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Charlie's War

Memoires of a Linseed Lancer

D-Day to Demob

Charles Simms served on the Sheffield City Council as member for Nethershire from 1958 to 1974. He was also a Justice of the Peace from 1966 till 1979

After the death of his wife Phyllis, he decided he would write about his life. He said that writing helped him come to terms with her loss. His 'diaries' were written in long hand in many exercise books, which have been typed up by his daughter Sue French.

The material falls into three parts: his childhood and working life up to the outbreak of WWII; his army service and the D Day landings, 'Demob' and post war life.

In 1994, then aged 87, he returned to Normandy for the D-Day Centenary celebrations and was proud to receive the Veteran's Commemorative Medal from the Mayor of Caen. He was probably the only 'veteran' who returned to 'The Normandy Beaches' but watched the actual celebrations on French T.V. from the comfort of his hotel bedroom. 'I never push my luck' was his survival motto!

He died in the October of that year

Brian French
Sheffield 2003

Leading to War.

"Meanwhile in the outside world events in Europe were beginning to take an ominous turn. I was always interested in what was taking place in the world and could see all the signs pointing to another global conflict. In Germany, in the early 30s, Hitler and the National Socialist Party had gained control of the government. In Italy, Mussolini, who was a National Socialist or Fascist, gained control in Italy. The Japanese invaded China and gained control of Manchuria, thus sowing he seeds of the Second World War. The Popular Front Government which had been elected in Spain, was opposed to General Franco, who was based in one of the islands close to the Spanish mainland. General Franco, with an army, invaded the mainland and Civil War started. With the help of the Italians and Germans, Franco managed to defeat the government forces and he ruled Spain with a brutal force which lasted well into the nineteen seventies.

The British government made strenuous efforts to maintain peace, being both unprepared for a war, and unwilling to prosecute it. However, the Prime Minister at that time, Neville Chamberlain, started in 1938 to prepare for a conflict which many could see was inevitable. Conscription was introduced and all young men of 20 years of age had to join the militia. Preparations for dealing with the aftermath of an air attack were started and an organization, at first named Air Raid Precautions was formed. In that year , I volunteered to train in First Aid, attending lectures and practical classes in dealing with casualties which would occur in such an event. As 1939 approached, Phyllis, my wife, said that in the event of war breaking out, she would not want to be left on her own, but would come with me on duty. Phyllis volunteered to train as an Air Raid Warden and I transferred from First Aid to the Warden Service. In August 1939, we went for a holiday to Hastings, keeping our fingers crossed that nothing would happen.

September 1939 saw the outbreak of the war. Hitler invaded Poland, and the country was in a state of emergency. All the announcements for the issue of identity cards, ration cards, etc were already prepared and came into force within a relatively short time. At work,(Holmes in Clun Street, Pitsmoor ) wholesalers had to register with suppliers for essential food stuffs which came under the control of the Food Ministry. My role at the grocery warehouse became more important, as besides Mr and Miss Holmes, I now became responsible for the management of the warehouse. At that time we employed three teenage girls to assemble orders, Mr Holmes went travelling to get the orders, and Miss Holmes was secretary dealing with the financial side, ordering supplies and making out invoices. My job was the responsibility for checking orders, packing and assembling thenm in the side passage, to await delivery. We hired transport - a lorry to deliver goods - and I used, of course, to accompany the driver and see to the delivery. In addition, when either Mr Holmes or Miss Holmes had holidays, I had to carry out their work, going out to fetch orders and collect payment. When Miss Holmes was absent, I saw the travellers, gave orders, and settled accounts. All this, of course, in addition to my own job of running the warehouse. My wages after the outbreak of war steadily increased, but still did not match the wages of people in industry. I always used to say that in the event of war, I would seek work in the local steelworks which would have made me financially better off and not liable for military service. However, I never got around to it and remained loyal to the food trade. In addition to wage increases, Mr Holmes eventually gave me a half-yearly bonus of ten pounds in July and at Christmas. This was very welcome and made life a bit more comfortable. Phyllis, in any case, like myself was very thrifty and she managed the household economy very well, putting aside weekly, so much for coal, gas, electricity, and rent

On the war front, things were quiet. An expeditionary force was assembled in France and things remained static until the spring of 1940, when the Germans swept through France and Belgium, with very little resistance, driving the British Army to the coast from which, with the aid of the navy and fleets of large and small boats, the army was evacuated. Morale was low but intact. The German forces having become established on the French coast, brought them into striking distance for air attacks. Ports and industrial targets were the first to suffer and of course, Sheffield became a prime target.

Shortly after we came to share the house with Phyllis's sister, we managed to get the tenancy of a house further down the road. It was a two-bedroomed house, with a living room, kitchen and a front room. The toilet was outside but that presented no problem as the small yard at the back of the house was shared with the next door neighbour who had a separate toilet. At the beginning of the war I said to Phyllis "I think we are a bit too near the steel works for comfort. We will try and get an exchange to the outskirts of the district." We put an advert in the window of one of the local shops, and were extremely fortunate to exchange houses. We went to live on the Shiregreen estate not very far from the Sheffield boundary at Ecclesfield, a month before the Sheffield blitz which severely damaged the shopping area in the city centre, but left the works comparatively undamaged. The council house, built in the early 1930s, was two bedroomed with a living room and kitchen, but the most important thing was that at last we had a bathroom upstairs, and a toilet in the back porch of the house. What bliss! What privacy at last! The joy of being able to take a bath together is indescribable.

We had transferred our ARP duties from Burngreave to Hartley Brook School, which was only a couple of minutes walk away, and on 'blitz night' we went on a tour of the surface shelters. At one shelter one or two people asked us to fetch blankets from their houses, giving us the keys to get them. There were no seats in the shelters and people had to stand around. Bombers seemed to be turning round above us, and making another pass over the city centre. We could see in the distance, over Sheffield, huge fires reflected in the sky. Shrapnel rattled down on to the road and we dodged along. There were no incidents in our vicinity and the only bombs fell about a mile away, but the first aid people there related some amusing incidents. One young woman came out of her house wearing only a raincoat and slippers, much to the surprise of the ambulance people She said she had been in the bath when the bomb dropped and rushed out in panic. One chap returning from work arrived at his house which had been completely demolished. He stood with his door key in his hand, " This isn't going to be much use to me now", he said. This kind of grim humour was evident all through the War and it was this spirit which kept us going.

Later in the evening we were amazed to see people hurrying home from the local cinema, which had still continued. It was a bitterly cold night, frost was already beginning to settle on the privet hedge and glittered in the moonlight. In the early hours there was a lull in the raid, and we returned home for a hot drink and a rest. I decided to have a shave ready for next morning's work, which I did to the accompaniment of distant machine gun fire; strange and frightening times. All domestic gas was cut off, and I had taken the precaution of buying a small methylated spirit stove which we used to boil water and cook until things returned to normal. The fireplace in the living room had a back boiler for the hot water and a side oven, which only functioned when the fire was burning.

I had to walk to work next morning, a distance of about three miles. The tram service was disrupted, and did not restart until a few days later. As I came up Barnsley road there was a loud explosion in the distance. Flames shot up into the sky. I learned later that the gasometer in Grimesthorpe had exploded. It began to get light as I got nearer to work and I noticed with a feeling of relief and no little guilt, that the very house we had just vacated had had all its windows blown out and two houses across the street had been demolished. When I arrived at the warehouse I noticed that one or two windows were shattered, but all the staff arrived and carried on work. When things got a little better as far as the raids went, we organized a local concert party. I wrote on or two amateurish sketches and we got one or two singers and a pianist. Altogether we entertained small audiences and enjoyed the experience

The ARP post at Hartley Brook School also had a First Aid and Rescue Section. After training I also joined the local St John Ambulance Brigade and, after passing the exams, went on duty occasionally at the local cinema. The blitz made a great difference to my working hours which up to that time were long. Work was from 8.30 am to 1.00 p.m. and from 2.00 pm until 6.30 p.m., with a break at 5.00 pm for tea. After the blitz, work stopped at 4.30 pm as no one would stay near the city centre after dark. Until the trams restarted, I walked to work and hitch-hiked back home.

Phyllis's family were unfortunately bombed out of their house in Attercliffe and came to stay with us. Phyllis's mother and father and two sisters stayed with us until they went to live in the house next door to where we had lived with her sister, in Ellesmere Road. The females slept in the two bedrooms and 'Pop' (Phyllis's father) and me slept by the fire in two chairs. On the Christmas Eve we were all sitting round the fire in gloomy silence, waiting for the sound of sirens. About nine o'clock, I suddenly made up my mind to go up to the pub and invited 'Pop' to come with me. I said that the possibility of a raid on Christmas Eve was very unlikely, and 'Pop' and I spent an hour in the pub, bringing back drinks and bags of crisps for the females. ( It is a matter of recorded fact that, the German blitz on Sheffield almost completely missed the huge proliferation of steel works on the East side, the bombs destroying the city centre and some of the suburbs. Adolph's unwitting contribution to our arms output!)

I was required to register for military service with the 32 year age group. I duly attended the Labour Exchange in West Street . We assembled at the rear of the building and waited. There was a fussy, officious individual who started to shepherd us all into line. At that time these petty officials were used to dealing with the unemployed, who generally speaking were meek and ready to accept instruction. So when this pip-squeak came up to me with his orders, I pointed out to him that I was not yet in the Services, and until I was I would choose where to stand. This piped him down a bit and he changed his attitude making requests instead of giving orders.

During that year we decided that we would have a summer holiday – war or no war One Friday evening, about the end of August, we decided on the spur of the moment to have a holiday in Morecambe. So on the Saturday, we set off, hoping that we would find somewhere to stay. I had one or two addresses, which my sister had given me previously. On arriving in Morecambe, we found a cafe and had a meal to sustain us in our search. We set off on foot carrying luggage. The first two places had no vacancies and we stood to consider our next move. A gentleman pulled up in a car to where we stood, looking a little disconsolate, and when I say gentleman, I mean that in the fullest sense of the word, as he drove us round to a number of places - unfortunately, with little success. Finally he suggested that Heysham might have a better result. He drove us to a place called Strawberry Gardens and left us. Across the road we saw a number of boarding houses, and went to the first one. The landlady, on hearing of our problem, gave us a cup of tea and sandwiches. She explained that she did not have a vacancy, but she was expecting the arrival of a young couple, and if they did not turn up before 9.30 in the evening, we could stay. We asked to leave our luggage, and continue the search. I considered the situation, and decided that the local butcher would be the most likely person to know of any place which might have a vacancy, on the grounds that, supplying meat to the local guest houses, he would know of anyone who had a vacancy. He gave us one or two addresses which we visited, but with no luck. It was now getting late and I had visions of having to go to the local police station to seek lodging for the night. However, we went back to the house where we had left our luggage and asked if we could wait. The landlady was very kind and gave us more tea. We sat watching the clock, which seemed to be hardly moving. The time slowly reached the magic hour of 9.30, and the landlady came into the room and welcomed us to the room, which was in the attic at the top of the house. We felt a bit vulnerable, being on the top of the building, but we were thankful to have found somewhere to stay. The place was only a short distance from the beach and Morecambe was within walking distance. The food was good, and we thoroughly enjoyed the break. There was another young couple staying in the house and we went swimming and dancing together. Late one evening we had just gone to bed when the air sirens began their eerie wail. Being in the attic didn't seem a good place to be, so we hastily dressed, went downstairs and out to see the nearest air raid shelter. The guns began to fire with a nerve shattering nose, and I realised that we were opposite the shipyards of Barrow in Furness across Morecambe Bay. We stood watching for a while until the all clear went, and we returned to bed.

A reluctant soldier.

A few months after returning home, I received my call up papers and so ended my freedom for the next four years. I realised that this was a turning point in my life, and things would never be the same again. I was ordered to report to Bradford on the 5th of November 1942. I left work on the previous week, and enjoyed my last three days of freedom until the Thursday. Phyllis and her sister went to the station with me and I departed sorrowfully to take an active part in whatever lay in store. I was not very happy, being very anti-government and a critical observer of events which followed. Like many older conscripts I felt my life which had been 'on track' for 35 years was being seriously disrupted!

On arriving in Bradford I was met by an army corporal waiting along with a number of other recruits and we proceeded by lorry to the Primary Training Centre, which was situated in buildings intended eventually to become Bradford Grammar School. The building was unfinished having been comandeered by the army on the outbreak of war. The lorry pulled into a piece of ground and we descended. Sat at a table in the open air were two sergeants and a corporal standing beside them. I produced my documents and was marked present. I was told my number would be 14333317, and the corporal barked at me "Memorise them last three numbers and don't forget 'em as you will have to repeat them in the next few days!" We then went to the dining hall (for dinner), which was a large concrete structure, furnished with wooden tables and long forms to sit on. No table cloths or table decorations - and I though "God, this is what it must be like when one goes to prison". I can't remember what I had for dinner but it was eatable and I was hungry.

After dinner we had a medical examination and proceeded to the clothing store. We lined up alongside a counter and we were sized up, curiously enough, by a small chap in civilian clothes. We were issued with two uniforms, shirts, socks, boots, mess tins, a greatcoat, hat, shirts, vests and short pants all pushed into a kit bag; steel helmet, rifle etc. - all things necessary to perform our functions as soldiers. The next place was a large shed, which contained a huge amount of straw. A large canvas sack was provided which we proceeded to fill. This was intended to act as a bed. Loaded up with all this gear, we staggered across a large field and came out onto a short road on both sides of which were a row of large terraced houses. A number of these houses were unoccupied and into one of them we were billeted. I landed in the front room of the house, along with seven other men, and I forgot to mention that we were issued with three blankets. We settled in with the straw palliasse for a bed.

In the evening we donned one of the battle dress uniforms, and were instructed to parcel up our civilian clothing, which would be returned home. I learned later that Phyllis was upset when she received my clothes, as she realized that it would probably be a long time before she saw me again. I wrote home every day whenever it was possible, hoping to make up for any absence. Although we had been married six years, we were still very much in love, and until I was granted leave we both missed one another.

After about three weeks I managed to arrange with a neighbour in one of the occupied houses for Phyllis to come up to Bradford and spend the weekend. I did not apply for a sleeping out pass, as I knew it would not be granted, but still spent the night with Phyllis. Early next morning I dressed and slipped out of the house to return to my billet. It was misty and across the road, although I could not see him, was the NCO on duty picket. He must have heard me leaving the house and called across, asking where I was going. I replied in a muffled voice that I was off to work, this must have sounded strange to the NCO, as it was Sunday and not a normal work day. He could probably recognise the sound of heavy boots and started to follow me. I continued along the road in fear and trembling, knowing that I should be in trouble if he managed to stop me. On I went, his footsteps sounding behind me, and I started to think how I could outwit him. I continued a bit further, then suddenly stopped, whipped off my boots and in my stockinged feet, silently ran across the road and ran for my life back to the billet. All the fellows were getting dressed and making up their beds. I collected my towel and shaving kit and was ready to go down to the cellar kitchen for a wash and shave. As I was leaving the room, in strode the NCO, who looked round to see if anyone was missing. He stared at me suspiciously and I went past him to the ablutions. I was scared but happy that I had outwitted the NCO.

I am getting a little bit in front of myself at this point so I will return to my first day in this army. In the next place to me in the billet I got into conversation with a man who was about my age. We shook hands and I told him my occupation. He said that he was a sub-editor on a Glasgow evening paper. He was medium height, pale face, dark hair, slim and I got the impression that he was not the usual type that would find soldiering very easy work. Working on a newspaper was hardly the work which would fit anyone to undergo the strenuous training and so it proved.

Having donned our uniforms, we were not a pretty sight. The battle dress outfit had been impregnanted with a bleach substance which was supposed to resist war gas; it had a chalky appearance, and smelled peculiar. However, we decided to go out to the local pub. We looked like two fugitives from a flour mill, There were another few men in the pub and the sergeant, who was our training instructor. He was surprised and very much amused to see us. He made one or two adjustments to our outfits to make us a bit more presentable. Being billeted in the houses, and away from the training camp, we were more or less free in the evenings, but not for long. Taking care of a rifle, polishing boots and buttons, 'blancoing' gaiters and belts occupied much spare time, and kept us busy.

The next morning we were roused from our straw beds and assembled in the street outside. After instruction in one or two drill movements, we were marched to the Company Office. The commanding officer gave us a talk, which consisted of advice that there were two ways of adapting ourselves to Army life - the easy way which was to obey orders, and accept the discipline and the hard way was to be awkward and suffer the consequences of our stupidity. He read extracts from the Army Act, the chief of which was Section 49 concerning conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline. This section covered all offences, and left no loopholes.

The first week at the Primary Training Centre was to assess our capabilities. There were agility tests in the gymnasium We were given intelligence tests, and several articles to assemble. Mac found the intelligence tests comparatively easy but found the mechanical tests difficult. I managed to acquit myself reasonably. For the next seven weeks we underwent a fairly rigorous training and at the end, we were judged more or less fit to take our place in the fighting forces. The house we lived in was inspected every morning for tidiness and one man was detailed every day to act as billet orderly. There was no hot water system in this house, and the rooms were gas lit. This caused problems occasionally. We had many a row with the occupants of the room above. When someone jumped on the floor or dropped his rifle it shattered our gas mantle and made a journey into Bradford very irksome and irritating to seek a replacement.

We were kept busy from morning to night. Roused at 6.30 am; washed and shaved in cold water in the cellar kitchen. We cleaned our boots, and marched across the playing fields for breakfast. In wet weather we had to clean our boots twice after returning to the billet. After a while, Mac and I discovered a house 'window shop' further along the road which sold sandwiches and tea, thus avoiding the march to breakfast, as the mornings were dark, and the corporal ignored a few absentees. Mac, not being used to heavy army boots, soon developed blisters and sore feet, so he arranged with the sergeant to be permanent billet orderly, thus missing the marching and rifle drill. Every night for about two weeks, I used permanganate of potash and warm water to get Mac's feet into a condition which allowed him to continue training. I am happy to say that we returned from a route march at the end of the training period with Mac free from blisters and soreness.

We had the usual round of inoculations and vaccinations and one morning I was marched along with a few others for dental inspection. I was given nine fillings, which I had to bear without showing signs of pain. The dentist was an officer, and I dare not make a protest. The weeks passed by. I was taught to fire a rifle and bren gun (a light machine gun) and throw a hand grenade into a disused quarry. There was an occasion when Mac and I, along with four men, were detailed for guard duty. Mac, not having done much rifle drill, was in a bit of a fix. On the order to shoulder arms, Mac placed the rifle over his right shoulder, with his arm curled round the butt. A nudge and an urgent whisper corrected the situation. The officer was a very young, nasty-tempered whipper snapper, and found fault with one or two men. Fortunately, Mac was all ship shape by the time he arrived at our position. We laughed about it later, but at the time, to say we were in a cold sweat is an understatement.

The rifle and I were not the best of companions. On being handed the weapon I felt the same thrill as I had when I found the toy gun in my Xmas stocking. However the training and the lectures soon brought me down to earth. I learned that the worst crime you could ever commit in the Army was to have a dirty rifle. By this was meant that the inside of the barrel must be kept completely clean and free from all traces of rust. I further learned that no matter how often you cleaned the flipping thing an officer could always find a speck of dirt in it and make you clean it again!

Firing the rifle was a further learning experience. We were taken to the range, shown the position to adopt on the ground, given five cartridges, reminded of our lectures on 'aiming' and 'sighting' and then – by now totally confused- given the order to fire! I went through the procedure and squeezed the trigger. I was completely unprepared for the tremendous jolt to my shoulder, a jolt which ran through my entire body, and the noise of the explosion. To my surprise I hit the target but I didn't register any score. We fired our five shots and a check was made to see if any one had kept a cartridge for 'unauthorised use' – shooting an officer perhaps?

Then came the day when the notice went up - indications to which section of the army that we were to be posted to for further training. We were extremely glad to find that we were both posted to the RAMC Training Depot at Leeds, as by this time Mac and I had become like two brothers. He used to say that Scotsmen and Yorkshiremen had very much in common. And of course it was goodby to the rifle – I could never see myself actually shooting another human being of whatever nationality. The training at Leeds was mostly medical lectures and first aid practice, with no drill, except that which was necessary. In the evenings we visited the local pub occasionally depending on the state of the finances. Other nights we wrote home or read the training manual. I used to write home every day when possible and on occasions Phyllis came to Leeds, and on the Saturday afternoon we went into Lewis's store for tea, which was a bit sparse owing to the circumstances. Christmas came, but we were not allowed leave, as we had been given seven days leave at the end of our training period at Bradford. On Christmas Day it is a tradition in the army that officers serve other ranks at dinner. There was a lot of good humour, not appreciated by me of course, as it was the first time that I had been away from home at Christmas time.

One evening Mac and I went into Leeds to the cinema. He whispered a few words to the woman in the Box Office and the next moment after a few words on the telephone the manager appeared. Now, I don't know whether the manager was a fellow Scotsman, or whether Mac mentioned his newspaper but an usherette suddenly appeared and we were escorted to two seats. I never enquired how Mac managed this but we enjoyed the film.

One Friday evening on another occasion we went into Leeds to a pub. Mac's favourite drink was a glass of beer and a small whisky chaser, this is still the traditional drink in Scotland and is very potent if taken in large quantities. Later on in the evening, as it approached closing time, a small group of our fellow trainees came into the pub. They appeared a little perturbed and I gathered that they had been in a spot of bother at a pub further down the road. At closing time I was first out of the pub, and outside five or six civilians were waiting. At the front of this group was a little fellow, not much more than five feet and a bit, and he swung a blow at me which seemed to start round about his knee joint and hit me. Down I went like a pole-axed bull. I had only consumed a few drinks, and was not drunk, but being knocked down sobered me, and I managed to dodge a kick aimed at my head. I scrambled to my feet, my blood was up, and I took a running kick at this impudent little whipper snapper who had dared to hit a member of His Majesty's Armed Forces. The kick sent him sprawling and I turned to see what was happening around me. The situation seemed to be under control, when a whistle sounded and somebody said "Police!". We dashed off and boarded a tram which took us back to the Depot. I was asked why I had taken a running kick when I recounted this incident, and had to explain that I was wearing an army greatcoat at the time. Anyone who has never worn an army greatcoat would not appreciate the restricted arm movements, which hamper hand to hand fighting! The next morning on parade, I was asked by the sergeant why my cheek bone was bruised. I made the excuse that I had collided with a lamp post in the blackout. He smiled - he had evidently heard about the spot of bother on the previous evening.

Pay parade in the army is always a welcome break in the routine, although the ritual was a bit fussy. As time went by in the army I began to look at the routine with a somewhat critical eye. We went to the company office and stood in line waiting for our names to be called out. On hearing my name I shouted "Sir!". I marched up to the table, came to a halt, saluted and stood to attention. At the table sat an officer with a sergeant and corporal clerk. The officer was told the amount I was to be paid and the officer counted the required amount and handed it to me. I then took one pace backward, saluted and turned right and went on my way, rejoicing.

One of the things I was most glad to hand back was the rifle, which was a source of annoyance to me. We used to spend a lot of time trying to ensure that it was clean, especially the inside of the barrel, which had to be cleaned by pulling on a string a small piece of oily rag, so that no specks of dirt were left inside. Rifle inspection was quite an ordeal. The officer inspecting held the rifle aloft and scrutinised the inside of the barrel. I think sometimes out of sheer cussedness the officer would order the rifle to be recleaned.

Kit inspection was another great annoyance (I am writing about these things so that you will have some idea what it was like to be subjected to what I can only describe as mild torture). All kit was usually laid out on the bed, every piece of equipment, down to the smallest item, had to be displayed: spare boots, suitably polished, blankets folded, and everything neatly displayed in a certain order. This kit inspection only took place occasionally, and I think the reason was to ensure that no item had been lost or sold. In the old days in the regular army the ordinary private soldier who, if he arrived at the point where he had spent all his pay on beer, would be inclined to sell some of his equipment to keep him in beer until the next pay day. All the disciplinary rules of the Army were based on an imaginary individual, who was scruffy, dirty, idle and the lowest form of life. Keeping him up to scratch was the main object of the command.

Before I leave Leeds, I will relate my brief introduction and fond farewell to the game of rugby. In the Army, Wednesday afternoon is recreation and sports afternoon, and one is free to find a book or start a game of cards in a suitable out of the way place. The sergeant in our platoon was a rugby fan. I understand that rugby is the favourite sport in that part of West Yorkshire. I was wondering about looking for somewhere to hide when the sergeant spotted me. "Right, Simms" he said, "We're going to play rugby and you are in the team". I protested, saying that I had never played rugby and didn't know anything about it. I was told that this was my chance to learn, which is the stock answer when anyone professes ignorance on any given subject. Into football kit, and off to the playing field. I took up my position and the game started. I hadn't been playing long when someone threw the ball to me. I caught it an immediately about half a dozen fellows all piled themselves on to me. Now, if you have never played rugby you will not know the humiliation and pain caused by a number of bodies being spread over one. Not only do they do you injury but add insult, they use your fallen body to lever themselves to an upright position. I am a gentle person and not given to physical contact with males, females yes, but not males. Neither am I used to the rough and tumble of football games. I got slowly to my feet and the game continued. Every time someone threw the ball towards me, I deliberately missed. The sergeant didn't like it, but I managed to keep as far away from the ball as possible, and was glad when the game was over. I had no further desire to learn any of the finer points or technicalities of the game. Come to think of it, I can't imagine a more stupid game unless it is American football, which is in my opinion more stupid. The sight of grown men, with padded shoulders and clothing, crash helmets and heavy shoes, charging headlong into one another, to no particular purpose seems to me the height of stupidity. To look at the average American football player, with close cropped hair, low forehead and a sullen brutish look on his face it is not surprising really that he engages in such an idiotic and stupid pastime. However, to get back to Leeds, on subsequent sports afternoons I took good care to keep out of the way, and was glad when the time came to leave Leeds and go on for further training.

Training for what?

One Wednesday morning, at the beginning of March 1943, we were mustered and driven in lorries to the railway station. We were not told what our destination would be. There were about twelve of us in the party. We were given a day's food ration to sustain us on the journey and got on the train. We did not know where we were going, and the name boards on the station platforms through which we passed having been removed for security reasons, we could not guess where we would be going - except that the train appeared to be travelling north. Rumours flew around the train, there were other soldiers on the train, plus a few RAF men. We finally arrived in Carlisle, and got off the train. I quickly wrote a short letter to Phyllis, telling her that I would write again when I got to the place where I would be stationed. I tried to get one of the women porters on the station to post the letter, but she refused, telling me that it was not allowed to pass on letters from army personnel who were travelling.

Mac and I went looking for a pub. We were told to report back to the station in an hour's time. The pubs in Carlisle were at that time the only state owned pubs in the country and were not very imposing. The barmaid was elderly and served us without a smile, and retired after serving us to the end of the bar. The pub was not very busy, and I was not surprised. We finally arrived at Stranraer and realised that our destination was Northern Ireland. The sea journey was very pleasant and we enjoyed our temporary freedom. We disembarked at Larne, and our train then took us to Belfast. On the train, in the compartment in which we travelled, was a soldier also going to Belfast. He told us some lurid tales about the IRA, the political wing of the IRA and not the fanatical idiots who terrorise the province now. Most of the terrorists who operate now would not be born at that time. We did not believe most of what he told us, and we took a bit of the mickey out of him - after all, we were trained soldiers and not frightened of anyone. When we got off the train in Belfast, we walked into the station forecourt, and the first thing I saw was two men in black uniform, with a long truncheon dangling from one hip and a revolver in holster on the other. I said to Mac "My God! It looks as if we have landed in Chicago." Another short train journey and we finished our journey at the Palace Barracks in Holywood.

The Military Hospital was inside the grounds. We reported in, and went for tea, and later were shown to a wooden building which served as sleeping quarters. The bedsteads were cast iron and the bottom half of the bed slotted in to the top half. Three small straw mattresses, called 'biscuits' were placed on top when the bed was fully extended, and were not particularly comfortable. Next morning we reported to the Company Office, then lined up outside, and the officer in charge questioned us about our work in civvy street. I told him I was in the grocery trade so he sent me to the Food Store. Mac, being an office worker, went to work in the Hospital office. I went to the Food Store and reported to the corporal in charge, who was pleased to see me, as he was waiting for someone to relieve him so that he could go on leave.

In the store also stood an ATS girl. She was a large buxom Irish girl, with a red face and ginger hair. She also was pleased to see me, and without further ado, said "I think we will have this floor scrubbed. Get a bucket and some hot water and scrubbing brush." I stood and looked at her, amazed and said "Where do you come from?" She replied "Tipperary", so I said "Well, I come from Yorkshire and in Yorkshire, men don'y scrub floors, - so if you want the floor scrubbing, get the hot water, bucket and scrubbing brush and get cracking!". "I shall report you" she cried. "You can report me to King George if you like, it won't make any difference". The corporal stood silently smiling. He couldn't do anything, because he was relying on me to take his place. After this little local difficulty, we go on very well together. She scrubbed the floor and was as nice as pie after that. Her friend, who worked in another part of the hospital, was a right clever clogs. One day, she came in and started calling the English. She expressed deep dislike, and finally I said to her "Look, you come from down south as well as your mate, don't you?". "Yes", she replied, so I said to her "Who asked you to come up here and join in the fight? I think we can manage without your help, so bugger off!" She went, and I never saw her again ...

Holywood Military Hospital was also the main hospital in Northern Ireland for the treatment of V.D., and I saw some nasty cases, which removed any temptation to stray from the straight and narrow path of faithfulness. When Mac went to work in the hospital office he met the orderly room corporal, who came from Glasgow and was a journalist on another Glasgow paper. They knew one another quite well, and this proved fortunate for me. Mac could see that I was not happy in the Steward's Store, and suggested that he have a word with the corporal to get me on the Clerk's Course on which he was engaged. With help from Mac I started work in the Hospital office. I had some experience on a typewriter, only two finger typing, but it sufficed. I learned all the necessary things required: keeping records, providing a copy of the bed state, which had to be on the CD's desk each morning.

The CO was an elderly Lt Colonel and was quite genial. We got on well together in the Army Medical Corps. The Administrative Officers were professional doctors, and although all the rules and regulations and discipline had to be maintained, they were doctors first and army officers second, which meant that they were more understanding towards us. After a few weeks, I was asked to take an exam, which I passed, and I was re-mustered from a Nursing Orderly to a Clerk Class 3. There was no difference in pay, but a slight increase in status. I went on leave, and on my return, I was posted to No 25 Field Dressing Station, stationed in Banbridge, County Down. I reported to Banbridge and went to work in the Orderly Room. I still used to write home every day when possible.

We were allowed one uncensored letter per week - Northern Ireland being in a security area. Being away from the mainland, all other correspondence was censored by the officers, who used to read them each evening after dinner in the Officers' Mess. I was in the orderly room one evening writing a letter home, when the CO entered. He came up to me, and placing his hand on my shoulder, said "Simms, would you mind writing a bit more plainly. My officers can't read your writing". I looked up and said "My wife can, sir." Nevertheless, he said "We wouldn't like to think that you were disclosing any information to the enemy." I looked up and said, "Sir, I am not sufficiently interested in this bloody war to gossip about it". He smiled and said "Carry on, Simms, but bear it in mind".

One week later, we went on an exercise to Castle Wellan, a small village near the Irish border. We drove down in lorries, and the first sight I saw in the distance were the Mountains of Mourne, in the song which says "The mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea". It was literally true, thesteep mountain slope did sweep down into the sea, which came some way up the grassy slope; it was a magnificent sight, breathtaking and awe-inspiring. At the finish of the exercise, we had to march back to Banbridge, a distance of about eighteen miles. We set off after lunch, or dinner, whichever you like, and rested ten minutes every hour. The afternoon wore on and sunlight faded and turned to dusk. The mountains of Mourne faded behind us. At every bend in the road, the mountains came into view, and as the sun set behind the mountain it gradually changed colour in the growing darkness - from green to brown to purple. It was an unforgettable sight, and made me forget for a short while my sore feet and tired legs.

It was late when we arrived back, and I went to the ablutions for a bowl of water to ease my feet. One of the chaps came round and told us the CO had ordered cook to make us a meal of bacon and eggs. I told him in very impolite language what the CO could do with his bacon and eggs. I was too exhausted to eat. I dried my feet and crawled into bed. It was at Banbridge where I met Ben Spencer, who came from Treeton near Sheffield. He had worked in the Ambulance Room at the pit bottom at Treeton. Ben became my mate. We stayed together right until the end of the war, when Ben, whose demob number was lower than mine, left to be demobbed. Ben was a serious bloke, but not without a sense of humour. He spoke broad Yorkshire, and was very blunt. If we went into a shop or cafe, the first query which he always used was to ask if they sold 'barm' ('Barm' in polite circles is called yeast). This used to bring a puzzled look from the shopkeeper, and I had to translate, and this caused a laugh.

Countdown to D Day

Eventually we left Northern Ireland, and came back and arrived in Gainsborough which was a very convenient distance from Sheffield, and enabled Phyllis to come at weekends. I got accommodation for her at a small hotel near the base, and working in the orderly room I had no difficulty in obtaining a sleeping out pass, which made life a bit easier for Phyllis and boosted her morale. After a few weeks we went up into Scotland for Combined Operational Training. We were incorporated into No 10 Beach Group. The two words 'Beach Group' made us realise that we were destined to take part in the operation called the Second Front, which meant that we were to make a landing in France, to liberate the people who were under the yoke of the German Army.

In the first part of the training, we went to a place called Gailes, near Troon. The training was tough and we were issued with a life jacket, which was an inflated tube that was fitted and tied round the chest, and kept afloat when we were in deeper water. We had to wade out to sea, and turn round, making for the beach and running up to the nearest sand hill. We did exercises on Troon Golf Course, learned to climb up and down rope netting on a structure which resembled the side of a ship. We then had what was described as a 'battle inoculation'. When one mentions inoculation, one thinks immediately of injections, but this was an entirely different kettle of fish! On a stretch of beach, the operation was set up. Small charges of explosives were set up in the sand. On the top of a sand hill overlooking the beach were stationed machine guns. A low flying plane was covering the beach, and we waded out to sea, 'Mae West' life jackets fixed, and started to wade ashore. As we approached the beach, the machine guns commenced firing over our heads, and when we started to cross the beach, the explosive charges were set off, throwing sand and stones everywhere. At every explosion I fell flat and waited for the sand and stones to settle before moving again. One man reached the top of the sand hill and stood waving. The low flying plane approached and as it passed him, the tail of the plane hit him and killed him! This brought the battle innoculation to an end. The object of the battle innoculation was to simulate battle conditions, in order to accustom us to the noise and dangers of real battle.

Whilst training we moved to various places in Scotland and finally settled on Ayr Racecourse. Our unit was billeted in the Tote building, a large room with bunk beds and rat infested. Training still continued but was not so strenuous. Occasionally we went for a five mile walk and run. We ran so far, had a rest, then walked, had a rest, then ran again. I was not very happy about this, as when they ran I lagged behind. (I had by this time gained a stone and a half in weight and was also a smoker.) When I caught up with the others they were just about to set off walking, so my opportunity for a rest was lost. Lt. Walker, who was in charge of training - a little stupid twit he was, and about ten years younger than me- said to me "You're not very good at running, are you Simms?". I replied "I would be if I was your age, sir!" You can't slow time a Yorkshireman and get away with it.

One morning Lt Walker came into the billet and announced that this morning the whole Beach Group Unit was ordered to run round the racecourse, and the last man to finish had to report sick. Now I don't know, and I never enquired, but it seemed a hell of a long way. So I don't have to tell you that I was among the last to finish. I duly reported sick, and the MO, when he saw me said, "What have you come for Simms?" I explained about the racecourse caper and Lt. Walker's order that the last men home were to report sick. He smiled and examined me then wrote out a sick report. I read it, and the words "Effort Syndrome" puzzled me. I asked what "Effort Syndrome" meant and the MO laughed and said "Well, Simms, it means that you are strongly disinclined to make any effort which you consider stupid and unnecessary". I replied "I agree, sir" and left the M.I. room.

There was another occasion when I crossed swords with Lt. Walker. I think that this lieutenant had it in for me - perhaps the MO had told him of my reporting sick. However, one afternoon we went on an exercise to the Heads of Ayr, which are a stretch of very high cliffs. We were going to practice lowering casualties, who were strapped to a stretcher and guided by a man holding the stretcher and easing his way slowly down the cliffside. Two or three men were at the cliff bottom to unload the stretcher, and send it back up again. A few men had braved the journey when Lt Walker said "Are you going to have a go, Simms?". I looked down the 200 feet to the men below, they looked at that distance like toy soldiers, so I said "I am going on leave in the morning". "But how would you go in if the Germans were in the next field?". I said, "I would be taken prisoner, sir."

While we were stationed at Ayr on the racecourse, the whole beach group was placed on stand-by. This meant that every third night, I had to sleep on a table in the Orderly Room, with the telephone at hand. The duty was shared between the Sergeant Clerk, Lance Corporal Clerk and myself. I could not leave the Orderly Room, and Spencer, my mate, used to go to the NAAFI and bring me a sandwich and a mug of tea for my supper. I got browned off with the situation, because in addition to my work in the Orderly Room, I had at
various times to continue training with the Unit, during the day. I finally asked for an interview with the C.O. (Commanding Officer). The C.O. was a Yorkshireman like myself, and at the beginning of the interview I said firstly that anything that I was going to say was in no way disrespectful or insubordinate, and that as a Yorkshireman he would understand plain speaking. He smiled and said "Certainly, Simms. Tell me your problem." I explained about the duty in the Orderly Room and having to do the training in addition, and that I was thoroughly browned off and found very little time to relax. The C.O. nodded his head and said "I am glad you have come to see me, Simms, as I am going to train someone else as clerk to do the documentation which will be required when we go into action." He asked me if I would be prepared to take a test and be remustered as a Nursing Orderly. This remustering is a device for transferring personnel from one section to another. I was replaced by another man in the Orderly Room and this then enabled me to return to the other fellows and continue training. This left me free in the evenings, and I was a lot happier.

Saturday mornings was usually a parade inspection for the Unit and on one occasion, after the inspection the C.O. remarked "Simms, your bloody uniform always looks as if it has been slept in." I replied "It has, sir, especially on cold nights." He smiled. On another occasion the C.O. asked me if I had any ambition. I told him that I had only one ambition and that was to return home after the War with my head, arms, legs etc, in one piece. He laughed and said "You'll be lucky."

The dining hall on our racecourse was the huge hanger used to house the planes used by the owners and jockeys during the racing season in pre-war days. It was unheated, and very draughty, although the cold weather was not much of a problem because our stay in the dining area was short. As food is concerned, the worst meal I can remember is breakfast. This mainly consisted of porridge, watery and tasteless, and boiled sausages. Cooks in the army are members of the Army Catering Corps, and have attended, or should have attended, a course on cooking in all sorts of conditions and situations. I also understand that they are expected to improvise with equipment and food to make the best use. The man who dreamed up boiledsausages must have had a macabre sense of humour because not only were the sausages boiled but the gravy with which they were served was a dirty grey, the same colour as an army blanket. On odd occasions, when I ventured into the dining hall instead of boiled sausages, bacon which was obviously tinned, was served, slimy and greasy, very unappetising.

Very few of the chaps in my Unit went to breakfast, instead on a rota basis one of us would go across to the cookhouse and bring back a bucket of tea from which we had a mug of the liquid which passed as tea. However, it was warm and wet, and something with which to start the day. Later we waited for the mobile NAAFI refreshment van to arrive where we could obtain a spam sandwich and another cup of slightly better tea. Once or twice, I was detailed for dinner duty in the Officers' Mess. During the period when I was in the Officers' Mess, officers had two cooked meals a day, unless we were in action an on emergency rations. This marked distinction between officers and 'other ranks' in the army was one of the causes which,in my opinion, resulted in the return of a Labour Government after the War. Most of the men in the Army were very conscious of this class distinction and were not inclined to support Conservatives who they saw as the Officer Class.

To get back to the dinner duty, this duty consisted of helping the cook and washing the pots after dinner. The best part of this duty was the dinner which was the same as that served to the officers, and very nice it was too. I was introduced to the delights of curried rice. Curried rice may sound strange as part of the menu in a Scottish location but this company of the Border Regiment who were incorporated in the Beach group had served in India, and I assumed that curry was part of a dinner tradition. I enjoyed the curry but have never carried on including it in my own daily diet. Although now, many years later, the influx of people from India following the granting of independence, has meant that Indian Restaurants serving Indian food are now popular. This of course includes the curry which so delighted me on that particular evening.

Incidentally, going back to the period on Ayr racecourse I forgot the mention that a lorry collecting swill (waste food) used to call three times a day while we were at Ayr, which is an indication of what the food situation was like. When I went on leave, I was happy for the short break. When on leave, I used to go down to the office where Phyllis was working and the supervisor always allowed Phyllis to leave work and return when my leave finished. This made us both very happy - these reunions were like second honeymoons.
At Christmas in 1943, Phyllis made the long journey from Sheffield to Ayr to spend the holiday with me. She stayed with a family who had a three bedroomed house on a council estate near to the racecourse. I got a sleeping out pass and spent Christmas with the Morrisons. The Scots don't make much of a celebration at Christmas. The New Year is their time. However, we had a nice Christmas dinner and went for a walk after. When the holiday finished, Phyllis made the long and tiring journey back home, leaving me with another happy memory.

Final preparations

After Christmas, round about February 1944, the whole Beach Group moved down to the New Forest. We were billeted in the old fashioned bell tents. Ten men with all our equipment did not leave much room to move about, and we were glad when the Americans finally took over the Camp and provided single tents for each man. At this time the whole of the coast up to ten miles inland was a sealed area. No civilian visitors were allowed, and preparations went forward. We were lectured about antitank mines and shoe mines, which exploded underfoot. We acted as a medical service for the whole camp.

We went on an exercise inland, and stayed overnight, setting up a Field Dressing Station and then returning back to camp. We travelled in a vehicle called a DUKW or Duck which was amphibious, six wheels for travelling on land and a propeller at the rear of the vehicle enabling it to travel through water. We went to Southampton and boarded a boat, sailed out into the Solent and practised a landing in Studland Bay near Bournemouth. We once went on an exercise from Southampton, on a boat named 'the Glenroy'. One of my most amusing memories is of a crowd of us, trying to climb into rope hammocks, which were slung from hooks over the tables on the mess deck. The crew members fell about laughing as we climbed in one side and fell out of the other. Once we mastered the technique, however, they proved to be very comfortable and swayed with the motion of the ship. I felt similar to a baby in a cradle.

Early in May, I received a telegram from my eldest sister to say my father was seriously ill in hospital. Although we were in a restricted area and the camp was under strict security, I was granted five days compassionate leave, and warned not to speak about my position, or talk about the situation. Phyllis of course was delighted to see me, and we went to see my father in the hospital. I could see that he had not much longer to live, as he appeared to have a cancer, and was in the terminal stage. Now I never got on with my father. We never had a conversation of any kind and he never showed any interest in me or what I was doing. I stood at his bedside in the hospital and when the time came to leave , I shook his hand and said," I don't suppose I shall be seeing you again?" He replied," I will probably last out until the invasion."

( Ten days later, when we had landed at Arromanches, Normandy, the CO told me he had died.)

A short time after this I had another experience which again brought me to think about life and death, especially as we were about to face one or the other! I was lying on the camp bed in my tent and became interested ( 'earwigging' ) in the conversation that was taking place in the next tent between two men.

One man was worried about what might happen to him, should he be killed in battle. Was there a heaven and a future life or did one just disappear, only to be remembered by his family and friends? The other man was attempting to explain the phenomenon of existence He said that everything around us was divided into finite things and infinite things. Finite things are the things you can see, hear, touch, smell - like trees, grass, flowers, buildings, everything that contributes to the structure of life. Infinite things are the rising and setting of the sun, the seasons, time, the continuity of life. We have faith that they will continue as part of life and the universe. This faith is a spiritual thing and cannot be explained in so many words, except to say that the whole of finite and infinite things make up a knowledge which we call the cosmos. Through our parents we emerge from the cosmos and when we cease to live we return to the cosmos. Faith helps calm your fears of the future. The two men left the tent and I never saw them again

One Friday evening early in June, we left camp, proceeded to Southampton and boarded a Tank Landing Ship (Those ships with the huge doors in the stern). Our Unit had been split to form three independent parties, each self-contained and with all the necessary equipment. I was a medical orderly in No 25 Field Dressing Station, detailed to be part of No 10 Beach Group. We travelled on separate boats, so that if any party was put out of action, any individual party could operate independently. We moved down into the Solent, and anchored off the Isle of Wight. There was no shore leave, of course, except that some officers did go across to Ryde for a few hours. This class distinction again was very noticeable all the time I was in the Army, and later we were all angered to learn that we carried a supply of whisky for the officers mess when and if we arrived in Normandy!

The Normandy campaign was the best organised operation that had ever taken place in history. During our stay in camp and as part of our preparation, we went to a large marquee. Inside on the walls was an enlarged photographic panoramic view of the beach where we would land. We were briefed to the points where we could link up and alternatives. The photographs had been taken from a low flying plane and the sight of German soldiers running for shelter made us smile. We were issued with a French phrase book, and 200 Francs in French money. The ship we were on was American, and crewed by American sailors, who stared at us curiously. We had American rations, which were very good, and a permanent supply of black coffee was on tap. On Sunday afternoon, the captain of the ship called us on deck and told us that provided we got safely through the minefield, we would be landing next day. I had never thought about sea mines. We had only been taught to deal with mines planted on land, which gave me something extra to worry about, and I was worried I can tell you. On Monday afternoon, we were called on deck again, in great anticipation, only to be told that the operation had been postponed for 24 hours due to the adverse weather forecast.

In we go

On Tuesday 5th June about midnight we started to move. These ships were flat bottomed, the inside had the appearance of a huge steel garage, full of tanks and motor vehicles of every description. When empty, they were to be used to ferry wounded back to England, and would hold 400 stretcher cases. For supper the evening before we sailed we were served with grilled pork chops with vegetables, followed by sliced pineapple, and all of the coffee we could drink. This did not give me any trouble but some of the fellows were seasick, and staggered ashore next day, looking decidedly unhappy. I was detailed for Fire Picket duty which meant that officially I was not supposed to sleep but to be on the alert. I went searching round the ship for a place to settle down and I found a small steel chamber, containing a number of oxygen cylinders. They were fastened to the side of the chamber with leather straps. The next move was to find the quickest way to the deck from my resting place so that in the event of any bother, I would be over the side and swimming back home.

Well, I settled down and the ship moved slowly on making about 4 knots. The ship being flat bottomed, it wallowed and rolled in a seasick making motion. The gas cylinders rattled with every roll, and suddenly one broke free and started to roll about with a terrible clatter. To say I was alarmed would be an understatement. I staggered about, the cylinder clasped in my arms, as if it was my dearest friend, scared stiff at the thought that one of them may explode. Eventually I managed after a struggle to fasten it back again and tried to settle. Sleep was impossible, but I managed to cat nap. Next morning I went up on deck. I felt a bit queasy and went to the side and retched, but was not sick. Looking over the side, I saw the marker flags, bobbing about in the water. The sea was calm and no other ship was in sight. I learned later that the Captain had lost his way, and sailed through the minefield unwittingly, having missed the channels which had been made by the minesweepers!

We eventually joined the armada of ships. I have never seen so many ships in my life. And I could imagine that any enemy soldier on the coast, seeing this vast army approaching would feel his bowels loosening. Warships, destroyers, landing craft, supply ships, slowly sailed on until a few miles from land. Then the warships started firing with a tremendous racket putting down a tremendous barrage onto the German positions on the coast. Gradually we drew nearer the shoreline and the boat began to turn slowly. The American sailors who had been manning the anti-aircraft machine guns, and who, a few hours before had been crowded behind their guns, swivelling round and looking determined, had all gone below. Of course it could have been their breakfast time, on the other hand they may have decided to make a hasty retreat to the toilet! As we drew nearer I could see fires in buildings on the shore, and the noise of the guns of both armies was deafening.

I was scared stiff and trembling with fear, the landing craft had now turned round and moved stern first towards the beach. Mortar bombs were dropping into the sea, on either side of us, sending up huge fountains of water. I ducked and then went down to the lower deck. The huge steel doors were open and the steel ramp was lowered. We assembled on the ramp and the boat edged its way slowly forward. Suddenly a voice with a broad American accent shouted "O.K.! you guys , this is as far as we go. Goodbye and good luck!"

Then the ship started to pull away and we jumped off the ramp into about three feet of water on the beach at Arromanches
(Gold Beach). Spencer, my mate, was behind me. On our shoulders was a stretcher and three blankets, me at the front and Spencer behind. On our backs were carried a Bergen rucksack full of medical equipment, plus a small pack and a steel helmet fastened to the side. I was wearing a pair of P.T. slippers, socks tucked into the bottom of khaki denim trousers, a shirt with sleeves rolled up, a Red Cross arm band, and to complete the ensemble, a woollen hat - not a sight calculated to frighten the enemy, but a sight to reassure the wounded that help had arrived. We plodded forward; every time we heard a bang we fell flat on the beach, and then got up and moved forward. Bang-Down–Wait-Move.

We came to our first casualty, a man with a broken leg caused by a bullet. I made out a medical card and took particulars. The fellow was quite conscious and pleased to see us. I gave him an injection of morphine and Spencer lit a cigarette for him and gave him a drink from a self heating can of Malted Milk. We applied a wire splint to his leg and made him comfortable on the stretcher. We came to an amphibious vehicle, where we were helped to load him, and off he went to the ship that had brought us, which was waiting offshore. We dealt with all the casualties in our sector and then joined the rest of the unit, who had paused for a rest. There was a lull in the battle, apart from an occasional shot from a sniper who had evidently been left behind by his comrades, who I should imagine had left in a hurry.
( This sniper gave himself up two days later, presumably having run out of ammunition and food. He came from his hiding place with his arm raised, slowly walking forward, and I saw one of the infantrymen pull a firing pin from a hand grenade and toss it towards him. He disappeared in the resulting explosion.)

We had no time for a meal, and we had been supplied with some self heating tins of soup, cocoa, Horlicks and Malted Milk. The self heating tins of soup etc. were a marvellous idea. About the size of a tall tin of fruit, therewas a small lid on the top of the can, which when opened, revealed a time fuse, which you ignited with the end of a lighted cigarette. Within thirty seconds, the liquid inside reached almost boiling point. These were very useful for reviving casualties. I lived on these self-heating liquids for the first three days, and by that time my blood pressure had fallen so low that I began to feel faint through lack of solid food. Incidentally, I also developed haemorrhoids, or piles if you will. I had trouble later on with this complaint, and saw a specialist doctor whose only advice was to drink at least three pints of water a day, which relieved the problem somewhat, but did not cure it.

It was getting dark when we finally finished on the beach and we started to move up into the nearby village. On the way we passed some German prisoners, one of them holding a horse, which neighed loudly in fear. Facing up the road, we were passing some houses, and I noticed a boat in one of the gardens. I turned to Spencer and said "Ben! There's a boat in that garden we have just passed, if anything goes wrong tomorrow you and me will stage a two-man Dunkirk!" We passed one or two bodies lying on the grass verge, evidently having died as they were advancing up the road. A young Cleethorpes lad - he was only nineteen - who had joined the unit as a clerk, a tall slim lad wearing glasses and looking out of place in uniform, said to me as we walked along "Hey! Mister Simms (he always called Mister Simms - I was old enough to be his father) look at all those fellows asleep on the grass!". I replied "Aye, son, they're asleep, but they won't wake up again". Entering the village, we came to a small farm and I found a place in the orchard, spread my ground sheet, pulled a blanket round me and sank to the ground exhausted. So ended my 'longest day'.

D Day plus

The next morning I dug myself a shallow trench, then I proceeded to a building which appeared to be the village schoolroom. We had a number of casualties, one or two Germans - there was one lad who only looked about fifteen years of age. He had a perforated wound in his chest, he refused food because he had been told the British would poison him. He was quite restless and tried continuously to pull off his wound dressing. An elderly French lady, who I presumed was the village schoolmistress, was busy washing some of the wounded. I tried to stop her, she could speak a little English and I explained to her that should the Germans return she would be in trouble. She smiled and told me that she belonged to the French Red Cross, and that she was a strong supporter of the English.

The second night I had only just settled in my shallow foxhole when all hell broke loose. There were about 200 ships in the harbour which opened fire and, although the sight of a stream of red hot tracer bullets streaming into the sky was an interesting sight, it was not interesting enough to stop me being scared stiff. A plane came over and dropped a bomb in the orchard. It was not a heavy bomb because the damage was only slight. It did however wound a donkey which commenced to run round in circles screaming with pain. One of the ambulance drivers shot it, and it fell into a small pond where it remained for a few days until the smell became unbearable and it was dragged out and buried. I lay on my back in this shallow trench, covered with a gas cape, which was a thin waterproof piece of material which was not much protection. I was scared stiff and thinking to myself, fancy coming all this way, and I shall probably not be alive tomorrow.

I lit a cigarette and thought, Sod it!, turned on my side and eventually, when all was quiet, managed to go to sleep. We worked on twelve hour shifts, 8.00 in the morning until 8.00 in the evening. The night shift was 8.00 in the evening until 8.00 the next morning. I opted to go on night shift, and although it was fairly noisy during the day, I did manage to get some sleep. Nights were usually quiet, except for the occasional light plane which came to have a look what was going on, although some nights the navy put on a heavy smokescreen, covering the activity of the ships unloading in the harbour.

The French lady who helped us on the second day became friendly, and in the evenings before going on duty, she invited a few of us round to her house where she endeavoured to teach us French. She could speak quite a lot of English, and so we made a lot of progress. In July I mentioned that on the 21st it would be my birthday, and she said, "We will have a party". I was very surprised to receive a cake from Phyllis in England and it took pride of place in the centre of the table, with some rations scrounged from the cook and fruit from the garden. We enjoyed a good tea. There was an empty chair at the table, which the French lady said would be for Phyllis had she been there. I keep saying 'the French lady', I never knew her name, I just called her 'Ma'am'.

During my time in the village, I managed to pass an exam and became a Nursing Orderly 2nd Class, which meant an increase in pay of sixpence per day, which I requested should be added to the allowance which Phyllis was receiving. French francs were 200 to the pound, and 200 francs was my weekly pay. One day four of us decided to go for a drink, and we went to a cafe, which was part of a farm. We went in and sat down, the room was empty except for us. A woman came up, she was heavily built and had a slightly sour expression on her face. I ordered four glasses of wine. She put out four glasses and produced a bottle of red wine, filled the glasses and retired into the back part of the building. The wine was very sour, and tasted like vinegar. One glass proved sufficient to discourage me from any more. The woman returned and I asked how much she wanted for the drinks. She said "fourteen shillings", which was the equivalent of 140 francs. We immediately rose and started to leave, not offering to pay, she became excited and jabbered a stream of abuse in an angry tone. A few days later I went back to the cafe, and took two tins of corn beef which brought a huge smile to the face of the woman. She offered me a glass of the red wine, which I politely declined.

At the end of July, we moved inland and took over about 30 wounded who had all been operated on for bullet wounds in the stomach and intestines. All these type of wounds cause a paralysis of the digestive system, inability to take solid food and they had to be sustained by a glucose and saline drip attached to an arm. This paralysis makes it dangerous to move them very much, and the occasional easing of their position in the bed is the only movement possible. This condition lasts for about a fortnight, and the first sign that the patient is recovering is a bowel movement which soils the sheets. This is a welcome sign and means that in addition to having solid food, they can be moved to a proper hospital. We were nursing these patients in a large marquee, with a large heavy tarpaulin sheet covering the grass. The casualties went back to England and we then moved to a village on the outskirts of Caen which is the capital of the Normandy region. During July Caen had suffered a 500 bomber raid, and was badly devastated. We set up a staging post, where casualties were fed and then sent on to hospitals.

On one journey back from hospital we passed a house which looked half demolished. Outside was an old chap with a pony and cart, loaded with his goods and chattels. He was slowly unloading the cart, and carrying his stuff into the undamaged part. Spencer and I went across the road and gave him a hand. When we had finished the old chap asked us if we would like a drink. He fished out an old tin mug from a box on his cart and a large stone bottle. He poured out a large amount of a golden coloured liquid which I thought was wine. He passed the mug to me and I started to drink. As I swallowed the drink I felt a burning sensation in my throat. It felt like boiling water. I stopped and clutched my throat and gasped for breath. The old Frenchman started to laugh and said "Hot, eh?" I replied "Very bloody hot". I asked Ben if he wanted to try a drink but he declined. I don't think he fancied a drink after he had seen what it did to me.

While I remember, I forgot to mention that of the 30 colostomy cases that we nursed, which we took over from the Surgical Unit, we only lost three, one of which was the German soldier, who had been wounded in the liver. We left Caen, and followed the Canadians up the coast. They had by-passed Dunkirk and captured Calais - more about Calais later. We pulled into Dieppe about 9.30 one Friday evening, after the Germans had left at 5.30 p.m. We took over a building which the Germans had been using. It appeared to be a convent, and we settled in. The following day, Saturday, Spencer and I had a walk into Dieppe. The building we occupied was about a mile and a half from the city centre. We strolled round, went to a cafe for a drink then a look at the shops. In the window of a hairdresser's shop, I saw on sale tins of face cream, and face powder, two things which were scarce back home, and I decided to get some and send them home.

Ben followed me into the shop, there were a few customers in the shop, having their hair attended to and a young woman, who was the hairdresser. I enquired the price of the cream and powder. (I could speak quite a bit of French by this time). She told me the price, one of the customers who was having her hair set expressed surprise at the price she was asking. She told the hairdresser that this was the price she had charged the Germans. The hairdresser replied, "Germans, English, all the same to me". I could understand what they were talking about and so somewhat indignantly I said to the hairdresser "If that is your attitude towards the English, who have sacrificed hundreds of lives to liberate your country, you can stuff your cream and powder", and we walked out of the shop. This was quite a long speech for me, but I think they got the message.

One Saturday afternoon we went to the theatre in Dieppe, and saw Ivor Novello in a play entitled "Love From a Stranger". He had not long been released from prison, where he had served a month for breaking the petrol regulations, which were being strictly enforced at that time. Novello was a superb actor, and I enjoyed seeing him act the part. On the way downhill into Dieppe, I often saw a woman. She was well built and stood with her arms folded on the doorstep of one of the houses. Every time we passed she would stare intently and looked what I thought was a bit grim. Later we got into conversation with two military policemen and they told us the story about this woman. It appears that she was using the house as a brothel. They told us that on a visit which they paid to this house (Brothels were out of bounds to all troops on the orders of General Montgomery so this was a visit of) inspection.) Inside the house they said was a man, presumably the husband, who sat in a chair, and collected the money. The room was divided by a blanket stretched across the room behind the blanket was a bed on which the woman used to do her business. But the most interesting thing they saw was hundreds of condoms (French letters) lying thick on the floor at the side of the bed. Walking through them was just like walking through a forest in Autumn when the leaves had fallen from the trees, and are lying thick on the ground, making a rustling sound as one treads on them.

I got in touch with a local family, and the mother offered to do my washing if I would supply the soap, and mend my socks, if I supplied the wool. I also took the odd tin of corned beef, or sardines, etc. which I scrounged from the cook house. One night, it came my turn to be on guard duty. The Germans had left behind a sentry box in the familiar black and white stripes. Being unarmed, my only defence was a heavy pickaxe handle, a paraffin lamp provided a bit of illumination. I was a bit nervous and apprehensive. In any dodgy situation that I found myself in, while in the army, I was always nervous and apprehensive except the occasions on which I was scared stiff! About half a mile away up the road was a large field, in which we were corralled about three hundred German prisoners, and I had them in mind when I took up my position outside the sentry box. In a dodgy situation, my instinct of self-preservation always starts to work overtime. At first I stood inside the box with the lamp at my feet. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I remembered that the favourite way to overcome a guard, if he was standing in a sentry box, was to get behind the box, push it over and imprison the guard inside. I decided after a while, having in mind those three hundred geezers up the road, the best position for me would be to leave the lamp inside, and stand behind the box. I was quite happy with this position and recommended it to the bloke who relieved me two hours later.

We did not seem to play any particular role in Dieppe, except to keep the building tidy and deal with anything that cropped up. In fact, it seemed to me that having played our part on the beaches, and all the other medical services arriving and taking over, our position seemed to become surplus to requirements. We were told that before we came across to Normandy, at one of the briefings, that as a Unit we would be written off after the other services arrived. Our next move was to a small village called Hardinghen, a few miles outside Calais. We arrived there one night, and as the lorry in which we were travelling pulled up, the usual crowd of French children gathered round with the cry of "Cigarette pour papa". As I climbed out of the lorry, I heard one of the French kids suddenly say "Jeeesus Cerrrist" in a drawl which meant that the Canadians had been there before us. The building we occupied was another convent, and was the best place that we had ever found.

It had been used by the Germans as a small hospital, with a small operating theatre plus a large incinerator. There was an elderly Frenchman who dodged about the grounds and we became quite fond of him, he had a cheery manner, and of course he shared the same rations. I don't know whether he received any pay, perhaps being fed proved sufficient.
The Germans had left behind a quantity of equipment, and I was surprised to find that the bandages and dressings they had been using were made of paper. One day, I was ordered to burn some of this equipment in the incinerator. There were some uniforms and coats, webbing, leather straps etc. When the old Frenchman saw us burning this stuff, he became excited and protested, saying that the woman in the village would be able to make good use of the clothing. Off he went, and the next thing I heard was the sound of voices on the other side of the wall.

There was a small tree, conveniently growing against the wall, which enabled me to climb and look over. Two or three women were stood in the road and they held up their arms in expectation. Ben passed up the stuff and I threw it over to the women. When everything was gone, I called "That's all there is". There were cries of thanks and one of the women called and asked if I would like a drink. I hopped over the wall and went into one of the houses and sat down. A bottle of liquid was produced and a glass quickly filled. I drank, and it was like drinking liquid silk, smooth with a slight orange flavour. I asked the name of the drink, and was told that it was called Cointreau. After a few glasses of this enchanting liquid I was getting quite merry and said I would have to be getting back to work, or words to that effect. I managed to scramble back over the wall, and Spencer was bit miffed because I had not invited him to join me.

Eventually we moved into Calais, and set up a medical centre. In Calais at that time there were a number of Canadian troops, and also an administrative headquarters of the Border Regiment, who were outside Dunkirk besieging a large number of German military and naval forces. The Canadians had bypassed Dunkirk and cut off the German forces before they could withdraw. It was only the end of the war which brought relief to the Germans, although in April 1945, a few weeks before the end of the war, they made a futile attempt to break out.

It was during my time in Calais that I was lucky enough to be given 48 hours leave to Paris. In November 1944, the war was proceeding at such a pace, that it became possible to start granting leave to the personnel who had taken part in the Normandy landing. A 'draw' took place and my name came out, and off we went to Paris. This was a marvelous experience. We stayed at the Grand Hotel in the Place de la Opera, which was being run in style by the Americans. I had a double room with toilet facilities en suite, a telephone at the side of the bed, from which we could order a cup of tea. This was the first time in my life that I had stayed in a five star hotel, and was almost overwhelmed by the luxury. All the other fellows enjoyed it too. We were taken on a coach tour of Paris, to all the notable places: Eiffel Tower, Place de la Concorde, and the Palace des Invalides, which contained the tomb of Napoleon Bonaparte. The tomb of Bonaparte was, as it is today, set in a small amphitheatre, a balcony surrounded by a gallery, in the basement of which stood a red marble tomb. It was an impressive sight, more so because the roof was constructed of coloured glass, and in the light shining down on the tomb, it seemed to cast a golden glow directly on to the marble, very impressive.

Returning to Calais, I was sent to the office of the Assistant Director of Medical Services to act as Secretary. The Corporal, who had never had leave since leaving England showed signs of fatigue, and so I was sent to relieve him.. Now, although I was classed as a Nursing Orderly, it was in my records that I had done duty as a clerk, and I could, had I felt so inclined, refused the order. But there are only two ways of coping with life in the Army: the hard way, and the easy way, and I invariably chose the easy way. After the corporal came back from leave, I stayed on for a few weeks, and then went back to my unit and enquired about leave.

I must have had a good report from the A.D.M.S. as I was given seven days' leave. I had no time to write to Phyllis, so when I reached London on my journey home, I telephoned the Civil Defence post and they passed on the message. The train on the journey from London arrived in Retford where we were informed that there were no more trains that night. Most of the passengers on the train were servicemen, and so you can imagine what an uproar this caused, and the stationmaster was informed in no uncertain terms that unless he produced a train within a reasonable time, that his station would be demolished. Within half an hour a train appeared, and with a lot of cheering, we continued our journey.

Phyllis had come to the station to meet me, but as the hour got later, she was told that there were no more trains that night, and she went to catch the last tram home. Shortly after she left the station, our train pulled in. There wasn't a taxi in sight so I started to walk home the four miles to Shiregreen. Reaching the Wicker, I saw a tram traveling along, and I learned later that Phyllis had been on this tram, so I had missed her by only a few minutes. I arrived home and had to knock loudly on the door as Phyllis had gone to bed. She got up and put the kettle on and I was grateful for the taste of the tea, which was a very big improvement on the tea supplied in the Army. While on leave in Paris, I bought Phyllis a very elegant powder compact, square shaped and made of tortoiseshel1. Phyllis was delighted with this gift and rewarded me later after we got to bed. I was very tired, but not too tired to claim my reward. I enjoyed my leave. Phyllis went to work the following day, and later I called in the office where she worked. The supervisor told her to go home and come back to work when my leave was up.

Back to Calais then, to continue the War, which was rapidly coming to an end. The Russians were rapidly advancing from the East on their way to Berlin. In the West, the Allies were making progress towards Germany. I was in Paris on the day that the war finished. I had been granted my second visit to Paris. The first sign that the war was over was the sight of French children coming out of school in a long chain chanting over and over, "La guerre est finis, la guerre est finis" (The war is finished). The older French people were very quiet, although in the evening the younger ones joined in the celebrations. The Americans were the most excited, climbing lamp posts, cheering, dancing and kissing every female in sight. My feeling was more of relief than joy and I began to think about my return home. A little later all men were given a number, and demobilisation began. Atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan brought the war finally to a close.

At the beginning of November 1945, I was posted to Bielafeld in Germany, and I went by train from Calais. It was a long tiring journey, crossing the Dutch border at Wesel. The River Rhine separated Germany from Holland, the Germans had destroyed the bridge crossing, and the Royal Engineers had constructed a heavy pontoon railway bridge, this was anchored by heavy barges, upstream as the Rhine was fast flowing at this point. The train started to cross the bridge very slowly. It was a dark night, and as I looked through the window of the train, down into the water many feet below, I felt a little nervous. The bridge trembled under the weight of the train, and I opened the train window and got ready to jump in case the bridge collapsed. However, safely across, we continued the journey and arrived in Munster. I was astonished on leaving the train to see underneath the station, in the covered area which was the platform approach area, hundreds of people living and sleeping in this space. It reminded me of the Underground shelters which the people of London used as shelter at the height of the bombing raids.

Leaving the station, I was approached by a small boy who offered to carry my kit bag. He looked too frail to be carrying anything, but I gave him a cigarette, which was the most valuable currency in use at that time. I stayed in Munster overnight, and went for a short walk. Munster had suffered severely in the air raids, and the city was in total ruin. A pathway along the road had been cleared by bulldozer, to enable traffic to move about and all the people I saw looked shocked, miserable and unhappy. In Bielafeld, I was billeted in an army barrack, and although the weather was bitterly cold, it was very cosy inside barracks. I went into Bielafeld a few times, and visited the local bier keller, situated under the Town Hall. There was dancing and singing, as the 'non-fraternisation' rules had been relaxed by the time I reached Germany. The transport in Bielafeld was by tram, and I travelled backwards and forwards from barracks to town.. The conductor never asked us for the fare - in any case we did not feel inclined to do any favours -although the natives were friendly.

I came back to England in December, to the depot at Colchester, and was given 10 days' disembarkation leave. I arrived home two days before Christmas. This was the first time I had spent Christmas at home since 1941, and I enjoyed the break, which of course was also a very appropriate time to be on leave. I don't remember very much about the details except that we had a party of Phyllis's friends from work. What we had for Christmas dinner I don't seem able to recollect, but I do remember going in search of a pork pie on Christmas Eve. Friedrich's had a pork butcher's shop in Firth Park, and looking in the shop window I saw displayed about sixty succulent-looking pork pies. I stood in the shop doorway. There was a long queue of people waiting outside, and I said to Miss Friedrich, who was serving behind the counter "You have about sixty pork pies in the window and there are about a hundred people outside. What are my chances of getting a pork pie?" She replied "As a member of the Forces, you have first priority", and she gave me a pork pie, and I went on my way, rejoicing. Phyllis said that she didn't know how I had so much cheek. I reminded her that I had faced far worse dangers than trying to jump the queue at a butcher's.

Then it was back to Colchester, and posted to Brandon in Norfolk to a Medical Unit. While I was there I developed a nasty abscess in my armpit. The MO put me on sulphani1amide tablets, which were the main antibiotics at that time. One of the side effects of sulpha tablets is to make one feel ill and depressed, and eventually I was sent to hospital in Bury St Edmunds. I was admitted and went for a bath. As I was leaning on the edge of the bath, turning on the taps the abscess burst, and I was glad to get some relief from the pain. I was taken into the anaesthetic room, the mask was placed over my face. (This was the first time I had experienced anaesthetic). As I was losing consciousness, I heard a voice saying, "I think this is the so many thousandth and thirty three anaesthetics administered in this hospital. If you don't come round, pass it on, pass it on !". I remembered this after the operation, and wondered whether it was an hallucination or the actual voice of the anaesthetist?. I recovered and was treated very well with sunray treatment to my arm. After I was fully recovered, I stayed on for a while and helped in the wards. I went out once or twice to the cinema, and felt very conspicuous, in the blue uniform with white shirt and red tie. Still the same clothing that was worn by wounded soldiers in the First World War!

Leaving Bury St Edmunds hospital, I was sent to a Convalescent Depot on the outskirts of Halifax. By some happy mistake at Halifax I was regarded as an ex-Japanese prisoner of war and was issued with a complete new kit. Phyllis's father was very pleased with the boots that I passed on to him as boots were scarce until long after the end of the war. When I had reached the necessary standard of physical fitness, I was posted to a CRS in Cambridge. This Camp Reception Station was actually a couple of miles outside, and consisted of a large detached house with surrounding gardens. German prisoners of war looked after the gardens, and also made my bed up in the mornings. The staff of the CRS consisted of a woman Medical Officer, who lodged in Cambridge, and left work every day at 5.00 pm, a sergeant pharmacist, a cook, myself as Senior Nursing Orderly and one other Nursing Orderly, and two ambulance drivers.

I enjoyed my stay at Cambridge. I was very impressed with the colleges and the River Cam, the quiet and peaceful atmosphere, the sight of Fellows in black gowns, riding bicycles. I did not go into Cambridge very often, my off duty hours were spent either reading or walking up the road away from Cambridge and admiring the gardens of the houses. I was intrigued on one of these walks to see a unique scarecrow in a garden, which contained a large amount of strawberry plants. It consisted of a long thin rod, which had a spring action on it and on which was suspended a man's jacket. In a faint breeze, this had an up and down motion, and although I did not see it scare any birds, I thought it was a unique idea, and probably the brainchild of a Professor at the University!

There were two large rooms in the house, which we used as wards, with four beds in each room. The stay of any patient was restricted to a few days, any more serious cases were sent to hospital in Cambridge. As a Nursing Orderly, I had a fair amount of responsibility. The MO did not come on duty until about 10 o'clock in the morning, and people turned up early for the sick parade from 8.30 onwards. I used to deal with all the minor things like colds, and minor injuries, write necessary prescriptions and mark the sick report M & D (Medicine and Duty), and anything more serious had to wait for the MO to see them. We were never very busy and at any given time we never had more than five patients occupying the two small wards. In the evening after the MO went back to Cambridge, if anyone turned up who required medical attention, if I was doubtful about their complaint, I used to admit them and await the arrival of the MO next morning.

I only dropped one clanger while I was there. One evening a bloke turned up complaining of a sore throat. I took his temperature, which was fairly high, and decided to admit him, gave him a drink and settled him down for the night. The next morning when the MO arrived, she asked if there were any admissions. I told her that there was a case which I had admitted the night before with a sore throat and high temperature. I went with her to see this patient, and she examined him, looking at his tongue, and feeling the glands on each side of his neck. We left the ward and the MO said "He's got scarlet fever". This caused minor panic stations, and we rushed him off to the Isolation Hospital.

However, I made up for this blunder on another occasion. One evening, just after the MO had left, an ambulance drove up and the man accompanying the sergeant who was laid on a stretcher in the ambulance, said that he had collapsed at teatime, and had been vomiting. I asked a few questions, and came to the conclusion that all the signs and symptoms pointed to him having a perforated ulcer. I told them to leave him in the ambulance, and telephoned the MO explaining the situation and telling her what I thought was wrong. On arrival, the MO went into the ambulance, had a look at the chap, and said "I think you're right, Simms. Get him to hospital". I visited the hospital three days later, the sergeant was sat up in bed. When he saw me, he grinned and said "Thank God for the Linseed Lancers" (Linseed Lancers was one of the nicknames given to the members of the RAMC).And so time rolled on. It was now June, and studying my 'demob' number, I calculated that Iwould probably be out in July, or the end of July, so I wrote home and told Phyllis the good news. She wrote back and told me that she was going to book a fortnight's holiday in Bournemouth for about the middle of August. The day drew nearer. The MO did my 'demob' examination, and neither of us showed any sign of embarrassment as I dropped my shorts and coughed!

Off back to Colchester, then up to York, where I was demobilised. After the necessary paper work, I went to the outfitters for my civilian clothing. I was given a grey suit, and I chose a pair of brown shoes, shirt, socks, and a trilby hat. Instead of a raincoat, I chose a brown harris tweed light overcoat, which lasted me quite a few years, and finished up as a cover for the bonnet of a car, which I bought in 1963! Leaving the 'Demob Centre', I went down to the station, and left my equipment, plus the 'Demob' stuff, which was in a large cardboard box in the left luggage office. I went a short tour of York. I was in no hurry to get home, as I knew that Phyllis would not be home from work until after tea. I strolled round the various places of interest, including the famous Minster, and caught a train which got me home around six o'clock.

We were both overjoyed. At last we were really free. Shortly after I was home we went on a coach trip into Derbyshire. We stopped in Bakewell, it was election day, and in the afternoon we stopped for a cup of tea and the coach driver told us that all the signs pointed to the fact that, thanks to the 'Khaki vote' we had now a Labour government.
On demobilisation, I was given a month's pay plus any back pay to which I was entitled and a week or two after this I received a money order for £50 gratuity pay. Phyllis had booked the promised fortnight's holiday in Bournemouth and the £50 paid for our stay at the private hotel.

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