A Doctor at War

by Matthew Hall

  There were even more smouldering wrecks of lorries at the roadside than there had been the day before, and the fighter planes were increasing in activity. Herford put his boot to the boards and pushed the little car along as fast as he could given the treacherous conditions, but his heart leapt into his mouth as German bombers suddenly appeared over the crest of a hill and screamed overhead. Driving on was foolhardy – pilots loved a moving target. Herford screeched to a halt and ran to the side of the road, taking cover in a shallow ditch. The planes droned overhead and released their deadly payload. The ground shook with the impact of the explosion and a hail of flying earth and metal fragments whistled over the top of the ditch, but he emerged unscathed – and so did the Austin!

  Herford found Colonel Alexander in Pharsala preparing to leave with Major Traill for Thebes, from where they were to be evacuated from the country. Alexander asked Herford to come with them, but he refused, requesting to continue his liaison work for as long as possible. Alexander thanked him profoundly, saying that if there were as many officers as dedicated to their duty much of the chaos which was now occurring could have been avoided.

  Herford was still very much concerned with the fate of 24 CCS and 189 LFA, whom he had learned were still in situ at Larissa, which was under fire, but still holding out against the Germans. Alexander said that the medical staff would simply have to stay and be captured. This was the normal military practice, and ensured that casualties who were seized by the enemy would be given adequate treatment. Herford suggested that they might adopt the policy employed at Dunkirk, whereby one MO and two orderlies were left behind each with 100 men. Alexander agreed that this course of action should be taken.

  Herford made the trip to 24 CCS and 189 LFA by-passing Larissa. He reached Colonel Mollan in time to look along the valley and watch Larissa disappearing under a merciless barrage of bombs. The Germans were only 10 miles away, but there was still time to stage a speedy evacuation. Mollan assumed it was his duty to remain and be captured with the casualties who could not be moved, but Herford told him that Alexander had approved the Dunkirk plan. Losing no time, the casualties were loaded into ambulances and a convoy transporting 176 wounded left the camp, leaving behind most of the medical equipment with a handful of staff and the unfortunate wounded who were too ill to transport. Herford resorted to his trusted motorcycle and led the convoy.

  They moved south to Pharsala in torrential rains and arrived safely at the now abandoned New Zealand hospital site. Most of the equipment which had been left behind had been looted, and only the tents and a few immovable items remained. It was decided to hole up for a few hours, but soon after they arrived German bombers descended. A salvo of bombs was released only yards from the field hospital. Most personnel were afforded some shelter in the slit trenches, and one bomb dropped only 30 yards away, sending showers of earth and stones over their heads.

  Colonel Mollan decided it was far too risky to stay and ordered the column to proceed to Levadia, which was another 70 miles to the south. Herford again rode at the front on the motorcycle. Lack of sleep was catching up with him, and as they proceeded slowly up the Lamia Pass, travelling no faster than 10 miles per hour, he felt his eyes forcing themselves together, as if being dragged down by lead weights. When they reached the top of the pass Herford could go no further and was forced to stop for a few hours’ sleep while the convoy continued on. He decided that they had come far enough south to be safe from German fire, so he made a ‘bed’ at the roadside and spent a few fitful hours staving off the cold and dozing restlessly.

  He awoke at dawn beneath a clear blue sky. All was silence, except for the chirps of a few hardy songbirds. He felt like the returning Odysseus lying on a mossy bed with a pillow of stone. The view from his lofty perch was almost magical. For a few precious moments war seemed an eternity away. The valley spread out beneath him in full spring bloom. The road wound and coiled down the craggy slopes. At the top there was nothing but scrub and rock and the occasional fir tree, defying the elements and drawing its nutrition from an unknown source. Lower down the scrub became denser, the trees more numerous, until in the upper reaches of the valley the green of the firs merged with the pink almond blossoms; these in turn yielded to the deep ochre of the ploughed fields at the valley bottom, interspersed with tiny hamlets of white-washed houses. He cherished these moments of peace, and soaked in this entrancing view before shattering the calm with the roar of his motorcycle engine.

  Herford caught up with the convoy 15 miles to the south outside Amphikia, where they had pitched camp. He spent the day planning a bigger evacuation of casualties from surrounding units, and liaised with Colonel Johnston of the 2/7 Australian MDS. Herford raised the possibility of bringing an ambulance train up to the town of Levadia, some 20 miles to the south, which could carry most of the wounded back to Athens. Johnston thought it an attractive idea, but was pessimistic as to the chances of success. All available transport was being thrown into service in a full-scale retreat.

  Herford had the advantage of still being a new boy in the army with comparatively little understanding of the sensitivity of relationships between officers. Still less did he appreciate that the military machinery was capable of operating in the most bureaucratic way, even in the direst of circumstances. He grabbed the nearest field telephone and phoned through to the Rail Transport Officer in Athens and demanded an ambulance train be sent up the line by dawn. The Transport Officer was predictably reluctant, saying that there were far too many calls on their rolling stock already. Outraged by this apparent indifference to a parlous situation, Herford demanded to speak to the Senior Officer. When an equally officious major came on the line Herford struck a haughty tone, and said he was acting on the direct instructions of Colonel Alexander. (Herford had no idea where Alexander was, but was sure that he would have given the order he was now making on his behalf.) The Major took some convincing, and during this conversation Colonel Bellisario of the 2/7 Australian Casualty Clearing Station came into the room and listened in. Herford felt distinctly uneasy about continuing his subterfuge in the presence of a colonel, but when finally the Major backed down, Bellisario laughed out loud, clapped him on the back and thanked him profusely. Herford had been in the army less than two months and had already managed to assume the authority of a full colonel.

  The following day 24 CCS moved their camp next to 2/3 Australian CCS just outside Levadia. They suddenly found themselves busy as trains pulling goods wagons loaded with wounded arrived from the north. Herford organized the details of orderlies who unloaded the stretcher cases and ferried them to the Casualty Clearing Stations for treatment. It was tiring work, and his extreme lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him. As soon as the last wagon was unloaded he returned to camp, had a simple meal and fell into a deep sleep.

  He awoke at dawn the following morning to the sound of heavy bombing several miles away. He rushed out of his tent to see Levadia receiving the full force of a German air raid. The station, which the day before had been the scene of intense activity, was reduced to a mass of rubble. A massive explosion split the air as a nearby ammunition dump was hit. Another bomb hit an RAF fuel dump, and 50,000 gallons of fuel instantly leapt into flame. The dawn sky was illuminated with a swirling scarlet fireball, followed by a dense black column of smoke which seemed to rise hundreds of feet into the windless air. It was still before reveille but the camp was already bursting into activity. Herford hurriedly dressed and shaved, expecting more casualties, when the air was suddenly filled with the high-pitched whine of German fighter planes. They descended low over the camp spitting out several hundred rounds of ammunition as they passed, sending personnel scattering and diving for cover. No sooner had Herford got back to his feet after the first fly-past, than the fighters circled back round and continued strafing the road and anyone and anything that happened to be in their path. By this method maximum disruption could be caused to the military transport, and a good deal of panic instilled in thos
e on the ground. To many of the men, including Herford, dodging fighter planes was a new and horrifying experience, and engendered a complete sense of helplessness as they descended like a cloud of lethal hornets.

  When the aircraft activity died down, Herford received a message that an ambulance train was coming up the line to Thebes, 30 miles to the south, and he was required to organize the removal of casualties. Transport was severely limited, so he had no option but to resort once again to the motorcycle.

  Travelling along damaged roads on two wheels was a mixed blessing. Primitive suspension and a hard leather saddle made for an uncomfortable ride, but Herford was able to jump off quickly and dive for cover during the sporadic swoops along the road by fighter aircraft. All thoughts of the beauty of the Greek spring had now been supplanted by far more pressing concerns. Simply getting to Thebes in one piece required total concentration. Apart from the danger presented by air attacks, the other vehicles on the road were driving in an extremely hazardous manner. The Greeks were temperamental drivers at the best of times, but with the added threat of air attack they drove at full pelt, in the hope that by shortening their journey time they would lessen the chances of being hit. Herford soon observed that this had the reverse effect. Fast-moving vehicles attracted fire, and when they came under attack the driver would invariably lose control and plough off the road. The road to Thebes was littered with burning and smouldering wrecks, some no doubt still containing the charred remains of their unfortunate drivers.

  He made steady progress, and was constantly alert to the expressions of the Greeks at the roadside. He couldn’t hear the distant sound of an aircraft over the noise of his motorcycle, but when others suddenly darted into their houses he knew it was time to quit the road. But near Thebes the situation worsened. The town and the surrounding area was under heavy aerial attack. Several sections of the road were cratered and rendered virtually impassable by the small bombs dropped from Dorniers. So engrossed was he in negotiating the hazards in his path that an approaching Dornier took him completely by surprise. The plane suddenly appeared over a hill and skimmed the road. Herford was the only moving object in sight, and to the pilot must have looked like little more than an ant. Herford uttered a silent prayer, but was suddenly shaken by the penetrating crack of a bomb exploding on the road behind him. Miraculously it was far enough behind to have left him unharmed. Instinctively he wrenched on the throttle, but another bomb dropped some 30 yards ahead of him. It was too late to take evasive action. He felt the hot blast of the explosion and was catapulted from the motorcycle into the dust and earth clear of the road.

  For what seemed like minutes he lay motionless, waiting for a searing pain, too frightened to move a muscle. But gradually he started to move each limb in turn, and to his astonishment found he was completely unhurt. The bomb had landed just off the tarmac and had sunk straight into the soft ground at the roadside. It had thrown up a sizeable mound of soil, but the earth had absorbed the majority of the blast and the shrapnel. Herford apprehensively checked the sky, and waited several minutes before venturing out into the open again. The Dornier did not return. The pilot must have flown off happily congratulating himself on scoring a direct hit. By a minor miracle the motorcycle was virtually undamaged and started with no hitches. Herford was not a fatalist, and acutely aware that common sense and keeping a cool head were the best protection from accidents, but he was now beginning to wonder just how long his good luck would last. Having escaped with barely a scratch it felt almost churlish to tempt fate again but he drove into Thebes in the middle of an air raid.

  The moral duty of a doctor at war, to put the safety of his patients above that of his own, is virtually absolute. It is alarming enough for the able-bodied to be caught in a hail of exploding bombs, but far more traumatic to those who are totally reliant on others for their well-being. As Herford weaved through the streets towards the railway station, he knew that one of the prime objectives for the bombers would be the railway track and rolling stock. It was imperative to get the ambulance train out as quickly as possible. Once it was underway it was hoped that the red crosses on the wagon roofs would prevent it from being shot at, but the track itself was a legitimate target.

  The station was already the scene of intense, but disorganized, activity. Stretcher cases had been unloaded from ambulances and placed in the ambulance train, but the carriages had been repeatedly hit by strafing bullets, and nearly all the windows were shattered. Reports also came in that the track had been cut 5 miles down the line towards Athens.

  Herford’s first priority was to help in giving first aid to those who had been wounded in the air raids. Despite the repeated air attacks morale still remained high among the wounded, some of whom were cracking jokes and making the others laugh. When the situation was that tense, laughter was often a natural reaction, and the most effective defence mechanism.

  Due to the broken track, it was obvious that the ambulance train could no longer be sent out, so Herford sent a radio message to the nearby Force Headquarters and requested a fleet of ambulances to evacuate the train. He organized details to begin removing the stretchers to the platform while they awaited transport. While he was carrying one casualty out he saw a sergeant jump onto a motorcycle just outside the station and roar away – then he realized it was his motorcycle. His next major concern was the train itself. There were only a handful of ambulance trains in the whole of Greece, so it was vitally important to save it if at all possible – to lose it would mean losing lives. At present it was not yet coupled to an engine, and two out of three available locomotives had suffered considerable bomb damage. The lines near the station were also clogged with wagons. Herford found an engine which appeared to be intact and went in search of a driver. The Greek railway staff were extremely reluctant to emerge from cover, so Herford was forced to chase one out with a rifle. The driver was persuaded to help clear the lines by shunting the wagons clear. Herford observed closely and took to the controls to do some of the driving himself.

  As the track was being cleared bombs continued to drop into the area. Herford was so engrossed in his work shunting the engine and using the gradient to move rolling stock clear that he was able to close his mind to the danger. But at one stage they were just clear of the station when four Messerschmitts came down low, shot up four lorries at the edge of the track and then made a bee-line for the engine.

  Herford hit the deck but the plane passed over without firing. He looked up to see the train driver smugly grinning back at him! When finally the line had been cleared he returned to the ambulance wagons and found that they had nearly been cleared, and the casualties removed by road. Only Captain Simmonds, the MO of the ambulance train, remained. Simmonds was as anxious as Herford that the train be saved, so together with a Greek driver and mate, they took the train ‘out of town’. Just as they were pulling out of the station another strafing run began, and a bomb thumped down to the ground where only moments previously the engine had been standing. The train continued through the suburbs and into the country beyond. For a while it seemed as if the air raids had died down, but suddenly a pack of bombers appeared over the horizon making straight for them. As they got closer the driver panicked.

  Herford urged him on but his fear got the better of him. He brought the engine to a screeching halt and he and his mate sprinted for cover. Herford and Simmonds crossed their fingers as the distant drone became a deafening roar – then faded gradually away as they continued on to more important targets.

  Having spent several fretful hours on the footplate with the irascible driver Herford felt it was time to get his own back. Before the driver and his mate emerged, he started up the engine and began to pull away without them. The two Greeks appeared from the undergrowth, and had to run quickly to catch up!

  They brought the train to a halt close to the break in the line and left it in the hope that the track would shortly be repaired. Herford and Simmonds walked the 5 miles back to Headquarters and got their
hands on some much needed refreshment. Herford was anxious to return to 24 CCS at Levadia as casualties were still coming in thick and fast, but there was neither a car nor a motorcycle to be had. He would have to bed down for the night in the hope of getting up to Levadia in the morning. But before he could succumb to sleep he was called to tend to a wounded German pilot who had been shot down that afternoon. Herford administered first aid to the man’s superficial injuries and travelled with him in a truck to 168 Light Field Ambulance where he received the same treatment as any British soldier. Herford got hold of a blanket from the ambulance stores, found a spare camp bed and finally lay down at 2am. The 168 LFA breakfasted anxiously at dawn. Everyone was jittery as their camp had been bombed the previous day and their surgeon killed. They counted themselves extremely lucky that they had lost no one else. Poor communications and a desperate shortage of transport were making them ever gloomier about the prospect of effecting a successful evacuation.

  Herford had to work quickly if they were not to be captured. Ordinary soldiers could make a run for it in any way they could, but medical staff could retreat only as quickly as they could bring their most seriously wounded with them. He scouted around the units in the area until he managed to secure the loan of another motorcycle and made for Levadia to discuss evacuation plans with Colonel Johnston. To his amazement he found Johnston in complete ignorance of any plans for a widespread evacuation of casualties. Exasperated, Herford had no choice but to return to Thebes to see what progress was being made in repairing the railway track. The Greeks had moved with startling efficiency, and a gang of navvies were already busy heaving new sleepers and girders into place, but it would take the rest of the day before it was fit for use. Heartened, Herford returned to Levadia and with Colonel Johnston’s assistance set about organizing an ambulance column which would move out the following day.