On the 28th August 1939 I was twenty-six and a bit years of age. I don’t know why I have started writing. I had no intention of doing so , especially about the War years, but sitting and thinking about the 15th January 1991 – just 8 days away – and I’m seventy seven years old, seventy-eight in May, and another war is in the offing – it brought back memories of the part I played 50 years ago. A different war of course, because back then we were directly and without any alternative completely involved.
War then could have been avoided if we and our Allies had taken note of what Hitler was doing and intended doing in Europe. We let the man do what he wanted and allowed him to get away with it. We really had no choice. Who’s fault did you say? There is only one answer to that. From the late Twenties’ we had a load of useless politicians – have we ever had anything different? Well I suppose in some ways we were better off. We had The Empire which we drained of life to our advantage. We built transport systems all over the World: South America, India, Africa. The bank rate was 2 and 1/2 percent, there was no inflation and the Pound was worth 4.95 to 5.00 US Dollars. We were the envy of the World. We just went on producing and selling. We did not need real politicians, so we didn’t have any! There were people sitting in The House of Commons, but they didn’t do anything except close their eyes to what was going on around them. Had they been just a little alert, war could possibly have been avoided.
I was in the Territorials, a Gunner in fact, and from 1930/31 onward we were taught to recognise German aircraft. Why? So we could shoot ’em down when the next war came! What happened? We had a stupid sod of a Primeminister named Ramsay MacDonald who decided on disarmament – our 1932 Camp was at Blackdown near Aldershot with a Mountain Pack battery, listening to 10 pack mules farting as they moved over the slopes of the Surrey and Hampshire Common Land. No cash available for our AA Shells, only 3.7″ guns, not even a .303 bullet for a rifle. What a shower! A round of 3.7″ cost 3 pounds seven and six. Ramsay MacDonald was a Labourite, we had a Labour Goverment from 1928 – 31. He continued as Primeminister until 1936 but with a National Goverment. Then Baldwin took over ’til 1937 – still a National Goverment – and then the “umbrella man” Chamberlain took over until he was kicked out by Churchill. But the War was on by then. What a shambles, and though there were no party politics, they still “slept” in the House of Commons! What I am trying to say is that if we had had anyone with a grain of common sense, someone who could see what was happening in Germany, war could have been avoided. As it was, we were so weakened by the intransigence of our useless leaders, we were unable to help the countries we had promised to help after the 14/18 War, i.e. Czechoslovakia, etc. etc and finally Poland. There was one man about the time of 1937/8 who had considerable foresight. He was called Beaverbrook. He became Minister for Air and started building our airforce. Quite a number of my friends joined the equivalent of the TA and formed the Volunteer Reserve Squadrons of the RAF. Getting back to the crux of the matter, today we must not give in to Saddam Hussein one iota over Kuwait.
Now back on course. The 28th August 1939 – I and my mates slept on the concrete steps of the White City Stadium at Shepherd’s Bush in London. We were a new lot remember, we were only formed in 1939 and in fact only a few of us had even fired a gun. We were originally due to go to our first practice training camp a week later at the beginning of September, but we headed for the real thing instead. I must add here that after the Disarmament programme of the Labourites, the programme was cancelled when the National Goverment was formed in 1932, so some of us had had the experience of live Gunnery.
So the morning of 29th August saw us in coaches and trucks leaving London and going no one knew where. My old Battery, 159, went to France almost immediately. We ended up on Dartford Heath with four 3.7″ machine guns, some ammunition, a prediction and height finder……. and nothing else! I think we had a couple of officers, Lt. Hawes and Lt. Gibson, and three very old Sergeants. Most of the chaps had never seen a gun, so I was immediately made a Limber Gunner. That suited me. Number 5 on the gun; the chap who pulled the firing lever and who became a wet nurse to his gun. He never left his gun, never went on parade, no duties or fatigues, he was excused all other duties. It was his gun and no one else could touch it! (Thanks to www.limbergunners.ca, who confirm that the Limber Gunner was detailed to care for the maintenance and preservation of the gun. Although there is no exact date when this position was created, the rank of Lance Bombardier, the rank that a Limber Gunner was appointed to, has survived from the old Grenadier Battalions of the British Army that lasted up to disbandment in 1855 – Ed). The Limber Gunner knew more about the gun than the Number 1. Fifty-six grease nipples in the roller racing, “Tela…… (Dad’s writing indistinct – Ed) T26 Grease Gun, graphite and C70 for the shining portion of the piece, 240 lbs of air pressure in the recuperator and don’t forget the buffer and the “tell tale”. The case firing mechanism was a good show off. I could take it to pieces and put it back together again blindfolded, all twenty-three pieces.
Get on with it!
There was no perimeter fencing around our site, there was a rough track entrance from the road, with a blue tent for a guard. We had to have a guard because the IRA was active at that time, putting bombs in letter boxes in London and so on. BUT the guard have to have a rifle and there were only half a dozen of us who had ever fired one, and unfortunately I was one of them! So the poor old Limber Gunner had a 3.7″ gun during the day and a .303 rifle at night. For good measure though, we nearly shot the Major! He visited one night and did not halt when told to do so. I can’t remember his name. He was a short arrogant little man. He did not last long. I think he was “Bowler hatted” soon after Christmas. I’ll tell you about that later.
Anyway, there we were on Dartford Heath and the first words from us all were “Where’s the cookhouse?”, “Where are the latrines?”, and “Where are the ablutions?”. Well we soon built some lats and ablution benches. A water tank was put up for the washing facilities. The lats were a wooden framework with a tin roof, and a long trench with a pole over it to sit on. I only used it at night when it was peaceful and one could sit and gaze at the Harvest Moon. But what about food? Well “blow me down!”, about 4 o’clock The Co-op arrived with the evening meal, and this continued for a few days. Huts were erected for sleeping, etc. and a cookhouse was built, and a fence appeared around the site. We sandbagged the gunpits and we were settling in fine.
Then came Sunday 3rd September. We were digging slip trenches for the gun detachments. “Lord Knows why” for if the enemy came we were supposed to fire on them, not take cover! Well our slip trench was being dug when the air-raid sirens went off in Dartford and so we took post at Action Stations behind the guns. There we were when Lt. Gibson came round to inspect us. He said “Put on your gas masks and gas capes!”Then he said “Where is your slip trench?”. We pointed it out to him and he said, “Get in it!”, so we got in it. There we were, all eleven of us, standing outside the gun pit in our slip trench which was all of ankle deep! What a shower! To our delight we heard a plane coming and we heard gunfire. It was over the Thames Estuary but turned out to be one of ours. Well Sunday came and went and so did The Co-op. We now had a cookhouse and rations were delivered, but no cooks! So who could cook? Josh Harries said he would have a go, so he and two or three others took on the job. I must say that we did rather well and everyone was satisfied, particularly Josh and a few friends who managed a nice rump steak for themselves every night! We soon had a Canteen going and some chaps arrived from the Army catering Corps to take over the cookhouse.
As a unit we were a very mixed bag, and were what was known as an “Officer Producing Unit”. We were in no way, at this stage of the War, an attacking force and had to concentrate on defence, and Gunner Officers were required in large numbers. Two OCTUs pittsburgpa online
(Officer Cadet Training Units) were formed, one at Shrivenham and one at Oswestry in Wales. No action except we were on the move and away. We left the guns and equipment on Dartford Heath – good job there was no action as only a few of us had ever fired a gun!
This was the middle of London, we were at a Junior Girls School and the rest of the Battery joined us. We were in Hackney – a bloody good place to be – no guns, no nothing! A perfect target for enemy bombers. So what did we do? We had a large photograph taken in the playground, had lectures in the classrooms and made use of the facilities as best we could. The lavatories were too small to sit on – they had been especially made for small girls, so there were no stalls for boys.
Now we are on the way again, going out of London. Blow me down! We’re at Whinchmore Hill; we’ve stopped at my old Football Club Ground at Hedge Lane (Borough of Hendon, N. London – Ed). They’ve put up some huts; we’ve got some guns; but we’ve overflowed onto the Saracens Rugby Club as well (the nomads of English Rugby, Saracens played at Fir Farm, Whinchmore Hill for a time – Ed). There are also some strange looking sheds on wheels in a corner, and on enquiry, someone said it was called “Cuckoo”! The huts are not ready for occupation yet so about thirty of us are sleeping in the pavilion. We are almost touching each other and the palliases are as hard as iron! I slept next to Jack Winder, an old friend, but he had an awful habit; he just stood up in the middle of the night, turned left or right, and “did it”! Woe betide the poor bloke who’s turn it is!
It was getting a bit chilly now, and we moved into the huts which had a large coke burner in the centre of the room; so we sat around it when not working. I of course was still a Limber Gunner and was learning about “Cuckoo” which was RADAR in its infancy. We used to get “Action Stations” at various times of the day or night. We were still an odd lot. Alfie Sassoon, nephew of Sir Phillip (3rd Baronet, see Link in Blogroll – Ed), was on one of the guns and whenever he went to “Action Stations” he carried a huge suitcase with him. It contained bottles of Whiskey, Gin, etc. which he refused to leave in the hut. Strange things happened in those days. One went on guard duty at night and by ten o’clock next morning when the Orderley Officer came round, half the guard would be missing; or one or two chaps on a fatigue would disappear. Where to? Well, London of course. Why? To get some officer’s uniforms. The Papers in those days, or rather The Times and The Telegraph used to publish a list of names of those Commissioned. So off they went to London for officer’s uniforms.
We had our TAB jails at this time, (can anyone tell me what Dad means here – Ed?) and the first lot of us were given 48 hour leave passes. I was one of the lucky ones because it was soon discovered that it was not leave but 48 hours “excused duty”. A friend of mine had a Morgan 4 (the first one was built in 1936, and 77 years later Morgan are still making them – Ed) which he used to lend me to go home on leave to Epsom where Claire was now living with Ma amp; Pa, and of course little Antony.
The weather was getting bitterly cold and we were on the move again. We arrived somewhere near Gloucester, and I was now a Sergeant; three stripes. Our 3.7″ mobile AA Guns pointed down the valley. Over the river behind us was a Searchlight Unit. We soon got rid of it! A few nights later “Jerry” came over and the searchight, all fifty million candle power, went into action. So did “Jerry”! We could see the bloody bullets coming down the beam and most of them were aiming at us! We made the searchlight battery move the next day.
We were off again and on the road to North Wales, a place called Aberporth in Ceredigion on the West Coast, a lovely village (55 years later another Josh Harries went to Aberporth – to the firing range on MOD business – me! – Ed). The trouble was it was snowing and we were billeted in people’s houses or in the Village Hall. God it was cold(!) and we had to do our best with the rations which were issued to us, and buy food from the village shop. There was a mobile butcher, and Bill Bolton and I used to buy steak and cook it on a Primus Stove in the Village Hall. Bill was an old friend of mine for many years and he got the Belgian Croix de Guerre, mainly because he was posted to Brussels and his Wife’s Family were fairly high up in the Belgian Government; they were Belgians of course. We should have been fed at the gun site which was a couple of miles away, on the cliffs overlooking the sea. We couldn’t get there however because of the deep snow. I don’t think the Battery ever did get up to the gun site. We spent a miserable Christmas and then went back to Millhill Barracks outside London.
One incident sticks in my mind afer all these years. I was Orderly Sergeant and the Orderly Officer was 2nd.Lt. Flower. We called him “Daphne”. He was the son of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. He and I had to tramp through the snow to inspect the Guard on the gun site. The Guard, twelve men and a Sergeant, turned out with fixed bayonets. That was all right when he inspected them at “the slope” (Slope Arms! – Ed). Then he gave the order for inspection “Port Arms!”. Just imagine! They came to the “Port” with bayonets still fixed. Well! There they were, left foot forward, rifles held across the waist pointing forward with a bayonet sticking out in front. The officer is supposed to take the barrel in his right hand and look down it to see if it was clean, and then examine the breech. Some hopes! It would probably have ended with a bayonet up one’s nostril! Daphne said to me; “What shall I do now?” I said; “Better dismiss the Guard soon and we can go back to our billets”. So that’s what he did, thank goodness!
So were now in Millhill Barracks, the home of the Middlesex Regiment, and on parade the next morning only eight men turned up. I was one of them. All of the rest of the Battery were sick, the consequence of our Christmas in Wales! The Medical Officer decided there was only one way to deal with the situation, so everyone was sent home on seven days sick leave. So we all had our throats swabbed and away we went.
The major got a “Bowler Hat” (left the Army – Ed) and we never saw him again; or at least I don’t think so. It was only January 1941 at this time, and although I was only a Sergeant, I did not see an officer above the rank of Lieutenant until October of that year when I went to OCTU (Officer Cadet Training School) at Shrivenham. of course I may have seen one, but if I did they made no impression on me!
So, back to Millhill Barracks after Leave and then to Blackdown and into barracks. We were to be issued with kit for a hot climate, and it was all very secret, and we were allowed a weekend pass to see our families if we could get away in the time given. Claire, who only lived at Epsom, came down and we stayed at a bed and breakfast house at Frimley Green, and of course spent most of the time in The White hart in Frimley – a lovely old pub.
Our weekend over I discovered that our guns and stores had gone to Aberdeen and were being loaded onto a ship – for onward to where? Where do you think? Of all places; Finland! I don’t know who the Fins were fighting at that time, either the Germans or the Russians; the Germans more likely. We had no casualties except a Sergeant who was killed when the leg of one of our 3.7” guns fell on him on the quay at Aberdeen. We finally though stayed put at Blackdown because either the Germans or Russians had already beaten the Fins!
We did have British troops in Finland because a later friend of mine – a Captain A J H Hopkins was a Movements Officer there and was lucky to get away, and I later met him in Palestine. In civilian life he was a Cargo Loading Manager at George V Dock in London.
So there we sat! It was all so bloody “hush hush” we knew nothing, but our guns and equipment had disappeared, and I found out later it had gone to France. Our advance party had gone and we were to follow. We were going to Abbeville, so away we went, full of hope, and ended up in Finsbury Park, North London! What a shambles! The Troops had given up in France and were now in the middle of Dunkirk (and the evacuation). I became part of a small party to go somewhere; I’m not certain where – Portsmouth or Southampton – to help get the chaps off the boats and on to trains to wherever. Then back to Finsbury Park. Our guns, etc. duly arrived back from France so at least we had something to do. I was a full Sergeant by this time and I had a gun and detachment of twelve men, a driver, a Matador (Towing vehicle – Ed) and a load of ammunition, a motorcycle and a couple of Bedford 3 ton trucks.
I can’t remember how long we stayed at Finsbury Park. One day I was called to a tent or marquee with Geoff Healy the Sergeant in charge of No. 2 Gun. Geoff was a musician; he ran a dance band in civilian life and played at a club in London’s West End. So we were called to what was known as an “Orders Group”. We were both given a map reference and told to take our guns and equipment and make our way there as soon as possible. There had evidently been air raids in the area and there was only one old 3” Anti Aircraft Gun mounted on a hill near where we were going. Our map showed us a bit of open ground between Swansea and Neath on the South Wales Coast marked Jersey Marine Golf Course. It was a hell of a way! (now Swansea Bay Golf Club based in the village of Jersey Marine – Ed). We said “What about food?”, and were told to fend for ourselves and scrounge what we could from civilians along the route. We had a couple of bell tents and some sort of equipment for cooking, but we were careful to stop on the way where it looked most likely we could scrounge something to eat. Most of the public were very kind and helpful and I think in one or two places we were given live chickens. Anyway we did not starve. There was no Severn Bridge in those days and so we had to go north a bit and through Gloucester.
So here we are in Wales. It’s usually a hell of a job to put down a 3.7” mobile Gun and get it level, but I chose a nice Green (don’t know what hole it was!) and the gun was level in no time. What next? Get something cooking. Sometime later Geoff Healy arrived and put his gun down on the next Green about 30 yards away. There we were. We heard from the locals that there had been firing at the port of Swansea, so we presumed that was why we were there. There had also been bombing raids which we were to find out about later ourselves. However, what were we to do? Just fire at anything that came over I suppose. Just make a noise to encourage the poor old locals. We were quite happy.
Lo and behold, the next day, who should arrive but Taffy Evans with a Vickers Predictor and a UB2 Height Finder (During World War 1 instruments were introduced to provide laying data; typically Height and Range Finders (HRF) were optical rangefinders of the coincident type, for example the Barr & Stroud 2 metre UB2, that also measured the elevation angle and hence produced height. Deflection was found by entering the range into tachymetric devices that tracked the target in range and elevation to determine the rate of change and hence the deflection –Ed) and a few vehicles and men. Taffy Evans was a Warrant Officer 3rd Class – a Troop Sergeant Major, so we were a Troop! Two guns and a Command Post; no officer just a useless Sergeant Major BUT a couple of first class Sergeants!
Taffy selected his Command Post and had his tent put up; tested the prevailing wind to erect a corrugated iron Cookhouse on one side and on the other side, some Latrines. Next, dig some slip trenches behind the guns and Command Post and then get the guns calibrated. Our “aiming point” was selected somewhere near The Mumbles, and we were ready for action. Why the hell we always had to dig slip trenches I shall never know! We were there to fire our guns against the enemy aircraft, not to hide in the bloody slip trenches!
I’m writing a few words today because it’s the 28th March 1991 and Dad was taken prisoner on that day in 1918 – the day of the “Great German Onslaught”. He wrote quite an interesting little book about his captivity by The Bosche. he called it “Scavenging For The Bosche”, because he did not get further than behind the German Lines. I shall not elaborate because anyone sufficiently interested can read all about it – Josh has a copy (that’s me – Ed).
My story is on Jersey Marine Golf Course, and we are two guns and a very ancient Command Post with a Troop Sergeant Major in charge.
It is just after Midnight and the Air Raid Siren has gone and the searchlight, about two miles from the sea on top of a hill, has lit up the sky. There is a Heinkel IIIK (a German aircraft designed by Siegfried and Walter Günter in the early 1930s in violation of the Treaty of Versailles. Often described as a “wolf in sheep’s clothing”, it masqueraded as a transport aircraft, though its actual purpose was to provide the Luftwaffe with a fast medium bomber–Ed) circling overhead, and it is dropping bombs on us – the screaming sort – very frightening – but they do no harm. They fall onto the sandy golf course and explode with very little noise. The searchlight has picked it up; a marvellous target. There is a loud voice from the Command Post; “TAKE COVER!”. There is a loud voice from me; “NUMBER 1 GUN STAND FAST!” I am on my knees behind the gun shouting “TRAVERSE RIGHT. RIGHT. ELEVATE TO 80 DEGREES. TRAVERSE. TRAVERSE. HALT. LOAD FUSE 7. TRAVERSE. HALT. FIRE!” Up goes the 56 pounder. A hit! We have a hit and he comes down in the sea! We heard the next morning that the crew of five were picked out of the sea, taken to hospital and given hot cups of tea, etc. I and my gun detachment did not even get a thank you!
We did not stay long at Jersey Marine. We were on the move and ended up in a field a short way to the east of Newport in Monmouthshire. We were a larger Troop now: four guns and an officer in charge named Lt. Dunlop. Another Troop were in a field about a mile away. We had huts to sleep in and a Sergeant’s Mess; a proper Cookhouse and a Cook! Evans was still with me, but we were a happy crowd.
We were bombed one night but the bombs dropped either side of the gun site and made a few holes. Had some fun one afternoon. We were following a Heinkel at Range Control. We could not engage – it was almost out of range – but away in the distance coming towards us in formation were three Junkers, 87s (also known as Stukas-Ed) I think they were. We laid on them using the dials controlled from the Predictor and loaded Fuse 11 and got the order to fire from the Command Post. They were sitting ducks. We shot them all down. Four shells exploded in the middle of them and they all disintegrated. Job done! We saw a fair amount of action as there was not a lot of air defence in this part of the World. Gunners were few and far between despite the “Territorial’s” and the Officer producing units. The War was not yet a year old….and anyway it was going to end last Christmas according to the pundits!
We were into early September 1940 and one afternoon the Telephonist in the Command Post kept getting phone calls saying “CROMWELL”. He didn’t know what it was all about so he called Lt Dunlop, our only officer, who went to the Command Post and phoned Ops. He was asked if he had heard of CROMWELL. He said yes; that he was the first silly bugger to get a haircut! However, it turned out that CROMWELL was the code word for the German Invasion of Britain and on that day the Church Bells rang in many places and we went to permanent Action Stations.
As we all know the invasion did not come off. The Rhine Barges that the enemy was coming over on were sunk by the RAF and Hitler and Goering danced in vain!