ĂŰŃż´ŤĂ˝

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Bill Ross of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Walter Hobson, and has been added to the site with the his permission. Mr. Hobson fully understands the site's terms and conditions.
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This story tells in graphic detail, of the incarceration within the many P.O.W. camps that the contributor of this story was forced into, during WW2. It also describes the squalid, degrading and sub-human conditions that he was compelled to endure, not only within the camps, but whilst ‘on the run’ from them. The deaths of and devastating injuries to his colleagues, whilst actually in his presence, are also described………Bill Ross - ĂŰŃż´ŤĂ˝ People's War Story Editor.
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Other parts to the story can be found at:
Pt 1:..... a4178333

Pt3:...... a4178388

Pt 4:..... a4178423

Pt 5:..... a4178450

Pt 6:..... a4178487

Pt 7:..... a4178496

Pt 8:..... a4178504

From Wetherby, we were moved to Scotland, to a place called Stenhousemuir, we were actually billeted in Larbert, but I contracted pneumonia and was taken to Denny cottage hospital, where I stayed for a few days. A nurse came to me and told me I’d some visitors.

My mother and wife appeared. I said, “What are you doing here?” They said they’d received a telegram saying that I was seriously ill and that they could come at once and see me.
My next posting was at Royal Sussex where we were helping the farmers make hay etc. One day, a truck pulled up and a man shouted, “Private Hobson, you’re wanted at H.Q.” So I had to climb aboard the truck that already contained some men, and a couple of officers. One of the officers said, “Are you one of these who’ve volunteered again?” “Volunteered for what?” I asked. “Volunteered for the paratroops.” “Well, yes, but that was some weeks ago,” I responded. He said, “Well, you’re going for an inspection. Are you married?” I said that I was and he told me, “Well, you’ll not pass then.”

I went to headquarters and had to see a medical officer and the recruiting officer. Three of us passed but the two officers failed on medical grounds. I joined the paratroops, so they sent me to Hardwick Hall in Chesterfield. That was in 1941. All the different units of the British Army were congregating. We were told that we were going on intensive training, then we were to go to Ringway at Manchester. We were told, “You are to do seven jumps to qualify for your ‘Wings’.” Well, at this stage, I was granted weekend leave, so I went home and told my family. They said, “You don’t think much of your wife and kids, if you’re going parachuting.” When I went back to the unit, I saw the C.O. and said, “I’ve thought it over and I can’t go through with it. I have a wife and child.” The C.O. said, “What? You’re putting them first?” I said that I was. So he said, “You’ve a choice, you can either go back to your unit or stay here as a Sergeants’ Mess Waiter.” I decided on the latter, so I was looking after the R.S.M. I got leave at weekends plus ten shillings extra per month. The person who was in charge of the mess funds etc., asked me, “Will you look after the bar for Saturday night’s dance?” I said, “I’ve never done anything like that.” He said, “You’ll be alright, there’s nothing to worry about, just carry on supplying drinks etc.”

There were some barrels of beer, and we’d made some ramps for them. The idea being that we would place a bucket under the barrels and turn the tap on. But there were fumes and we would have to inhale them throughout the evening. At the end of the night, the R.S.M. came and said, “HOBSON, YOU’RE DRUNK!!” I told him that I hadn’t touched a drop all evening. He said, “Don’t argue with me, you’re drunk.” But he said, “Back to your billet!” The next morning, I was up on a charge: drunk in charge of the bar. I said, “I’ve never had a drink sir.” I explained about the fumes that I’d been forced to inhale and that they made me intoxicated, so I was discharged (acquitted).

Later on, I was chatting with the sergeant and the R.S.M. and they kept telling me to come and do my jumps. In the meantime, the Second Battalion had done their jumps. I said, “I’ll do ‘em on one condition: when I’ve completed my jumps, I’m in this unit.” So I went to Manchester where I was to jump with the Fourth Battalion. When they formed the battalions, they issued us with red berets, and when we received our ‘Wings’, they went onto the shoulders. We had to do seven jumps to qualify for this. The first two jumps were from a balloon, actually, barrage balloons. They were made from canvas and were filled with Helium gas. At the bottom was a basket with a hole in the bottom, called the aperture. Four of us went up with the instructor, and when we were ready, we jumped, one at a time. We dropped approximately 120 feet at 119 miles per hour before the chute opened. We were about 800 feet high. Now, the first jump wasn’t bad, but the second jump was worse because by then, we knew what should happen, what shouldn’t happen, when it could happen and when it couldn’t happen. So that’s when we became a little scared. But, after that, we did five more jumps, but this time from a plane, which we called the Flying Coffin. The reason we used that plane was that it could slow down to 90 m.p.h. This was so that when we jumped, the stick of ten men would land as close to one another as possible. If a man hesitated for a couple of seconds, that could equate to twenty yards on the ground, which, between one and ten, could be a long way.

It eventually took just over a week to get the jumps done and the results in. On the third day, two of the lads were off sick, so they said, “There are just eight of you in your stick now.” I was number one; what happened was, the plane used to fly all way round Tatton Park, in Manchester, and when it got to the park itself, we’d drop out; four or five of us normally. I was number one and everything was OK, our chutes opened all right. But the plane went around again for the second lot to jump. The first one out got what we call a Roman Candle. If we didn’t drop out of the plane in the correct order, the slipstream would hit our legs and it would twist us. That twist would prevent the chute from opening. With no air in the chute, the canopy couldn’t expand. This is what happened and we were only 800 feet up anyway. I went running over to him and he was still alive. The blood wagon came over with the ambulance. An officer leapt out and shouted, “Back to your chutes, back to your chutes, leave it to us.” They took him away, and told us later that he’d broken his spine at the top and bottom, but would be jumping again in six months time, but we never saw him again, so we don’t know what happened.

When we’d done our seven jumps, we went back to Hardwick Hall from where we did more training, comprising various jumps all over the country. We were doing a drop at Blandford, and there was a lad called Lance Corporal Jack Skeets from Liverpool. When we dropped him, he landed on the Vicarage roof. His chute was over his head and his feet had gone through the slates. The vicar came out and was furious, shouting and bawling that we’d damaged his rose gardens. We said, “Never mind the roses, what about him up there?” What he did was, he broke all the slates all around him and he disappeared into the loft. A few moments later, he came walking out of the front door; he wasn’t hurt at all.

Next, we went to do a drop at Newcastle, and when we were flying over York, one of the lads said that he felt sick. He’d gotten airsickness, which is worse than seasickness. He said, “What should I do?” I said, “Use your helmet.” We had rubber helmets with strings that we’d tie under the chin; people thought we were Poles because that was part of their dress. So, he vomited into his helmet which he then emptied through the aperture, so somebody in York probably got a helmet full of vomit.

After this drop, we were told we could command anything we wanted to help us on the exercise, and it was always against the ĂŰŃż´ŤĂ˝ Guard. As we were running down a lane, there was a team of firefighters with a fire pump. Our officer said, “We’ll take this over.” “What for,” we asked. “To put our equipment on.” The firemen said, “You can’t take this, we’re going to a real fire.” The officer said, “Never mind that, ignore ‘em.” Our driver was reversing backwards and forwards, and he got stuck straight across the lane, so he couldn’t move either forward or backwards. So the officer said, “Oh, leave it, leave it.” So we left ‘em to it.

So, our next move was to Bulford barracks on Salisbury Plain. We were sent two fuselages to practise jumping from. We were short of ammunition there, but they sent me and a lad called Reg Sykes, from Huddesrfield, to guard these fuselages. But while we were nosing around, we came across a box that was full of belts, full of 303 ammunition actually. Something they’d overlooked, so I went to the an officer and said, “We’ve found a lot of ammunition.” “What is it?” he asked. “303,” I replied, “it’s in those fuselages.” So he said, “Don’t tell anybody, get your mate to come with me.” We took him back to the fuselage, then we carried the boxes back to the unit. We started going everyday onto the ranges, shooting and all the other lads were saying, “Where’s B Company getting all their ammunition from? They always seem to be firing.” It seemed that the R.A.F had mislaid it, so it became ours.

In February, 1941, there was a raid going on over France and it was intended to take radar equipment from a place called Bruneville. C Company, which comprised of all Scottish units (although ninety percent of them were Yorkshire men), was going to do it, their numbers made up with a few from our unit. They went over to France and were dropped at Bruneville. They managed to salvage part of the equipment they wanted, and all they lost were six men. One of the men who was badly wounded, called Jerry Strachen was wandering in the woods and the lads managed to get him back

Into 1942 now and the men had had embarkation leave, but because about fourteen of us had just had leave, we weren’t allowed embarkation leave. Well, I had a job at headquarters, looking after the order room. When I was in the order room, I found a full pack of leave papers. For them to be of any use, there had to be a stamp on them and I managed to stamp them. They had to have a signature of an officer, plus, there had to be a note across the top, in red ink, “Permission to travel by rail.” So, I acquired a bottle of red ink and wrote on them all: “Permission to travel by rail.” I took ‘em back into the billet.

We said to the C.O., “It’s not fair that we can’t have leave.” He said, “If you get all your stuff packed, we’ll let you go on leave.” We got done and were ready in five or six days. Then he said, “Well, you can’t go today, we’ll see about tomorrow.” This went on for a few more days. I said, “Oh, he’s kidding us, this’ll drag on until the rest of the lads are back, then it’ll be too late.” So I said, “I’m going.” So what I did, I gave the lads a pass that I’d pinched. The sergeant got to know and he said, “What are these passes you’ve got? Let’s have a look at ‘em.” He said, “Can we have one?” I said, “On one condition: if you’ll sign ‘em.” So he signed ‘em, T.S. Tyseman (Major). They looked genuine. We hadn’t much money, but we set off from Bulford. I had a railway ticket that said on it, Darfield to Chesterfield. I rubbed it and rubbed it until it was impossible to read what it said. Anyway, it got me all over the country.

We hitch hiked from Andover into London, and then across to King’s Cross from Paddington. Who should come on the train but the Red Caps? “Now then soldier, where are you going?” asked one. “We’re on leave sir.” “Got a pass? Where’s your pay book” I got my pay book out and showed him my pass. “Fair enough,” he said as he handed them back. We got onto the train and used what money we had to get a single ticket to Sheffield. Anyway, I arrived home; I’d never any money when I arrived home, I used to rely on others. I stayed at home for a week; I’d arranged with a lad from Beighton, Sheffield. He said, “I’ll see you on the station, half past six, Sunday night.” So when I got there he came flying up to me and said, “Have they been?” “Have who been?” “Have the police been for you?” “No.” He said, “They’ve been to our house.” I said, “Why didn’t they take you in?” He said, “Well, when they came, they’d got the right house, but a different name.” So the bobby who came to his house said, “Have you got a pass?” So he gave him that pass that I’d given him, the policeman said, “Oh, they’ve made a mistake.” But what I didn’t know was that the police had been to our house after I’d left. I lived with my father in law. They said, “Does Private Hobson live here?” He said “Yes, but he’s just gone back to his unit.” He said, “Oh, they’ll have made another mistake I suppose.” But I didn’t know this, so when we arrived back at camp, we went into the guardroom and said, “We’ve come to give ourselves up, we’ve been absent without leave.” “How long have you been away?” “A week.” “Well, there’s nothing here; we haven’t got you as absent. Well, where’s your kit?” “In the barrack room.” The Officer said, “Well, go and get your kit and bring it back.” So we did that and went back to the guardroom and they kept us in. They said, “Monday morning, you’re up in front of the C.O.” So, in front of the C.O., I had my Company Commander with me. The C.O. said to him, “What sort of man is this?” He said, “He’s OK.” The C.O. turned to me and said, “How long have you been in the army? “ “Since 16th October 1939.” “Well, you’ve been in long enough to know better, why did you go home?” he said. I said, “Well, I’ve a wife and child at home, we weren’t allowed embarkation leave and we are going abroad, and I wanted to see them.” He said, “Are you putting your wife and family before the country?” I replied, “Yes, I am.” He said, “Will you accept my punishment?” I said that I would, there were no choices otherwise anyway. He said, “Fourteen days’ pay, fourteen days confined to barracks, fourteen days in the clink.” Well, that was OK, we were living relatively well during that period. After eight days, the guard came in and said, “Right you lot, back to your unit. We’ve been ordered to release ya.”

We moved off the next day, we went in convoy to a place called Greenock, in Scotland and from there, we embarked on different ships. We were actually, the largest convoy that had ever left the shores of Britain. The ship we went on was the P&O Liner Strathmore. There were 7,000 troops plus the crew on that vessel. We were zigzagging in the Atlantic for 17 days. When we went through Lisbon, we were surprised to see that it was all lit up. That was because it was neutral. But what we didn’t know was that we were going to North Africa........>

Proof Read-Bill Ross

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