Big ray

[Big ray]

Our neighbour Dennis has passed away today, he was younger than myself and was enjoying relatively good health a few months ago, this only illustrates the fragility of this existence that we lead. We will of course offer any help that we can give to lessen the blow that this loss has caused to his wife. However with the best will in the world, we are a poor substitute for the loss of a life long partner. Life can be very cruel, I hope that we can be of some help.

[Big ray]

When I finally left Germany for my demob in December 1958 I had to travel to the uk by ferry, then from the ferry terminal to London, change trains for Arborfield in Berkshire. One of my buddies had been demobbed a few weeks before myself, he was a London boy, I had visited his home on several occasions and his family knew me quite well. He invited me to break my journey when passing through London and have lunch with him and his family, he would then drive me to the rail station to complete my journey to Arbourfield where I would remain whilst they processed my discharge papers. My travel document gave the date of departure and the date of arrival at Arbourfield, but no mention of time of arrival. I had my lunch with Allan and his family, then I was asked to stay for tea, they checked the time of trains and confirmed that I would still arrive at my destination before midnight on my schedualled arrival date. I duly had my meal and left for the train station, driven there by Allan. I arrived at my destination before midnight, reported to the guardroom, was issued with pillow and sheets and told where that I would find an empty bed. The following morning we mustered on parade and roll call was taken, as names were called each individual was assigned a task, eventually just two people, myself and another guy were left standing on the parade ground. The other guy had arrived after midnight, I have no idea what had delayed him, but we were both charged to appear before the company c.o. for being late. I protested strongly that I was not late in view of the fact that I had arrived on the date stated on my travel documents, all to no avail. We were duly marched before the company c.o. , we both explained our reasons for our arrival times. The other guy received some minor punishment, the c.o. then turned to myself, he said that he could bust me and reduce me to the ranks, and then went on to say, I dont suppose that that would bother you now. (Actually it would have bothered me a great deal) but he went on to ask me where I lived in the U.K. When I told him that I lived in the Midlands he said, well in that case I will reduce your 48hr pass to a 36hr pass, all in the full knowledge that I could not get home and back in that time. (The 48hr pass was valid from mid afternoon untill 8.00am on the following Monday morning) My pass could not be altered, but the Sergeant Major, who was in attendance, was instructed not to give me my pass untill lunch time on the Saturday. Up untill this point in time the Sergeant Major had been very authoritive with me, on leaving the office of the c.o. he said, I think that he was a little unreasonable with you laddie, he went on to say that the c.o. left the camp mid-afternoon on Fridays, and if I reported to him (the Sergeant Major) he would give me my pass once the c.o. had left, that would only delay me by some 2hrs, and I could still make it home for the weekend. I got my weekend at home all courtesy of one compassionate Sergeant Major, so you see, the army wasn`t really so bad, even then with all its discipline. :kissoncheek:

[Big ray]

Things that I remember, and nearly sixty years on I still cant believe what I did. It was during the last twelve months of my service, at that time I was in charge of the stables. For a short period I was billeted in my own room, did`nt like that very much, soon had it changed. Whilst occupying that room I overslept one weekday morning.... I was awakened by the footsteps of what I instinctively knew was the Sergeant Majors walk coming along the passage towards my room. ( His boots made a noise on the quarry tiles) One look at my watch, and my heart began to beat its way out of my chest....... I was in very serious trouble.. my eyes were transfixed on the door awaiting what I knew was going to be the S / Major. The door opened and he stood there, looking larger and more formidable than usual, he demanded to know what I was doing still in my bed at that time in the morning. (I did not have to present myself on early muster, it was generally assumed that I was in the stables) I blurted out......... I have been up most of the night with a sick animal in the stables...... he apologised for waking me, and told me to go back to sleep, he closed the door behind him, and I just lay there completely shell shocked that I had just told him a blatant lie. For weeks after that, if I saw the S/Major coming in my direction, I would go in another direction, I felt sure that at some point he would want to know more about the "sick" animal, and I was not prepared to compound my problems by telling more lies.... It was probably a couple of months before I could feel comfortable in his presence. I still dont believe that I did it........... obviously the fear of the consequences for lying in. If I should meet him today, I would have to tell him the truth. :embarrassed:

[Degsy]

Good bit of quick thinking there Ray and what a result, S/Major ordering you to stay in bed.

You could have dined out on that one for years.

[Big ray]

I have been a regular attendee over the last 10 or twelve years in Arnhem, Holland, for the September commemorations of the airborne landings. I have however missed the last couple of years due to my current medical condition, so I have decided that if I feel O.K. the next time around, then I am going to visit both Normandy and Arnhem. It will be nice to see some of my foreign friends again. On one of my visits in the 1990s I was accompanied by one of my friends who just happened to be a member of the Pathfinders Group, a bunch of people who like to jump out of aircraft (sometimes a D.C.3 Dakota) over Ginkel Heath. Well on one of our visits my friend asked if I would take some of the group, along with all their gear, parachutes etc at 6.30am the following morning to the airfield. I agreed immediately, and on loading these people the following morning I enquired how far is the airfield from our camp site. I was informed, only just a short distance. So I set off with my load of paratroopers in an open Jeep, wearing only a T shirt. That just down the road turned out to be about 6 miles or so, giving me something like 12 miles in an open Jeep early on a late September morning......... and it was very cold, I was frozen, but I did thoroughly enjoy the trip, its felt like the real thing at the time.

On a subsequent visit to Arnhem, again with my friend, who was again parachuting over Ginkel Heath, he went to some considerable trouble to arrange for myself to accompany them on the flight as a passenger..... and they were flying in a D.C.3. Another member of our party (a friend) could not walk past me without exclaiming, you jammy b.....d, I would give my right arm for that flight........... so because I am full of chicken blood anyway, I told him to take my place, which he did. I am not too sure that the friend that arranged the flight for me was very impressed with my action......... however he does still talk to me.:kissoncheek:

[ashley]

Hi Ray,

next time you are over that way you should meet up with forum members enigma, Ronnie and Joris, great guys and overflowing with local knowledge of the area and the battles that took place.

 

Ashley

[Big ray]

Hi Ray,

next time you are over that way you should meet up with forum members enigma, Ronnie and Joris, great guys and overflowing with local knowledge of the area and the battles that took place.

 

Ashley

 

Hi Ashley, thanks for that, I will make a note......... when I made reference to my friend the parachutist, thats Paul, he is absolutely soaked in knowledge concerning Arnhem. But it would still be very nice for us all to meet, fingers crossed.

Ray. :kissoncheek:

[Big ray]

Hi Ray,

next time you are over that way you should meet up with forum members enigma, Ronnie and Joris, great guys and overflowing with local knowledge of the area and the battles that took place.

 

Ashley

Hi Ashley, I notice that you live in Dorset, I did my basic training at Blandford, R.E.M.E. 1956, January - February. For the last 52 years I had only to hear any reference to Dorset County, and my mind immediately flew back to my time spent there..... I thought that it was all very hard at the time, but it has all turned into very fond memories....... Although the R.E.M.E have long gone from Blandford (Training Depot No.1) I believe that the Royal Signals have a camp there, I must call one day to see how much that things have changed.

Regards.

Ray :kissoncheek:

[Minesweeper]

I was at Blandford Camp - Jan-Feb 1959 - Army School of P.T. That was in the REME Lines. What a vast place the Camp was! I remember coming back late one Sunday night from a "48" on a bus from Salisbury and trying to find my (Spider) Hut in the dark. I knew it was not too far from the Army Cinema on the main road through the Camp and was peering through the Bus Window as we drove through the Camp, looking for the Cinema! Saw it - jumped off the bus and then couldn't find my bearings - only to find that there were two Cinemas on the Camp and not one and of course, I got the wrong one. Mine was some way away. Wondered around until I found "Howe" Lines - and I was there! As Ray says, happy memories now!

 

Tony

Edited November 12, 2010 by Minesweeper
spelling

[Big ray]

I was at Blandford Camp - Jan-Feb 1959 - Army School of P.T. That was in the REME Lines. What a vast place the Camp was! I remember coming back late one Sunday night form a "48" on a bus from Salisbury and trying to find my (Spider) Hut in the dark. I knew it was not too far from the Army Cinema on the main road through the Camp and was peering through the Bus Window as we drove through the Camp, looking for the Cinema! Saw it - jumped off the bus and then couldn't find my bearings - only to find that there were two Cinemas on the Camp and not one and of course, I got the wrong one. Mine was some way away. Wondered around until I found "Howe" Lines - and I was there! As Ray says, happy memories now!

 

Tony

 

I Tony, I suppose that all training camps in them days were very large in order to cope with the great influx of rookies, nice to know that we have both been wearing out the same tarmac though, I have vivid memories of the vast lines of men at the NAAFI. Memories, something that they can never take from us, wish that I could do it all again...... with the same guys.

Regards.

Ray. :kissoncheek:

[Minesweeper]

Yes, Ray - so many things trigger off memories. You mention the Naafi and I remember that well - the largest one that I had ever seen. The night before all my group finally departed from Blandford, we went there for a final "celebration". One guy got really "p***** out of his mind and we had to put him to bed - he was totally out. And some of the guys (I was not one and could not be so cruel) got two Fire Buckets full of water - put one each side of his bed and left him asleep on his back with his hands in the buckets of water. You will know what the result was!

 

There was a book written about National Service called "Two years to do" - I have it somewhere and the Author had spent most of his time at Blandford Camp. So many episodes in that, that I could relate to.

 

Tony

Edited November 11, 2010 by Minesweeper

[Big ray]

Today I am thinking about the many parents that have lost a child whilst serving in the military, children who have lost a parent, siblings who have lost a brother or sister. We have two children, a daughter and a son, I dont know how we would cope with such a loss. This morning I awoke as usual to my freedom, our troops awoke this morning to defend that freedom. The next time that you see a soldier, airman or sailor, just shake their hand and say, thank you.:thanx:

[ashley]

Hi Ashley, I notice that you live in Dorset, I did my basic training at Blandford, R.E.M.E. 1956, January - February. For the last 52 years I had only to hear any reference to Dorset County, and my mind immediately flew back to my time spent there..... I thought that it was all very hard at the time, but it has all turned into very fond memories....... Although the R.E.M.E have long gone from Blandford (Training Depot No.1) I believe that the Royal Signals have a camp there, I must call one day to see how much that things have changed.

Regards.

Ray :kissoncheek:

 

 

Hi Ray,

yes the Royal Signals still have thier museum there, but like most military establishments these days i doubt if it is half as large as you remember, so you should have time to visit Bovington as well :-D

 

Having lived here permanantly since the the mid seventies i belive it to be one of the most beautifulL counties in the U.K and really do not see me living any where else.

 

Ashley

[Big ray]

I cannot convey to you the sort of impact that the u.s. troops had on us, they were young, smart uniforms and very brash, that brashness came from a supreme confidence that they had in their country and leaders, they had not experienced rationing, bombing and the sort of austerity that we had suffered for many years. Class distinction was alien to these people, amongst the whites that is, it was a very different matter with the black troops. I remember that my grandmother believed the stories that she heard, that the black troops had tails, a story banded about by the white u.s. troops, and that they all suffered with s.t.d. All of this only illustrates the power of indoctrination, something that we all suffered from during the war years. I had occasion to visit a P.O.W. camp (German) as a school boy with my grandfather, I remember that my grandfather spoke with quite a few of the german p.o.w`s and when we left he said that they seemed like nice boy`s. The reason for our visit to the P.O.W. camp was because my uncle Jimmy was a trustee prisoner there. I did mention in an earlier post that my uncle Jimmy was the black sheep of the family, always in trouble. Whilst he was serving in Italy in 1944, he and his buddy, a scotts guy, visited an Italian pub, this pub was out of bounds, but that would only make it much more attractive to my uncle Jimmy. He and his scottish buddy got into an altercation with some Italians, I suspect that they were pro-german, anyhow the scotts guy got into a fight with the Italians and was stabbed. The two Italians involved in the stabbing ran from the scene, my uncle Jimmy incensed at what had happened took aim with his rifle and shot the Italian nearest to him as they fled. The bullet passed through him and killed the Italian guy running in front... net result two dead for one bullet. He was of course initially charged with murder, but that was subsiquently reduced to manslaughter. He was sentenced to 5 years hard labour...... he must have been a model prisoner because that was reduced, and he was sent as a trustee to the german P.O.W. camp at Marchington, Nr Uttoxeter, hence my visit with my grandfather. I have ran a business for many years doing amongst other things erecting fencing, security etc. In the 1980s I was contracted to go to that former camp and erect some new fencing....... small world is`nt it. That was certainly not the end of my uncle Jimmy`s shernanigins, I will have things to relate in future posts.:kissoncheek:

[Degsy]

Sounds like a real character, look forward to reading more of his doings.

[Big ray]

The U.S. troops would pass my home from their camp to town, lots of them were trucked down of course, some would walk. The liberty trucks (GMC) would collect the troops at the end of the night out, but lots would miss the truck. Because they had to be back in on time, one of our neighbours, who drove a truck for a civil engineering Co. would take G.Is back to the camp for I think a charge of 2s / 6d (Thats 12.5p in new money). During the war vehicle lighting was seriously subdued, only marker lights really. On one occasion he was driving troops back to camp (only a distance of maybe 3 miles) when he ploughed into a group of G.I.s walking up the hill that led to the camp. One of the G.I.s suffered fatal injuries, it transpired that he (the G.I.) had been married only a matter of weeks before being shipped over here. It was very tragic to think that with all the lives lost in combat one would lose his life in such circumstances. You have to wonder just how often such things occured.:kissoncheek:

[Big ray]

My Grandfather, who along with my grandmother, raised my younger sister and myself, after we had lost our parents in 1943, had served in WW1 with the North Staffordshire Regiment (Infantry). He would not talk about his war experiences unless I asked him specific questions.

He had served in Gollipoli, fighting the Turks, in 1915. He was a stretcher bearer, they had to go around the battlefield at the end of the days fighting collecting the wounded. On one particular day he was walking around the bend in a ravine when some concealed troops shouted to him that there was a sniper active in that area. He immediately dived to the ground, as he did so a flash of red passed before his eyes, thats all that he remembers, the flash of red was blood from a shoulder wound sustained when the sniper shot him. The impact of the bullet knocked him out, when he came around again he was on his own, the troops had moved, I suppose assuming that he was dead. The bullet had hit him in the shoulder when he dived to the ground, the sniper was probably aiming for his chest area. The bullet hit the shoulder bone and deflected down his ribs, fracturing them, and deflecting off a lower rib and travelling accross to his spine, a considerable injury. The pain down the left side of his body was excruciating, he managed to crawl on his right side, he eventually reached a dirt track, when he again passed out with the pain and loss of blood. The next memory that he had was of being carried onto the hospital ship.

[eddy8men]

great stories, thanks for taking the time to relay them to us.

 

eddy

[Big ray]

A doctor received the wounded as they came up the gang plank, he assessed their injuries and directed them above or below deck, below deck meant that they had little chance of surviving their wounds, and would be sewn into bags and buried at sea. My grandfather was conscious for a few moments at that point, and heard the doctor direct him below deck. He next regained consciousness to find the preist giving the last rites to the man next to himself. My grandfather was making considerable noise with the pain, the preist turned to him and offered a few words of comfort. A nearby doctor heard the priest and asked, is that man still alive, and immediately sent him upstairs. My grandfather went on to recover over many months in a military hospital in the North East of England, where he actually met my grandmother. He was discharged on medical grounds and carried the bullet for the rest of his life. He went many times to try to have it removed but they always told him that it was too dangerous.

[Big ray]

When the ship left Gallipoli with its load of wounded, after less than a day they returned for more wounded, so many of the original troops had died. I do remember that whenever I discussed religion with him, he would always tell me that he actually prayed to die, just to get away from the excruciating pain. He always gave me plenty of food for thought after my discussions with him............. I still miss him, and he has been gone quite a long time now.

[Big ray]

I dont know if anyone out there has a wartime Canadian Dodge, the D15 I think was the model, with the long nose.... civvy truck really adapted for military use. The first time that I drove one along the highway I thought what a lovely truck..... by the time that I had travelled 4 or 5 miles my shirt had rolled all the way up my bag. The seat was lovely and springy, or so I thought untill I realised that the back rest was bolted to the cab, and thats what rooled your shirt up your back, bouncing on that lovely springy seat. It soon became very irritating.

Those were the days, great memories.:kissoncheek:

[lssah2025]

Welcome aboard!!!!

[Big ray]

I explained in an earlier post that I drove the unit coach (Buzzing Nag) well I just happened to be on the washdown one day, late in the afternoon, when a RAF truck pulled onto the park. This truck like almost all RAF trucks in Germany at that time was of German manufacture. The RAF driver climbed down from the cab and walked over to me, and asked, who drives this coach then?. I replied I do, why?. He pointed to his truck and said, thats the new Buzzing Nag Truck, and would I like to view it, which of course I did. He invited me to climb into the driving seat and see what I thought of the new truck (My coach was very much older) When he said climb into the seat, thats precisely what you did, you climbed up a ladder on the side of the cab. Once seated in the truck you can imagine, it was new, complete with what then was a novelty, a cigar lighter. After a few moments of what can only be discribed as drooling all over my lap, he said, after giving me a few instructions, fire it up. I remember that the starter switch was a spring loaded lever, complete with an associated light on the dash board. For cold starting you moved the switch to the first position and waited for the light to go out before completing the full movement of the lever. The engine, being warm fired into life immediately..... but instead of making the usual diesel engine sound, it whistled when you pushed the accelerator. There was obviously a look of mild perplexity on my face, so with a smile the RAF guy said, its air cooled...... I could not believe that such a big truck would be air cooled. This truck was not only big, it also had a tri-axle trailer hooked onto it, thats one axle on the turntable and two axles at the rear of the trailer, and the trailer was longer than the truck. Once that I had the motor running he said, you might as well park it up now.........I engaged first gear and moved off, I had not noticed that he had parked at an angle adjacent to a brick built ventilation shaft. As I pulled away I clipped the shaft and dislodged a few of the bricks from the top course. He immediately said, thats my fault for parking too close. The next morning the M.T. Sergeant wanted to blame the RAF driver, so I said no Sergeant, that was me......... I then explained what I have just related to you, and he said, for your honesty we will say that we have no idea who has done it, and thats how it was left...... I might add the truck suffered no damage, it must have been the tyre.:cool2:

[Big ray]

I explained in an earlier post that I drove the unit coach (Buzzing Nag) well I just happened to be on the washdown one day, late in the afternoon, when a RAF truck pulled onto the park. This truck like almost all RAF trucks in Germany at that time was of German manufacture. The RAF driver climbed down from the cab and walked over to me, and asked, who drives this coach then?. I replied I do, why?. He pointed to his truck and said, thats the new Buzzing Nag Truck, and would I like to view it, which of course I did. He invited me to climb into the driving seat and see what I thought of the new truck (My coach was very much older) When he said climb into the seat, thats precisely what you did, you climbed up a ladder on the side of the cab. Once seated in the truck you can imagine, it was new, complete with what then was a novelty, a cigar lighter. After a few moments of what can only be discribed as drooling all over my lap, he said, after giving me a few instructions, fire it up. I remember that the starter switch was a spring loaded lever, complete with an associated light on the dash board. For cold starting you moved the switch to the first position and waited for the light to go out before completing the full movement of the lever. The engine, being warm fired into life immediately..... but instead of making the usual diesel engine sound, it whistled when you pushed the accelerator. There was obviously a look of mild perplexity on my face, so with a smile the RAF guy said, its air cooled...... I could not believe that such a big truck would be air cooled. This truck was not only big, it also had a tri-axle trailer hooked onto it, thats one axle on the turntable and two axles at the rear of the trailer, and the trailer was longer than the truck. Once that I had the motor running he said, you might as well park it up now.........I engaged first gear and moved off, I had not noticed that he had parked at an angle adjacent to a brick built ventilation shaft. As I pulled away I clipped the shaft and dislodged a few of the bricks from the top course. He immediately said, thats my fault for parking too close. The next morning the M.T. Sergeant wanted to blame the RAF driver, so I said no Sergeant, that was me......... I then explained what I have just related to you, and he said, for your honesty we will say that we have no idea who has done it, and thats how it was left...... I might add the truck suffered no damage, it must have been the tyre.:cool2:

[Big ray]

Uncle Jack (Brother) returned home from his RAF service in North Africa in early 1946, I felt his presence immediately, my grandfather, who was raising myself along with my younger sister, was very much into phycological discipline, not physical punishment. Jack had no problem in dishing out a little punishment to me if he felt that I had transgressed any of the house rules, and unlike today, we had plenty of house rules. Many, many months after he had returned home, myself and my grandfather returned home to find him quite distressed and crying. I did not know what was wrong, but my granfather knew, Jack had obviously confided in him the story of a very bad accident whilst he was serving in North Africa. It seems that he was driving a truck, complete with trailer, in convoy, in the Atlas Mountains. Whilst descending the mountain his brakes failed, lack of air in the brake system. This turned out to be a design fault in the brake system when coupled to the trailer on a long descent, even when using the gearbox as a braking aid. A vehicle some distance in front of him had crashed whilst carrying airmen in the rear, the injured men were propped up against the cliff side of the highway. It seems that Jack came around the bend in the road, saw the accident, but could not stop. He tried running into the wall (Mountain) in order to stop the truck but in doing so he collided with several of the more injured airmen, who were unable to move, several men died. He was exonerated of any blame at the subsiquent enquiry, but I think that he never really got over that incident. I had many run-ins with Jack over my subsiquent growth to adulthood, but I learned to love and respect him very much untill his death a few years ago.