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In 1938 we were on holiday on the beautiful Scottish island of Iona. It was the time of the Munich Crisis and my sister and I overheard my parents talking about the inevitability of War and how New Zealand friends could arrange for us children to be evacuated to their home. We were horrified and protested: “we’re not going and that’s that” I think my parents were relieved that we had made the decision for them. When war was declared we were at home in a village outside Edinburgh and both of us decided that, when we were old enough, we would join up.
Because the Air Raid Shelters were not ready in time to start school in September 1939, we had a brief holiday in Perthshire and, on the way, our train stopped before crossing the Forth Bridge and we watched the first “dog fight” of the war. The Germans were aiming for the Bridge, but failed. It was quite a sight; fragile little biplanes circled round and round. It’s easy to forget that the RAF didn’t have very good planes to start with.
I was in the School OTC (Officer Training Corps) and I remember the shock when news came through that one of our senior boys who had left that summer had been killed in France. Very soon arrangements were made to defend the School’s Armoury and I remember standing in the grounds at night with a loaded rifle ready to shoot any parachuter who came near.
At that time something called the Y Scheme began. If a person was accepted on to it we were sent to University for six months to study various science and engineering subjects. I went to Glasgow University, but first did a brief spell at the Barracks in Alexandria at the southern end of Loch Lomond. It was a caricature of the Army; a sergeant with a voice like thunder, ghastly food, the porridge especially so, with sugar and condensed milk. The rumour was that the tea was laced with bromide for the protection of the local lassies!
Soon, we went off to a basic training camp on the cliffs above Berwick. It was freezing cold in spring and we did a lot of square bashing under the “loving tender care’ of a corporal who had never encountered lads from “toff’ schools before and nicknamed us the “pyjama squad’. He was determined to make life as unpleasant for us as he could until one day we found him with a comic. We asked him what the story was; he looked rather sheepish and just showed us the pictures. It was then that we discovered that he could neither read nor write. When we offered to read the story to him, he perked up and when we added that, if he liked, we would write home for him he was really pleased and life became a bit less awful.
One incident stands out for me. Doing bayonet drill, the Sergeant ordered us to charge the sandbag shouting at it “I hate the Germans’. I said I would charge with the best but would not shout “I hate the Germans’ as I didn’t hate them. I hated everything that Hitler and his gang were doing and would gladly do my bit in defeating him but hatred wasn’t my line. I was enough of a Christian to know that. I was threatened with a Court Martial for refusing to obey an order but replied that I doubted whether that particular order appeared in King’s Regulations. (which, incidentally, I hadn’t read!). After a week I heard no more. When it came time for us to leave the corporal was really quite sorry to see us leave.
The 6 months’ training finally came to a glorious end and I was posted to the 13th Medium Regiment, Royal Artillery who were then stationed in Kent. It took me a little while to switch from 25 pounders on which I’d trained to the much bigger 5/5 gun firing 100 pound shells, but they were surprisingly mobile.
About nine 2nd Lts. were in the Regiment and I was lucky enough to be selected to stay on. Soon, preparations for the invasion of France began. We’d no idea where we’d be landing but one task included making a detailed study of maps of the French coastline from Brittany to Calais and for about 15 miles inland. We had to make a record of all the hills in every area so that we’d know the angles of clearance needed so that shells would clear ridges and summits.
In the spring we moved north to Alnwick on the Northumberland coast. We drove through London in daylight and crowds turned out to shower us with gifts assuming, we supposed, that we were on our way to the Invasion. In fact we were hoping to give the Germans the impression that we were going to invade Norway, and thereby draw some of their divisions away from the Channel defences. I doubt we succeeded.
Training for D Day now intensified. Getting guns across difficult terrain; practice in using scrambling nets, loading on to landing craft, waterproofing vehicles with macintosh sheeting, using camouflage, use of compo rations and pep talks by Monty (or his double). I chiefly remember him saying that he would never commit troops to battle until he was assured that they had adequate supply lines. With one exception this was true of my experience in the France/Germany Campaign. The exception was that soon after the Battle in the Ardennes we were near Hertzegenbosch and were cut off for a few days. Food from captured German bunkers was disgusting.
Camouflage intrigued me because I could see right through the netting. It wasn’t until after the War that I discovered that I was colour blind. Had I known then, I’d have been a great asset to aerial spotting.
When D Day finally came we waited impatiently for our time to come. We moved up to temporary billets in London in or near Wormwood Scrubs. On the day before we were due to board our ship married men who lived near enough were given the evening off (we still didn’t know exactly where we were going). My Battery Commander and I, being bachelors, stayed on duty. The following morning the Regiment drove down to the docks. Cheering crowds waved us on our way but when we arrived we learnt that our Liberty Ship had been hit by a Doodle Bug.
By the following day the American ship’s carpenter had repaired the hole and we embarked safely and settled down to our trip through the Channel. As night fell we saw the V2s with their fiery tails making for The SE. of England. We could do nothing about it and the feeling of impotency was intense. Meanwhile the CO. of the Regiment told me to organise something to keep the gunners entertained. What to do on a ship? A Boxing Match between the ship’s American crew and the regiment? I called for volunteers and had 10-a-side arranged. On reporting to the CO. that all was ready and would he please referee the matches, he asked what I was doing. “Organising it all”. “No officer of mine does that without joining in himself. You will box with the rest”. Unfortunately I was the tallest and found myself facing the same ship’s chippie who was about 6’6’’ and must have weighed about 15 stone. I was 6’2’’ , only 11½ stone and had poor eyesight without my specs. On the very verge of landing on French soil, I woke up in the crew’s ward room drinking the most superb coffee!
Transferring to the landing craft and getting on to the beach at Arromanche should have been comparatively easy as the fighting had moved inland by then. I was to lead the guns ashore in a 15cwt truck. My first task on the beach was to rip off the waterproofing and in order to do this, I leant out of the roof hatch to grab it. At the same moment we went into a shell hole and I was neatly catapulted out of the truck and landed on foreign soil on my head! This did the general morale a great deal of good and I was none the worse. We spent the first night in an orchard where a number of dead cows were beginning to stink; they were horribly inflated and we named that place “the dead cow position”. I can smell it to this day.
On the following day we were on the move and I was in the tractor of the leading gun, along with one of the guns’ sergeant. It was a narrow road with a deep ditch on either side. Ahead I saw a German Tiger Tank coming toward us. I remember thinking; “What do we do now? No chance to turn the leading gun round or to get off the road to challenge it. Brazen it out and as soon as he’s past get quickly into action. But say nothing till we’re a bit nearer”. I glanced at the sergeant and he at me. A minute or two later I saw the yellow paint on the tank - it was a captured one! I said to the sergeant, “Gosh - a captured tank”. He looked back at me a little sheepishly. I’d seen through the camouflage, but even then I didn’t guess that I was colour blind.
We were beginning the operation to close the Falaise Gap and cut off large sections of the enemy. The Americans were attacking from the South and we from the West and North. I was sent to the American forces near Argentin to act as liaison officer. The HQ to which I was attached was in an orchard and their style of living was staggering. It was there also that I discovered one of the differences between American and British forces.
It was at this time that one of our Troop Commanders was killed. A German platoon had been surrounded in a small wood and came out led by an officer waving his white handkerchief. Our TC went forward to accept the surrender and the German shot him at point blank range. He died instantly. It was hard to stop the troop from lynching him. It was our first first-hand experience of the Nazi evil.
After the fall of Paris we made fairly rapid advances into the flat country of Dutch canals. This made advance a bit slow as we had to find bridges which hadn’t been blown. Again little events stick in my mind. We were in position close to the German border. The local Dutch farmer spoke not a word of English and we hardly a word of Dutch. In spite of my vain cries of “raus” he stolidly went on climbing up into his hay loft. I couldn’t be certain he wasn’t a spy and, in the end, drew my pistol. This had no effect whatever, and I knew, as I expect he did, that I wouldn’t shoot him. Another memory is of the farmer’s family who gave me a bed for the night - I sank deeply into a feather bed. Bliss.
The Ardennes battle is chiefly memorable for the appalling casualties suffered by our forces and especially the American troops at Bastogne. For me the extreme cold and the work of moving the heavy guns along icy roads were problematic. I wore everything I could get on and still froze standing up in my truck - but the drivers were magnificent.
Then came the operation to cross the Rhine. A vast number of guns, field and medium, were in position along the bank of the river and our Troop Commander went across at night with his wireless operator to direct our fire. Later in the night a barrage began of gigantic proportions. It must have been terrifying on the far bank. Unfortunately we lost contact with our TC. His wireless was obviously out of order or worse had happened. Just when we were sure that he had been killed, it became clear that the bombardier wireless operator had, under fire, more than once, and in the dark, stripped the wireless down without success. Finally in exasperation he kicked it and it sprang to life. I’m glad to say he was mentioned in despatches for this.
Our journey through Northern Germany was fairly straightforward. One incident stands out which again illustrates the devilish influence of Nazi values. We were in position on a low hilltop beside a small village. The Germans were not far away. I was concerned that some of the men of the village might betray our position so I ordered a muster of all males and arranged for a small patrol to take them away for the night.
To my utter revulsion the men and women of the village began to kneel and lick my boots, imploring me to spare them. They clearly thought I was going to have them all shot. I eventually convinced them that this was not to be but was disgusted that they should think that we would shoot unarmed non-combatants.
As we moved East we encountered one of the saddest and hardest situations to cope with. Some people who had been released or had escaped from a concentration camp came through our lines in dribs and drabs. They were horribly thin and weak but we were told that under no circumstances were we to feed them. If we did it would probably kill them. They needed hospital treatment and a gradual intake of food. It was hard to restrain the gunners from giving them things.
The ceasefire came when we were in a small village whose front gardens were bright with flowers. The sun shone and the villagers seemed pleased to see us. We were warned that small groups of resistance (“werewolves”) might still be encountered. Our only capture was a young man (possibly a deserter) who told us he was “lonely, sideways wandering” to find his mother.
We moved in to Hamburg where we were billeted in the suburbs in a house next door to an opera singer. Her practicing gave many much joy. The centre of Hamburg was a vast heap of rubble. One of our tasks was to take over a Dutch liner which the Nazis had used as a submarine supply ship. It was moored near to the U-boat pens. The eventual hand-over to the Dutch Captain was hilarious. Neither of us spoke the other’s language. We hauled down the Union Jack and each of us made a speech extolling the bravery of the other and we were rather ungraciously seen off the ship.
I was now posted to a gunner regiment in Java and sailed from Liverpool in the Mauritania; a huge liner which only just managed to squeeze through the Suez Canal. We were told not to stand all on one side of the ship lest she list a little and scrape her sides on the canal walls.
But the fighting in Java was over by the time I reached Bombay and I joined a Royal Indian Artillery Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment who were about to convert into an Airborne Field Gun unit. My task was to be one of teaching them field gunnery. With the help of a munchi I was able to do this in Urdu and had a fascinating year.
Serving in a Muslim Battery gave me a valuable insight into the faith and practices of Islam and I found the men universally intelligent, keen, loyal and rather embarrassingly “awed” by having a British Officer, young as I was, in charge. (It’s a bit “blusho” to say this but I rose to the rank of major when I was 22! Lots of my fellow officers were being demobbed). So much is memorable. The games of hockey when the Indian players would set up a goal and urge me to complete the move; huge banquets, more embarrassment because I couldn’t belch properly; encounters with deadly snakes which the men loved to catch and present to “sahib”; being stung by a scorpion, lying on my back in the mess with Hindu men doing puja over me and assuring me that, since I hadn’t killed the scorpion I would certainly die, the 40 mile jungle drive to hospital and the unwelcome news that they had no serum.
One day a letter came from a northern village requesting me to send a certain gunner home where he was to stand trial for the murder of his father. Sensing foul play I wrote to the British local justice officer and asked him to advise me. The reply confirmed my suspicions — the man’s uncle was framing him for murder, hoping to inherit his dead brother’s farm. I refused to allow the gunner to be sent for trial.
My lasting impressions of that year are varied. The poverty in the villages round about was harrowing. The rule of the Indian Princes, so far as I experienced it in Secunderabad, was just and firm but not, I thought, cruel. The relationship between Muslim and Christian was friendly, mutually respectful and reminds me very much of the Victorian image of “muscular Christianity” which is now so out-of-date.
Demobbed in November 1946 and having lost two stone in weight, I was surprised by the shortages of fuel and bread in Britain in that winter and took quite a while to adjust to UK life.
Philip Crosfield (aged 81) September 2005.

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