Sherman Crewman Frank Dennis Gent

[haybaggerman]

Hi All

 

I'd like to just mention my uncle, now 87 years old, who fought in WWII. He was a crewman on a sherman with the Lothians and Border Horse Regiment. He fought through North Africa and then up through Italy. Later he was in Europe in a "Honey Tank", a turretless stuart in which he did recce work, becoming troop leader. This he attributes to the low survival rate in this role, he had a reputation for leading a charmed life. He ended up driving Staghounds but saw no action in these.

 

Anyway, since 2007 when he went back to Europe to retrace his steps, he has been talking about his experiences, which have now been written down. They are a series of short accounts, some funny, some exciting and others just giving an insight into the everyday life of a tanky.

 

Also, in 2007, just south of Rome he saw a static sherman by the road in the middle of nowhere. A sign said do not climb on the tank, which he obviously ignored completely! He managed to get in, it was the first time he had been in a sherman, or any tank, since the war. The tank was an empty shell, but it brought alot of memories back, like brewing up while locked down. He said it was alot more cramped than he had remembered. Getting in that tank was the highlight of his entire trip.

 

This brings me to the reason for the post. I was wondering if there are any owners of a sherman or turretless stuart out there in our MV community who would be willing to give some time on their machine to my uncle. He is very unassuming and doesn't know that I'm posting this. I know it would mean alot to him. I would of course foot the bill for any fuel costs etc etc.

 

If anyone would be interested I could also post a couple of his stories on here too.

 

Over to you guys

 

Cheers

 

Paul

PS He is still a fighter, 4 years ago he was given only a few months to live due to cancer, today he is fit and cancer free and has also outlived the 45 year old docter who diagnosed him!

[AndyFowler]

Sounds like a top chap mate ! I hope you can sort out this trip for him ! Thank him for all that he did from all of us please !

[Ivor Ramsden]

Sounds like a top chap mate ! I hope you can sort out this trip for him ! Thank him for all that he did from all of us please !

 

Couldn't agree more! Best wishes to the old boy. Can you post some of his reminiscences here?

[Adrian Barrell]

 

This brings me to the reason for the post. I was wondering if there are any owners of a sherman or turretless stuart out there in our MV community who would be willing to give some time on their machine to my uncle. He is very unassuming and doesn't know that I'm posting this. I know it would mean alot to him. I would of course foot the bill for any fuel costs etc etc.

 

QUOTE]

 

I would be honoured.

[Tony B]

Please drag him into the bar!! All stories greatly listned to! :writing:

Would he be willing to have his tales recorded?

[haybaggerman]

Adrian, thanks for the reply and your promise of help, its brilliant and I know it will mean alot to him.

 

It wouldn't be until the new year so loads of time. Should I pm you nearer the time to arrange?

 

Cheers and thanks again

 

Paul

[Adrian Barrell]

Hi Paul,

 

you and your uncle will be very welcome, just sorry it's so far for you to travel!

 

Yes, just PM me nearer the time and we can chat about the details.

 

Regards,

 

Adrian

[haybaggerman]

Right, here is one of my uncles recollections as taken down by his daughter Rina.

 

My 87 year old father has at last started to talk about his war experiences with me. His troop commander is George Martin who wrote his experiences down in the book, 'From Cassino to the Po'.

 

 

My father's name is Frank Dennis Gent and he served in the 2nd Lothians and Border Horse. 6th armoured division. These are just some of the memories he has written down and shared with me so far. Hopefully there will be more.

 

NORTH AFRICA 43/44

 

"The fighting in North Africa ended in Cap Bon, Tunisia in May, 1943 with the surrender of the German forces there. Whilst GHQ (general headquarters), planned the next move our regiment moved to a wadi, (valley), quite near Hammamet on the coast. It was a tranquil spot, the sides covered with olive trees sloping down gently to a dried-up river bed at the bottom. The country was dry for about 11 months of the year and the wadi's carried away flood water during the torrential rains in late autumn.

 

A large marquee was erected as a Mess, (eating area) and other tents held ovens etc., for preparing food. We were each issued with a one-man bivouac, (small tent) and we chose our own spot among the olives. This involved leveling a small area of land, erecting the bivouac over it and then digging a narrow channel round it to drain away rainwater. With a groundsheet and three blankets (2 army and one American, they were much softer!) and maybe an extra one you had managed to scrounge, it was really comfortable.

 

Each man had his own way of making his bed. I folded my blankets until it was like a sleeping bag that I used to slide into feet first and no matter how often I turned over it retained its shape. You may wonder why we needed blankets in North Africa? It was because despite the heat of the summer days, often over 100ºF, the night's were always cold. Even so, I'll never forget the hilarity when the squadron lined up in late summer outside the Quartermaster's store. We wore khaki drill shorts and shirts and were issued with thick woollen underwear including Long John's! But, were we glad of them in mid-winter when we woke up in the mornings and everything was covered in a glittering white frost.

 

There was a bit of excitement during our first month in the wadi when a couple of hit and run raids were made by Messerschmidt fighter bombers. They dropped flares, a few bombs each and then disappeared. As far as I know there was some damage but no casualties. After the first raid there was a roll-call and all were present and correct except one.........me!

 

They feared the worst and a search got under way. Eventually they found me at the bottom of a slit trench close to my tent. At first they thought I was dead, then, that I was cowering there to terrified to come out. Then they realised that unbelievable though it seemed, I was fast asleep! I awoke to the sound of voices and torches shining in my face, wondering what on earth had happened!

Honestly, when I was young I slept like a baby, anywhere.

 

 

It was a peaceful life. And most of our time was spent doing maintenance work on the tanks. I was busier than most because the C.O. (Commanding Officer), had discovered I was not only a professional painter but, glory be, a Sign writer as well! So, during the months we were out of action I was fully employed re-spraying all 'B' Squadron's tanks with camouflage paint, (green and brown over light and dark sand colours) so we guessed we were going to Italy. Despite a rumour that a troopship had been seen off Algiers with L. & B.H. (Lothians and Border Horse) on the funnel and it would be taking us all on leave to England. That was the wildest of many rumours going around, and we believed them because we wanted to!

 

After the tanks had been sprayed I had to re-paint all the signs, e.g. 4A, in a blue square on the turret of the officer in command of 4 Troop 'B' Squadron. A yellow wheat sheaf was the regimental emblem, a mailed fist, (white on black) 6th Division, and the numbers, 56, the Brigade sign. There was also a red, white and red rectangle on the side of the hull which we always smeared with mud before going into action because we believed the Germans used to sight their guns on it. Last, and most important, was a huge white star in a white circle painted on the engine covers which, it was hoped, would be seen by American pilots and so prevent them bombing us. I did have a stencil I made myself for the mailed fist but all the others had to be done by hand.

 

No brushes were provided, (typical of the Army) so I had to make my own. This was done by scrounging a shaving brush from the Q.M.S. (Quarter masters store), "lassooing" as small bunch of bristles, cutting them off at the base and then attaching it to a suitable stick. Primitive, but the results were excellent.

 

It was a good life. Parade in the mornings, maintenance until lunch, rest, read or write home in the afternoon. Several days a week a truck drove to the coast with a full load of men who enjoyed a refreshing swim in the warm Mediterranean. We all stripped naked, quite unselfconscious.

 

The months went by, the days were getting cooler and then came the rains, heavy and continuous day after day. The bottom of the wadi was soon churned up into liquid mud by the trucks bringing supplies until, eventually, it became impassable. That's when the Sergeant Major had his bright idea. As soon as the rain stopped we would build a road! Not the Squadron Sergeant Major of course, but the slave labour gangs (us!), that he would organise and give orders to! Groups of men were sent out in trucks to bring back large rocks which were laid by other gangs to form the bed of the road. Other unfortunate 'slaves' were given sledge hammers to break rocks into smaller pieces to lay on the bed, and finally, cement was brought in and spread over the rocks to form a quite magnificent road. It is almost certainly there to this day, more than sixty years later, and has probably been made good use of by local Arabs.

 

In March our peaceful existence came to an end and the regiment embarked for transport to Napoli. From there we were taken to a village, Bagno a Ripoli, behind the front line, to join the immense build-up of men and arms ready for the final breakthrough at Monte Cassino."

[Bodge Deep]

Fascinating

Well done for getting these memories recorded... good work

 

And your uncle will be in very good hands with Adrian... a proper gent and the owner of a superb Sherman

[Adrian Barrell]

The thought has just occured.... bit slow this morning!

 

I will be taking the Sherman to Armour and Embarkation in Doset next June. If you can wait till then it will be much more local to you and I know there will also be a Stuart there of the type used by your uncle albeit with a turret.

 

It should be a very 'immersive' experience.

 

Just a thought.

 

Adrian

[79x100]

was busier than most because the C.O. (Commanding Officer), had discovered I was not only a professional painter but, glory be, a Sign writer as well! So, during the months we were out of action I was fully employed re-spraying all 'B' Squadron's tanks with camouflage paint, (green and brown over light and dark sand colours) so we guessed we were going to Italy.

 

No brushes were provided, (typical of the Army) so I had to make my own. This was done by scrounging a shaving brush from the Q.M.S. (Quarter masters store), "lassooing" as small bunch of bristles, cutting them off at the base and then attaching it to a suitable stick. Primitive, but the results were excellent.

 

Fascinating recollections. A real experienced military signwriter. Does he still take commissions ?

[haybaggerman]

He is still a very skilled painter. He can do mock marble, just paint but the effects are just like the real thing. Not easy.

 

I'll ask him about the signwriting, he lives in manchester but spends some of his time in Italy as he met his wife during his time there during WWII and so they visit family often.

 

I'm not saying he'll do it with a shaving brush though.

 

Paul

[haybaggerman]

My Uncle has been informed and is thrilled. Perhaps Dorset might be a really good idea Adrian, I will be in touch!!

 

Here is another short account, I have about 8 so far and they keep coming. I have my uncle's permission to post any I think fit, although some are a bit harrowing. Anyway, here is a funny one:-

 

Another little true story which I never thought was particularly amusing, but which the rest of the squadron, at least the O.R.'s, thought was a scream. Certainly they never tired of hearing it and, inevitably, after Christmas dinner, Rabbie Burns night or similar celebrations there was a call, "Come on, Frank, tell us about your day as a Gunner".

 

It happened when we were out of action in North Africa. Occasionally we drove out in the tanks for some shooting practice. I had been trained in England as a Radio/Operator and that was my trade when I joined the Lothians and Border Horse in Algeria.

 

For some unknown reason our troop officer, who was a supercilious snob, and unpopular with the tank crews, decided he would like me to be his gunner. The gunner's position in the turret was cramped and uncomfortable, his only view of what was happening outside was through his periscope and when engaged with the enemy he could not move for hours. I didn't fancy it at all. My near sight was very good but my long sight was poor and I had been issued with a pair of Army Spectacles. I deliberately forgot to take them with me.

 

Well, we drove out to the practice area and the Radio/Operator loaded the 75mm. The officer said, "Right, gunner, aim at that burned out tank".

 

I said, "I can't see any tank, sir."

 

"The tank just in front of that ruined farmhouse" he replied.

 

"Which farmhouse, sir?"

 

The officer was becoming exasperated. "The farmhouse just to the left of that wood."

 

"Which wood, sir?"

 

That was the last straw, "The wood half way up that effin' mountain, you blind idiot!"

 

"Which mountain, sir?" I 'innocently' replied.

 

My objective had been accomplished. We returned to camp without firing a shot. And I returned to my Radio/Operator job a happy man!

 

That last remark, "Which mountain, sir?" always brought the house down and the unpopularity of the officer no doubt had a lot to do with it.

 

 

Cheers All

 

Paul

PS this one leads onto a story about a near disasterous experiment to fit a mortar onto a stuart tank if anyone is interested.

[haybaggerman]

Guys, if I'm boring anyone with these then do say, to me they are fascinating and an important reminder of whats important about our MV's. But then, maybe I'm just being self indulgent.

 

 

 

After the breakthrough at Monte Cassino, ours was the leading Armoured Division harassing the Germans as they retreated. It was like a cavalry charge as we raced across country in our tanks. It was rather appropriate that our regiment was called the Lothians and Border Horse.

 

The enemy left suicide squads behind to delay us but we went through or round them, left the infantry to deal with them. Just north of Rome we came to a small wood. Our tanks nosed through slowly until we reached the far side, where we stopped "one abreast" with our guns poking through the last trees.

 

The tank commander's carefully scrutinised the open countryside in front of them, looking for camouflaged anti-tank guns or dug-in Tiger tanks. All was quiet except for the idling engines when I suddenly heard the voice of the sergeant in the turret of the Sherman of which I was the co-driver. "Frank", he said, "Can you see that cherry tree half-way between us and that deserted farmhouse"? I didn't need to reply. I climbed out and ran to the tree. It was indeed groaning under the weight of kilo's of luscious black cherries. I filled my beret until it was overflowing and then, all hell broke loose in an inferno of sound!

 

I flung myself flat on the ground just in time, as bullets and shells screamed over my head. I realized all the fire was coming from behind me and it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. I slowly raised my eyes but could see nothing except gaping holes in the farmhouse. I grabbed my beret, still full of cherries and crawled back to our tanks. There I learnt what had happened.

 

The farmhouse wasn’t in fact deserted, and a movement had been detected inside, which is why our tanks opened fire. As soon as they had done so, a dozen Germans ran out of the back of the farmhouse, to escape.I'm afraid they were unlucky. I was indeed lucky, but also indignant, demanding to know why I had almost been shot to pieces by my own mates!!

 

I did not get any sympathy at all. Just a "Shut up and pass round the cherries". And do you know, they really were delicious...........................!

 

(The above incident occurred early in June 1944, just after the fall of Rome) Frank Dennis Gent

[Bodge Deep]

Post as many as you like! I love recallections such as these

[gritineye]

Great stories Paul, please keep 'em coming.

[R Cubed]

Wow wee so good to here such stories from the horses mouth as such.

Where is Mark these are the sorts of things which need to go in the Pathfinder mag with permission of course.

[haybaggerman]

Here is the follow up to the "my day as a gunner story". Its interesting to see the in-field mods the soldiers were willing to try.

 

In April, 1944, before we moved up into the front line at Cassino, one of our officers had what he thought was a brilliant idea. To improve the squadron's firepower and also, maybe because the honey tanks in Recce Troup were not armed, he suggested a 3 inch mortar should be fixed on to the back of my vehicle. The squadron's fitters securely welded the base plate on to the rear engine cover and the mortar barrel was bolted into place. Then we drove to an open area to test it, accompanied by a bevy of officers including the C.O. The mortar works by dropping a bomb down the barrel where a firing pin explodes the charge and lobs the bomb high into the air. The distance it travels depending on the angle of the barrel.

 

I was loading with a couple of officers standing on the tank and the rest at the side and rear on the ground. All went well at first as the first few bombs sailed away, the officer whose idea it was looking quite smug. Then, as I had feared, the repeated violent explosions caused a small crack to appear in the inch thick steel of the engine cover. I pointed to it but the officer, high on the apparent success of his project, ordered me to carry on. Two more bombs and the crack lengthened. As I dropped the next in and it exploded, the barrel suddenly tilted and the bomb went straight up into the air. I was ready and dived over the side, the two officers were flung backwards and the others on the ground cast dignity aside and hit the deck.

 

We were very, very lucky. There must have been just enough angle on the barrel to prevent the bomb going straight up and then down on top of us. It landed about 10 yards away with a shattering explosion and shrapnel flying in all directions. As it went quiet, the C.O. stood up, dusted himself down and said "Gentlemen, I don't think Lt Petit's idea was a huge success".

 

Need I mention the Lt. Petit was the officer in the My Day as a Gunner story.

[haybaggerman]

Another one,

 

Hamman Lif, which is one of the 2nd Lothian's battle honours is a narrow strip of land maybe 100 yards or so wide between a mountain and the sea in Tunisia. It was the last place which could be defended before it opened out into Cap Bon where the 1st Army met the 8th Army.........

 

The Germans were supremely confident they could stop us there. Which was not surprising really. They controlled the heights and their artillery observation Officers could bring down heavy and accurate high explosive shells within minutes of spotting any movement by our tanks. "C" Squadron decided to drive along the beach as the sand was level and firm, but had to retreat when three of their tanks were blown up on carefully concealed landmines. "A" Squadron tried to charge down the road at the foot of the mountain. It was equally disastrous as well-hidden 88mm anti-tank guns picked them off. My Squadron, "B", was then ordered to attack through the centre with some cover from cactus groves but also open stretches of land. I was the radio-operator loader in our Sherman and our driver was an unkempt, scuffy Irishman from Eire, a volunteer and the finest driver I ever knew. His lightning reflexes saved our tank and its crew on more than one occasion. This was one of them.

 

We had left the shelter of some cactus and were making a dash across exposed land when a heavy HE shell exploded about 30 metres in front of us. Paddy braked to a halt as another shell blew a massive crater 30 metres behind us. Paddy knew this was what is called a "bracket" and he also knew only too well where the next shell was coming in a few seconds.

 

In the turret we were stunned and bemused by the force of the explosions, but not our driver. He slammed the gears into 1st, rammed his foot down on the accelerator, and, as the engine screamed, heaved back on the right hand braking stick doing a 90 degree turn before releasing it as our 30 ton Sherman practically leapt forward. Sure enough, the shell exploded exactly on the place we had just left but, instead of blowing us to smithereens, the blast gave us a kick up the backside as we gratefully shot into the cover of the cactus.

 

Thank you Paddy, not for the first time nor the last.

[haybaggerman]

Right, well, my uncle is staying at the farm at the moment and looking forward to A & E. He brought down some interesting photos with him too. He has also got a sherman tank model he made between battles out of food tins and the like.

 

Anyway, I kind of let this thread go a bit, thought I was going on a bit and a lack of replies belied little interest. However, as A & E is coming up and my uncle and other veterans are going to be there I thought I'd share a bit more nostalgia from the time. This story just shows the lottery between life and death these people had to deal with, and also what they went through dealing with the consequences of everyday descisions.

 

MAY 1944 YET ANOTHER LUCKY BREAK FOR CORPORAL GENT!

 

During the last two days of the war in Italy we swept across country towards the small town of Bondeno and the river Po. It was an eventful time as we caught up with the German rearguard. As the squadron’s Shermans eased forward on the first day my two Reconnaissance Honey’s were ordered forward to see what lay ahead and to find a way to cross a wide stream which was marked on our maps. Me and my 2nd in command set off and soon reached the stream which, to make it more difficult, was sunken with steep sides. We turned and drove along the bank and saw a place which both I and my driver thought crossable. As leader I took my tank down but it was very muddy at the bottom and we got stuck. I told my 2nd in command to try further on and to report back to the squadron on the radio that I needed a tow. About 100 yards away he gave me a wave and indicated he was crossing. As we watched, his Honey was flung into the air in a sheet of flames and a huge explosion. It was obvious he had hit a landmine on the other side, and although I ran up, there was nothing anyone could do. The Shermans then appeared and I warned them that there could be more mines on the other side, but there were none, just the one that killed my comrades.

 

While the squadron crossed and fanned out, one tank dragged our Honey out with his cable. I was feeling shocked and more than a little guilty. If I hadn’t got bogged down I would have been the one crossing that small bridge. As had happened so many times before, I was lucky.

 

I was promoted to corporal, not on merit but because I was a survivor and once again there were gaps in the ranks to be filled.

[Adrian Barrell]

Excellent stuff Paul, don't let a lack of replies put you off, it's your uncles stories are the thread, waffling from the rest of us adds little! I'm looking forwards to meeting him.

[eddy8men]

thanks for sharing the stories paul, this kind of thing is what i think most of us like to hear. it's the small details that make it all the more interesting.

 

cheers eddy

[Degsy]

Please thank your uncle for sharing his experiences, I, for one, find them fascinating.

[Mk3iain]

Yes, many thanks. Please keep the recollections coming...:thanx:

[abn deuce]

All personal stories are important , as each experianced the war differently for better or worse .