Founded on Fear

by Peter Tyrrell

  The following week I was on day shift and as I was leaving the factory I met Capt. Simpson, who said, ‘You have not collected your whiskey ration,’ which was a bottle every two months. I called at his office and signed for the bottle. It was Canadian rye which I brought along to Angela’s house. She said she was going out somewhere. So I just sat and finished the whiskey. Later on I wandered out and had more to drink. I did not go to work the following day and was placed on a charge for absence. Capt. Simpson advised me to go sick, which I did. Several days later he came to see me and said he had seen the doctor who told him there wasn’t much wrong with me and I could leave the hospital in a day or two. But when I returned to the factory I felt no better. The work no longer interested me. Angela had finished with me. I suffered from severe headaches and indigestion. Sleep was impossible except when drunk, which made me nervous next day.

  There was an air raid and the factory was hit but only slight damage was done. One day the controller sent for me and said ‘Your orders have come through. You must report to your regiment. You know what that means.’ I answered, ‘Yes sir, I will revert to the rank of private.’ I was a little shocked but relieved the change would do me good. I really expected to hear this when I left hospital two months before. I had by now completely forgotten about the charge of being absent.

  The following day I got posted and travelled north to join my regiment in Burma. I was to travel to Chittagong by train and go to the front with the next draft. But when I got there I discovered that Chittagong was just a camp between two hills and a wood on the south side. We slept in tents and there were a number of fires while I was there due to people throwing lighted matches or cigarette ends. The fire would travel very quickly along through the grass, and often burn down tents before being brought under control.

  There was a cinema a mile away and a bazaar and village a little further. I was back where I had started, a private soldier once again. But I wasn’t very worried because I had learned something. I wasn’t so much afraid of people, and I could speak to an officer without stammering. During the time I was at Calcutta I met a private soldier who had been a chaplain in the medical corps. He was reduced to the ranks for striking an officer. I became very interested in this man and met him regularly. He taught me how to cure stammering by controlled breathing. It was then I discovered the cause of this complaint was incorrect or erratic breathing, a nervous complaint brought about by fear in my case. I now practised deep breathing regularly, and found out that my headaches weren’t as bad and I could sleep better. I was now wondering if many other so-called diseases were not caused by incorrect breathing.

  Another very good remedy I found out was to sniff handfuls of saline water through the nose. This not only cleaned the nose but also exercised the lazy eye muscles. In my case the left side was nearly always stopped and it was over the left eye I got the pain.

  I did not see Captain Jim from the Burmese army before I left. I heard he had gone to the front. The Japs are now being driven back. They did actually get within a mile or two of the Indian border. A small number of prisoners have now reached our camp, and they are surprised because they are allowed to live. They want to know how and when they are going to be killed. They are disappointed because it’s such a crime in their eyes to be prisoners. They could never return home. It is not difficult to get information from the Japs. They just sit down and write for hours, and tell everything from the first day they join the army. The interrogation officer said it’s because they are afraid of being tortured. This makes me think in this case they must torture the prisoners themselves.

  The story I heard about Singapore must be true. I remember when I was in 47 B.M.H. a few months ago, a Burmese soldier was brought in, who was said to have escaped from the Japs. He was a lad about nineteen and had gone completely mad. He kept shouting for his sister and it took four men to hold him. He was then given powerful injections to try to quieten him. But they were ineffective. He must have had a terrible experience.

  There were all kinds of lads at Chittagong. There was one lad who used to go to the front once a month to collect his mail from home. After which he would go sick. His mail always went direct to his Regiment. There was another lad called Young. He had deserted from the front and got a year in prison. He was a rogue and a professional pickpocket, but the best-hearted fellow I have ever met. When he robbed anyone he would take all his pals out and treat them. He never refused anyone anything. I had a fountain pen which I didn’t want to lose so I gave it to him to keep for me until we would get on the boat. By doing this, I knew he wouldn’t steal it. We now travel south by train to Dath Dam aerodrome to await orders to go to Bombay to catch a boat. But there is bad news. Two communication ships have blown up in the harbour and Queen Victoria docks have been destroyed. The fires rage for many days and we have to wait for two weeks.

  We eventually sail in a twenty-ship convoy with an escort of four destroyers. The journey home is without incident, except for one man who threw himself overboard. He left a note saying he had no wish to return home as his wife had left him. We arrived in Liverpool in October 1943 and travelled to Edinburgh. We got two weeks’ holiday which I took in Leeds.

  I am posted to the 52nd mountain division and after a spell of duty at Dreghorn Camp near Edinburgh, we spend the winter up the hills in Scotland. Our camp is at Braemor, a mile from the castle. We have been issued with complete mountain warfare equipment, even to snow glasses. We carry a large rucksack, with sleeping bag, special boots and socks, windproof suit, leather jerkin, 200 rounds of ammunition, 3 grenades, primus stove etc. Altogether we carry as much as our Indian mules. This is really intensive training. This is what I imagined the army to be like before I joined. It’s very cold but I like it better than the tropics. Out in the east I found the air too dry because very often it did not rain for almost a year.

  After three months of this I am able to do 20 miles with full kit. We are supposed to invade Norway in the spring of ’44. But nothing happens. Next we do special training for an airborne landing. Our kit is packed away in aircraft at Woodhall Spa, the bomber base, and for a whole week we are confined to camp. We can only go to the canteen. Finally we are briefed. It’s Arnheim, and the paratroopers have already taken off. We are supposed to fly on the second day but the weather is too bad. Several times we are paraded to go aboard the planes. We are fully dressed now and sleep in our clothes for the next three nights. But the weather has let every one down. The paratroopers are now in a desperate position. They are being mowed down and burned to death with flamethrowers. At last the battle is over and a few come back. It’s August ’44 and still we have not gone into action. We are now stationed at Chalfont St. Giles 20 miles from London. The flying bombs are coming over our ...7

  ... Shelling which was spasmodic. We move to a barracks at Hertogenbosch for three weeks. This barracks was recently occupied by the Germans. We are preparing for the invasion of the island of Walcheren, a Dutch island. It is the most heavily fortified island in the world. The Germans are in what we call pill boxes. They are dome-shaped, and are just a solid mass of concrete reinforced. The walls being 15 feet thick, shells have no effect on them. The island has been shelled for four days by 600 guns. The Canadian artillery is helping us. The commandos attack at about 4.30 a.m. and the fighting continues all day. We are in the town of Breskins on the coast, only a few miles away. We are due to take off in our little invasion craft at mid-day. There are about 26 men to each small boat. The town of Breskins is just a pile of rubble. I have not seen a single house with a roof complete. There is not a building intact. We are going on board. They shell us from the island, and we take cover. The shelling is now only light and we make a dash for the boats. Our C.O. tells us we must make it this time as the commandos have now run out of ammo. And they must be relieved before the Germans counter-attack. We have to withdraw again. They have only a small number of guns left but they are accurate. The third time we make the boats and are out at sea.
We are still under fire but feel safe. It was when the shells hit the building at the back of us they were dangerous. We are now half way across and the shelling has stopped. But the machine guns have opened up and we can hear the bullets whistling over our heads. We reach the shore and there are no casualties on our boat. We jump overboard into three feet of water and run for the beach. But there are barbed wire entanglements under the water. My feet are caught in the wire which I can’t see. Like a flash I can see the danger I am in. The machine guns have stopped firing. I keep telling myself to keep calm. I am feeling terribly weak. So far I have not used my hands to try and free myself and I am afraid I may lose my balance and fall over. I am trying to go forward but it’s impossible. So I relax and take a few deep breaths, and I now move backwards and manage to free one foot. I am now able to bend down and release the other one without much trouble. I can now feel for the wire and climb over it. The firing has now died down for a while. The island is flooded as the dykes have been blown up. We are now in Flushing. Our platoon takes cover in a big building and we fire the Bren gun at a pill box. But we are now under heavy fire from a field gun and trench mortar and two machine guns. There is a bridge between us and the Germans and they are shelling the bridge. This is bad because we have planned to cross the bridge at daybreak and attack the three pill boxes. We now get rocket-firing planes to knock out the gun which is shelling the bridge. The gun is silenced in ten minutes and now the rocket planes are attacking the first pill box. Three planes drive one by one and send rockets hurling towards the pill box.

  About twenty Germans come out waving the white flag and run over the bridge towards us. They are now lined up on the roadway with their hands on top of their heads. I am detailed to search them for guns or grenades and arms. Most of them are big men and some only look like schoolboys. Most look ill, their faces are green. They must have had a bad time. They have been bombed and shelled now for four days. They immediately ask for work and are helping to carry the dead and wounded on to the boats. After four hours’ work they are given a meal and a few cigarettes each. One of our officers comes up and demands to know why the prisoners are allowed to remain on the island. He is told there are no boats available.

  It’s now dark and the firing has died down. We are allowed to rest for a few hours with the exception of those on guard. But it’s much too cold to lie down. We have no blankets or overcoats because the boat carrying them was sunk. So we spend the night when not on guard duties making tea. We make our own individually. We each have a tin of white solid fuel. It is in round pieces a quarter of an inch in thickness and one piece will boil a pint of water. There is corn beef and tins of sardines and jam. We are out long before dawn, and cross over the bridge which has many shell holes. We are now under fire from two machine guns, one on our right front, and one on the left. These guns have a terrific rate of fire, about 1200 rounds a minute. One round in five is a tracer which lights up and seems to be coming straight for you. We are just over the bridge and the bullets are closer, and many of the lads lie down at the roadside in the soft mud. We come to a big shed full of holes and look around it very quickly. There is no one there. We advance towards a pill box three hundred yards away on the right. There is still machine gun fire. But they are not firing in our direction. At least I can’t hear the whistling of the bullets. We have now reached the pill box and take up firing positions, as our platoon commander fires several shots into the entrance, and shouts on the troops to come out. But there is no move. He then fires another shot and shouts ‘Come out, you bloody swine,’ and another 20 surrender. It’s about 7 a.m. as we reach the second box, but there are only two inside, and they are in naval uniform. Outside the pill box there are two dead.

  One of our lads goes through the dead men’s pockets and is warned by the officer that he is on a charge. The lad answered that he is not looking for personal property, but a Luger pistol. I learned afterwards that the Yanks are paying 5,000 Belgian francs for a Luger. It is very popular because it fires 9 mm ammo, which is the calibre of our Sten gun, and the magazine fits neatly into the butt.

  We advance along the railway which is built about six feet above sea level, on each side is flooded with the sea water. About three miles further on we come to a village where there are plenty of buildings still standing. There is little firing now, and several thousand prisoners are taken. Some food has arrived – tins of stew, vegetables, beans and sausages. There is a meal prepared and after half an hour we go along the railway towards another pill box. We have been warned by the natives that this ground is mined. But our officer takes no notice. We get within a hundred yards but nothing happens. There is no firing. We walk along a narrow path each side of the railway. The path is only about nine inches in width with grass each side. A native boy of about sixteen explained to us how we should walk along the path, and he demonstrated by walking, one foot immediately in front of the other. We are about 80 yards from the box and still no firing. Scoop Anderson who is 5 yards in front of me said a few minutes ago, ‘We are on our way to our death.’ Anderson walked off the path, and as he did so turned round and said something to me, what he probably did say was ‘get down’ as he thought he seen something. As he spoke he got down on one knee behind a small bush. As his knee touched the ground there was an explosion. As I looked to see what happened there was just a cloud of smoke and dust. I shut my eyes for several seconds. As I looked again I seen he had lost both legs. I climbed over the railway. As I was between the railway lines there was a second explosion. I shouted to the officer Lt Malcolm Stewart. As I did so I realised that the officer had stood on the second mine but was not so seriously injured. He had lost a foot. It was now clear that the Germans had set the mines and abandoned the pill box. I dressed the officer’s leg, and helped to carry him back several hundred yards, while the others looked after Anderson. Anderson was the platoon corporal. He died after four hours.

  Many thousands of prisoners were now taken. It was now late in the evening and after bringing back the wounded (several of our men had been hit by machinegun fire) and burying the German dead, we had a rest for the night. The following morning mine detectors were brought forward, and used to clear the ground of mines. But the men operating the detectors were also killed or wounded. They now found out that the mines were made from material other than metal, and therefore could not be detected. We remained on the island about a week before returning to the Maas in Belgium. There was very little fighting in Belgium. Our work for the next month was mostly fighting individual snipers in buildings and woods.

  We now moved to Holland. The fighting was now in the open country in woods and forests. The ground was mined everywhere and we kept to the roads as far as possible, and when going through fields, we were carried in Kangaroo vehicles, which were not normally used as fighting vehicles but for the transport of troops. In front of our Kangaroos there were flail tanks with an attachment in front with a number of long chains which rotated. The chains beat the ground and exploded the mines before the tanks reached them. This was a simple yet wonderful invention. It was invaluable when crossing open country.

  This is a new kind of warfare. Infantry and tanks working together. One is no good without the other. The Germans work the same way. Their tanks are far superior to ours. Their Tiger tank with its 88 mm gun is the last word in precision and perfection. But we are very fortunate because they have not very many tanks. Our losses in tanks are very heavy, but as one tank commander told me, when I asked him how soon he would get a new tank: ‘I will get a new tank before I can get a new razor.’ ‘You know’ he said, ‘they gave them the wrong name, they ought to be called steel coffins, because very few ever come out alive, once they have been hit.’8 My battalion is well dug in, in the Reichvelt forest. It’s bitterly cold, and I wear so much clothing that I can hardly walk. We have been here a week. We do a fair amount of reconnaissance patrols at night. We have a young officer. He is a Norwegian and he seems to like night patrols and often goes well b
ehind enemy lines. This is my night off. I only have to do my guard on the gun, and go back for water and a box of arms which we need badly as some of the lads are down to twenty rounds. It’s about 10.30 p.m. and I go back through the forest with another six lads. We have to walk about a good mile. But it’s easy to get lost. The path is shiny and very slippy as it’s freezing. But there are other paths. I left my overcoat as I have a heavy load to carry back, a box of rifle ammo, and a jerry can of water. These cans were captured from the Germans in the desert. So far everything has gone on fairly well – I have never lost my nerve and I am always on my guard. One night when unloading my rifle I fired a round accidentally because my mind was on Scoop Anderson, who was blown up by the mine.