WE disembarked from the ship and I was surprised to find that we were expected to go through customs. There hadn’t been any such requirement on entering France some years earlier!
Now the war was over normal procedures were back in place. I remember the customs official asking me what was in my kit bag before marking it with a chalked cross.
I next boarded a train to Woking where we were all gathered in a de-mob centre and had to hand over our kit before being issued wiith the various items of civilian clothing. We had to tip out our kit bags onto a bunk bed then go to another hut to get our civvies.
When I returned I discovered that my personal possessions had been ransacked and many items had been stolen. I lost several items that were intended as gifts, including a bush hat that I would have liked to have kept as a memento. This was a shocking episode and a disgraceful way to treat returning comrades.
Every item of kit I had been issued with was listed in my Pay Book and had to be accounted for and returned; any lost or missing items were to be charged or had to be otherwise accounted for.
After five years of active service I hardly expected to be charged for missing items or clothing. I don’t recall whether any any deductions were made, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.
We were also supposed to keep our battledress for as long as one was on the army reserve list.
The issue of civilian clothing consisted of a suit jacket, a pair of trousers and a waistcoat plus a pair of shoes and a trilby hat. Thank you very much and goodbye!
The next part of my journey home was by train to London Bridge station, where I caught a further train to New Cross, which was about a mile from my home.
I was still carrying a large and heavy kit bag; it was now early evening and, being November, quite dark. Outside New Cross station I noticed a night watchman sitting next to a brazier beside some roadworks. I saw that he had a barrow, which I was able to borrow, and I wheeled my kit bag back home to Malpas Road and my wife Helen.
Of course in those days very few people had telephones and there was no way whatever of letting anyone know when I would be coming home. I arrived to find Helen at home with her mother, her mother’s husband Alf and some other relatives, so it was quite a houseful!
It was good to be home at last, but now of course I had to return the barrow!
IT was from Coimbatore Camp in India that I started the return journey to the UK. Our route home would be via the city of Madras and then onwards by train to the transit camp at Deolali near Bombay, which was a three day journey.
At each station along the way we stopped for half an hour or more and drinks and food could be bought from the many refreshment sellers. It was even possible for a cooked meal to be bought. These food sellers were very efficient in servicing the whole train and could remember what had been ordered and where you were located in the carriage!
The camp at Deolali was largely unchanged from the previous yeae and with no special duties to perform except that, as a sergeant, I was asked a few times to deliver military correspondence going by train overnight to various other camps. This relatively ‘easy life’ was short-lived, when notification of departure to the UK was announced with an expected four week sea crossing. The ship was fairly small for a troop ship at only 9,000 tons and, together with about a hundred other soldiers, I marched through Bombay to go on board. I was at last on my way home.
As we had all served in the forces on active duty for many years in different theatres of war we were expecting a fairly relaxing voyage home, but this was not to be. The ship was also transporting 2000 Italian prisoners-of-war back to Naples and we had to undertake guard duty of 24 hours on and 24 hours off. The accommodation for the 100 or so soldiers was one deck down at the stern of the ship and no space had been allocated for them on the upper deck.
The ship was also carrying civilians who had been resident in India and were also returning to the UK. They were accomodated in cabins and had the use of the main promenade deck.
Due to the lack of space provided to the returning troops we made a formal protest about the cramped conditions – and we were eventually given an area of the deck for our use. However – it seemed in retaliation to our protest – we were ordered to lay out our full kit for inspection, and, as you might imagine, this was not appreciated!
As we waited for this kit inspection to take place the assembled men felt that the the delay was deliberate and began to voice their disapproval, banging their cutlery on the mess tables. It wasn’t long before some officers appeared and caautioned me that, as a Sergeant, I was responsible for keeping order and that I would have to report to the ship’s Captain.
In fact I saw the ship’s Purser, who informed me that I could be charged with mutiny, but considering the cirumstances I would not be – thanks a bunch!
When our ship eventually docked at Southampton we were met by newspaper reporters who had got wind of the alleged ‘mutiny’ but nothing further came of it.
IT was from Osnabruck that I was posted back to the Woolwich barracks in the UK. I was given four weeks leave and then sent out to India to take part in the war against Japan that was still going on.
The troopship to India was the P & O Edinburgh Castle, and the route was from Southampton past Gibraltar, through the Mediterranean to Port Said, then on through the Suez Canal, the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean to Bombay.
Sleeping arrangements on board was in hammocks hooked to the ceiling and packed like sardines head to toe; beneath the hammocks were the mess tables. The hammocks were rolled up in the morning and stacked away and the area then became the mess deck during the day,
The weather improved daily as we moved further east. It was fascinating to see the coat of North Africa so close, and the many islands of the Mediterranean – also the many flying fish that kept up with the speed of the ship, just in front of the ship’s bow; a really lovely sight.
The further east we travelled the warmer it got, very much so at night time below deck. To aid the airflow there were some scuttle-like ventilators that were pushed into the portholes to scoop fresh air; there were also some small swivel-type air vents in the ceiling. It was quite funny to see hands and arms constantly reaching out to turn the ventilator in their direction!
We finally reached Port Said at the head of the Suez Canal to restock the ship with stores and water. It was here I first saw and tasted water melon; very refreshing in the heat.
The journey through the canal was very interesting. It is quite narrow. The Egyptian side was cultivated and the other bank just desert. To regulate shipping there are wide lagoons to allow ships to pass. I remember one at Port Suez, there were others with beautiful blue sea and lovely scenery. On leaving the Canal and entering the Red Sea the heat became sticky and oppressive, but it cooled off once we entered the Indian Ocean.
As our troopship reached it’s destination of Bombay we heard news that an atomic bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima in Japan by the Americans on the 6th August, and this was followed by another on Nagasaki on the 9th. We didn’t know the full implications of this new warfare but were hopeful that it would end the war.
As we approached Bombay harbour there was a huge amount of shipping that we presumed was part of the preparations for an invasion of Japan, of which we would be a part.
Our ship docked in Bombay Harbour and the troops were disembarked. We marched through the city to the railway station to be transported 150 miles to a large military transit camp at Deolali.
Soon after arriving at Deolali the news came through that Japan had surrendered. Japan also concluded a separate surrender cermony with China in Nanking on 9th September 1945. With this last formal surrender World War II came to an end.
DURING the last few days of conflict it seemed the enemy fired everything they had at us; it was like Normandy all over again with some very, very near misses.
At one point before the official surrender cam e, I was reconnoitering the area on my motorcycle just north of Ede at Veenendaal and ran into the town square of Wedderveen.
This was still occupied by the Germans and it was a scary and very disturbing feeling to see fully armed enemy troops in the square, totally ignoring my presence. I stopped there for about five minutes then decided not to chance it any longer. I returned to Ede and the unit moved off eastwards to the German border.
When the German surrender finally came, at the time we now celebrate as VE Day, I was with my unit at the 219 Battery HQ that had been set up in a farmyard just inside Holland on the Dutch-German border.
I remember it being very quiet and a few officers sitting around, probably having a few drinks. Several of the blokes wanted to set off a few rounds in celebration but the officers put a stop to that.
After a few more days our unit moved east into Germany and Iremember seeing the road sign for a place called Hitler.
We then moved on to Osnabruck where we sleppt on a deserted railway station platform. It was here that a notice was pinned up informing us that arms collected from the Germans were to be reissued to them to resist Russian attacks!
This was an unbelievable thing to witness: after all the Russians, and we, had gone through in the last your years as allies!
This is absolutely true and I wonder who issued such an order, and why at that moment?
It was, I think, New Years Day 1945 and I was doing a duty-watch on top of the fort when a German jet fighter plane came swooping over the road dbridge and along the river.
It flew past the fort at the same height as my position and at breathtaking speed; the pilot was easily seen. The jet followed the course of the river in the direction of the German border until soaring skywards. This was the first jet I had seen: if they had had these in Normandyit would have been a different story.
On this day the Luftwaffe had launched a tremendous attack – including the use of jet aircraft – on allied installations and to gain air superiority. The operation was codenamed Bodenplatte (Baseplate): the operation failed in it’s objective but the sight of a jet fighter was most impressive.
Shortly after this I was lucky that my name was drawn from a ‘unit raffle’ to have a week’s leave at home in the UK. My home in Malpas Road, London at that time in January 1945 was under bombardment by V2 rockets and had recently sustained damage from a nearby V2 explosion.
So I had switched from avoiding the shelling from the Arnhem area to an Anderson air raid shelter in the garden for a week!
THE 49th Division continued it’s advance, overcoming strong resistance in the area of the town of Poppel. Dates, days and times usually meant very little at the time, but the date of Sunday 18th September cannot be forgotten as the sky was filled with planes and gliders.
Each of these was filled with paratroopers on their way to capture the bridges across the major obstacles of the River Waal at Nijmegan, the River Neder Rein at Arnhem and the town of Arnhem itself. This was to ecome known as Operation Market Garden (made famous in the film A Bridge Too Far – Ed.).
The main allied land forces were to launch a huge simultaneous attack to link up with the paratroppers by going through the twons of Valkenswaard, Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem and then on to the industrial area of the Ruhr in Germany. Things did not go to plan and the attack was practically halted after some miles by the enemy holding the very few approach roads and bridge crossings of the numerous small rivers and canals. Allied attack movement then became West and East as well as North; all being hampered by the very wet weather and approaching winter.
When Brussels was liberated some troops were given a short peiod of leave; usually two days and staying in an Army hostel. One day I had to pick up one of our men returning from Brussels at a nearby railway station and take him back to his unit; the next day he was killed. this particular death still haunts me. His name was Arthur Brown; he is buried at Bergen op Zoom in Holland and I have visited there a few times, post war.
The Germans were still resisting strongly in many areas. In one village we came under a good deal of shelling by their heavy artillery; the dreaded 88mm gun.
the 88 could fire shells at speeds far greater than the speed of sound so that the firing and explosion of the shell almost occurred together, giving no time to take cover.
One one occassion an 88mm shell landed about 23 feet from me, crouching behind my motorcycle; fortunately the blast did not come in my direction,
Soon after this I was given two days leave in Brussels. The city didn’t appeared damaged and I was able to get into the Palais des Beaux Arts and liten to the Scottish National Orchestra. It was so good to hear music again!
The tide was fairly high as the landing craft headed towards the beach. There were a few tall houses behind the beach and a sea wall with a gap leading inland.
We had all been issued with lifebelts; these were semi-circular in design and tied around the waste. After beaching from our landing craft we discarded the lifebelts in heaps piled up by the sea wall. I shudder to think how useless these ‘lifebelts’ would have been in the sea.
The area of our disembarkation was designated as Gold Beach. The precise area, I believe, was designated as Gold Beach King Red, an area between La Riviere and Asnells and in front of the village or Ver-sur-Mer; the track I believe we took is now called the Rue de 50th Division.
There were some damaged seafront houses, but fortunately they had no enemy in them, although I still felt a bit exposed on my BSA M20 motorcycle (Ed Note: Tony was Battery HQ despatch rider).
From the beach we continued to move some hundreds of yards in convoy until reaching the Ouistreham – Arromanches road. We then crossed over that road and, skirting the town of Ver-sur-Mer, we continued along a track where two dead German soldiers still lay in a ditch by the roadside; this was quite a sobering sight.
Naturally we became a little more cautious as we advanced further inland, and at the top of a field about 300 yards further on we halted in a small wooded area.
On dismounting my motorcycle I unslung my Sten gun from my shoulder and stood it down between my legs. At this point I heard the slight click of the breech block moving back under the impact of standing it down, which had been sufficient to push a bullet into the barrel.
Fortunately the impact had not been quite hard enough to cause the gun to fire, but in inspection the firing pin had actually made a small dent in the base of the bullet’s percussion cap. The gun had been set for rapid fire, which would have meant the whole magazine of 28 9mm bullets being fired – another lucky escape!
I can recall another incident where a Sten gun became caught in some camouflage netting resulting in the death of a comrade. There were many incidents and deaths with the Sten gun until a simple modification was made enabling the breech block to be safely secured.
The Regiment left the east coast on the night of 4/5th June for the West India Docks in London.
On arrival I knew that my home was just a few miles away on the other side of the River Thames. I realised that by scrambling over the dock wall I might be able to return home to see Helen before embarking for France, so I climbed over the wall and landed in the garden of a small house.
The woman who was living there said: ‘Come through, and when you come back I’ll let you back in to the garden’.
I ran all the way through the pedestrian tunnel under the Thames and managed to reach home, only to find an empty house – my wife and her mother had gone to the cinema! Fortunately they returned just before I had to make the return journey, where I once again scrambled over the dock wall. Fortunately I had not been misssed – very lucky!
We embarked on 7th June aboard the SS Fort McPherson and sailed down the Thames Estuary to a salute of hooters and sirens.
On the way over to France there was a submarine alert during the evening but no attack took place. However during the night the ship was attacked by planes.
At first there were some near misses but these were followed by a tremendous shudder as the ship was hit by a large remotely guided bomb. The bomb had penetrated the ship but failed to explode. I like to think the resistance movement had sabotaged the bomb.
The wings of the missile-like bomb were sheared off, revealing masses of wiring cabes that appeared to be attached to it.
The ship stopped and destroyers stood nearby while the bomb was defused. I watched as this missile was hoisted up and lowered over board; it appeared to be a massive size of about 14 feet.
Our ship’s steering gear had been damaged by the impact and the ship delayed, but was soon able to continue on to France by going round in circles.
Standing off shore the ship was attacked again, with many more near misses. Eventually landing craft pulled alongside us and we scrambled down the nets into the landing craft and we were beached at Ver-sur-Mer.
To my amazement the pilot of the landing craft taking me ashore turned out to be a man called Jackie Legge, who had been one of my next door neighbours at home – what a fantastic coincidence!
DURING the summer of 1940 I spent a few days with my sister Beattie and her husband CHarles at their home in Chipstead in Kent.
I recall very clearly witnessing the dog fights between the RAF and their Spitfires and Hurricanes and the German fighters as the air battles of what we now know as The Battle of Britain played out.
I stood and watched as the planes whirled round and round each other and the bursts of their machine gun fire could be clearly heard.
In September 1940 our house at 12 Holmshaw Road and several others were destroyed in a night air raid.
This included my grandmother’s house at number 10, the Hargreaves family at number 8, Mr and Mrs Ashleigh’s house at number 6, Mrs Woodham’s at number 4 and numbr 2, which I recall was an empty shop on the corner of the street; all these were destroyed.
In the other direction, our next door neighbours at number 14 were the Legge family, who were also made homeless that night. Jackie Legge, who was a little older than me, by strange coincidence would turn out to be the pilot of the landing craft that took me ashore in France following D Day.
Fortunately, at the time of the air raid we were sheltering in the Anderson Shelter in our back garden; thankfully there were no casualties in our family.
The next day we relocated to a different house in Byne Road, Upper Sydenham.
THE air raids and bombing around this time had a profound effect on my father, who had been badly affected by his experiences on the Somme during the First World War.
Now, with the recent loss of our home, he had a terrible reaction to the bombing. Each day before the anticipated air raids he had a compulsion to get to the safety of the deep caves at Chislehurst.
I can remember walking with him almost every day from our home in Byne Roda to Penge High Street where he would catch the 227 bus that would take hin to Chislehurst and safety. It is also worth noting that during the First World War both of his parents and three sisters had been killed in a bombing raid. Also, his brother Walter had been killed while fighting in France in 1916. Little wonder then that he had such a reaction to what must have seemed to hom a never-ending cycle of horror.
In North Africa there were battles between the 8th Army and the German Afrika Corps. My older brother Ted was at this time serving in North Africa and was reported missing.
This was an anxious time, although later we had news that he was confirmed as a Prisoner of War. He was transported from North Africa through Italy and into Germany. He would remain in captivity in Stalag 344 until the end of the war in Europe in 1945.
HELEN
IT was during this period I met Helen West, the daughter of one of my customers. Helen had dark hair and lovely brown eyes; we grradually got to speak and know each other.
Helen was a court dressmaker before the war, but of course most trades like those simply folded when the war started. Helen was then directed to work with the Co-operative Bakery, delivering bread.
This was certainly a contrast to her former work but she really enjoyed it. Initially the bread was delivered by hand cart but later on Helen had a horse and cart, so Helen and I had similar jobs for a time.
We saw each other most days: cinema going, cycling and visiting friends, etc, all of this during the times of day and night air raids.
CALL UP and MARRIAGE
In January 1942 on my 19th birthday I received my call-up papers for the Army to train as an Anti-Tank gunner at Catterick Camp in Yorkshire. During this time one or two periods of leave were granted and I would return home to see Helen.
Of course we discussed the future and the chances of survival, and we decided if possible to get married in the August of 1942. Helen and I were married on the 19th of August 1942. I was 19 and Helen just 21.
TONY Delahoy celebrates his 100th birthday today. The popular Silverknowes man plans to spend the milestone occasion quietly with family, but daughter Barbara has asked me to pass on Tony’s best wishes to his many friends, acquaintances and old comrades across North Edinburgh and beyond.
Durng lockdown Tony used his time at home productively, producing Things Remembered, a memoir of his life. I was very touched but absolutely delighted when he hand -delivered a copy to me, and I fondly remember that brief visit to my doorstep – one of the brightest moments of a very dark time.
Tony explains in the introduction: ‘We all have memories that are important or significant in our lives. At the time of writing this account I have reached the age of 98 and the years since my birth in 1923 have seen great change.
‘Thinking about some of the changes and events that I have witnessed during my life, I felt it might be interesting to share them with others who might also find them interesting or informative.
‘I have recorded some memories from my childhood, school years and early work experiences. Also, the outbreak of the Second World War, when I was just 16, and of course my call up and war service. I end this account with my return to civilian and family life and the immediate post war period.
‘This is not exhaustive or by any means complete, but is a record of some events and occurrences that I felt worthy of setting down.’
I’m honoured to share just a few of Tony’s memories today, and will post more over the coming weeks:
OUR HOUSE AND LOCALITY
i was born at 12 Holmshaw Road, Lower Sydenham, London SE 26 on 13th January 1923. Number 12 was a mid terraced-house; it had three rooms and a scullery downstairs and three bedrooms upstairs.
The rooms were gas lit and there was just one main water tap in the scullery. The front room downstairs was the ‘best’ room and was not used a lot, except at Christmas time when a coal fire was lit.
We lived there, next door to my mother’s family, the Goddards at number 10, until September 1940, when at the age of 17 the houses at numbers 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 and 12 were bombed and destroyed …
SCHOOL
Our school, Haseltine Road Elementary, which is still in use, was very close to our house, a couple of hundred yards away and within hearing distance of the warning bell that was rung at 8.45am, the school starting at 9am.
The school bell was in a tower and was rung by the Schoolkeeper on the ground floor by pulling a rope.
Class sizes were very large, up to 50, boys only. The classroom floor was stepped up front-to-back to accomodate the iron-framed desks at which the children sat.
The desks had a folding wooden top, with a groove along the top for pen and pencil and an inkwell set in the top right corner.
WORK
Having had early mornig jobs from the age of 10 – delivering papers and helping the local milk roundsman evey day of the week – work was second nature and mostly enjoyable.
At the end of term in December 1935 thoughts turned to getting a full-time job, having been asked by the school if I would like to carry on my schooling at the Central school.
I asked my Mother, was said it was up to me, but I knew that a school uniform would have to be bought and I knew that it would be impossible to do.
Also, I was so used to work and my earnings would help Mum – incidentally, any money earned on my paper or milk rounds was always handed over to Mum; that was the norm and she would in turn give back some money to you.
I believe it was something like a wage of three shillings and sixpence handed over and one shilling and sixpence (1/6d) handed back.
Although the school did not help to find jobs there was one on offer from a shop in Sydenham for a window dresser, but it did not appeal to me at all having had years of outside jobs. I really wanted to work in the milk delivery trade with the Co-operative Society. I applied to the Co-op and was still waiting on a reply when I left school, so I had to apply for a job at one of the two local factories.
This was a metal working factory, Aerograph, and I was taken on and put in the inspection department checking threads on nuts and bolts.
I was only there for one week, for which I got paid twelve shillings and sevenpence (12/7d). I had by then heard from the Co-op asking me to attend for an interview and test.
The test was English and Arithmetic and a couple of other tests. I passed and eventually got a letter to report to the Catford Milk Depot. I was permanently allocated to a large round. A round was an area covered by one roundsman, serving approximately 500 customers. Transport of the milk was of course by horse and cart. My roundsman Johnny was a good chap and trained me very well.
