‘For ten cruel days and nights the thoughts of the whole of Holland have been with your men west of Arnhem. And it was not only because of the military advantages a quick crossing of the Rhine would involve for all of us - no, it was because of the men themselves who were fighting in the heart of our little country for an ideal which is ours as well. We know what they must have been going through; we know what we owe them; we think of them as if they were our own boys.
‘This is what I want to say to you. Your men are no foreigners to us. Maybe they never saw Holland before they floated down over it on a sunny afternoon to liberate her people and the world; maybe they do not speak our language, not one of them and find it difficult even to pronounce the names of the places where they are fighting, suffering, dying. But they are no foreigners in Holland and we hope they realise that. ‘Some of these brave young men will stay behind in our country for ever. They shall not rest on cold foreign soil. The soil of Holland, which, in the course of our long and glorious history, received so many heroes for their eternal sleep, will proudly guard your dead as if they were the deeply mourned sons of our own people. The word ‘heroes’ has been heard so often during this long and grim war that it is in danger of growing trite. But here it takes tangible shape, before the eyes of our people, who stand in awe and bare their heads.
‘That is what I wanted you, in this country, to know.’
A tribute from the people of Holland by the Dutch writer Johan Fabricius, broadcast on the BBC Home Service on 27 September 1944.
The tennis courts used as a PoW cage for German prisoners in the grounds of the Hartenstein Hotel.
British troops boarding a boat for the crossing of the Rhine.
One of the lucky ones; a British soldier is taken across to the safety of the far side of the Rhine.
Two British airborne soldiers take cover under mortar fire at Oosterbeek.
A German tank crew in front of houses on fire in Arnhem.
A British flail tank explodes land mines in a heavily mined area north of Nijmegen.
C Company, 1st Battalion The Border Regiment dug in by the Utrechtsweg in Oosterbeek.
Men of 1st Air Landing Brigade preparing for the defence of DZ ‘X’ which was to become LZ ‘X’ for the second lift.
Soldiers of 1st British Airborne Division in the grounds of the Missionary College in Nijmegen on Tuesday 26 September happy to have escaped the clutches of the Germans after having been ferried across the Rhine. Johnny Peters, smiling, is top, middle.
Johnny Peters.
Two British Cromwell tanks of the Guards Armoured Division driving up ‘Hell’s Highway’ just south of Nijmegen on Wednesday 20 September.
Dead lying in an Arnhem street after a skirmish.
German troops lay low in front of some tanks.
On 15 September 1945 R. Saidman paid an Anniversary visit to Arnhem for Illustrated magazine and he compiled this picture story of Arnhem. The first picture shows a wrecked tram in an Arnhem street.
A Dutch woman manages a smile for the Illustrated cameraman as she tends her kitchen garden in front of her damaged house.
A young Dutch boy inspecting a road sign poses for the Illustrated cameraman.
A Dutch boy in clogs and other civilians search the rubble on a path in a street in Arnhem.
In September 1945 this parachute incredibly, was still to be seen in the trees near Arnhem.
Wicker baskets still litter the grounds of the Hartenstein Hotel in September 1945.
A British soldier in the remains of a room at the Hartenstein in September 1945.
The Arnhem Bridge lies broken in September 1945 after it was destroyed on 7 October 1944 by B-26 Marauders of the 344th Bomb Group, US 9th Air Force destroyed the bridge to deny its use to the Germans.
Dutch workers by the wrecked fuselage of an RAF glider stored in a railway station yard at Wolfhezen awaiting removal.
Two young Dutch boys play with an abandoned British gun at a strategic road point by the entrance to Arnhem from the west in September 1945.
His Majesty King George VI talking to men of the 82nd Airborne Division after the battle. Partly obscured, behind the King is General James Gavin and to his right are General Andy March, Commanding General of the 82nd Airborne Division Artillery, Colonel Roy E. Lindquist, 508th PIR, Colonel Reuben Tucker, 504th PIR, Colonel William E. Eckman, 505th PIR and Colonel Charles Billingslea, 325th Glider Infantry. Lieutenant General Brian Horrocks, commander of XXX Corps, looks on.
Major General Roy Urquhart talking to Glider Pilot Regiment pilots after their return from Arnhem. Left to right: Staff Sergeant Bonome, Sergeants D. Hartley and J. Woodward; Staff Sergeant Cawnter with Staff Sergeant Bowman at the rear.
Women civilians point to the grave of an American soldier in a street in Eindhoven.
A British soldier kneels in silent remembrance of a dead comrade.
An elderly Dutch lady places flowers on the grave of an unknown British soldier in Oosterbeek.
39 John Michael Bewley was 24.
40 On 9 April 1945 the two men with four other escapees were met by a guide called Jan who led them to the river. ‘Jan was a young man and I was amazed that he was prepared to take us. We reached the riverbank in darkness and there was a boat lying in the bank. This was too good to be true but Jan said no one bothered to take it because there was an enormous hole in one side of it, which would make anyone think it was useless. We all jumped in and began to row. Sure enough, water started coming in fairly quickly and before we had reached the other bank it was virtually waterlogged and well above the seats. Once we had got there I asked Jan if there was anything we could do for him. ‘The only thing I would like is if you could please turn the boat over and empty all the water out’ was his reply, which I thought was a rather modest request. I asked him if he wanted to come with us but he declined, saying that he wanted to go back to Holland again. It was a very moving moment. (There is now a memorial on the bank of the Waal to Jan and to the other men who helped ferry British and Allied soldiers and airmen across the river). We were now in no man’s land, in a little neck of land that neither side used. Jan pointed us in the right direction, but told us to lie low and wait until it was light, when we should go forward one at a time with our hands up in order that we could be inspected by the Allies. The Allies on this stretch of line were Belgians and I confess that I did hope that someone had told them we were coming. I think they must have witnessed other prisoners coming back because they weren’t wildly excited. For us, though, it was a great moment of triumph and nothing could deflate us. We were taken in for questioning at a reception place but my main memory is the sight of white bread again. Soon after, we were flown to Croydon. The euphoria of being home was tremendous. I was back with my fiancée Marjorie and my family and nothing could take that away from me. On a slightly sadder note, I went back to Fairford in the summer of that year to see what was happening there and visited the Nissen hut that I had lived in with six subaltern friends for a year before I became a prisoner. I was the only one still alive. I had been very lucky.’
Dauncey was recommended for the Victoria Cross, but this was reduced to DSO by Field Marshal Montgomery. No member of the Glider Pilot Regiment was ever awarded the VC, but Dauncey must have surely ranked as one of those who came closest. After the war he continued to serve in the armed forces until retiring in 1976 with the rank of Brigadier. From 1978 to 1985 he was Colonel of the Cheshire Regiment. He wrote the foreword to Peter Wilkinson’s book, The Gunners at Arnhem.
41 For his actions in the Oosterbeek Perimeter, Cleminson was Mentioned in Despatches and awarded the Military Cross. His citation reads: ‘From 23rd to 26th September Lieutenant Cleminson commanded a mixed platoon of 3rd Battalion in the sector of 1st Parachute Brigade at Oosterbeek. His area during that time was heavily attacked on several occasions by tanks and infantry. At no time did Lieutenant Cleminson allow the enemy to penetrate his position. He inspired his men with his offensive spirit and nev
er was there any suggestion that the enemy would penetrate. With complete disregard for his own personal safety he led fighting patrols into the skeleton houses which bordered his position, both by day and night. Never for one moment did he allow his vigorous leadership to relax and was always found leading where danger seemed greatest. His defiance was primarily offensive; he never waited for the enemy but went out to meet him. In all he was attacked six times by day and twice by night and each time he inflicted heavy damage on enemy infantry. His fearless courage was reflected in the actions of his men who fought with great gallantry...’
42 Stalag XIB was an unprepossessing collection of wooden huts in a series of compounds’ says Fred Moore, ‘all surrounded by high barbed wire fences, with high towers at each entrance, the armed guards having a clear view of the whole compound area. It was a dark, depressing, autumn night when we arrived and the introduction to our living and sleeping area did nothing to allay our forebodings, that the period leading up to our eventual liberation would be a test of our resolve and fortitude. The camp, not too far removed from Belsen, was already occupied by inmates of various nationalities, Russians, Poles, French and Italians, all in their own separate compounds, all displaying signs of diet deficiency, but none more so that the Russians who, in many cases, seemed little more than living skeletons. Shortly after our arrival, we were visited by representatives of the International Red Cross, who interrogated us taking note of essential details. As time went by we began to send and receive a trickle of censored mail and towards Christmas, a limited supply of Red Cross Parcels, shared one parcel between two people to supplement our meagre rations of acorn coffee, substitute vegetable soup and black bread. The general air of gloom in the oppressive circumstances was from time to time, relieved by some comic circumstance; such as the instance when a British soldier, not an Airborne type, walked into our hut and asked the question, ‘Which is the more dangerous? Landing by glider or dropping by parachute?’ He departed very fast, having caused a heated altercation that simmered all afternoon. Medical facilities were almost non-existent, just a limited supply of drugs and bandages made from crepe paper. A consequence being that my wounds became infected and through an inability to exercise, my arm and hand became rigidly fixed in one position. Our humdrum existence was enlivened at Christmas by a camp concert, the highlight of which was a monologue by RSM Lord, a renowned former Grenadier Guard identity, made famous by Stanley Holloway, ‘Sam, pick up thy musket’. After Christmas the British compound was swelled by the addition of American soldiers, captured during the battle for the Ardennes. The period after Christmas became incredibly cold and one night, after enduring the ordeal of standing in sub-zero temperature, to be counted by the prison guards, I became violently sick, with a high temperature, was diagnosed as having pneumonia and was transferred to the quarters set aside for the sick and seriously wounded. As winter gave way to spring, more and more prisoners arrived, swelling the available space to the limit of its capacity. There were former inmates of East European camps, force marched, ahead of the advancing Russian troops, in dreadful conditions, across Europe, to camps in Western Germany. Then, one day we heard sounds of distant gunfire and Allied planes began to appear in the sky overhead. Every day from that day on, the sounds of battle became louder. One unforgettable afternoon, a lone fighter plane appeared overhead and did a victory roll. The following morning found the camp abandoned by the German guards and it remained only for our British liberators to arrive to complete our overwhelming sense of freedom.’
Lew Kemp was wounded and captured by Waffen SS troops on the fourth day and he also ended up at Stalag Luft XIB. ‘After capture I was taken to an SS officer and then sent to first aid post after he had relieved me of my cigs. My wounded foot was dressed and I was taken to a railway shed and locked in one of two cattle trucks to be sent to Germany. After four days stop-start with the RAF bombing the lines we arrived at Stalag XIa. I was confined under canvas for a month and it rained every day. Then I moved on to Stalag XIb where we came under RSM Lord. He demanded we came under Red Cross rules, rations. My foot was still weeping so I was not sent out to work and rations were small; nix harbite nix essen they said ‘no work or food’. Christmas came and we tried to cheer up. A Red Cross parcel between two (usual four). In March after a heavy bombing raid we were sent to sort out a railway station and sidings; no tools - just bare hands. I still had only one boot as I had lost the other when wounded and I used a piece of wood bound on with a piece of blanket. The snow was deep and the temperature was in the -20s. The guards had us in open cattle pens with straw to cover us at night. Food was scarce but to be fair they didn’t have much for themselves. I said nix essen nix harbite and a guard took me to an officer. He pulled out his revolver, turned it round and pistol whipped me. Then he said ‘take him back to XIb.’ German women spat at me all the way back. We were liberated by XXX Corps who should have got to us 8 months before at Arnhem. I arrived home after months without a bath or change of clothes and only one shoe and crawling with lice. We were met at Wing aerodrome with sprays of lice powder. I was granted 12 weeks’ leave and double rations as my weight was down to 7 stone. I was demobbed in 1947 after six months keeping Tito out of Italy.
Chapter 6
‘Kommen Out Tommy’
‘We went to our Nissen huts where a fire was burning; blankets and sheets had been made up into comfortable looking beds. There were only two of us alone in a hut that held twenty-six beds. It was too much. Without a word, we dumped our kit and rifle
‘Andy’ Andrews, a British glider pilot.
At Fairford in Gloucestershire Corporal Ruth Mary Parker’s task was to type the letters informing the next of kin that their son or husband was missing, believed killed on active service - a very sad task but one which had to be done. ‘The atmosphere was very sombre’ she recalled ‘because many of us had known those who never returned. One happy memory I have was that about two to three weeks after the end of the operation some of the pilots of the gliders and some of the paratroopers turned up on the station. They had been hiding in Holland, some in drainpipes, some in farm out-buildings. All had been helped by the courageous Dutch people and the Dutch Resistance, who had risked their lives to shelter and feed these soldiers and airmen. Those who returned were a dishevelled lot but we were so delighted to see them again. They all wore a piece of orange material in the buttonholes of their battledress, as a symbol of their wonderful Dutch friends.’
At first it was hoped that the Allied armies would resume the offensive and sweep back over the Rhine to liberate the rest of Holland and thus relieve the evaders in hiding. In October, however, the Resistance received information via Lieutenant Gilbert Kirschen of the Belgian SAS that there was now no intention of renewing the offensive in the near future. The presence of so many evaders would place an intolerable burden on the Resistance and on the Dutch people if they were to remain in hiding and therefore it was vital that action must be taken to get them back to their own lines as soon as possible.
Piet Kruijff (Piet of Arnhem) was Commander East-Veluwe of the B.S. (Forces of the Interior) and in conjunction with ‘Bill’ Wildeboer, leader of the Ede Group and Zwerus de Nooij, he took control of the potentially dangerous situation. The many evaders had to be fed, clothed and moved to safe houses in the Ede area. Within a short time Brigadier Gerald Lathbury, who had escaped from St. Elizabeth hospital, had set up a ‘Brigade HQ in hiding’ in Ede. As far as daring escapes go, Lathbury’s was certainly amongst the more uncomplicated; he simply got up and walked out the front door of the St. Elizabeth Hospital. From here he made his way to the Johanna Hoeve Farm, bordering LZ ‘L’ and here he met other Airborne troops who were being sheltered by the local Dutch people. The Resistance were duly informed of his presence and they quickly put him in touch with Major Tatham-Warter of the 2nd Battalion and later Lieutenant-Colonel Dobie of the 1st. These three men, especially Tatham-Warter, did much to administer the several hundred British evaders who were h
iding in the area. Having established contact with Britain and received a supply of arms, the group intended to use themselves as a coup-de-main force in the event of the 2nd British Army attempting another crossing of the Rhine.
Alex Hartman, an electrical engineer and one of Piet’s group, had access to the telephone system of the PG EM (Gelderland Provincial Electricity Company) and, using one of its lines, he passed messages from the Brigadier’s ‘HQ’ to the escape organization near Nijmegen set up by HQ 2nd Army and run by Major Airey Neave of M19, with Major Simon Fraser SAS as his 2nd-in-command. A large-scale escape plan was hatched and agreed on both sides of the river. Lieutenant Colonel David Dobie was sent across the Rhine on 16 October to tie up the details, which he was then able to pass back via the Resistance telephone link. By 21 October the Resistance leaders and Airborne officers had gathered 130 evaders into the area around Ede, some, like Major Tony Deane-Drummond, coming by lorry from as far afield as Yelp, east of Arnhem.
A Bridge Too Far Page 18