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In all this jingoistic waffle about V E Day I can't help but think how much my Dad would have hated it. He refused to collect his war medals after he found out Churchill had given himself a D-Day one for popping over to say 'very well done' and then beetled back to London, referred to Vera Lynn as Moaning Minnie and hardly ever spoke of what he'd seen and done.
He finally got his medals and opened up a bit when the grandchildren came along.
I can't remember when he was called up but it was probably 42/43. I know he did his basic in Derby because we heard about that when my Brother, who lives in Belper, sugggested a game of Pitch and Put and Dad recognised the gate to the park as the ones to his training ground. He was then sent to a R.E.M.E. unit and spent what he described as the most miserable Christmas ever in Fort William. Part of his training was on the floating D.D. tanks so that was probably 43/44. He always said being on a flat bottomed landing craft in the North Sea in winter was why he never got seasick.
The only thing he said about the time between that and D-Day was when he got a couple of days leave, probably just before they locked the troops down before the attack, was going home and as soon as he put his key in the door he heard his Mother call his name. She had no idea he had leave but knew it was him not his older brother who was also serving. (Younger brother not yet old enough. He went to India for partition.)
D-Day was probably the closest he got to dying. Got to the beach dry by hopping on top of the lorry and claiming to be guarding the kit when his officer questioned him then got inside for the run off the beaches. The villages were mostly clear but the Germans had left a rear guard including spotters in the bell towers of some of the churches. After the lorry was machine gunned leaving a row of holes just above Dad's head the tanks started taking out towers on principle. They then went down through Bayeux where he got five minutes of peace in the cathedral and came out to see a woman in full couture walking her poodle. After that was Falaise which he said he could smell before they got near enough to see. The place had been flattened.
A brief stop in Paris where he managed to bump into his brother, the only time they met all war, then on towards Arras where he became the liberator of a small village south of there. Humbercamps. They camped for the night just outside the village and Dad was sent in to make contact with the locals because he spoke French well having been to Grammer school. Him and his mate decided that the big house next to the church was probably the best place so they knocked on the door and were greeted by the business end of a shotgun followed by a surprised cry of Angalis? It turned out they had managed to find the home of the local resistance leader and it was his wife who had heard the knock and thought the Germans were finally going to lower the boom on them. This was the start of a lifelong friendship as those who had lived through the occupation never forgot the man who told them they were free.
After that was Brussels were they set up workshops in Heysel. You could still see the tank tracks in the cobbled streets years after where they'd been ferrying between the shops and the units camps, including the corner where he muffed the turn and knocked over a streetlamp and blacked out half of Wemmel. He them backed up, pushed it straight and got the hell out of there. That was the time he spoke of most because they had a chance to relax and get as much enjoyment as they could under the circumstances.
I know he reached Germany but he never said anything about that. His brother saw Bergen-Belsen and I think he blamed the strain of that on his early death from a heart attack in the 70s.
This afternoon when the official timetable says we should be partying I'm going to replant my rockery. Dad loved gardening and I think he'll approve.
He finally got his medals and opened up a bit when the grandchildren came along.
I can't remember when he was called up but it was probably 42/43. I know he did his basic in Derby because we heard about that when my Brother, who lives in Belper, sugggested a game of Pitch and Put and Dad recognised the gate to the park as the ones to his training ground. He was then sent to a R.E.M.E. unit and spent what he described as the most miserable Christmas ever in Fort William. Part of his training was on the floating D.D. tanks so that was probably 43/44. He always said being on a flat bottomed landing craft in the North Sea in winter was why he never got seasick.
The only thing he said about the time between that and D-Day was when he got a couple of days leave, probably just before they locked the troops down before the attack, was going home and as soon as he put his key in the door he heard his Mother call his name. She had no idea he had leave but knew it was him not his older brother who was also serving. (Younger brother not yet old enough. He went to India for partition.)
D-Day was probably the closest he got to dying. Got to the beach dry by hopping on top of the lorry and claiming to be guarding the kit when his officer questioned him then got inside for the run off the beaches. The villages were mostly clear but the Germans had left a rear guard including spotters in the bell towers of some of the churches. After the lorry was machine gunned leaving a row of holes just above Dad's head the tanks started taking out towers on principle. They then went down through Bayeux where he got five minutes of peace in the cathedral and came out to see a woman in full couture walking her poodle. After that was Falaise which he said he could smell before they got near enough to see. The place had been flattened.
A brief stop in Paris where he managed to bump into his brother, the only time they met all war, then on towards Arras where he became the liberator of a small village south of there. Humbercamps. They camped for the night just outside the village and Dad was sent in to make contact with the locals because he spoke French well having been to Grammer school. Him and his mate decided that the big house next to the church was probably the best place so they knocked on the door and were greeted by the business end of a shotgun followed by a surprised cry of Angalis? It turned out they had managed to find the home of the local resistance leader and it was his wife who had heard the knock and thought the Germans were finally going to lower the boom on them. This was the start of a lifelong friendship as those who had lived through the occupation never forgot the man who told them they were free.
After that was Brussels were they set up workshops in Heysel. You could still see the tank tracks in the cobbled streets years after where they'd been ferrying between the shops and the units camps, including the corner where he muffed the turn and knocked over a streetlamp and blacked out half of Wemmel. He them backed up, pushed it straight and got the hell out of there. That was the time he spoke of most because they had a chance to relax and get as much enjoyment as they could under the circumstances.
I know he reached Germany but he never said anything about that. His brother saw Bergen-Belsen and I think he blamed the strain of that on his early death from a heart attack in the 70s.
This afternoon when the official timetable says we should be partying I'm going to replant my rockery. Dad loved gardening and I think he'll approve.
