Memories of Les Dyer

D-Day, The First 24 Hours!

After refering to a 1944 calendar (on line), it transpired B Coy disembarked on Friday 23rd June and not as given in the Middlesex History the 25th. What makes me certain of this is because the attack on Cheux went in on a Sunday, and as the Sunday was the 25th that makes sense. It seems odd now but it appeared that all major attacks by the 15th(S) Div were always made on a Sunday, I suppose because we must all have been considered Barbarians, its too late to ask Monty now why he did this, after all he was a bit of a bible puncher himself, oh well one of lifes little mysteries.

I personally recall disembarking in the afternoon, although we were fully waterproofed vehicle wise we just about got out tracks wet when we came ashore, the first thing that greeted us was a sign Actung Minen very welcoming. We milled about the beach in the general chaos eventually parked in a field removed all our waterproof plates, lumps of bostic etc, then thought about a quick brew, which was wishful thinking, as we were all summoned to hear about what we were about to do by the Coy 2/ic one Joe Cummins a nice man. It transpired that Joe by adept map reading was going to take us to a village some miles inland named Secquville en Bessain there we had the Divisional Assembly area, and we had to join it. The Coy Commander with his small retinue of cooks, and other bods were going on independently. But Joe would lead the main body himself, so away we go on the first leg of our Cooks Tour.

Firstly we had to drive on the right, keep off the verges keep an eye open for enemy aircraft (never saw one) and above all keep up with Joe. We drove on past knocked out German and British Tanks, Spiked guns, temporary cemeteries, all the usual impedia of advancing and retreating armies. We never heard a shot fired all the time we spent on the road, and apart from the choking dust which got everywhere we thought this is a cushy old war. After about three hours we did halt for a brew, and Joe drives off in his Jeep. We thought we must be there, but no, we found out later Joe drove off to find out where the hell we were. Anyway he must have found somebody who knew as he returned beaming like a chief stoker, and cheerfully gave orders for the entire convoy to turn around rapidly as we must have been heading for the recruitment centre for the wehrmacht this was confirmed by a great deal of small arms fire not too far away. It is not too difficult to turn a carrier around in a narrow country lane but it is for the larger soft skinned vehicles, but after a great deal of reversing, shouting, and damaged paintwork we eventually were facing the right way, and away we went once more. After another couple hours I remember passing an Advanced 2nd TAF airstrip on our left hand side. Give an hour or so we passed this airstrip again this time on our right hand side, on seeing this the whole Companies's faith in Joes map reading ability fell to zero. The convoy halted it was getting near dusk by this time, but we were saved by the appearance of one of our Company Don R's who was out looking for us, without the benefit of map reading but just by common sense he led us unerringly to a large orchard where we were told to get our mess tins and mugs for a hot meal. Thank God the cooks hadn't got lost like we did. Apparently it had taken the HQ party roughly an hour to get there! Good old Joe. After the meal we were told to bivvy down for the night where we were, it was a nice night so under the stars we lay thinking about tomorrow.

So we were woken up at the first light on Saturday 25th of June 1944 in the orchard of a farm in the Normandy Village of Secquville en Bassain, had breakfast of soya link sausages, hot tea, and then spent the rest of the morning on machine gun and carrier maintainance until lunch time. Then we were called for a briefing by Frank Waite our platoon Sergeant, one of the old school of NCOs, it was always Frank who seemed to make the decisions of whatever we seemed to do and we all thanked God for his presence many times. So there we are looking at a large map with chinagraphed arrows Allied forces in red and the German fittingly in black! So the plan was we would move out about 2200hrs that night advance across corn fields and take the village of Cheux, thereafter we would take Caen, and then a direct route to Paris, it looked and sounded so simple on the map, and the way Frank put it across, it sounded like a case of applying for a week end pass to spend in Paris after we got there! Well we never did get Paris, and nobody seemed to consider the German Army's lack of co-operation on this plan.

After the briefing we were told to get our heads down for a few hours, so naturally our nap school got under way again this had been an ongoing game since our arrival in Brighton some months before, and continued right up until the end of hostilities in 1945 albeit with a changing cast of players.

After a couple of hours armour started to come through our orchard, flail tanks,crocodiles, Hobarts funnies, and then the fighting tanks, in the main Shermans and Churchills, this procession seemed endless and done wonders for our morale, through the village they proceeded across the cornfields slightly to our left. Here I digress a moment, I was in Secquville in Bessain in August 2001 and the path the tanks, and subsequently ourselves with the rest of the 15th Scottish Div took is very obvious even to this day.

Around about ten pm we were told to mount carriers, and prepare to move, there were farewells to our mates in other platoons, I said mine amongst others to Barney Walden a fellow nap player, and who for years was convinced The Second Front was just paper talk to appease our Russian Allies, I remarked on this fact to Barney then, and got some rude derisive remark back from him. So we set off across the fields following all the others and driving with no lights obviously guided by two lanes of white tape which meant as long as you kept in the centre of these tapes you were not going to hit a mine,apart from the fact that in places parts of the tape were missing probably chewed up by the tanks tracks,and other parts obliterated by mud again thrown up by tanks, anyway we all made it to the start line, where we all lined up abreast guns were loaded, and we peered through the night to see what perils were out there, apart from sporadic bursts of German Spandau fire which sounded like the ripping of cloth there were no perils to speak of.

At the break of dawn everything opened up, we were told it was the heaviest barrage since El Alemein. There were naval guns from the warships anchored off shore, Corps, Divisonal Artillery it was really scary, and they were on our side. We pictured advancing to our objective through a sea of mangled German corpses, but not a one did we see, the Lord above knows where they went, but wherever it was they were safe, and they were there challenging our advance to prove it with their Tigers, mortars, artillery and spandaus.

We started our advance and proceeded slowly with armour on our left and right, and to our consternation quite a lot of this armour was coming to grief through mines, and anti tank guns the notorious 88mm the Germans seemed to use for everything. Eventually we cut across a tarred road the Bayeux to Caen road, there under a tree we saw our Company Comander Major D Ellis being attended to by stretcher bearers apparently a shell had blown the bough off a tree and it had fallen right on him, so that was Desmond out of it.

Just after we had crossed the road we arrived via a sunken road to the outskirts of Cheux, there we halted. The barrage still thundering away it started to rain, nobody knew what the hell was happening, and so the speculation was still going on when Frank Waite popped his head over the carrier and handed us a mug of tea, and he also gave us the sad news that 7 platoon had just buried Barney Walden who was killed outright by a shell splinter. Barney is to day buried in the St. Manviue War Cemetry within a hundred yards of the spot where he was killed

Shortly after receiving that sad news we moved out of the sunken road, each of us with their own thoughts, about one's vulnerability and who would be the next to go, we drove into a small wooded area just in Cheux, were told to get dug in, and get the guns into position, just then we heard the approach of tanks, PIATS were grabbed, shelter was taken behind trees there being nothing else at the time we had merely broken the top soil of our digging in, when the tanks turned out to be Shermans ours!

No sooner had we recovered from that shock when we were told to load up the carriers we were moving again. This time we went through to Cheux passed a cross roads, and stopped again, the rain was coming down, ruined buildings falling round our ears, the barrage still banging away like nobodys business, the 9th Cameronians which we we were supporting going past us, then coming back, then more of them going forward, none of them saying a word, just looking like all of us, scared witless. Nobody seemed to know what was happening, what had happened or what was going to happen. So amidst this chaos I lowered my seat and went to sleep, a bad mistake that, I was jolted back to earth with the sound of a machine gun firing over my head, it was our machine gun on my carrier! I opened my eyes and could see nothing but dense white smoke. What had happened was a German armoured car had driven right into our convoy, realised his mistake and not being green like his enemy had fired off a smoke grenade which bounced off the front of my carrier, and reversed out of their at a fair rate of knots. The machine gun was fired by Ted Harding and he let literally half a belt of 303 off, most of it went into my pack which I had stowed just under the gun mounting ruining my blankets, and greatcoat, thank God I had lowered my seat. The maddening part of it was if I had not dropped off, all I had to do was slew the carrier around and I could have rammed the armoured car, and stopped him getting away, but thats life I suppose with the benefit of hindsight.

Shortly after this incident we moved off once more right through Cheux and pulled into a farm called le haut de Bosche a very sinister sounding name, and a likewise sinister place, it was very quiet there and it kept quiet long enough for us to get the carriers parked under a huge open barn out of the rain at last, the gun crews unloded the gung, and required paraphernalia, and then all hell broke lose, all of it German inspired we were mortared quite heavily, the bombs landing and exploding on the cobblestone of the courtyard, not good that, a spandau opening up the other side of the orchard through a five barred gate. We could not dig in so dived back into the carriers at least they offered a slight protection. Eventually this welcome ceased and we are able to get the guns into position the other side of the orchard, this meant going through the five barred gate, this problem was solved by approaching the gate along a wall which ran parallel with the gate, waiting until Jerry fired his systematical burst every minute or so then rushing through immediately turning right out of his fixed line he was obviously firing on, skirt right round the orchard and onto the gunline, once the guns were in position the blokes were able to dig in alongside a Company of the Cameronians, drivers and other odds and sods had to go back to the cobbled farm with no chance of digging in, just seeking the sanctity of our carriers or later on that night a stout out building.

So we were Platoon HQ and started to get organised, when our Platoon Commander Lt. John Soward in all his wisdom calls out Dyer, Love "Clear the place of snipers" I looked at Lovey, Lovey looked at me, had we heard right? We had indeed, now nobody had ever taught me in all my years in the Army to clear the place of snipers and Lovey was a Lance Corporal and he knew as much as I did, so we arm ourselves with some grenades and our rifles each with one up the spout, and off we go. We sorted out all the out buildings of the farm made out approach to the farmhouse a two storey building that would be a bit more dodgey, as we approached this house there was a rustle in a great bed of nettles we both spun round rifles ready to fire, and out of the nettles trooped six or seven chickens, that was a near one Lovey! So then comes the big one, we go to the front door and it has a big padlock and hasp on it obviously locked from the outside, we look at all the windows up and down, all shuttered, so obviously there was no one in there, so back we go to Lt. Soward and tell him the place is clear of snipers, but all we got from him was a blank look it was obvious he did not remember telling us to clear the place.

So then another little O Group from Frank Waite right he said "The Password to night is Hither Thither" some bright intelligence officer had reasoned that a German could not pronounce this, so if we heard Hizzer Zizzer we were to fire first, and ask questions afterwards, but what this officer had not thought about was we were a cockney battalion and from the majority of us he would hear Hivver Vivver, so began a rapid course in elocution on how to pronounce these words. It helped while away the time I suppose.

Then up pops Lt. Soward once again "Dyer there is a wounded Jock out on the line go with the stretcher bearer and bring him in". So Pte Waller and I wait by the side of the gate until Gerry has fired his systematical burst and then dive into the orchard around the edge and up to the line there we see this Jock, and he was badly wounded a shell splinter had pierced his steel helmet at the back and opened up inside a wound in his skull, so it was practically welded to his head. Pte Waller adjusted his chinstrap so it would not move about, then we discovered it was not practicable to put him on the stretcher, so I said to Waller "Take my rifle." (against Geneva Conventions), and I managed to get him across my back in a Firemans Lift, so around the orchard until we get to the gate wait for Gerry to fire his burst, which he duly did. We go through the gate, and my bloody trousers fall down right in the gate admitted they were only oilskin over trousers worn because of the rain, but have you ever tried to run with a bloke on your back and your trousers around your ankle? It can't be done! Pte Waller seeing this came back and hoisted my fallen trousers, and I was off, but I could never figure out why Gerry did not fire, maybe he was laughing himself stupid, or perhaps was firing from the bottom of his slit trench, and not seeing a thing just firing every so often on his fixed lines, I know our guns were fired like that at times. Anyway I take this Jock to his RAP which is in an outbuilding in the farm, and I shall always remember, there was another Jock there with a Ghurka Gukri telling this chap I had brought in that his Gukri was safe. I heard later that my patient had recovered, and it would be very interesting to hear all about him, all I know he was a Private soldier in the 9th Cameronians.

And so the day faded into night, the mortar bombs continued to land on the cobblestones, bullets continued to fly across the farmyard, and there was nothing we could do about it in retaliation, our machine guns had not fired a single round in their positions. In fact now that the barrage had long ceased it seemed that this war was a real one sided affair, and it wasn't on our side, and now a new faction came into being, streams of tracer bullets where whipping by the main gate of the farm to wards Cheux, and they were white obviously German, and we learnt later were coming from Tiger tanks. Then in the opposite direction came a return of red tracer British and that was British tanks responding, occasionally this white tracer was punctuated by the shriek of an 88mm shell on its way to Cheux, and then a British shell in response what all this firing was supposed to achieve God only knows, apart from making everybody keep their heads down, and chipping away at the granite pillars of the farm entrance, still at least somebody was doing something. Incidentally the result of the damage inflicted on these pillars can still be seen to day.

So we eventually decide it was time for getting the head down somewhere we found a reasonably stout barn with a relatively undamaged roof and thick walls, utilised the straw provided for the cattle(long since gone), nobody bothered with blankets we were just thankful for what we had got, I suppose there were about ten of us in there, the gun crews in their slit trenches, another barn housed Platoon HQ with Lt. Soward,Sgt Waite, the signallers, etc.

It did not take me long to get to sleep, in fact we were all dead tired and I dont think anybody suffered from insomnia that night, however it must have been some hours later when we were rudely awakened by Frank Waite kicking the soles of our boots with the words "Jerrie's here". Sgt Micky Head was told to take a patrol of six men out to the orchard and see what was happening. I was one of those six, and grabbing my rifle closed up on Mickey as we went into the orchard very cautiously. We had made a couple of hundred yards or so when out of the darkness came the challenge "Halt" in a Scottish brogue obviously Cameronians. Then came "Password" now Mickey had a slight impediment in his speech and stammered some meaningless sounds, that was enough for the Jocks the leader opened fire with a Sten and got Mickey fair and square, I actually felt the bullets flying past my ear, we were all petrified, and spun round and ran like hell, one of us shouted out "For Christ's sake Jock we're Middlesex", there was no response to this and from the noise we heard in the orchard the Jocks were in the same frame of mind as we were and were also running like hell in the direction they had come from.

So poor Mickey Head got killed by what is to-day known as friendly fire, simply because he could not get his tongue around that bloody password. This is the reason that I shall remember that particular password until my dying day. He was a lovely man a regular soldier posted to us from a regular Battalion.

At first light I met up with one of the Jocks who had been on that patrol, and he confirmed that after their NCO had fired his Sten, they had done the same as us and got the hell out of it. He also told me the name of the NCO which I have never or ever will divulge, I believe he himself was killed shortly after. Our headlong retreat was never ever questioned, and unless we were to stand fast and shoot it out with the Jocks it was the obvious conclusion.

At daybreak we were told we were pulling out of that hellhole of a farm, I dont know why despite the panic in the night we hadn't seen a German, a few grenades were pitched over the wall. The machine gun covering the gate to the orchard had long gone, and here we were withdrawing. Anyway the gun crews brought in all their gear they had not fired one round all the time they had been in position.

With all our gear stowed away on the carriers we were ready to move off, when all of a sudden the two way tracer display at the main gate started up again, so this meant we had to go though the side wall. So with the lead carrier punching a hole in the wall all the carriers made it out, but the 15cwt truck could not get over the rubble or the 3foot drop the other side so had to be abandoned (Later recovered). It contained all the cookhouse stores and Mickey Heads body, once through the wall we off loaded most of the stores, and Mickey Head, and lifted them all onto the carriers I helped with the body and rembember thinking how heavy a dead body was, we manhandled the DRs motorcycle through the wall and moved off for about 100 yards, and we came into a traffic jam which would make the M25 at rush hour seem a picnic. Officers running around in circles screaming their heads off, then came a stonk of 88s right on the mixed up convoy. Within minutes of that happening that convoy not only moved but it moved at a fair rate of knots all the way through Cheux, in a meadow just past Cheux we found Company HQ, and all our carriers joined them there.

The cooks rustled up a Compo pack breakfast we swilled Compo tea by the gallon washed and shaved ourselves, and once again began to feel human, and feeling very superior to Co HQ blokes who were hanging on to our every word. Lt Soward was then called for an O group, all the carriers topping up with petrol gun crews cleaning their unfired guns, when back came Lt Soward told us nothing except "On Carriers,start up move off". Away we went once more through Cheux, past Le Haut de Bosch, for about five miles, to a village named Colville over a level crossing and into another bloody orchard, the guns placed into position, and before very long they were making up for lack of work earlier, the place was alive with snipers and very soon all badges of rank were removed. Lt Soward became John to us all and this remained so until the wars end. We found out here that the 15th(S) were in a salient at the start of the Scottish Corridor, which meant we were getting fired on, and attacked on three sides not very nice that.

slightly over 24 hours,but who cares ?

                   L.M.F.Dyer.

Rendsburg Revisited August 1999

In April 1946 the Eider Kaserne Barracks in Rendsburg in Schleswig Holstein Germany, the British Army, and I all parted company I was wending my way to 'Civvy Street' via the Demob Centre, where it did not take me long to become firmly ensconced as a civilian, with lots of memories some sad, some bad, but in the main lots of happy ones of my nearly seven years with first the 2/8th and then the 1st Battn Middlesex Regt.

As the years rolled by so these memories receded to the back of my mind occasionally rekindled by reunions and such.

However I was totally caught off balance in April 1999 when I received a phone call asking me if I had served in Rendsburg in 1946 I confirmed that I had and the voice then asked me if I would like to see some photographs of that era of course I said that I would, and the voice said he was in the area and would drop in on me shortly, I did detect a faint German accent in the voice but was well and truly perplexed by the whole thing.

Shortly afterward the doorbell rang and there on the step was a man with a beaming smile "Hello" he said "I'm Jimmy". I had heard of Jimmy of course via the newsletter from time to time and a dim recollection of this small cheeky German boy hanging about the dining hall in the Eider Kaserne intent on keeping body and soul together with the aid of what the lads of the battalion slipped him in the way of food.

And here was Jimmy on my doorstep! I invited him inside with his charming wife Ilse, made coffee, and I went through as I shall now call him Heinz's photographs, and he went through mine, we gradually built up a rapport, he borrowed some of mine to take to Germany and get copied which he duly returned. It was my proud boast that I could name every member of the battalion football team depicted on one of Heinz's photos.

During the time we spent talking I was very impressed with Heinz's knowledge and dedication to the 1st battalion he had with him a miniature battledress complete with shoulder flashes and rank of corporal which he had worn in the days of his adoption as battalion mascot. He told me that he had been in England several times looking up various people and seeking wartime impedia from antique fairs for a forthcoming exhibition he was going to hold in Rendsburg in August this year, and that I would be welcomed if I came, shortly afterwards they left my house to travel back to Germany.

As I have said earlier I was much impressed by the dedication shown by Heinz to the battalion, that I resolved that I would reciprocate and go to his exhibition, and renew my acquaintanceship with the town of Rendsburg after a mere fifty three years!

So it came to pass that on Sunday 8th of August I took off from Stanstead Airport bound for Hamburg where Heinz had arranged to meet me, and drive me to Rendsburg a distance of 100 kilometers.

After a comfortable fight which lasted about 90 minutes we touched down at Hamburg, and as promised there was Heinz and Ilse to meet me and to drive me to Rendsburg, although I had made this trip many times in 1946 not in the comfort of a Mercedes Elegant but behind the wheel of an Austin 3 tonner I did not recognise a single feature! How time flies and how in its flight it changes many things. We duly arrived in Rendsburg, and as we drove past the Parade Platz, and the Eider Kaserne the old memory bank gave a flicker of recall, I was on familiar territory, then on to the hotel The Convent Garden which in my day was the NAAFI right on the banks of the Kiel canal, however the old swing bridge had gone replaced by a tunnel under the canal. Very little in the actual landscape had changed however the restaurant of the hotel looked out on exactly the same view as it had been in 1946 nostalgia came flooding back especially when Heinz showed me the hall with a small stage where a German Oompha band used to serenade us as we used to sit there scoffing our drei mark meals, that hall is exactly as it was then!

I was to be a guest of the Convent Garden Hotel, and here I would like to express my gratitude to the management and staff for making my stay a very enjoyable one, and give my thanks to all concerned through the medium of the newsletter, and I am sure that if Heinz has anything to do with it they will be given.

Tuesday August 10th dawned this was the day of the official reception at the Rathaus where Heinz was holding his exhibition which was in my opinion truly remarkable and was testimony to the vast amount of hard work and research he must have undergone to produce such an exhibition of this nature, there photographs of my time and afterwards which were all captioned with accuracy not only of the 1st Middlesex but other units which occupied parts of Rendsburg. There were badges, shoulder flashes, and in two cases complete battledresses, and impedia which every serving soldier of those days was familiar with round fifty tins of cigarettes, tins containing the compo tea ration, i.e. cubes of tea, sugar, and milk, remember them? In short I would say that the entire show would leave many a Regimental Museum green with envy at the treasures amassed there. Well done Heinz you excelled yourself there, not only in finding all these treasures but in the manner which you presented them to the public and the lengths you went to explain in detail of any question which you were confronted with.

Here I have a small confession to make, I do have a blazer, and I do have a Middlesex blazer badge, but they are two separate entities, my blazer depicting my Bowls Club, and the badge languishing in a drawer, I mentioned this to Heinz who said never mind you can borrow mine, which I did and it fitted perfectly you were lucky to get it back Heinz! So began the speech by the acting Burgomeister Herr Wolkgang Majer, and by my limited knowledge of the German language I was able to understand that he welcomed me back to Rendsburg and concluded his speech by presenting me with a handsome book titled Rendsburg which I shall always value. I replied to the speech briefly and among other things I said that 53 years ago there were about eight hundred of us and today there was only me and that I was very happy to be back, I also for the benefit of you blokes who like me were something in the tearaway mould apologised for our behaviour in those days I was alluding to occasional drunken brawls, and punch ups with other units, in fact the kind of behaviour found in any garrison town in any country in the world.

One newspaper however got it wrong and quoted me as saying that I did not come here to apologise, this did stir things up somewhat, and I even received a letter from an ex German General advising me of what to write to the Editor of this newspaper which I did, and I am happy to say that this newspaper has seen the error in it's translation and has printed an apology and a correction.

After I had made by brief speech I had the pleasure of presenting to Heinz a Middlesex plaque suitably engraved on behalf of the Regimental Asscn. which had been sent to me by Major Morris prior to my departure for Rendsburg Heinz graciously accepted this plaque, and in turn then presented me with a beautifully made Regimental flag which will be handed over to the Asscn. He also presented me with a lovely painting of Rendsburg as we knew it in our day handsomely framed in a maroon and gold combination of wood and metal, this I intend to bequeath to the museum at Dover Castle when its time for me to collect my dinner pail!

All in all it was a great day for me and one which will stay with me always, and will make me eternally grateful to whatever fickle finger of fate decreed my return to Rendsburg in 1999.

In conclusion I would like to say to all members of the battalion who subscribed to the slipping of odd bits of food, and the taking part in the general education of life, and the English language albeit barrack room to the young 'Jimmy' may consider themselves amply repaid by his dedication and loyalty to the Middlesex from his childhood to the present day which finds him a respected member of the community of Rendsburg.

As for me I have gained the friendship of two very nice people in Rendsburg.

Les 'Deadly' Dyer

Albert Chritchley, Les Dyer, Pte. Neale Pte. Collier, holding flag not remembered, Geordie Armstrong and Sgt. Scotty Mansfield. The board below did show Lion Rampant 15 (S)Div., B64 B =B company 64 being the number of Support Battalion and 8pln=8 Platoon.

Return to Normandy 1997

After 53 years have elapsed three ex-members of the 1st.Battalion The Middlesex Regt.(Now defunct.) decided it was high time that we re-invaded Normandy, and attempt to locate the positions we held in various apple orchards, and the never to be forgotten cornfields reeking of death, and decaying flesh so prominent in the memories of many who fought there in the hot summer of 1944.

We duly embarked from Portsmouth on night crossing, this time there were no hammocks, self-heating soup, personal arms, webbing equipment, or other impedia designed to make the life of the average squaddie just outright miserable, I clearly recall that upon embarkation in 1944 I flopped into a canvas hammock, and did not stir until we reached the beaches of Normandy.

Yet in 1997 we drove the car on with minimum fuss, and were even addressed as sir! Took a lift up to the required deck and claimed our reclining seats, settled down for the night and found it impossible to sleep! All of 53 years sleeping on spring interior mattresses had completely transformed us from tough young soldiers into completely spoilt, and cosseted O.A.P.s, so much so that we were unable to sleep in those diabolical reclining seats. So while I am awake I will introduce the other members of the party. There was John Gould who was a section Sergeant in the same platoon that was, i.e 8 Platoon, B Coy. 1st Middlx. Then there was Ron Montague who served in C.Coy, and finally Dave the youngster of the party, who is in actual fact John Gould's son, who was brought along to act as navigator, co-driver, and minder, and of course because he had a very keen interest about his Dad's doings in 1944, and had read an enormous amount of books dealing with the entire European campaign, which I think entitled him to add the term Technical adviser to his C.V.æ "

We docked at Ouistreham at around 6 a.m., retrieved the car and headed for Caen which took about thirty minutes, which was hell of a lot quicker than it took us in 1944, we battled for this ancient old city for weeks, and in the end never got there at all, as our division diverted, and went through the Falaise gap with its attendant reek of decaying flesh, men, horses, and cows, mingling with the pungent odour of burnt out vehicles forever indelibly imprinted on the minds of all who witnessed what was left of an entire German army.

Back to the present, we by skilled navigational demonstrations by young Dave duly arrived at the Otelinn situated on the Avenue du Marechal Montgomery, so after pausing for a quick General Salute in honour of his nibs, we proceeded to get bedded down all in one room, this due to the early hour of our arrival, but rectified later, at least we managed to get abluted, and have some very welcome coffee, and croisants. The hotel was situated but a stone's throw from the Caen War Museum, which we visited, upon entering we were confronted by an actual rocket firing Typhoon, back came the memories of red smoke target indications, and the thought of how much had this particular "Tiffy" contributed to the carnage of Falaise. As veterans we were admitted to the museum free of charge, and among the many nostalgia provoking items on view there was a Cinema show showing one of the most amazing films I have ever seen, it consisted of actual newsreel footage both Allied, and German of the D_Day landings spliced to-gether to create the illusion that on the left hand side of the screen showed the Allies storming the beaches, whilst the right hand side showed the Germans resisting furiously, the soung tracks were in stereo intermingling English, and German dialogue plus full sound effects which to say the least were overpowering, and closely resembling what D-Day was really like, after this awe inspiring film three slightly bombhappy old boys, shepherded by their minder tottered back to the hotel for lunch which differed somewhat from the compo rations of 1944.

Our next port of call after lunch was the village Bretteville-sur-Odon, where in 1944 we were pulled out the Colville/Mandrainville area for a rest, and a re-fit here the highlight of our stay was by standing on our carriers we were able to get a grand stand view of the bombing of Caen by the R.A.F., so near to us that we could actually feel the blast of the bombs exploding, and we were on their side! We were actually harboured in an orchard adjoining the farm. After much brain wracking we eventually found the farm, where luckily the Farmer's daughter spoke English, which made life a lot easier. The Farmer remembered us being in the orchard at that time, but obviously did not know the unit, but he did corroborate my memory of artillery positions behind the orchard, and the seemingly endless columns of tanks cutting across the adjoining fields. To substantiate the already warm welcome he had shown us, he then invited us inside the house, and cracked open a bottle of fifteen year old Calvados. One final item of proof came to light on this occasion, and that was the ornate stone pillars of the gate to the orchard, as I was on guard during a tour stay there in 1944, and lo, and behold but who should turn up, but our old C.O Col."Fanny Walden" paying one of his old companies a surprise visit, and I distinctly remembered that gate.

"'At this stage I think it would be advisable to explain about our battalion set-up, and the weapons, and vehicles we used".' We were an Infantry Support Battalion with three companies armed with Vickers Medium Machine Guns as our main armament, and one company of 4.2" Heavy Mortars. My Company was a machine gun company, and we transported these about on converted Bren Carriers, equipped with a mounting to take the Vickers, thus having a mobile M.G. platform. The entire battalion was assigned to the 15th Scottish Division, and the usual distribution ratio was one M.G. Platoon to a Company of Scots Infantry, this of course varied dependant on demands. This meant that in the main we operated at platoon strength, virtually through the entire campaign. There were occasions when we were re-united with other patoons of the Company, such as rest and regrouping periods, but apart from the Company concentration of fire at the Siegfried Line I cannot recall any other time we all fired at the same time.

Now back to 1997, after the farm we went onto Bayeaux War Cemetery where we duly paid our respects to all our buddies who had fallen in particular Sgt. Micky Head who was our platoons first fatality. Micky was shot whilst out on patrol.

Almost opposite the cemetery was another museum, where again veterans were admitted "gratis". Here among all the impedia including British, and German tanks we were fortunate to find some actual photographs of our Companies carriers, and we were able to identify the crews by name, that was a great moment, and we all felt proud of our powers of recall."

'Day 2.

We began with a visit to St.Manvieu War Cemetery on the old Bayeaux-Caen road, here we located the graves of Harry 'Barney' Walden, Lt.Handslip, and Sgt. Jack all of them Middlesex, Barney Walden was a particular mate of mine, and a full blown member of the ongoing Nap school which had lasted for months, we missed his calls of I'll push five. There was a particularly weird feeling in that cememtery as the majority of the graves were of Scottish troops, one could almost hear the skirl of the pipes, also there were a large number of Germand graves, and judging by the ages depicted when they died were obviously of the Hitler Youth. In 1944 the area were this cemetery is situated formed the start of what was known then as the Scottish Corridor, and we were fiercely opposed by Hitler Youth who fought fanatically, and now 53 years later we stood by their graves. So on to the village of Cheux, about 2 kilometres away. The name Cheux must be embedded in the minds of many, it was the Division's first ever action, we did not know what to expect, furthermore many of us had not got a clue as to what was happening, it was noisy, wet, and smoky, buildings were falling down all around us, as shells from warships, and divisional, and corps artillery were being fired off by crews obviously on piece work rates, apart from the sporadic German fire both artillery and mortar, coming back in our direction, it did not create a very friendly atmosphere by knowing we were the targets!, and was not at all appreciated.

In 1944 we entered Cheux by a sunken road which we eventually discovered, however it did not appear so sunken as in 1944 unless memory was playing tricks. We passed through Cheux now a sleepy Normandy village, along the lane where in 1944 we encountered a German armoured car heading straight for us, the German crew were as equally surprised as we were, although obviously not so green, as they grabbed the initiative by lobbing smoke grenades, and disappearing literally in a puff of smoke in reverse at a fair rate of knots back in the direction they had come from. Ted Harding did manage to fire of half a belt or so of .303 int the general direction of the armoured car, but the only damage he inflicted was on my pack containing blankets, and greatcoat, they were completely shredded! After this somewhat one sided skirmish we drove up the lane for a couple of kilometres, and pulled into a farm with the sinister sounding name of Le haut de Bosch, here we mounted our Vickers on a gun line in the orchard firing slightly to our rear, conditions here were not very comfortable to say the least we were being mortared quite regularily, subjected to heavy machine gun fire, which apart from having the desired effect on us to no small degree inflicted quite a lot of damage to the grainite columns at the entrance to the farm During what seemed an endless night Mick Head got killed leading a patrol.

At the crack of dawn we were ordered to withdraw from this position which was easier said than done, as tracer ammunition was being used by both sides at an alarming rate of fire, and at the entrance of the farm Red (British was going one way, and White (German) was coming back the other, quite a display of pyrotechnics, which we did not appreciate in the least. Eventually by knocking down the brick wall at the side of the farm with one of the carriers at the side of the farm we did manage to get away. Here now in 1997 we once agian drove into this farmyard, through the gateway with its still bullet scarred columns, the farm had changed very little over the years, and recognisable features sprang to light immediately. Unfortunately we disturbed the breakfast of the farmer, and his wife by our arrival, but nevertheless we were cordially invited into the house to take wine with them. The farmer had numerous photgraphs of those days as the farm was on the main route into the Scottish Corridor, and no doubt used by many units when things got more settled after our hasty departure. Over the years he had many such visits such as we made, he was however impressed by the knowledge that we were the miscreants responsible for knocking down his wall. 'After the wine the farmer showed us around the farm, and there stood the large barn where we had parked our carriers out of the rain in 1944, there was the out building used as a dressing station for the wounded, and there was another out building where in 1944 Sgt.Frank Waite had rudely interupted our uneasy slumber by kicking the soles of our feet with his size 9 large, and the words, "Gerrys' here", a patrol was hastily formed, and on this patrol Micky Head was killed. The orchard however was now just a field all the apple trees long gone, but the hedgerow remained, and John Gould was able to pinpoint the actual gun line we held, and the target another hedgerow slightly behind us, this was not so surprising, as we now know, we were forming a salient in the German positions, we were also able to pinpoint the actual spot where Micky Head had got killed. The breach in the wall has long since been repaired, but as I mentioned earlier the bullet scars are still plainly visible on the granite columns. We left this farm in 1944 in a hurry, and with a bit of panic thrown in for good measure, but also we had completed the initiation period of our apprenticeship, and were on our way to becoming veterans. We left again in 1997 with many memories re-kindled, and a sense of wonder that we had got out in one piece, and went on to survive the whole campaign in Europe, until the war's end in 1945.

We then drove through Coleville, and Mandrainville both scenes of heavy fighting by the Division, and as such the 15th Scottish Divisional memorial is situated at Mandrainville in the form of the Lion rampant of Scotland, by this time the weather had deteriorated very badly, and we paid our respects at the monument sheltering under umbrellas, it also rained here in 1944, there were no umbrellas then, so we just got wet, but at least the damp feeling we had was a normal situation we had experienced many times through our lives,and brought, some degree of reality back to the abnormality of war, very similar that one heard about the 1914/18 war, when the singing of birds during a lull in the firing brought back reality to an adverse situation.

From Mandrainville we followed the general line of advance of 1944, and found ourselves on the very windy, and wet peak of hill 112 this hill has been likened as the Verdun of Normandy, and was the scene of bitter fighting to achieve the supremacy of the high ground. Among various memorials on the peak we found a marble plaque depicting all the positions held at that time by both British, and German units, this made it comparatively simple to locate the divisional area, and from there memory had to prevail, as in 1944 I clearly remembered looking down to my left and seeing Carpiquet Airport below me the Airport is still operational, and by getting my bearings in this manner we did manage to pinpoint our firing positions of 1944 within a field or so. This time there was no stench of decaying flesh in the cornfields, just mile upon mile of green sward which later in the summer would ripen into the never be forgotten cornfields.

We left 112 via other villages including Gavrus, and Everecy where other platoons of the Company had seen heavy action. Indeed if my memory serves me correctly they won 2 or 3 Military Medals between them. We then drove on to Villers Bocage where we stopped for coffee before going back to the hotel for a hot bath, and change into dry clothing.

Day 3.

This was devoted to the sightseeing of the beaches from Oustreham down to the American beaches of Omaha, we saw many monuments of various units who took part in the Landings. Eventually we arrived at Sword Beach where Ron Montague informed us, with a tone of superiority in his voice, that he had actually landed on D+2 with a Reinforcement Unit, he had dug himself in beach, but the rumour that circulated that he had stayed in a fully mod con slit trench complete with colour T.V. until he was eventually overun by a party of British Duty Free shoppers, was discounted as purely malicious, as he was eventually claimed by C Company, where he went on to corner the market in Leather Bootlaces.

From Sword we went on to yet another War museum, also gratis to veterans, and then on to lunch in one in one of the numerous restuarants catering for the British palate. In the afternoon we made our way to the remains of the concrete fortifications of the Atlantic Wall, a truly impressive line of defence only surpassed by the fact that the Americans overcame these strong points, even more so when the U.S. Rangers had to scale the heights of the Point le Hoc, whilst in the vicinity of Omaha we made our way to the magnificent American Cemetery, unfortunately the heavens opened up during our visit, and restricted the amount we could see, at this time.

So back to the hotel to pack our bags for our departure the following day.

Day 4,

This began with our checking out of the hotel, as were due to catch the 4-30 pm sailing that day. So we decided in the few hours we had left to visit the Pegasus bridge, and the Merville battery, not in our actual operational territory but nevertheless sites of great interest.

We went into the cafe made famous on D-Day by airborne troops, and found it crammed with airborne memorabilia, some of which had lain there for years without being disturbed. Adjoining the cafe was another War Museum again free to veterans, there was much of interest here, and we lingered here for quite a time, as again it was raining cats & dogs outside. Eventually the rain eased, and we had a damp drive to the Merville Battery, and were very impressed with the fortiications of this battery, and obviously a strong key German defence point. However we were more impressed by the manner which by sheer tenacity, and courage of the British Airborne troops suceeded in disabling this mini-fortress. One of the bunkers left intact now houses another museum, this one differed from the rest, as the only veterans admitted free were those of the Airborne Brigade. And so back to the boat, sitting in the lounge and seeing the beaches of Normandy recede in the distance, each of us in silent conjecture of our individual thoughts, and memories, and whatever happened to the 53 years between visits, and how on earth had they gone so quickly?.

Les meets the Queen at Arromanches during the 60th anniversary of the D-day landings