An Englishman at War

by James Holland

  They rejoined the Regiment on the following afternoon, and when Michael reported to me he still appeared to be reliving his hectic hours in Paris and was in no mood to attend an order group. His only excuse was that elements of B Squadron had raised the prestige of the Regiment and the whole British force, by having been the first British fighting soldiers in Paris since the occupation.

  On 28 August we crossed the river Seine in order to support the 7th Somersets and DCLI to enlarge the bridgehead that had already been made. A Squadron had a particularly heavy time having to operate in dense forest. That day we covered 28 miles.

  The next day, 29 August, the advance continued to Amiens. The 13/18th Hussars, who were in the lead, were held up at Gasny by a blown bridge. I was ordered to bypass the bridge and travel across country, rejoining the axis of advance at St Rémy. We had now moved into open and rolling country and were able once again to adopt the old desert formation, one squadron in open formation in the lead, Regimental Headquarters following close behind and a squadron on either flank. We worked now as an armoured regimental group, being supported by our battery of guns from the Essex Yeomanry under Chris Sidgewick and a company of motorized infantry from the 12/60th under Derek Colls. Both these commanders travelled with me in Regimental Headquarters group. It was an ideal formation and proved a first-class team, as both our batteries and companies were highly trained and so well known to us, besides all being most delightful companions. We found the village of Ecos held by an enemy rear-guard, but it was captured with St Rémy by B Squadron and the 12/60th.

  The use of armoured regimental groups marked another development of the British Army in the war. This was an entirely mechanized all-arms combination that was able to function with both speed and co-ordination, and mirrored the often much-vaunted German ‘Kampfgruppe’ – or battle group – system. One of the virtues of the Kampfgruppe was its versatility and flexibility; these virtues were being reflected in the speed with which the armoured regimental group had been set up.

  To travel at full speed across hard open country on a lovely morning with the knowledge that the Germans were on the run was most exhilarating, and everybody was in the highest spirits.

  We had to wait an hour at St Rémy for the 13/18th Hussars to come up; once again it took the lead and we followed on its tail. We covered 30 miles on that day and leaguered for the night on the road between Dangu and les Thaillers.

  On 30 August the chase continued at full speed. At one o’clock in the morning I received orders to clear the les Thaillers–Dangu road, which spoiled a complete night’s rest for myself and B Squadron, which I detailed for this operation.

  Again I was ordered to travel across country, and cut the main axis (called Heart) 10 miles further north at Flavacourt, towards which C Squadron headed at full speed. The Regiment followed, passing through Berneville, St Denis le Ferment and crossing the river Eate.

  At Flavacourt orders came over the wireless from the brigadier to continue north across country to Espaubourg, then to swing east and cut the axis once again north of Beauvais.

  For some of the way we were compelled to use the roads, and passed through the villages of Lachappelle-aux-Pots, Savignies, Fougers and Tres Serfuy, where we had great difficulty in finding a crossing over the river; we finally did get across, but A Squadron bogged six of its tanks, which were eventually hauled by the ARV from our Light Aid Detachment.

  We met slight opposition, which we either brushed aside or bypassed. That day we covered 54 miles, and leaguered at Juvignes, five miles north of Beauvais.

  The chase through France continued on 31 August. No organized resistance appeared to exist, but German columns of various sizes were still making their way back to Germany and some villages were held by rear-guards, sometimes consisting of fanatical young Nazis, who, being short of ammunition and petrol and realizing that the Führer’s regime was lost, chose to fight on to the last rather than to return to a Germany without their beloved Hitler.

  Our role now was to clear the axis to enable the corps commander to move north and establish his headquarters near the Somme. That evening we spent the night at Sauflieu, after passing through Francastel, Viefvilliers, Fontaine-Bonneleau and Fleury, covering 27 miles.

  When we leaguered we met an American fighter pilot who had been shot down over Caen and taken prisoner. He had eventually escaped from a POW camp and, sheltered by the local inhabitants, had actively operated with the local Maquis.

  B Squadron led the brigade across the Somme on 1 September, crossing without meeting opposition until we arrived at Flesselles, where a German Mark 4 tank concealed in the railway station knocked out a Recce Troop tank killing Sergeant Cribben, who had carried out such sterling work at the crossing of the river Noireau, a very brave man whom I had recommended for a DCM. The Mark 4 was eventually knocked out by B Squadron and our company of the 12/60th dealt with the German infantry holding the village.

  At the next village, Naours, we again had to eliminate a considerable force of German infantry, but fortunately not supported by either anti-tank guns or tanks. The last battle of the day was at Doullens, which was strongly held, and for the capture of which we had to call up some infantry to help our motor company of the 12/60th.

  Two troops of A Squadron knocked out two German tanks after some very clever manoeuvring around the back streets of the town. By late afternoon we had captured 200 German prisoners, knocked out three anti-tank guns and three tanks, most of the damage being done by A Squadron, who must have the credit for capturing the town.

  Doullens proved to be the site of flying bombs, which we inspected before continuing to Sus-Saint-Léger, where we leaguered for the evening.

  The Regiment achieved much on this day. We led the brigade for 50 miles, crossing the Somme and capturing three towns with a large number of prisoners.

  Again we leaguered in desert fashion with the guns, motor company and our B1 echelons surrounded by the tanks.

  September 2 we spent at Sus-Saint-Léger, maintaining the tanks, which badly needed attention, and receiving great hospitality from the local inhabitants.

  Our Sherman tanks had stood up to the chase remarkably well, and we experienced very little engine trouble, which is a great credit to their mechanical performance. But owing to so much fast travelling along tarmac roads the bogeys had continually to be changed by virtue of the rubber on the tracks rapidly wearing away.

  On 3 September the regimental group moved to Lille passing through large industrial areas where there appeared to be extensive slums and considerable poverty; however, our reception was even greater and wherever we stopped outside a house we were plied with food and wine. We covered 65 miles and were fortunate in the evening to find an open space in this dingy, well-populated industrial area, in which the regimental group could leaguer together.

  The next day, 4 September, we were again in the lead on a northeastern axis. Early during the morning we were ordered to halt, and I was recalled to Brigade Headquarters and given orders to the effect that the regimental group had to protect the left flank of the corps axis and prevent any interference by the large bodies of Germans who were travelling north, between the sea and the corps axis, and that the 61st Recce Regiment would be placed under my command.

  18

  The Capture of the St Pierre Garrison and Liberation of Brussels

  Men of the Essex Yeomanry, the artillery with which the Sherwood Rangers worked very closely.

  LATER DURING THE DAY, after passing through Chéreng and Baisieux, we crossed the border into Belgium at Tournai. The country appeared highly cultivated and prosperous and the villages clean and picturesque. The Belgian countryfolk gave us a sincere and warm welcome as we passed through their villages, but maybe a little more reserved and less demonstrative than the French.

  In order to carry out our task squadrons had to cover a considerable distance, and by the end of the day they were well split. I made the following dispositions – A Squadron to Oudenarde,
B Squadron to Kerkhove, both to watch the river crossings and C Squadron to Renaix, the most northern limit of our zone of protection, together with Regimental Headquarters. I established my headquarters outside the dye works at Renaix, the manager of which insisted that we should drink some wine with him to celebrate our arrival, and Stephen Mitchell, Chris Sidgewick and I readily accepted his invitation.

  Renaix was a delightful town, completely unscathed by war, and we were the only troops there, the first to arrive. From the windows of every house fluttered a Belgian flag and a large number displayed Union Jacks and the Stars and Stripes. Certain houses, belonging to ‘collaborateurs’, had been burned to the ground.

  Chris Sidgewick, Derek Colls and I visited the château of the town belonging to a Belgian count, who entertained us with champagne and cigars. The count was a most distinguished-looking old gentleman who had spent some time in prison for his anti-Nazi activities.

  We were still in wireless contact with Brigade but they were 40 miles away, which was pleasant.

  The next day I moved Regimental Headquarters to the high ground at the north end of the town in order to improve wireless reception. C Squadron operated north of the town and reached the outskirts of Ghent, 25 miles away, and there engaged a German column, which unfortunately escaped. One of B Squadron’s patrols working south-east of the town was informed by members of the local Maquis that the village of St Pierre was firmly held by approximately 1200 Germans who had no intention of surrendering and that certain members of the Maquis had been captured by this garrison, of whom some had been shot. Bill Wharton, who commanded the B Squadron patrol, set off forthwith to St Pierre, but was immediately engaged by an anti-tank gun. He contacted the local priest of the neighbouring village, and together they entered St Pierre under a white flag of truce and demanded the surrender of the garrison from the commander, a German colonel, who bluntly told Bill that in view of the size of his force and supporting arms he had no intention, as an honourable German officer, of surrendering his garrison, and in any case he would only consider negotiating with an officer of equal rank.

  This situation was communicated to me over the wireless, and with Stephen Mitchell, who claimed to be able to speak German, and Chris Sidgewick, I proceeded to the scene of action.

  I found Bill Wharton talking to numbers of the local Maquis who had definite proof that the garrison had shot four of their members and demanded that I should hand over two Germans for every Maquis who had been shot. In the meantime they had produced a very old open Renault car, which they placed at my disposal for entering the village, warning me that the Germans would shoot up any military vehicle. I accepted their offer and mounted the car, with Stephen Mitchell and Bill Wharton, and the enormously fat priest took up a position on the bonnet, grasping a huge white flag. Not surprisingly, it took a long time to get the car started, but after being pushed for half a mile by shouting and excited members of the local inhabitants, the old car, with a mighty back-fire, was suddenly galvanized into action. It shot forward with a great lurch, which almost unseated the priest, and we roared down the street in a cloud of dust to St Pierre. Somewhat naturally, it stopped again after 200 yards, and the process of starting had to be repeated, each pusher trying to give advice to the driver. We soon got going again and this time the driver took no chances, keeping his foot right down on the accelerator, and, gathering speed as we went, we charged into St Pierre and eventually came to rest beside a very surprised and startled German infantry posted on the main approach to the village.

  I shall never forget the most remarkable spectacle of the worthy priest balancing, with great difficulty, his fat bottom on the bonnet of the car, vigorously waving the huge white flag, which was a sheet fixed to a pole, and clutching his large black straw hat.

  After dismounting, Stephen, Bill and I were escorted by a couple of German soldiers to the garrison headquarters, situated in the village inn.

  I demanded to see the colonel, and was informed by an orderly that he and his officers were having a conference in one of the upstairs rooms. I told the orderly to lead the way and we followed. He pointed to the room and I gave an imperious knock on the door, which I opened without waiting for a reply. We found the colonel addressing approximately 20 officers who all turned and looked at us with the greatest disdain. Drawing myself up to my full height, but feeling slightly apprehensive, having seen at least six anti-tank guns as we walked to the headquarters, I said, in what I hoped to be a most impressive and haughty manner: ‘I am Colonel Christopherson. I presume you are the commander of this garrison. If so, kindly clear the room so that we can discuss terms of surrender.’

  I was rather proud of these opening words, which caused all the Germans to stand up, but was somewhat irritated by Stephen, who would shuffle his feet, fiddle with his moustache and not stand straight.

  The German colonel, a dapper, stout little man with a bull neck, who I noticed was wearing an Iron Cross, first class, bowed slightly, introduced himself and said: ‘I should be obliged if you would allow me five more minutes with my officers, alone, then I should be pleased to hear what you have to say.’

  ‘I shall return in five minutes,’ I replied, and we left the room and retired downstairs, Stephen still tugging at his moustache.

  We entered a room where, much to our surprise, we found a Belgian major who had been captured by the Germans and was guarded by a German private, who was so surprised at our unexpected entry that he almost shot at sight. The Belgian major was delighted to see us. He told us that, as far as he knew, the garrison was strong in numbers and equipment, and consisting of a certain number of officers who had pledged themselves to fight to the last man and the last round, which was most disconcerting news. He also informed us that they held four members of a British tank crew as prisoners, which we subsequently found to be correct: the men belonged to the 4th RTR.

  After ten minutes we again ascended the stairs and entered the conference room. I found time to tell Stephen to remember his German and to stop tweaking his moustache, as it was undignified and might give the impression of nervousness. Stephen scowled and murmured something about me being irritated at not having a moustache to pull to conceal my own nervousness.

  When we entered the room the conference was breaking up and finally Stephen, Bill and I were left alone in the room with the colonel and his adjutant. I noticed that an armed guard had been placed outside the room. He introduced his adjutant, who was a tall and good-looking young German with a scarred face, wearing black uniform and black boots. He reminded me so much of Raymond Massey. In return I introduced Stephen and Bill.

  All our conversation took place in German, translated into English by Stephen, and to start with I was most impressed with his German. The following conversation ensued.

  I said, ‘No organized German resistance now remains in France or Belgium. My regiment, consisting of tanks, infantry and guns is outside this village waiting to attack. I can summon air support within half an hour,’ not strictly true, ‘you are completely cut off and without contact with your higher formation. I demand the surrender of this garrison.’

  ‘I realize,’ he replied, ‘that the German Army has withdrawn from France, but I have under my command a garrison strong in men, guns and ammunition. It is my wish, and the wish of my officers, to fight and to delay your advance. It would be dishonourable for me as a German officer to surrender so large a garrison without fighting.’

  Such a speech was most disconcerting and caused Stephen to forget all the German that he had ever learned, to such an extent that I attempted to talk in French, much to the delight of the German adjutant who spoke French fluently and Stephen’s French was much better than his German. Again I addressed the German colonel, who was gazing out of the window in a most stubborn manner.

  ‘While I appreciate that as a German soldier you must consider your honour, it is my duty to tell you that should you choose to fight, many unnecessary casualties will be inflicted on German soldier
s, and more families in Germany will suffer in consequence. Any further resistance would be useless and the subsequent casualties would be your direct responsibility. Under these circumstances I consider that it is your duty to make an honourable surrender.’

  Those words appeared to have some effect on the old colonel, as he had a rapid conversation in German with his adjutant, and I winked at Stephen to indicate to him how pleased I was with my last address. I was most anxious for a surrender, whether honourable or dishonourable, and I had no wish to attack the place, which would result in unnecessary casualties to our company of the 12/60th and to the Regiment, which at that time was well dispersed. Neither did I wish to call for more support from Brigade, which was all actively employed elsewhere. Furthermore, the village still contained civilians, and would have suffered damage should we be compelled to attack.

  The German colonel still continued to worry about his honour and it took a full hour to persuade him that neither Wehrmacht, the German people, nor Hitler would consider that he had failed in his duty or that to surrender would be dishonourable. Eventually, much to our relief, he said: ‘I agree to surrender, but should like to be allowed these considerations. I should be allowed to march out at the head of my troops, with their arms, and formally surrender at a prearranged rendezvous. I should like a sworn, written statement from you that no German soldier will be handed over to the Maquis. I should like medical attention for my wounded.’

  I agreed to his requests, signed a statement, written both in German and in English, guaranteeing protection for him and his troops from the Maquis, and arranged to meet him at 6 o’clock that evening outside the village at the place where the road and railway crossed. I promised also to send in our regimental medical officer to attend his wounded.

  We all bowed formally and left somewhat relieved, and were escorted back to the priest who was sitting in the car most worried at our lengthy absence.