by Griff Hosker
The next day I left Hewitt to look after a hung over Sergeant Barker and I went to find headquarters. Liège was smaller than Antwerp and Brussels. It was close to the enemy front lines. There was an edge to the town. The patrols looked at people with more suspicion and the civilians were less likely to smile than those in Antwerp. The lighter atmosphere of the previous night was soon dissipated in the morning rain shower and the scowling faces I met. I found the Headquarters by seeking the Union Flag.
When I eventually found the building the sergeant glowered at me, “Sir? Can I help you?”
I took out my orders and showed them to him. “I am to report to a Colonel Jessop. Is he here?”
He smiled. It seemed he was relieved I was not a German spy! “Yes sir. Just go in and knock on the office to the right. They will sort you out sir.” As I went through the door he said, “Sorry about that, sir, but we have had all sorts trying to get in. There are a bunch of so-called refugees who would steal the coins off a dead man’s eyes. I am sure some are German agents!”
It was as I headed towards the office that I realised that we were the front line. Liège had only been taken recently. Germany was less than thirty miles away as the crow flies. It was natural that they would be suspicious. There would be refugees and some could be the very Germans we had defeated. They could be hiding out. The Germans used many nationalities in their army. Our side of the lines meant that they were less likely to be shot.
Colonel Jessop was like many officers I had met. He was too old for the front line but still wished to serve his country. Running the Headquarters of a recently recaptured town was perfect for him. His neatly trimmed moustache and slightly tanned skin bespoke a career in the east. He had possibly been an Indian officer. He took in my ribbons. Major Foster had insisted that I wore my best uniform to impress our audience. Colonel Jessop stood a little straighter as he read my orders.
“Major Harsker, delighted to meet you. We did not expect you for a few days.” He waved over a sergeant, “Sergeant Ganner, have we accommodation for the Major and…?”
“And two N.C.O.s. If you have nothing available, sir, don’t worry. We can sleep in the lorry.”
The colonel looked appalled, “Have the winner of a V.C. and an M.C. sleep in the back of a lorry? Sir, what kind of command do you think I am running here? Sergeant, sort something out!”
“Yes sir.”
The Colonel smiled, “Now we have a room for you to use. Actually, it is the old cinema. Good acoustics and comfortable seating for the officers. Anything you need? Slide projector? That sort of thing?”
I shook my head. “Just the hall will be fine, sir. We just want to pass on what we have learned. Thank you for your hospitality.”
He nodded, “I met your father once. I was on the Western Front with him; towards the end of the war. Well I say with him, we were on leave together. I was just a lieutenant. I didn’t get to know him well, more’s the pity. To tell you the truth I was in awe of him. There weren’t many British Aces left by the end of the war. And yet he was so incredibly modest and didn’t want to talk about the heroic acts he had performed. You come from good stock.”
I smiled, “Thank you, sir.”
“Well if you need anything while you are here then let me know. The Sergeant is a good chap. He will sort you out.”
The sergeant waited in the doorway when the Colonel stood and waved me over. As I left I reflected that soldiers like Colonel Jessop had made the British Empire. They were a dying breed.
“This way sir. There aren’t a lot of billets in the town but I got one close to the cinema and the Headquarters.” When we were outside I waved over Hewitt and Barker. The sergeant took us down a side street. There was a row of small houses. They were so small that the rooms were little wider than the door itself! However there was an outhouse and there was a bedroom. It would do and it would prove to be warmer than the back of the Bedford.
“Thanks Sergeant. We will get our gear and then, tomorrow, if you could show us where we will be giving our little talk?”
“Yes sir, do you need any grub?”
“We’ll manage.”
We headed back to the café we had used the previous night. The owner was pleased to see us and he rubbed his hands, “Tonight, gentlemen, I can offer you finer fare than last night’s humble offering.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Today I went hunting and we have some duck. My wife has created a stew made with red wine, sausage and duck. She has thickened it with lentils.” He put his finger and his thumb to his lips. “It is not on the menu it is, how do you say, a special.”
“Then that will do us nicely, thank you.”
Once again Gordy was suspicious but the ubiquitous sausage pleased him. “What are these things sir?”
“Lentils.”
“They remind me of pease pudding. Now that is something I will have when I get home. Ham hock with pease pudding. I shall wash it down with a bottle of brown ale!”
John Hewitt then began an argument about which part of the north had the best pease pudding. That inevitably led to a debate about the various beers. I just drank my wine and enjoyed the food. After the short rations on Walcheren this was a bonus!
The next morning we were taken to the old cinema. It had been recently used. There were still the dog ends from German cigarettes on the floor and the signs were still in German. However, it had been some time since it had been used. There was a patina of dust on everything. I would get Sergeant Ganner to have some men clean it.
Gordy grinned as he stood on the stage, “I always fancied being on the music hall stage. Perhaps I’ll get my chance now, eh sir?”
“Gordy you have been to enough of these things to realise that the chaps who come here will not be happy. If they are in Liège then it means they have been pulled out of the front line. Would you want to hear three Commandos telling you how to fight a war or would you rather be in a bar having a few pints?”
“Point taken, sir. So we are on a hiding to nothing then?”
“That’s the spirit, Gordy! Assume, as I do , the worst and then anything else will not seem as bad,”
We spent the day working out what we would say and how to make it lively. Our orders said to talk for no more than two hours! That was an hour more than I intended. We were all nervous waiting for our first audience. No one liked to fail and this had been set up for us to fail. They were forcing men to listen to us and that was never good. We discovered that it was the 43rd Division which was based around Liège. It was the officers and sergeants who attended our little show. None was of a rank higher than Major. That was one good thing. We made it just that; a show. Gordy proved that he had missed his calling. He was a natural comedian. He got the sergeants and corporals on our side. He was funny and proved to be a good mimic. He did an hilarious impression of a German. He goose stepped around the stage with a bottle top for a monocle. It got them on our side. The officers were all keen to hear how I had got my medals and so, when we had the question and answer session at the end, I was the one on the spot. After that first lecture we knew that the rest would be less stressful and we actually started to enjoy them.
By the 10th of December we had managed to get through all the men of the 43rd Division. I was looking forward to heading back to England when Colonel Jessop broke me the bad news. “You have done rather well here, Major Harsker. The general was speaking with General Bradley and he would like you to head to St. Vith and do the same there.” He was a gentleman and he smiled apologetically when he saw my smile turn to a frown. “Orders I am afraid. It seems it is to improve Anglo-American relations. As you know Monty and General Patton don’t get on. General Bradley thinks that you might be just the medicine to show them a different side to the British soldier. It should only take another week or so and then you still have time to get back to England. I am sure you will be back in Blighty for Christmas. Major Foster thought it was a good idea. He sent this along for you.”
He handed me a
large box. When I opened it I saw that it was a new uniform. It had my medals on and the single crown of a major. “Has my promotion been confirmed then, sir?”
“Not yet but it is only a matter of time. I can’t see anyone opposing the promotion of someone who has a V.C. and an M.C.” I nodded but I never liked to count chickens no matter how well dressed. “Do you want a car or are you happy with your lorry? I must confess we might struggle to get a decent vehicle. We have plenty of jeeps but they would hardly accommodate your equipment.”
“No sir, the lorry will be fine just so long as we have petrol.”
“Thanks to your efforts at Antwerp we now have all the petrol we need. It seems the battle of the Atlantic is over too. The convoys are not getting hit as often. The newspapers might be right for once. The war might be over soon.”
I shook my head, “No sir, not yet. Hitler is like a mad dog. Until he is put down then they will keep fighting.”
“You are probably right. Oh, I have a driver for you. You chaps have enough to do without driving. Private Briggs is from the Royal Army Service Corps. He has been assigned to you. When you have finished at St Vith he will drive the lorry back to Antwerp where you will take ship for home.”
“Thank you sir.” Of course I had no intention of waiting for a slow ship to take us home. I would use my father’s name to get a ride in a transport. In the months since D-Day the R.A.F. had been taking over airfields all over northern France. I would get Private Briggs to take us to one of them.
Albert Briggs was a dour chap. He was just over the minimum height for a soldier, five feet two, and he was almost as round as he was tall. He drove with a cigarette permanently hanging from the side of his mouth. He rarely spoke and in all the time we were with him I never saw him crack a smile once. For all that he was an excellent driver and he knew engines as well as Fred Emerson.
After we had loaded the Bedford he said, “It is fifty miles sir to St. Vith sir, but it won’t be quick. The roads around here are a bugger. Pardon my French. Twisting little things through bloody great trees and the roads are covered in snow! I reckon they always have a white Christmas here. For me, they can stick it. Keep it for the Christmas cards eh sir? And the other thing is it is just twenty miles from the German lines. Sometimes they lob shells over. We will have to take it steady.”
“Don’t worry Private, a bit of shelling won’t upset us.”
As I climbed into the cab with him I wondered if he would be chatty while he was driving but that was the longest conversation I had with him. Gordy and Hewitt climbed in the back where they would play pontoon and that left me in the cab with Private Briggs and his Capstan Full Strength. It soon became apparent that I had heard the full extent of Private Briggs’ conversation. He focussed on the road and his cigarettes. I looked out of the cab window at the terrain through which we travelled. He was right. It was dramatic. There were few large places. Once we had passed Verviers then we left behind signs of houses. The road twisted and turned. Forests seemed to almost touch their road and, in places the canopy was so great that it was like driving through a tunnel. Private Briggs struggled to keep us on a straight line. It was lucky that there were few other vehicles around. We passed none heading south and only a few which were heading north. Most of the troops who had been given leave were already on their way west and few replacements were being sent east.
After we had passed through the tiny hamlet of Monts we reached Malmedy. It was a relief to actually see somewhere with more than a couple of houses even though it was little more than a small town. After descending into the valley we then climbed and slid our way up the other side of the remote little town. Snow covered forests spread out on either side of us. It was pretty country but this was war and I doubted that the Germans who had retreated just a month or so earlier, would have appreciated its beauty.
The US VIII Corps were based around this part of the front. I was aware of protocol and so I reported to the most senior officer I could find. While the others stretched their legs I was ushered into the office of the commanding officer, Colonel Harding. The sergeant who shared the office, Sergeant Ford, asked, “Do you want a coffee sir? We don’t have the tea you guys like so much.”
“Coffee would be fine, sergeant. Just as it comes, black.”
He nodded, “That is the first time I have heard of a Limey not putting in a gallon of milk and a ton of sugar. You must have American blood in you, sir.”
Just then I heard a familiar voice behind me, “Oh no Sergeant Ford, Major Harsker is a Brit through and through.”
I turned, “Hugo! What are you doing here?”
I shook Hugo Ferguson’s hand. He had been with us in Malta. Working for Colonel Fleming of Intelligence he had been a staff liaison officer. I had no idea what he was doing here at the front.
“I am liaison officer with the Americans.”
I tapped his pips, “And promoted too. Congratulations, Captain.”
“And you too, Major.”
“Brevet rank I am afraid.”
When the coffee was brought back we chatted about soldiers Hugo had known. He was saddened to hear of the loss of so many.
“What brings you this close to the front? Are you still with Colonel Fleming?”
“You mean Brigadier General Fleming? No sir. He has flown out to the war in the Pacific. He is in Australia running a show there.”
“Ah, still climbing the slippery pole eh? And you, are you happy to be free of him?”
“To be truthful sir I missed the days in Malta. When I worked with you chaps I felt as though I was doing something useful. I asked for this.”
I laughed, “You know what they say, Hugo, never volunteer.”
He had the good grace to laugh. “I have improved my marksmanship sir. Still, with the war nearly over I doubt I will get the chance to fight and to lead.”
The telephone rang and Sergeant Ford answered. He listened and then said, “Sorry sir, the Colonel has been held up. He asked if Captain Ferguson would show you around.”
“Delighted, Sergeant. Come on Major, I’ll give you and your chaps the tour. How many of you are there?”
“Barker and Hewitt. They have given us a driver too.”
“Right, well your billet is just around the corner. You can leave your bus outside. It isn’t far.” Once outside he said, “I need to talk to you privately anyway; I should tell you about Colonel Harding.”
I was intrigued but then Hugo knew army politics better than anyone and he was always discreet. He had worked with Colonel Fleming and he was the most devious of officers. While Gordy organized our billet Hugo took me to a small bar. It looked to be the only one in the centre of the small town. There were just locals huddled around the smoky tables and we found a small table in the corner.
“The thing is sir, Colonel Harding can be a little difficult.”
I put my hand up, “Hugo if this is gossip out of school then I do not want to know. If, however, it is something which might affect our efficiency then stop beating about the bush and come out with it. You know that you can trust me.”
He smiled and was the young officer I had known all those years ago in Malta. “Yes sir. As you know General Patton and Field Marshal Montgomery do not get along.”
“Of course. It is common knowledge but this is an American sector is it not?”
“Yes, sir but Colonel Harding served with General Patton in Tunisia and Italy. It was the general himself who promoted Colonel Harding. He is resentful of the fact that General Bradley has sent a Brit to tell him how to fight a war.” He knocked back his drink. “I am just warning you, sir. Expect a little opposition.”
I leaned back and smiled, “Hugo, the last thing I want is to have to talk to anyone about our exploits, let alone soldiers who do not want to listen. I am just as happy to skedaddle back to Antwerp and then back to England. I do not need this.”
Hugo held up a hand, “However, sir, there are politics. Field Marshal Montgomery is the one wh
o arranged for you to come here. It was not General Bradley. He has heard of what you have done. He knows that you went in with the Free French in Paris. He is exploiting your fame. So, you see, you have to do the work or risk running foul of the Field Marshal.”
I knocked back my brandy, “A rock and a hard place come to mind! Thanks for the heads up, Hugo. I suppose in the grand scheme of things it could be worse. At least the Colonel will not be firing bullets at me. That will make a change. A few more days and then we can go home!”
Chapter 2
We were kept cooling our heels for two days. Having spoken to Hugo I now saw that politics were involved. In truth I did not mind. It gave me the chance to do some walking in the country around St. Vith. It was good hiking country and the snow made it beautiful to view. Gordy had managed to get us some decent boots from the Quartermaster rather than the flimsier rubber soled Commando shoes and I broke them in. I noticed that the trees were all pines. The soldier in me thought how useful that could be. The pine branches would make a quick mat to extract a jeep from trouble. I also saw that the roads were not the best in the world. They were narrow and they twisted, turned and climbed. It was a good job we had captured this in the autumn. In the winter it would be almost impossible.
It was the 12th of December when I was finally summoned to headquarters. Sergeant Ford greeted me. He had been most pleasant each time I had visited. He held out a mug of coffee, “Here you are sir, fresh Joe, just the way you like it!”
“You should try it the navy way, Sergeant, it is even better.”