense firing going on, with the Germans doing a lot of shouting, (as usual). As there were some sappers in trenches inside the copse, we hesitated to start firing. I noticed a German on the ground, just at the trees last of the trees in the copse. He threw a stick grenade which, because he was so cramped, only came half of the way towards us. I tried to pull ‘Jock’ down into the trench from the grenade, but he was so busy firing I don’t think he noticed it. I was firing as fast as I could, but ‘Jock’ told me to stop as I was deafening him we had a bit of a row over it. Glancing to our left, I noticed Corporal ‘Phil’ Hyatt out of his trench and with a grenade in each hand. His Sten slung round his neck. He was at the top of the path, up which the Germans were advancing. This was only a quick glance, I was a bit busy to take much notice, however he did eventually get a Military Medal for his actions. (I think a little mention in dispatches for ‘Jock’ would not have gone amiss, but as I was the only one to notice, nobody asked me.) His citation said he stopped the Germans before they reached our positions, but they did in fact over-run some of our trenches. As the Germans retreated down the copse, the sappers who were in the trenches came out looking shocked and slightly pale, it wasn’t a very nice experience. Things quietened down, which gave us time to clean our weapons. In England this was a bore, but now it was done at every opportunity, and in turns, in case of surprises. Fear is a great slave driver!

Saturday 23 September 1944

The next morning, after another stand-down, I met a lone Pole who had appeared from somewhere and attached himself to our unit. I met him in the house and we went up the stairs which were now open to the elements, all windows in the house having long been broken. The Pole was very casual in his actions, not like me, nipping past open windows in case of snipers a couple of miles away - well you never know!? We had a quick look around and there was definitely no food and all rooms were empty. It was a bit eerie and quiet, and the trees surrounding the house were so tall that there was hardly any view from the top windows. We had heard that some Poles were being ferried across the river to strengthen our perimeter, so this bloke could have been one of them.

It may have been that very day that Sapper Jack Standen came to my trench and invited me to tea. I went to the cellar of the house where all the wounded were and there were also various other odd bods hanging about. It was so crowded that it was difficult to get down the stairs. Corporal Tennant had a small pantry or store room on the right with a small, oblong window which from the outside was at ground level. I sat on a chair facing the window, but he suggested I move because shrapnel had been coming in through the window, which I did, sharpish! I was expecting a meal, but instead, as there was no food left, I got a lovely cup of tea and a rest for ten minutes or so. Back at my trench I had a visit from an officer, an oldish chap, who sort of stopped for a chat. We discussed the merits of the tea in our ration packs. We both decided it was horrible. He said he used it for shaving because it made him feel so much better. I thought that a bit of a waste; bad tea was better than no tea at all. I did not mention the secret cup I had just had in the cellar, which was more for the connoisseurs among the lower orders. I think he had come from Divisional HQ, about 1,000 yards away across the fields in front of the house, just to see how things were in the trenches. I hope I impressed him.

Shelling was still going on at various times and I now found that my large valise (back pack), which I had left on the ground behind my trench, was riddled with shrapnel. It made me realise that some of the shells were coming closer than I thought. By now I had begun to differentiate between some of the incoming shells. There were three different sounds. The first one meant that the shelling was a fair distance away, about a 100 yards, and therefore could be ignored. The second was slightly different and was some 50 yards away, which made me take notice. The third sound made me dive into my trench and crouch down as low as I could. It was this type of shelling that caused all our casualties.

There were roots sticking out of the ground into the trench, and in my nervousness I plucked at them, so there were all these bits of root made white by my twitching fingers. When the shelling stopped it became unnaturally quiet and still, except for the cracking of tree branches breaking off. The ground was gradually becoming covered with these small branches falling down, cut by the shelling. During one shelling Sappers Rawlings and Higgins, who were sharing a trench with Captain Cormie in the little copse, were both killed. Captain Cormie had one side of his face pitted with black bits of shrapnel; otherwise he was unhurt except for shock. The luck and bad luck of battle! There followed another night in my trench, waking and dozing off and on. I think it rained that night, but again it wasn’t enough to soak through my clothes, so it was not too bad. Being under the trees kept most of the rain off.

Sunday, 24th September 1944.

At daylight the next morning, a nasty sight was revealed in a trench a few yards away, two bodies with their heads blown off. A shell must have landed on the edge of their trench. They were crouched down with their bodies level with the ground. The chap at the rear had his hand on the shoulder of the man in front. The hand was scratched away and I think the shell had fallen behind them. The chap in front only had his chin left, otherwise they were both decapitated. There were bits of their flesh strewn about the trench. Some six of us gathered around them, I remember Corporal Hyatt and Sapper Richards. Somebody suggested taking their name tags, but there were no volunteers for such a gruesome job. It was said that one of the bodies was Sapper ‘Joe’ Williams, and the other a Glider Pilot. I don’t know how I got this information, or who said it. (there is a Sapper R.J. Williams in the records as being killed on the 21st September with no known grave, which doesn’t coincide with these two bodies. Bill Coleman has given more information on this later in this tale).

There were more bodies in one of the out-houses, about nine or ten piled on the floor. I listened to a debate by three paratroops on whether it was ethical to look for food in their packs. However, I doubt if anybody had any food by this time. I don’t know how the bodies came to be here, or who brought them, or to which unit they belonged. By now we had almost given up hope of ever seeing the Second Army; General Dempsey and various other top brass had been well and truly cursed. However, one good thing was that things seemed a little quieter and we were able to move about a bit easier, our battle had slowed down. ln fact a group of us stood talking by the fence at the top of the field, when a German ran across the field near the bottom from left to right. He carried a rifle and had one of the fur covered packs on his back. He was so quick with a good turn of speed, that he disappeared before we could do anything, we didn’t seem too bothered. We were beginning to get a bit puddled, maybe the lack of food and not very much sleep was beginning to tell. I hadn’t washed, let alone shaved or taken my boots off since we had been in Holland, so I suppose I was a little bit smelly.

Monday, 25th September 1944.

This morning had the feeling about it of things being finished, a sense of anti-climax. Sometime during the day someone came around to the trenches to tell us that we would be retiring across the river during the next night. We were told not to gossip about it and also that we would be having a meeting to brief us about it later in the day. I remember feeling a little disappointed. As things had become a little quieter, I didn't see the point in leaving.

The briefing was held in the house, in the same room overlooking the front where I had had my sleep six days ago. It was taken by Captain Cormie, who informed us that the perimeter would be gradually evacuated from top to bottom and, as we were mid-way down, we would leave about 2100h. He said white tapes had been laid by the Military Police to guide us, that we were to wear socks over our boots to muffle any noise, and all our equipment to be secured to prevent any clattering. We were to hold the smock tail of the man in front. ln addition, the Royal Artillery would be firing tracer shells (flaming onions), from across the river over the crossing point, all during the evacuation as a guide. He picked half a dozen men to be the last to leave, so they could fire the odd bullet from the trenches to try and fool the Germans that we had not left. Someone asked about the Pole, but we were told not to tell him, which shows how neurotic we had become. The wounded would be left in the cellar, in the capable hands of the Medical Orderly, and would presumably be made prisoners.

It was now a case of waiting and preparing ourselves, to and getting socks over our boots. The half dozen of us detailed to give the parting shots filed out to our trenches, where we seemed to be a long time spending a few minutes firing the odd rifle bullet at nothing in particular (altogether it must have sounded like D-Day again, or the ‘Krauts’ were heavy sleepers!), we then hurried after the Squadron which had left through the front of the house and along an avenue of tall trees’ alongside the big field. Incidentally, this field had a jeep parked in the middle of it a during the battle, which had become more battered by shellfire as time went by. About 100 yards along in the woods some shelling came down ahead and on the right. It only went on a short time and soon petered out. We came to the back of some houses and passed through their gardens and onto a road. We walked over the broken glass of a greenhouse, trying to walk quietly in our socked-over boots. It was very dark. We seemed to be walking in a country lane, when a machine gun opened up directly ahead wounding some people  in front of us. There seemed to be a stalemate, so I yelled in some foul language to stop “effing firing”. The thinking being that our blokes would understand it, as they did. Before we left we were told the password would be ‘John’ and the reply ‘Bull’. As neither party had used it there had been a sad mix up. The machine- gunners were very sorry and apologetic and the wounded were helped along by their friends. on one of the frequent halts somebody said that a lot of the German shelling came from the brickworks across the river. I peered into a black space trying to see these brickworks. (Many years later realised how daft I must have been. We were in pitch dark, on top of a hill in a wood over a mile from the river and almost unable to see across the road!)

We had come to the Utrechtseweg, the main road through Oosterbeek into Arnhem. As we were making towards the river, a left turn would have us into the town. I stood in the middle of the road for a few minutes, looking around and seeing more because of the openness, being out of the trees. There were cables lying along the road from the trolley cars’ and the road itself was paved with the small bricks peculiar to Holland. Again there were the large detached houses with the mesh fencing around, and I now know this was near Division Headquarters at the HARTENSTETN HOTEL. The capital letters are for importance not a mistake by me!

Across the road, directed by the Military Police, we were once again under trees. I have an idea this is where our group went wrong. At a junction the road went left in a very sharp bend, but we went right.* This seemed to take us away from the direction of the tracer shells from over the river. We now were in another built-up area of detached houses, all dark and empty-looking, all of which could have been filled with Germans. Our party had now dwindled to five paratroops and I am afraid we seemed to be lost. The road we were on, again lined with trees, (there are some trees in Holland!) seemed to be blocked ahead. There was some shouting and talking going on at what I believe was a German road block, Probably one of many surrounding our perimeter. They started shouting “kamerad” at us, so we shouted “kamerad” at them, which really didn’t get us very far. Neither of us was going to venture too close to the other in a pitch-black night. So, our group had a discussion on what to do. A Scots Sergeant, whose name I cannot remember decided to throw a couple of greandes at them and, as I had acquired a Bren gun and had a full magazine left, we would give them a parting gift. We slung our grenades, fired our Bren and left rapidly, they didn’t take the trouble to reply.

* This was most probably the upper end of Hoofdlaan. They did not turn left into Kneppelhoutweg or go straight on via Hoofdlaan, but turned right in Van Lennepweg.

I now realised I was with Sapper ‘Jock’ McKenna whose hand was bandaged, dirty and looked badly swollen, he stumbled and nearly fell into a round shaped German slit-trench. He gave a miserable groan, as though life was becoming tedious. We wandered back up the road and came to an open field which we started to cross [the large open field South-west of Van Leppenweg]. In the middle was a shed, corrugated, probably a cowshed which we opened too noisily, because a machine-gun opened up from the top of the field. Fortunately the fire was too high and only shattered the woodwork above our heads. We don’t know who did the shooting, friend or foe, and we didn’t bother to find out. So, crawling backwards the rest of the way across the filed, we forced our way through a pine hedge onto a footpath.

From the Utrechtseweg we had been walking downhill and to our right. we were now in pine woods, all very tall trees with no undergrowth. We had come to a fairly steep area with a stream [the Oosprong] at the bottom. By now we were a bit fed-up, so we decided to call it a day. I propped myself behind a tree on the up slope to save rolling down and tried to get some sleep. During the rest of the night it rained fairly heavily, though, as before, think the trees kept a lot off us as we weren’t soaked. I was wakened once by some sort of large shell roaring through the trees like an express train, followed g by a massive explosion echoing through the woods.

Tuesday, 26th September 1944.

The woods were peaceful, but we were stiff, chilly and very, very hungry, but I think fear keeps most hunger away. Below us we could see some buildings, down the slope and across the stream, there was a fence made of cane, it hid a swimming pool [the private swimming pool of the Oorsprong Estate]. We squeezed through the fence and onto the pool surround, the water was green and not very clean looking. There was a parachute half in the water with an empty pannier (no food) on the edge. A small shed had cleaning equipment and gardening tools in it. Beyond the pool, through a garden or allotment, we could see a long white house or barn with a thatched roof, and a big double door in the middle. The gardens had a number of slit-trenches, and it looked as though a lot of fighting had been going on, in one trench a soldier was lying with large hole through his airborne helmet. (I thought he was lying on his face with a hole in the back of his helmet, but ‘Jock’ McKenna remembers him lying on his back with hole in the front of his helmet.)

This building called ‘Oorsprong’, was typically Dutch, with a house part at each end and a large barn in the middle [the long farm halfway along Van Borselenweg]. As we crept toward it, the barn door opened and a soldier* asked where we were going. He was highly indignant when he learnt the evacuation had taken place during the previous night. His unit was the headquarters of a company of the 1st Border Regiment, which had been fighting on its own, isolated from the main perimeter. Their personal little battle had petered out sometime earlier, through lack of everything. They were in the process of negotiating a cease-fire with the Germans. Some soldiers in the barn were hiding weapons and knives in the thatch and under the eaves of the roof.

*This was Private Joe Maguire, who I knew while a POW and during the years after, until he died in 1989. Joe always said he saved our lives by opening the barn door. If we had gone around the corner; we would have been face-to-face with the enemy.

So came the end of my little battle with a German, carrying a Schmeisser, ordering us across the road and into their positions.

We entered the barn, typically Dutch with stalls, which seemed to be filled with straw and soldiers taking their ease. They didn’t appear very interested in us, who looked a little battle-stained and scruffy. We were then taken into the kitchen, in the house part of the building, where a wounded officer was lying on a table. I think he was shot in the leg. I don’t think he was impressed with what little information we could give him. They had been negotiating a cease-fire with the Germans since sometime on Friday or Saturday when, I believe, all their supplies had run out, so there was no chance of scrounging any food from them.

Within a short time we were ordered out by a Schmeisser-carrying ‘Kraut’, looking a bit worried. He ushered us to the front of the barn-house, which was along a fairly narrow road, across which a six-foot high bank led into a large wood. Along this bank was a row of German trenches overlooking the road and the barn-house Oorsprong.

We moved further into a clearing in the woods to be counted. I kept a beady eye on a Spandau guarding us: if anything I was ready to take off down the hill which I later knew led down to the river, but I think the enemy were in some way relieved to have our little battle over with. A few came over to have a chat, all with American accents, probably having returned to the Fatherland to help with the war-effort. I also noticed a Corporal carrying a Sten with the new wooden butt and stock, it looked good. As it used the same 9mm ammo as their Schmeisser, maybe our Sten was not bad as it was made out to be!

This lonely fight the Borders had been having was quite easy, only the width of the road separating them. Up the road towards the main Arnhem-Utrecht highway, across which was Sonnenberg and our RE position, was a knocked-out tank [this was a French Renault tank, used by the Germans, and knocked out by the British!]. German trenches lined the road and a couple of Germans let off a couple of ‘joy’ shots, which would have been frowned on by our officers. (On this spot, Joe Maguire’s family placed his ashes and a little wooden marker. I go every year to polish his name-plate and generally tidy up. It was Joe who opened the barn door, he reckoned he saved our lives by stopping us stumbling onto the German position. He was probably right, so the least I can do is look after his little plot while I am still alive.)

When we were all out of Oorsprong we started trudging through the woods in a direction away from the perimeter. The woods stretched a considerable distance and, after a mile or so, we came on a tank park. There seemed to be about a dozen huge tanks being repaired. A ‘Sergeant Major’ type was scurrying around importantly: shades of ‘A Bridge Too Far’. We were probably led past deliberately to impress us, I doubt we were greatly, we were too cheesed off!

Eventually we came to a road and open farmland. Prisoners and guards slowly shambled along, stopping a couple of times for a rest and a wee. There didn’t seem to be many people about, until we came to a small town. It turned out to be Ede. We were marched straight through the main street (now a pedestrian shopping area).

In a small cafe through an open door, were some ‘old boys’ playing cards, which seemed funny, but the world was going on while I was messing about in Oosterbeek. The Germans were probably showing the Dutch how they had beaten us, were they giving ‘V’ signs surreptitiously? I thought the girls very pretty. We came through the town to the local barracks, a new building surrounded by a high wire fence. We were taken upstairs into some barrack rooms, all very clean, with washrooms attached. I was now able to look in a mirror, I looked like a chimney sweep, a result of sweating, combined with dust from grovelling in slit trenches. No wonder we didn’t impress the Borders, maybe we should have had a wash in the pool. I also took off my boots for the first time since leaving Bisbrooke on the 18th. I now hoped for a nice meal, and a long kip, but all we got was a slice of brown German bread (not Hovis) with what I thought was lard. I wasn’t impressed with German catering. Later I was to find the catering a lot worse and less. Food now takes over my life. Women have no attraction when you start getting really starved. Since the tin of Machonochies stew for breakfast when we left home, I had managed on two 24 hour packs, a handful of sweets, two half tins of stew Jack Standen had brought out to our slit-trench, plus my cup of tea taken with the mess caterer Corporal Tennant: that would be about last Thursday. I was lucky, Bill Coleman and Charlie Nealon had lost their big packs when they were blown up on a cart they were using to carry equipment, poor souls! Mind you they found the river, which I never did. (Billy swam half way across, was given a lift back from where he had just left, and managed to get on another bo