Edgar Bielby
George Cooper
Harry Flynn
Mr C.M. McCallie
We would like your contributions by email to memories@beverleycivic.co.uk
or complete this form on our VE Day Memories page
I remember VE Day very clearly.
I was on service in the Far East. I had joined the East Yorkshire Regiment,
but was posted to the 2nd Bn the Green Howards, who were fighting in
Burma. In 1944 I was very lucky to draw leave, and went to Darjeeling.
On my way back to my regiment, we stopped over at Chittagong. One morning
someone came into the unit, asking for volunteers to drop supplies to
the troops: as they were our units, of course I and another man volunteered.
We were told we would be transferred to an airfield: and later the same
day we all heard on the radio that the war in Europe had ended. In the
morning we went to an American airfield. Two planes there were loaded
with stores for the troops in Burma. We flew several hours in our plane,
with an American pilot, co-pilot who was the navigator, a wireless operator
and we two soldiers. I’d never been on a plane before (we had
got to the Far East by boat). Approaching the dropping zone, the wireless
operator came back to tell us what to do. He would open the plane doors,
one at a time, and the soldiers would push out the packages all piled
up by the door. He showed us two ropes, and told us to tie it round
ourselves, and then round a rail at the back of the plane. I asked him
to tie my rope to the plane, but he said ‘I’m not going
to do that, I’m not going to be responsible if anything goes wrong.’
So we tied our own ropes: we really needed them, for when the doors
opened, and the plane banked round, it would have been easy to have
fallen out. We made six or eight circuits until all the supplies were
out.
Then we set off back to Chittagong. Half way back, the wireless operator
said to me ‘Your President is on the wire’. He gave me his
chair, and I sat there, thousands of feet above ground, listening to
Churchill’s radio speech on the end of the war in Europe. I’ll
never forget that.
After my leave, I went back to Burma until the end of the war. I spent
my 22nd birthday in India, and came back home by boat. I was demobbed
on 1 April, and returned to Beverley, my home town.
I was called up, age
19, to the 138 Field Regiment, 360 battery of the Royal Artillery, Charlie
Troop. I was posted abroad for three years. I joined up in April and sailed
on Christmas night 62 years ago. There were 4,500 troops on each ship
and 6 ships sailed, 27,000 men in our convoy. Our ship had only one gun,
an Oerlikon anti-aircraft gun. On the second day out, to my amazement,
I was chosen to fire it. Not at a target. Just to test it. I was a crack
shot, and out of our training Regiment I was the only gunner to score
a bulls-eye.
We sailed to Algiers accompanied by four corvettes and some destroyers.
The escort was generally miles away from us, but I remember once two depth
charges were dropped. In the Mediterranean, by the Straits of Gibraltar,
the seas were mountainous and many troops were sea sick. There was plenty
of food to spare for those who could eat it!
We landed in Algiers on 1st January 1943, supporting the First Group who
had been there since November. It was 600 miles to the front. We were
broken into different groups and made our way East. I was in the rear
section of the Regiment driving a monkey truck, together with gun towers
and ammunition carriers. The terrain was hilly. I served under a wonderful
man and officer; he was the son of Sir Bernard Spilsbury, a leading pathologist.
One night I was half way up a steep hill when I heard some planes coming.
They were ours and one was in difficulty. He managed to land on the bare
hillside at the very top of the hill. Another few yards and he would have
crashed over the top. He was either the best pilot, or the luckiest, in
the whole war. He made a pan-cake landing on the top of a near mountain.
On another occasion I was ordered back with the truck by a Captain Spicer.
He told me, “I will be in Tunis in a fortnight”. He was right.
He was captured the next day and taken to Tunis as a prisoner!
We are achieved our victory in Tunisia and joined up with Montgomery and
the Eight Army. Later we were sent by sea from Sousse to Sicily in two
landing craft. These craft took the whole Regiment, seventy two guns,
thirty six gun quads and all our equipment. The water was crystal clear
until we approached Sicily and the voyage took two days. Before landing
in Sicily we had to stand off as it was too rough to land. Then the German
bombers came at night. Our old Major, who had a stammer, said “I
think its all over now”, and it nearly was for him as he was wounded
near the petrol truck and again at Bronte.
When we landed it was onto a low beach near Syracuse which was undefended
from the land.
We invaded mainland Italy on 3rd September. We landed on the toe. The
Germans had dropped back and the Italians, although officially still our
enemies with guns on the roadside, failed to shoot. As one solider remarked,
“These buggers are on our side”. They soon became official
allies after a peace treaty was signed at Caserta Palace.
We met fierce resistance from the Germans when we reached Termoli. At
Termoli I later learned there had been a Brigade of British against a
Division of Germans. I saw a daredevil, Jack Haigh from Leeds, stroll
up a hill side towards many German tanks, as they advanced down at us.
He spiked many of their guns, which were loaded, by putting shells up
their barrels. The barrels split like banana skins. Conditions in Termoli
were terrible. The inhabitants had had no proper food for months. Some
refugees from Yugoslavia, unknown to us, took refuge in the church. We
did not know this and unfortunately we shelled that church.
There was a mystery Termoli. It seemed the Germans, when they left, had
burnt much of their own equipment. The mystery was resolved much later
when the fires were attributed to a man called Paddy, from Ireland, who
had come over from North Africa. There he had blown up around 400 German
planes. Apparently he was in at the start of the SAS. After the war he
returned to Ireland where he died in a road accident.
After several days the Germans withdrew from Termoli. We followed them;
advancing through the most terrible weather and conditions I can ever
remember. We drew up before Monte Casino in the February but were unsuccessful
in taking it. The Polish Army eventually took Casino in the spring when
the weather was more favourable. We by-passed Casino and I went with OP
supplies to the foot of Snakehead Ridge.
When victory was announced we were at the River Po, and we picked up leaflets
telling us the news. It was chaos at the Po River, horses running loose,
fire everywhere. Then our Colonel called us together and told us that,
“For you the war is over. You will be posted to Austria and there
you are the victors. Women with prams will make way for you on the pavements.”
To me this was wrong. I wanted them to know that we would not act in the
way the Colonel had said.
That is the question! Well, the short answer is “BEVERLEY!” – and if there is any better place to be at any time will somebody please let me in on their little secret?
It was in fact a wonder that I chanced to be in my home-town – my adorable and wonderful Beverley - on V.E.Day (Tuesday, 8th May, 1945). I might still have been thousands of miles away in the Middle East - to which I had been assigned early in 1941. But, having now returned to the UK I was enjoying a few days leave at home with my parents when World War II in Europe came to an end (it continued for a further three months or so in the Far East).
When World War II began in September, 1939 I was 18 years old. I joined the Royal Air Force and served in it for six and a half years until returning to civilian life in the Spring of 1946 – by which time I was 25.
Approximately half of my R.A.F. service was spent on various airfields in the U.K. and the other half abroad in Middle East countries such as Egypt, Palestine, Transjordan, Syria, Iraq, Iran and Kuwait. After enlisting at the beginning of the War I served on airfields in Kent and Surrey before going abroad. For a time I worked in the Armoury Section of No.3 (Hurricane) Squadron, servicing and maintaining the eight Browning guns carried by Hurricane aircraft (four guns on each wing, each gun firing 200 rounds of ammunition). Because of its more glamorous name and sleek elegance it was the Spitfire aircraft which many believe won the Battle of Britain for us in 1940. But in actual fact it was the Hurricane, with its superior manoeuvrability which played a more effective and decisive role. Hurricanes destroyed far more enemy aircraft than did the Spitfires during that critical Battle.
In the early months of the War a large number of Polish pilots who escaped from Poland when it was invaded by Germany and Russia in 1939 made their way through the Balkans and Mediterranean to continue the fight against the Nazis from this country. They formed several Polish fighter and bomber squadrons operating from British airfields Many other Poles served as individual fighter or bomber pilots in R.A.F. Squadrons. Several of them joined our Squadron (No.3, R.A.F.), and soon I had many friends among them. I was keen to learn the Polish language and had no trouble in getting “tutors” and lessons from amongst these brave pilots, little realising at the time that I would get a posting as Interpreter with a Polish Unit later on.
In April, 1941 I sailed from Liverpool in a troopship on a two-months’ journey to the Middle East - with an unfriendly send-off from enemy bomber aircraft. Two weeks later we had a problem in mid-Atlantic when we were in a night-time collision with another troopship which left our bow with a nasty hole below water-mark. We got emergency repairs at the West African port of Sierra Leone and later transferred to a more watertight ship in Cape Town.
Abroad I served for a year in Egypt, including Western Desert locations before moving to Iraq and, later, to Teheran, the capital of Iran where I was assigned to a unit called D-Force. Our role was that of an Advance Party to confront the Germans in the possible event of their invading Iran from Stalingrad (Russia). However, as the Germans retreated from Stalingrad, having failed to capture it, the need for D-Force no longer existed and eventually I returned to the U.K. for the remainder of my war-time service.
Now at age 84 as I sit at my computer writing these memories I reflect upon a very happy, satisfying life enriched by the love, comfort and devotion of my dear family, relatives and friends – in fact, all with whom I came into contact. My dear, loving wife, Marian, a pearl beyond any price, died twenty years ago last Christmas-tide. R.I.P. Although the sorrow neither diminishes nor disappears there is great solace in the recollection of our shared happy times and above all of her legacy of loving kindness to everybody. She illuminated their lives like the brilliance of a meteor blazing its trail of scintillating light and beauty across the night sky.
I consider myself privileged to have been blessed with a wonderfully happy life and to be among the fortunate ones who survived their war-time service. Many of our local young men and young women did not. May we always keep their great sacrifices uppermost in our hearts and minds and more especially on V.E. Day and Remembrance Day. May their souls rest in the peace of our Loving Creator, our Heavenly Father. May we remember always that we need God – and that we need one another!
I sat with you; My Soldier Friend,
Your duty, you had well done,
You held my hand, and closed your eyes,
For you; That battle had been won.
No more, You will know that unknown fear,
And the noise for you is still;
No more will you feel that jungle sweat,
Replaced by the dawn’s cold chill.
Your blood now stains the jungle green;
But your pulse, alas, has gone.
Your fingers no more feel my hand,
Our last good-bye; Your Dawn;
Your Sten Gun stands beside your kit,
To be used by someone new.
A soldier, who may just sense that fear,
Which is no longer felt by you;
In that jungle hell; You did your job
And your comrades saw you fall,
So be at peace; and rest on High;
We know you gave your All.
This poem was written by me. It refers to a lad who was married to a Beverley girl. He was killed at Kohmia in May 1944. I found out later that he was married to my wife’s cousin.
My unit was stationed at Bishop Burton after France, June 1940. This was to re-fit. On my first evening I walked to Beverley and spoke to a young lady in Saturday Market Place, her reply was rather sharp. Some weeks later our paths crossed again, at the village green in Bishop Burton. The remarks were more amicable on that occasion. We became friends and kept in touch after my unit moved away. We have now been married nearly sixty-four years and have had a card from the Queen.
My section was stationed, in action, on Garrison Hill, Kohima, in early 1944. All water was supplied by air for 32 days. It was strictly rationed with none for ablutions etc. We got a bit grubby and unshaven.
We were eventually relieved and pulled back to the cleaning and mobile baths area. The baths were mobile oil drums cut in half, but still a pleasure to use. Clean uniforms were provided comprising vest, pants and boiler suits in jungle green. Pocket contents had to be changed over, and I had a photo in my hand. A soldier who was moving forward noticed the photo, and asked why I had it; he said he knew the girl and all the family, and that he was a Beverley lad. I explained why I had the picture. Stranger still, on being de-mobbed, our first house was as that lad’s next door neighbour. We all four became firm and real friends and thought it funny to meet a new neighbour all those miles away and in such circumstances.
At one point, later, while holding a listening guard near a jungle track, rather eerie, no sound except moisture drip, dripping and the occasional mongoose. At about 2 am there was still no sound of Japs when a branch brushed my face, causing a tense reaction. I got my sten gun ready. I could see a figure two yards away. I gave the password three times without reply. Too risky to wait so I alerted my weapon. My colleague then grabbed my wrist as the figure spoke out just in time, “Do you want a mug of cocoa?” We had the cocoa and talked to relax. It was the Padre doing his bit.
On a later operation, I moved away as planned, from the main body, and had to take quite a detour to get back. After quite a distance, and in a desolate area, I spotted a basher (straw hut) with an elderly grisly man standing at the door. He was dressed sparingly in little more than a G-string. I tried signs etc to ask for a drink of water. He politely replied, “Would you rather have a cup of tea?” I accepted and chatted for a while. He explained that he was a retired teacher, having at one time worked at Wood Green near Birmingham. Luckily he had a map and he showed me the safest tracks through that part of the jungle.
A Piece of Jungle Green
In a quiet, but neat little cottage,
Just, at the close of day,
A Mum was watching her little boy
Who was busy at his play.
Her souvenir box he emptied,
Out on the old kitchen chair,
Then with eager little fingers
He searched among the treasures there.
A piece of tattered cloth he found
And gazing with wondering eyes,
Oh Mummy! What is this he cried?
Proudly, but tearfully, she replied.
It is only a piece of jungle green
So treasure it, my son, with pride;
It is part of your Granddad’s tunic,
Who so like a hero died.
It was at Garrison Hill at Kohima,
That is where your Granddad fell
When the Japanese were forced to halt,
Amidst the deadly shot and shell.
So when you see that tattered cloth
Feel proud, and walk real tall,
For just like all the lads who fell,
Your Granddad gave his All.