by Ken Tout
The NY column ‘bashed on’ and reached the objective before 3 a.m. on 8 August. The 144 RAC had less luck: their three lighter, smaller navigator tanks all disappeared, one of them literally below ground level, in bomb craters, and Lieutenant Colonel Jolly had to come forward himself to navigate. At the NY objective Lieutenant Colonel Hopwood of the Black Watch took over from his NY colleague and, with sixty tank guns giving covering fire, sent his Kangaroos right up to the cottages being defended by the Germans. In a very brief period, and with a tenth of the normally calculated casualties, the Black Watch had occupied the vital high village of Saint-Aignan-de-Cramesnil. The NY tanks, like those of the other columns, moved forward of the village and found themselves hides from which to repel counterattacks. The seven columns had smashed through a fresh, well-trained, full-strength German division two days after its arrival.
However, the former defenders, the elite 12th SS Panzers Hitlerjugend (‘Hitler Youth’), who had been ordered to Mortain in an attempt to cut off the now rapidly advancing Americans, were still lurking just beyond Saint-Aignan. Their commander, Kurt Meyer, also known as ‘Panzermeyer’, ordered an immediate counterattack. He had available five of the very few Tigers left in service at this time and, rather precipitately, he ordered Michael Wittmann to advance across the open cornfields before the main counterattack by the 12th SS Panzers could get moving. The objective was ‘to regain the vital heights around Saint-Aignan’, a suicidal venture consistent with the German doctrine of immediate counterattack.
A 30-ton Sherman Firefly, here at St Aignan, which later knocked out three 50-ton German Tigers on this skyline, 8 August 1944. (1994 reconstruction by Old Coaches, St Malo, NYA)
On the west of the Caen-Falaise road near Gaumesnil, Major Radley-Walters’ Sherbrooke Fusiliers, in their Sherman tanks, had already been firing at lesser fry. Wittmann’s Tigers turned their guns in that direction. On the east of the road at Saint-Aignan, Sergeant Gordon of A Squadron, 1NY, in his Firefly, spotted the Tigers and reported back. Captain Boardman ordered Gordon to hold fire and brought three 75mm Shermans into line with the Firefly. He ordered the smaller-gunned Shermans to ‘pepper’ the Tigers and force the commanders to duck down into turrets, before Gunner Joe Ekins then fired successive 17-pounder shots which knocked out three Tigers. The Sherbrookes firing from the other flank accounted for the rear Tiger. Wittmann died in the battle and, in a way, the action at Villers-Bocage was avenged.
In the early 1980s Jean-Claude Pallud located Wittmann’s 1944 grave, and erstwhile NY Trooper Les ‘Spud’ Taylor published a full review in After the Battle. Since then much debate has centred on the theme ‘Who killed Wittmann?’ However, it misses an essential point. Even with Wittmann’s Tigers eliminated, the 12th SS Panzers had been ordered to retake the heights, and had they done so the full array of Canadian armour would still have been exposed to superior German guns. Panzermeyer sent battle group KG Waldmuller, a combined arms formation which could be assembled immediately with whatever type of force was needed and available, to capture Saint-Aignan. It was this type of mobilisation for a specific task which the Germans had perfected but the British had not yet implemented to any considerable extent.
As the KG moved off from the area around Robertmesnil farm, showers of mortar bombs rained down on the NY and Black Watch positions. ‘Shower’ is no exaggeration, for a German barrage could consist of numbers of the Nebelwerfer bomb projectors, each firing at least six bombs at once, setting up a huge concert of screaming sirens as the infamous and aptly named ‘Moaning Minnies’ descended vertically on the foe. Tank commanders closed down and infantry ducked low in slit trenches. At this initial point a voice spoke on the wireless, audible to all crews:
‘Hullo, Baker. Hullo, Baker. Medics to Big Sunray. Medics to Big Sunray. Baker, over.’
It was someone on Big Sunray’s tank calling to the second-in-command for aid, and Big Sunray was the colonel, Doug Forster, himself. This was a blast of reality for the listening crews, triumphant from the Night March. A minute into battle and the colonel had been wounded, or worse. Within seconds the wireless came alive again, this time B Squadron leader’s operator calling for immediate aid to Major the Hon. Peter Brassey, also a shrapnel victim. ‘Starting from the top and working down?’ somebody in Stan Hicken’s tank commented. Major Philip Wykeham would take over command, but the colonel had always seemed invincible, imperturbable, immovable.
Then movements in the corn, golden to harvest, indicated that the fanatical but eminently skilful Hitlerjugend were on their way, determined to recapture Saint-Aignan. Between the village and Robertmesnil farm there appeared on the map and aerial photographs to be a country lane running as a kind of ride through thick woods. The SS Panzer Corps HQ had been located at Robertmesnil and the German troops knew very well that the innocent country lane was in fact a narrow but extremely deep defile, Le Petit Ravin. Many of the German Mk IV tanks crawled unseen along this ‘gulley’. The German infantry were unfortunate in the weather, a blazing hot day, and as the NY machine-gun fire tore through the cornfields the ripe corn caught fire. The Jugend had three choices: rush forward exposed, retreat, or stand and be grilled or asphyxiated. Many rushed forward, but not far.
Trooper Joe Crittenden spotted another Tiger tank, the last, and halted it at long range. Stan Hicken and Rex Jackson, low down in their driver’s compartment on the lip of the gulley, discerned the cautious movement of a tank shape through the trees. The maze of greenery in which 3 Baker was hiding made the tank invisible to Corporal Ken Snowdon and the gunner. Stan and Rex ‘talked’ the gun around to the correct position and Snowdon ordered ‘Fire’, despatching the enemy tank with two well-aimed shots. Gunner Ernie Wellbelove, the smallest man in the squadron, saw three enemy tanks running across a field and shot two of them, while the third raced behind a large haystack. Ernie continued to fire his 17-pounder through the haystack; a burst of flame and cloud of back smoke told of his third success. Sadly, within minutes, another Mk IV had crawled along the gulley and emerged from behind to knock out Ernie’s tank, killing the popular lad instantaneously. Nevertheless, Panzermeyer’s attempt to recapture the crucial village of Saint-Aignan had been beaten off.
Large-scale operations demanded only a small proportion of the days after D-Day. Most days were minor actions, maintenance or frustration with military systems. Sergeant Kenny Jack MM recalled a moment at Demouville where the men were being eaten alive by mosquitoes. They were in a counterattack position in their light tank, hidden in trees on a flat plain with large signs declaring ‘DUST MEANS DEATH’:
We were to keep look-out east but definitely not to be seen! We made ourselves comfortable, had something to eat, looked east and were invisible. Any movement brought shelling down instantly. Then one of the crew said ‘What the hell is this?’ Coming up was a staff car, flags waving, a general studying his map and flourishing his cane in the direction of any suspected Jerry OP [observation post]. At least half a dozen vehicles with him raising dust. Then off they went just as fast. Down came the inevitable mortar ‘stonk’. Crash! Bang! Crash! I knew something was wrong. Young Tony Martin who was out of the tank for natural purposes had a bad shrapnel wound in the thigh. I had better not repeat the words I said about the general.
Corporal Doug Gardner was also peeved about petty authorities. The summer of 1944 brought much rain to Normandy and Doug’s Firefly wireless set was being affected by leaking water. In the Firefly, to accommodate the larger gun, the wireless was fixed into an extra armoured box at the rear of the turret:
I had continual trouble with rain leaking into the tray beneath the set and rendering it useless. So I thought ‘if we can’t stop the water getting in, then let’s drain it out’. We bored six holes in the bottom of the box and this did the trick. Then we had a routine inspection of the tank by Corps engineers. On seeing the holes we had drilled, the Officer gave me a real b***** dressing down – it was against regulations – so he had his chaps weld up the holes. I was co
ncerned about the set packing up when you were in action. Then … a few days later an Engineers unit came round to implement a SPECIAL War Office modification to the Firefly – yes, you’ve guessed it – it was to drill six holes in the wireless box to let the water drain out!!!
Before the Normandy campaign ended 2NY had one more moment of battle trauma to endure, followed by an even more devastating attack on them by High Command. After the grim suffering on the open plain beyond Caen, 2NY, like the rest of the ‘Charging Bull’ units, had been reinforced. They now found that they had advanced once again into Bocage country around Flers as a part of Operation Bluecoat. General Montgomery had originally intended a large encirclement to the River Seine along the route followed by 1NY, but now mounted Bluecoat to hold German forces in the Flers area whilst the Canadian/Polish thrust linked up with American General Patton’s troops in a shorter encirclement.
In the earlier Bocage battles there had always been a sense knowing where the enemy was located, often to within yards. One survivor remembered Germans throwing a snake over a hedge at his position, to which he replied by returning the snake. So close! Now nobody knew quite where the enemy might be over wider distances of confused terrain. Fitter Sid Jones with his half-track was repairing a Cromwell tank behind the main squadron when a great noise of complaining engines in the trees behind him, from which 2NY were advancing, convinced him that it was a Tiger tank. Sid and his mates dived into a ditch and prepared to fight Tigers with pistols and puny Sten guns. In fact, not one but two Tigers rumbled past without bothering them or shooting up their vehicle, no doubt as disorientated as Sid’s crew were.
There were a few brief moments of glory during the confused advance. Fortified villages in the area of Caen and Cheux had been mainly devoid of civilians, but in Flers civilians came out in thousands and even hindered the progress of the 2NY tanks as the crews waved back, enjoying the rare moment. It was then back to reality as Bill Moseley so vividly noted:
We had been told by a French civilian that the Jerries had retreated. My eyes glued to the gun telescope we had just breasted a rise … T-junction … cottage … range 200 yards – I saw an 88mm gun pointing straight at us … adrenaline pumped … X-wires on target amid a babble of voices … ‘Bloody 88’ … ‘Brass him up, Ken’ [to the hull gunner] … ‘Get him, Mose! Driver, reverse! Fire!’ and my foot stabbed the firing button – WOOMP – gun flash, recoil, shell exploding – and as the tank reverses over the crest, no return fire, and Ron, with field glasses ‘You got him, Mose … Poor buggers didn’t stand a chance … let’s go take a look … carefully.’
Even in the heat of battle common humanity prevailed at times. Moseley was surprised to see a French farmer walking a horse in a field in the midst of battle. The farmer signalled that the horse had been horribly wounded by shellfire and needed to be put down:
Dickie tried to shoot it with bullets from his .38 pistol but the bullets only bounced off the skull of the poor animal which was frantic, with the farmer hanging on to the bridle for dear life. The only way we could end the beast’s agony was with a burst of Sten gun into the heart. The farmer thanked us and scarpered, not looking too sad and maybe thinking of freshly butchered horse steaks on the morrow.
Hard fighting and humane acts, however, would not save the Second Line. As the Normandy campaign drew to a close the colonel called the regiment together to pass on the bad news: they were to be disbanded, immediately, on the spot, hand over their beloved tanks to a new mob. The 2NY now paid the final price for lack of seniority. Units normally going into battle for the first time need some time to adjust and to acquire the very specific attitudes and reactions that only live fire against the enemy can generate. Good sense might suggest that if fresh troops were available they could be used as reinforcements to merge into a now battle-experienced and toughened unit. But the arriving 15th/19th Hussars were a more senior regiment, and that was the vital criterion. On the night of 17/18 August the Hussars arrived to take over 2NY’s tanks.
Bill Moseley, Captain Sandy Saunders and fifty others were relieved to know that they were going as reinforcements to their First Line, where they knew many people and shared a common Yeomanry culture. Reg Spittles was not sure as to what he might expect when, with his entire troop and three others, he was transferred to 1RTR. When he joined up the NY had been an armoured car unit of the RTC, now the RTR, but war might have changed things since then. Other men that transferred to other Hussars regiments were not sure if there would be a difference between Yeomanry traditions and the regular cavalry, although the difference between regulars, TA soldiers and more recent conscripts had now, to a large extent, been eliminated. Two months of battle had cost 2NY total casualties of thirty-two officers and 196 ORs. The total tank crew strength of the three 2NY fighting squadrons in action was only 273 and thus required constant reinforcement.
Sandy Saunders and the other 2NY men joining the First Line were on the move again without pause. Driving towards the Seine alongside the 51st Highland Division, 1NY found itself, on more than one occasion, ordered to halt in order to keep formation with units on either side. One such enforced halt on the road to Lisieux proved to be the nemesis of revered SSM Sid Turton. With enemy on three sides, the squadron waited in a farmer’s field. Occasional deliveries of ‘Moaning Minnies’ caused troopers to dive inside or underneath tanks for cover. During one such dive the SSM went first under the tank, followed by Sergeant Len Wright, just back from hospital, and Trooper Bruce Dickson. By some miracle a bomb bounced under the tank without exploding, rolled over Len and Bruce and exploded against the SSM. Len Wright went back to hospital again but Bruce emerged physically unharmed, and because he soldiered on he did not receive any treatment for shock and would suffer nightmares for years afterwards, an experience of so many who did not benefit from the immediate psychiatric treatment provided for those with more visible effects of battle shock.
Sid Turton was buried immediately while the farmer’s family brought armfuls of flowers to adorn the grave. A problem then arose for Acting Major Bill Fox with Hank Bevan now at regimental HQ. The SSM had been commanding a captain’s tank and the only other officers surviving were Lieutenants Faulkner and McColl, who were needed to command leading troops. Lance corporals were already commanding a number of tanks and Bill Fox now called one of them, the author, to command the spare captain’s tank. This state of affairs lasted for about two weeks until the colonel and others returned from hospital, together with more postings from the now disbanded 2NY. It was a quiet complaint among tank crews that whilst in the RAF every crew member had to be at least a sergeant, on the ground unpaid lance corporals had to command tanks leading attacks, with many quickly becoming casualties.
The 1NY’s travelogue continued with the siege of the port and naval base at Le Havre. The regiment’s sixty tanks lined up and, at the colonel’s command on ‘A’ set: ‘All stations Able … stand by to fire … five rounds gunfire … NOW!’, all tanks fired a total of sixty rounds each indirectly (highly elevated guns) at enemy defensive targets previously registered by the colonel and Major Bevan. Then the attack led up the hill to the huge naval barracks where one lonely shot came from a huge naval 380mm gun, which fortunately could not depress enough to fire down the hill.4 A few shots from two of C Squadron’s relatively puny 75mm guns caused doors to swing open, and over a thousand naval personnel marched out in good order behind a white flag.5
The war had now switched into Belgium and Holland. The ill-fated attempt to capture Arnhem by airborne attack had left the Allies with a problem, as the main Arnhem road stretched for almost 40 miles with the enemy still firmly ensconced along its length. There would now be the painful task of advancing outwards from both sides, liberating village after village as the Germans slowly and cleverly retreated, often ceding ground but always blowing up the next of the many bridges over rivers and canals.
German troops were still retreating from the Channel ports and their escape route was over the last
bridge of the mighty River Maas. The 1NY was part of the week-long operation to reach and close off this vital bridge. At Loon-op-Zand, Corporal Ken Snowdon’s tank in 3 Troop, C Squadron, often in the lead, was at last ‘brewed up’, although the crew escaped. In the chaos of battle Stan Hicken’s co-driver Rex Jackson rescued a burning tank and was awarded the Military Medal. The last objective was the village of Raamsdonk overlooking the final vital Maas bridge.
The two-day battle in Raamsdonk was typical of many at the time, involving two squadrons of tanks and a battalion of Highland infantry, with the enemy resolutely defending fortified buildings along the village street. The Allies were attacking in much greater force than the defenders and, as in Raamsdonk, the objective was usually gained at the cost of, in military terms, relatively few tanks, which could be rapidly replaced, and a few memorial crosses planted along the route. NY tanks at last obtained the dominating view of the bridge and in the smoke-filled streets the firing had died down. As in the outskirts of Caen long before, Lieutenant Bobby McColl got out of his tank to confer with the infantry. A last German gunner fired off a few final few machine-gun bullets and the 19-year-old troop leader was killed instantaneously. Major Hank Bevan sat down to write yet another last letter to shocked parents at home.