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This is a transcript of my father's handwritten account that I found recently amongst some old files. He starts be calling it the second chapter, but I have been unable to find the first (or third!). I have transcribed his words as accurately as I can but where I have been unable to decipher his writing I have replaced the word with XXXs. I have had to divide this story in two and activities post Nijmegen are entered as a separate story.

"This is the second chapter — a longer chapter, and written after the hostilities have ceased. It is therefore a pleasanter task, and admits too of more detail. I ask you to trust my memory.

The first chapter ended in the Albert and Escaut Canals. It was actually the end of the second phase of the campaign. We had won the first phase, the battle of the Beachhead; then came the break out, this was the second phase and it carried us all the way from Normandy, through France and Belgium to the southern part of Holland and it was here on the Albert and Escaut Canals that we were checked or perhaps more correctly we paused, having stretched our lines of supply to the danger point.

I have described the bridgehead at Gheel, that was on the Albert Canal. I remember most particularly listening to the radio and hearing an eyewitness account of this bridgehead — the words that stood out were ‘every square yd was under shell fire.’ There was a high bank on the side of the canal and we dug the guns into this. I’m afraid Gerry spotted us coming in and made things a bit unpleasant by dropping a few shells around us. Fortunately only one man was wounded and a little boy was killed. We could never understand why the civilians didn’t all clear out completely from the immediate battle area — I suppose they stayed to try and save what they could, but often, alas, as in this case, with disastrous consequences. Our own feelings always were that if we didn’t have to be there, we’d get right out of the way, for simply nothing is so precious as life itself — all the XXXXXX too when you are in danger of losing it.

When we left Gheel, it was with a feeling of relief — satisfaction too when we arrived at Diest, pleasantly far behind the battle line. Alas we had just got ourselves established when towards the evening that familiar and potent warning came through — ‘prepare to move’.

It was forward to the Escaut Canal — the route seemed to have so many turns, I had the feeling that if I had to retrace my ‘footsteps’ I would get hopelessly lost, not a good thing on ground so recently won and still quite probably disputed. We arrived at the bridge just at dark — it was so peaceful and quiet and after chatting with a young Guard’s Officer who seemed quite happy about the position, I went off to recce the gun positions. A plane droned overhead — thank heavens as always for the RAF — but I quickly changed my mind when I heard the whistle of a bomb and in a flash I was flat on my face. That created my first apprehensions about Joe’s Bridge — our subsequent stay was not at all pleasant.

We occupied a school as our HQ — an excellent place for it was quite undamaged. I remember so well that morning. Shells, chiefly airburst, were coming over pretty frequently but nothing near enough to be uncomfortable. Freddie and I got our XXX with a clean XXXX, and as was my usual drill I set up that photograph of my darling in a prominent place. We had a wash and shave and something to eat and off I went to the guns. One’s hearing becomes super-sensitive and even amidst the din of battle, the sound of shell or bomb coming whistling through the air is never missed, and never fails to evoke immediate action, you are flat on your stomach in a flash. They say you never hear the shell that gets you — it may be true, though I don’t think it is believed, at least there is a quiet determination to avoid the near misses that one XXXXXX you can hear.

They dropped quite a lot of shells around that school, but when I went back into that room, amidst all the glass and broken plaster, my darling had stood her ground and was smiling still.

It was at Joe’s Bridge that I lost my good friend, my propelling pencil — too many ‘belly floppers’ on mother earth broke it in two! Needless to say we sacrificed the luxury of sleeping in the school to a hole in terra firma — much more secure!

We had a heavy bombing attack one night just after dark — in my opinion our fiercest action. It was always Gerry’s favourite time for attack — but this night the Luftwaffe certainly seemed to have got a new lease of life. They gave us a XXXX time and even though in the end communications were completely gone, all guns went on firing right to the end. Everything seemed to be ablaze around HQ — I thought all the vehicles must have gone, but only the water truck went up, we couldn’t get that out but got the other vehicles out of the way. I went round the guns — fortunately no one was hurt, though there was some material damage. I remember getting to the last gun — a bren carrier was ablaze just beside it and ammunition was going off in all directions. I crawled on my tummy up to the gun pit — yes they were alright but they had lost all their XXX. We were many times scared stiff at Joe’s Bridge, but we were lucky too.

It makes such a difference when you are on the winning side — when things are unpleasant you know it will only remain so for so long, and you’ll be pushing forward again. Keep the battle moving is a XXXXXX of modern war — I can assure you that we prefer it so.

It was at Joe’s Bridge that we were briefed on the ‘Arnhem’ operation. On a fine afternoon in a quiet little orchard, the plans were unrolled and the story told. I left with a feeling of excitement — it was daring of course, it might not be as easy as we all seemed to think, but there was great confidence about it.

The guns roared, the Typhoons screamed down, and the tanks impatient as racehorses before the starting post, thundered forward — the third phase had begun. It was then that I first saw the impressive sight of hundreds of Dakotas towing gliders. Our domination in the air had been so markedly complete all through the campaign. Being situated so near to the Bridge I had a magnificent view of it all, we had in fact many visitors who came especially to see the ‘start’.

The traffic on the road must have looked like a snake from above, and when the head stopped, the whole length of the body had to stop. We too joined in the ‘procession’ — for the old Regt. Had to be well in forefront for our new task was to protect the bridge at Arnhem.

I shall never forget that journey — it took several days and during that time many uneasy moments. I remember just before we started, I was mildly reprimanding the cook about not getting the ‘cup of char’ quick enough whenever we stopped. So of course whenever we stopped on this journey he got the old petrol cooker out and got the water on, and of course as soon as he had got things set up the column would start to move again!

The first night we spent by the roadside before we’d got to Valkenswaard — the next night we spent next to a village called Son, a horribly eerie night, spent in anxious expectation of an attack by German tanks. I lay under a haystack, it poured with rain — at midnight I was aroused to begin my ‘watch’. Thank heavens Bill, who had deployed his troop on the other side of the road, came to join me. The Germans had cut the road a mile or two in front and a further attack was expected at any moment. There had been an earlier battle at this particular spot — burnt out trucks and men who had been killed were evidence of this — and it was our fear that there’d be another one on the same spot. In the still of night when every sound is heard and when one’s imagination is most wild, I was certain I could hear the sound of tracked vehicles — I kept hearing it but fortunately it never seemed to get any nearer. Bill made the remark that he had filled his cigarette case just in case we were taken prisoner. We daren’t show any light, so we found a shielded corner in an old barn and squatting down smoked a cigarette, waiting for something we hoped would not happen.

Morning came and all was quiet, but it was not till the following day that we got moving again. The road had been cleared and that long snake of trucks, guns and war material began moving forward. We were held up again at St. Odenrode, as we waited Gerry started shelling the road — an awfully uncomfortable feeling when you’re held up. But we soon got moving and proceeded to run the gauntlet. One wished we had a vehicle capable of doing 60 m.p.h. though it wouldn’t have been much use for one’s speed was governed by the speed of the vehicle in front, and I think everyone in the column was cursing the fellow in front because he wasn’t travelling faster. Some mortars were landing uncomfortably near but we got through Veghel heaving deep sighs of relief and with the good fortune of having no casualties whatsoever. Our sister Regiment had a rather more unfortunate experience for they were XXXX at the spot where the road was cut.

We reached Nijmegen that night — the limit of our travels for the time being for the bridge at Arnhem was not yet taken. It never was of course and we were deployed on the north bank of the River Waal to protect the famous Nijmegen Bridge. You probably recall the story of how the fort at Nijmegen was taken by the American Airborne troops — it was in this fort that I set up my HQ, one of the best we have ever had, walls and roof several feet thick — a veritable haven in the area which was then and continued for so long to be under constant shell fire.

Anyone who was at Nijmegen will tell you stories of his feelings when crossing the famous bridge. Gerry was always shelling it. The signs told the story — “Don’t linger here” — “Step on it — no speed limit”. You sort of took a deep breath, looked straight and put your foot hard down. Even about half a mile on the other side, the vehicles were still almost airborne.

Gerry made frantic efforts to get those bridges, there was a railway bridge too — and the Engineers put up a pontoon bridge which Gerry probably didn’t know of. There were many air attacks — hectic scenes as our fighters swooped into attack, and our ack-ack guns spit forth whenever the Hun came in range and without one of our fighters in close pursuit. There was a high mound all the way around the fort and by a superhuman effort we got four of the guns on top of it — excellent positions and I had my command post on the top too. The scenes at night were fantastic — the drone of the aircraft, the flash and fire of AA guns, the dropping of flares, the crash of bombs. Hectic it was and one night in particular stands out. We had had a heavy air raid which went till about midnight — but the bridge still stood undamaged. Then at about five in the morning there was a loud explosion — the centre span of the railway bridge lay in the river, but thank heavens the road bridge still stood, though a large hole had been blown in the roadway. The work of those now famous “frog-men”. The press accounts of this little affair didn’t tell you the full story — it would otherwise have given very valuable information to the enemy. We had naturally a very keen interest in those bridges being on the ‘wrong’ side of the river. The main bridge was soon got going again, and suffered no further mishaps.

It was from my command post that I used to look out over Arnhem and the country beyond. At night the sky was lit all around by the vivid flash of field guns — and the weird, uncomfortable sounds of rattling machine guns, and the crunch and XXXX of mortars and shells. The occasional XXXX that tanks had broken through, but though they never did, it was always an uneasy life.

I had one of my luckiest escapes then — I was in a gun pit when a Me 262 dropped some anti personnel bombs and killed the two men standing next to me — the terrible price we have had to pay for victory, XXX XX never forget it. Maurice had the worst job at Nijmegen for his troops were right at the end of the bridge. I remember having a party with Maurice one night at his HQ — there was some particularly heavy shelling when I was returning to the fort, but for all I knew it was a perfectly peaceful night — unashamedly I admit I was a trifle inebriated.

It was from Nijmegen that I made my trip to Antwerpen (see ‘Jonathan’s trip to Antwerp’!) my activities there were the inevitable reaction to our life at Nijmegen. There was a very fine Officers Club in Nijmegen run by 30 Corps — the finest Corps in the British Army and with unknown time here worked such a lot. Unfortunately the risk of the place being shelled became too great and had to be closed. But it was indicative of how the Army and 30 Corps in particular tried to get entertainment and amusement as far up to the front line as possible.

We left Nijmegen and journeyed south retracing many of our original footsteps. Back across Joe’s Bridge, which to our chagrin had been renamed, obviously by some crowd of Engineers to whom it was just another bridge — strangely quiet it was now, but the battle XXXX still remained."

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