Ron's Grand Tour, a Chronological Index

Photo shows: A map of some of my wanderings, courtesy of Ron Tee

• Section 1: September 1939 to April 1943
  
• Section 2: May 1943 to May 1945
  
• Section 3: June 1945 to June 1947
  
• Section 4: While I still remember
  
• Section 5: Stories posted for Martin Sugarman
  
• Section 6: Articles posted for friends
  
• Section 7: Index of Images
  
• Section 8: A Tribute to Jack
  
  

Please note: The numbers shown in brackets, e.g. (A2025028) are the article reference numbers on the BBC WW2 Peoples War Archives

All the 'live' links BELOW will take you directly to that article on the BBC WW2 Peoples War Archive. The links to articles listed on the RIGHT HAND SIDE will take you to that article on THIS SITE and you are free to make any comments
To see Ron's ACTUAL Army album:/a>

SECTION 1: September 1939 to April 1943


Sep 3, 1939
(03) Five Sons, all serving in H.M.Forces
(A2025028)
(04) Waiting to be called up (A2416268).
Oct 1, 1942 Bury St.Edmunds, Called up, aged 19 and Posted to 53rd Primary Training Wing
(05) Early Army Days,October 1942 (A2176616).

Nov '42 Whitby, Yorkshire;Posted to 52nd Anti Aircraft Driver Training Regiment,Royal Artillery to be trained as a Driver/Wireless Operator
(06) Training to be a Driver/Wireless Operator (A2065853).

Feb '43 Haltwhistle, Northumberland; Posted to 112th L.A.A. Regiment.
(07) Tip and Run Raiders, Hove 1943 (A4208816).

Mar'43 Hove, Sussex, then detached from the unit and posted to Congleton, Cheshire; Woolwich (Where the overseas draft REAYK assembled), London, Home for embarkation leave.

Apr'43 Liverpool, S.S.Frankonia, The ship that took us to North Africa. Algiers.
Posted to 49th Light Anti Aircraft Rgt. at Tunis
(08) Not my worst night, by any means (A1996860).
(09) Algiers, April 1943, Our first sight of Africa (A7050520).
Cap Matifou, Ghardimeau, Medjes El Bab, (Tunisia)

Return to top

Section 2: May 1943 to May 1945

May'43
(10) A Driver/Op in Light Ack Ack (A22077274).

June'43 Carthage, Guelma, Hammamet Boarded ship for the invasion of Sicily.
(76) Dining out in Guelma (A8594436)
(11) Sicily, then on to Italy (A2370674)

July'43 Syracuse, (Sicily), Bronte, Adrano, Messina.
(12) Lt.Whitfield's directing debut (A4268658)
(13) Lt.Whitfield and the butterfly spring (A4565423)
(14) A Postcard from Sicily, 3rd Sept 1943 (A6924170)

Sep'43 Reggio di Calabria, Invasion of Italy, Crotone, Bari, Foggia, Termoli.
(15) Dive bombing-A memory confirmed (A3232621)
Dec'43 Carovilla, Cantalupo, Agnone, Riccia, Campo Basso, Bagnolia.

Jan'44 New Years Day 1944
(16) Snowed in at Carovilli (A3443113)

Feb'44 Ortogna, Mignano, Cassino (The Regiment was responsible for smoke laying beneath the monastery), Caserta, Afragola, San Vittorio.
(17) Monte Cassino, March to May 1944 (A2293616).
See also 'Return to Cassino' (A4062386).
(18) Gunner Burnard and the Brigadier (A3757854).
Mar '44
(19) Two weeks in dock in Naples and not a wound to show for it (A2274761).

Apr'44 Vanairo, Vanafro, Ceprano, Lake Trasimeno, Rome.

June'44
(20) Day leave in Rome (A1941383).
Baschi, Tiber, Frosinino, Taranto. Pulled out of the line.
(21) The 78th Div goes to Egypt to re-fit and re-form (A2515475).
S.S.Empires Pride The ship that took us to Egypt to reform and re-equip.

Jul'44 Alexandria,(Egypt), Cairo, Ishmalia, Amiryah
(22) Day leave in Alexandria (A3060677).
S.S.Homer Lee The American ship that took us back to Italy
Augusta, (Sicily) Assisi (Italy), Vasto, Termoli, Sangro, Pescara, Scarperia, Florence, Firenzuolo.

Oct'44 Sienna, Tavernelle, Naples, Ancona.
Nov'44 Firenzuola
(23) Commandeering billets in Italy (A5370987).
Dec '44 Rieti Posted to Royal Armoured Corp Training Depot for re-training on tanks
(24) Transformation from Gunner to Trooper(A2601839).
(25) Collapsible Beds (A3326726).
The correct height of Tank Drivers and the use of KRRs (A5233727).

Mar'45 Posted to 4th Queen’s Own Hussars as Loader/Wireless Operator.
(26) Joining the 4th Queen's Own Hussars (A2310003).
Gubbio, Ravenna, Rocciano, Rimini.

Apr'45 Comacchio, Traversare, Ferrara, Lugo, Santerno, Reno.
(27) German Propaganda Leaflets (A2297333).
(77) More on German Propaganda (A7458636).
(69) The day my brother Mick nearly killed me (A2352647).
(28) Diary entries 11th April 1945 (A2017630).
(29) The day I should have died (A2513134).
(30) Charlie 4 is not answering my signals (A3142694).

May'45 Venice, Ferndorf,(Austria) (Set up a POW camp for SS Cavalry Division), Lienz, Spittal Paternion, Grafenstein, Trieben,Villach,
(31) The War ends in Italy, 2nd May 1945 (A2039113)
(32) VE Day, as seen from a field near Venice(A2324189)
(33) Keeping a Diary in Wartime (A2509021)
(34) Shows running in London during 1945 (A4904994)

Return to top

Section 3: June 1945 to June 1947

Jun'45
(35) Danke Herr Mix! (A2072350)

Jul'45 Velden, Klagenfurt,Salsburg,
(36) Life in wartime Austria (A2545517)
(37) Dale Carnegie's 'Pursuit of Happiness', courtesy of Stalag XVIII (A5894940)

Aug'45 Munich, Ulm ( Germany) (Running staging camp for troops going home on leave)
(38) Running a staging camp in Germany August 1945 , San Giorgio, (Italy)
(A2062513)
(75) The Beer Cellar in Munich
(A8594210)

Oct'45
(39) Trieste, October 1945 to January 1947
(A2166130)
(40) Riots in Trieste
(A2843868)
(41) Trieste had its funny moments
(A4578267)
(42) Sweating on being released
(A4640285)
(43) Civil Police during the unrest
(A6811931)

Nov'45 Udine, Milan, Brig, Calais, Folkestone,London, (First home leave since Apr’43)
(44) My Welcome Home
(A2072477)
Folkestone, Calais, Milan, (Italy) Palmanova, Trieste,

Jun'46 Milan, Calais, Folkestone, London, (My second home leave)
Trieste, (Italy) Monfalcone.
(45) Victory Celebrations, 8th June 1946 (A4768040).

Oct'46 Milan, Dieppe, Dover London, Dover, Dieppe, Trieste (Regimental re-union with the Colonel, Winston Churchill in attendance)
(46) Churchill and Ron enjoy a meal together (A4644128).
(47) Keeping Pets in the Forces (A5062475).
(48) Ration Allowance (A5686419).

Dec'46
(49) Our first Post-War New Year's Eve (A2633500).

Jan'47 Milan, Calais, Dieppe, London, Barnard Castle, York and finally DEMOB!
Mid '47
11th Apr'47 Released from the Army
(50) The Infamous Demob Suit (A5875095).

21st Jul'47 Demob leave ends, Transferred to Army Reserves having served 4 years 294 days.

Return to top

Section 4: While I still remember

A few more bits and pieces that do not fit neatly into the chronological time scale above and just written whilst I can still remember them or at the request of others.

53. Getting your Army Records


54. Army Transport


55. Stick it in your Army....Album!


56. 1939-1947 An'interesting' experience and fifteen minutes of fame


57. Getting the facts right


58. Keeping clean on Active Service


59. Ice cold...but NOT in Alex!


60. Return to Cassino


61. The Cambridge and Bethnal Green Boy's Club, the club that produced heroes


62. The St.Johns Ambulance Brigade in WW2


63. Commemoration Parade, July 10th 2005


64. Tribute to Eddie Patman


65. The correct height of Tank Drivers


66. Looking back to 1939 from the relative safety of 2005


67. What did you eat in the Great War Daddy?


68. An Army Convoy on the move in Italy


69. Ron Goldstein’s War – A month at a time


70. Sgt.Major Mick Goldstein


71. An unlikely Post War meeting


72. Letter to a Researcher in 2056


73. The last page in my Album


74. Sgt.Jack Goldstein


75. The photo in a serviceman's wallet


76. I'll never forget that day


77. The night our house was sliced in half

Return to top

Section 5

In addition to the articles listed above, it has been an honour to have posted various stories on the BBC site on behalf of Martin Sugarman, Archivist of AJEX (Association of Jewish Ex-Service Men and Women). These stories are listed below:

• Jack Nissenthall - The VC Hero who Never Was Part 1a (May 25, 2004)


• Jack Nissenthall- The VC Hero Who Never Was Part 1b (May 25, 2004)


• A Jewish Hero in the SOE Part 1


• A Jewish Hero in the SOE Part 2


• Two Jewish Heroines of the SOE Part 1 (May 23, 2004)


• Two Jewish Heroines of the SOE Part 2 (May 23, 2004)


• Two Jewish Heroines of the SOE Part 3 (May 23, 2004)


• Two Jewish Heroines of the SOE Part 4 (May 23, 2004)

Return to top

Section 6

Further to the above, I have occasionally been asked to submit articles for friends and aquaintances who do not own computers or are unsure as to how they can post a story.
These are also in the BBC Archives and are now listed below:

• A5911724 Evacuated to Stoke Hammond (Max Lea M.B.E)


• A5855880 Bernard Jaffa's Record of Service


• A5299428 Childhood (Sandra Eros)


• A4604384 Field Marshal Keitel's Surrender (Nathan Sterrie)


• A4343726 Jack Goulden and the Prayer Book


• A6095649 The Day a V2 Rocket hit Tottenham Grammar School (Dr.Harry Lamsden)


• A7838599 Henry Kay, Flying Instructor


• A8892598 "I'll never forget that day" by my sister Gertie Denenberg.


• A8959099 "The night our house was sliced in half", by she who must be obeyed, Nita Goldstein née Schneiderman.

Return to top

Section 7 Index of images

For those who's main interest is in the pictures themselves I give below an Index of Images. Nearly all these images have been taken from my Army Album.

1. A Map of my travels, courtesy of Ron Tee of 56 Recce Rgt


2. A montage of the five Goldstein boys in uniform.


3. Dad's factory in London, showing Dad, Jack, Lou and I.


4. A page from my AB64 Part 1 showing innoculations.


5. My first Army photo, taken at Whitby, aged 19.


6. Studio photo sent home from Egypt


7. No.19 wireless set, used in the LAA and the 4th QOH


8. Street photo taken in Bari, Sept'43


9. My old friend Larry and program of Passover service


10. Aero-gram sent home to Mick in England


11. My Army album, still around after 60 years


12. The Pyramids, I'm on the 2nd Camel from the right


13. Street photo in Rome, 21st June 1944


14. Pete Burns, myself and Ken Atkinson at Rieti


15. 'A' Sdrn. 4th QOH, Official Photo, Austria 1945


16. One of seven German Propaganda leaflets in my Album


17. Mick and I on AJEX parade, 1992


18. Me and my Bren Gun Carrier at Trieste


19. Four diary entries in April '45


20. On guard at our POW camp at Ferndorf


21. Myself and the Clock Tower in Venice


22. 4 more Diary entries for August '44


23. 1946 photos of my billets in Austria, plus German troops


24. Me and captured German Army vehicle


25. A page from my album showing Ulm Cathedral


26. Myself on a mine-sweeper in Trieste Harbour


27. Snapped on the train bringing me home from Austria


28. Army records showing 'charge' detail


29. Myself on a Norton Motor Bike


30. A montage, including currency and medals


31. The shooting booth at Monfalcone


32. Riots in Trieste


33. Nita and I on AJEX parade


34. Ron in his Demob Suit


35. Day pass to Florence


36. Bob Dunne and Ron in Alexandria


37. Propaganda leaflet when Roosevelt died


38. Group photo showing Larry and others


39. Ron at Rieti wearing American style Denims


40. Ron at Heliopolis swimming pool


41. Ron in rather dishevelled KDs


42. Ron returns to Cassino, the Cemetery


43. Mick and Donnie Carlton MM


44. Nita and Ron at Horse Guards


45. Nat, Sylvia and Alf (St.Johns)


46. Churchill and Ron at Regimental Reunion


47. Sgt.Atkinson and wellwishers


48. Ron at Goldoni Tunnel, Trieste


49. Page from Army Album on Victory Celebrations


50. Ron on AJEX Parade Nov 2004


51. Sketch of Bedford Wireless Truck


52. Ron and Eddie Patman in Venice


53. Shows running in London 1945


54. Queenie and Curly on the Half-Track


55. Postcard of City Gates at Rieti


56. 78 Div Flash (Battleaxe Div)


57. Chitty for 2 Day's Ration Allowance


58. Postcard of Hoentauern


59. Cyril, Ron and Lew, AJEX 2004


60. Ron on early morning walk


61. Route Card


62. Policeman in Trieste


63. Postcard from Messina,Sicily


64. Postcard of Algiers


65. Mick as Sgt in the Royal Fusiliers


66. Ron and Tom Canning


67. Ron ready for a BBC interview


68. German Propaganda Leaflet (Po)


69. Last page in my Album)


70. Trooper Tom Canning(Tom's own)


71. Dining Hall at Opicina


72. Alf White,Ted Hull and Ron


73. The Burger Brau Keller in Munich


74. Street scene in Guelma


75. Alf White, Ted Hull and Ron


76. Joe and Fanny Goldstein


77. Gertie Denenberg


78. Nita Goldstein (née Schneiderman)

Return to top

Section 8: A Tribute to Jack

My nephew Michael Goldstein C.B.E has posted various articles as a tribute to his father Jack Goldstein. These can be found on the BBC WW2 Peoples War Archives:

• Personal page of mg1939, A WW2 Child (U2883517)


• The traumas of evacuation


• A wartime letter from my father


• My only memory of my father


• Our first trip to the war grave cemetery in Durnbach, Germany


• The telegram: “Missing…”


• The night my father was killed in action


• Two fatherless children

End of Index, return to top

Waiting to be called up

Photo shows: Dad's factory at Gt.Eastern Street. Jack is wearing a tie, Dad is wearing an apron, I am fixing a machine and Lou is opposite me.

Looking at 'Ron's Grand Tour' I realised that I needed an intro to my Army Service, I hope the following meets this requirement.

I was born on the 16th of August 1923 in to what was a large family, even by London, East End standards.
Their were eleven children in the family and I was number 10.
Our family has written a book about those early years, purely for our own pleasure, entitled ‘And Then There Were Eleven’ but as this is a WW2 site I will confine myself only to excerpts from the book relating to the war years.
With war imminent, on September the 2nd l939 Dad managed to hire an open fish lorry to take Mum, my sister Debby and myself down to Hove to take over a flat vacated by older sister Esther, now married to Jack and living in Nottingham. With us on the lorry came another family, friends of Debby's. I remember vividly being actually in the sea when the first warning siren sounded, (a false alarm as it happened) and hurrying home to listen to the radio and the voice of Chamberlain telling us that war had been declared.

Within days of arriving in Brighton I was looking out for a job and decided that it was a good time to break away from the rag trade. I walked the length of the promenade and seeing no obvious signs of job vacancies, went instead to the local Labour Exchange and took the first job that was going for a sixteen-year-old. This turned out to be as a Junior Porter at the Queen's Hotel, live-in, and for about three months I saw another side of life that the East End had not prepared me for.

For seven and six pence per week (37p in today's money) plus all the tips I could make, I was on call from six in the morning until ten at night, six days per week. As a junior porter, or, as I was often referred to, as a page boy, I was at everyone's beck and call starting with the guests and continuing down until to the lowliest kitchen hand.

In the evening, when most of the waiters had finished their day's work, one of my jobs was to serve food to the management staff in their quarters. This was exactly the same as eaten by the guests and was collected by me from the kitchens according to their particular order.

I soon discovered from the other junior porters that one of their own particular perks was to "order" any course not requested by the management staff at the time of the meal and ferret the food away in their rooms. The food served to the "lower" staff was from a separate kitchen and was terrible, so the extra grub we could obtain in this manner kept us going during the long day, despite the fact that our dormitory feasts usually consisted of two cold soups, three compotes and cheese and biscuits!

Among the treasured recollections of my stay at the Queens was one day when I was taking a middle-aged and obviously Jewish couple in the lift to their room. They could have had no idea that I was Jewish and as we were approaching their room the husband fished around in his pocket for small change and found a shilling. The wife immediately said to him: "Yossell, darf me nisht geben zo fill!" which for the benefit of non-yiddish speaking readers translates as "Joe, you don't have to give him so much!" I was sorely tempted to butt in with: "Darf me Yor geben zo fill," or "indeed you do!" but I left them in their ignorance and forty seven years later still get joy from the memory.

When I had had enough of the hotel industry I took various other jobs in quick succession, including that of messenger boy for an off licence. This involved delivering beer and spirits all over the Hove area, and I would sometimes find myself riding a heavily loaded bike up as far as the Devil's Dyke, way up on the Sussex Downs. Alright when the weather was fine and the day was young, but when the weather was rough and the time was late it was certainly not a job for a this sensitive little East End boy, and therefore when Dad suggested I commute to London and get back to the "shmutter trade", I jumped at the chance.

After about six months or so in Hove, the bombing eased temporarily and Dad decided to move us back to London, to a house in Sandringham Road in the Dalston area. We stayed here until the blitz really hotted up again when prudence demanded another change of address; we moved first to Dunstable in Bedfordshire and then finally to the nearby village of Houghton Regis

For about a year we lived in a small house bang opposite the village pub and Dad and I commuted every day to the factory in Great Eastern Street in Shoreditch. If my memory serves me rightly, the routine to get to work and back was pretty horrendous by any standard.

We would rise about 5am, get the 6.l5 bus into Luton, a journey of six miles, then catch the 6.45 train to Kings Cross, changing at St Albans and arrive in London at about 7.45. From there it was a tube ride to Old Street station and finally a trolley bus ride to Great Eastern Street where we would arrive ready to start work at 8.l5 the latest.

Repeat this process to get home at night and you will get the message that travel in wartime was not much fun.

Dad would normally get in a carriage with his cronies and they would soon have a card school going, while I would equally try to get in a carriage with young people of my own age group.

We were all waiting to be called up into the Forces, and although I managed to keep pretty busy work-wise, apart from being an Air Raid Warden in the evenings, I eagerly awaited call-up to get out of the rat-race in which I found myself. Deliverance came on Thursday October lst, l942, when I received a summons to report to the Beds and Herts Infantry Training Regiment at Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk.

The night our house was sliced in half (as told by Nita)

Photo shows: Nita in 1939 as an evacuee

The time was 7.45 pm on the 9th of October 1940 and Hitler had evidently decided it was important to his war aims that our lovely Victorian house in Dunsmure Road should be destroyed that night.

Dunsmure Road was a quiet residential turning in North London and we had lived there for the past ten years.

My family consisted of my mother Kate, my brother Gerry and myself, Nita Schneiderman, as I was then known.

The evening had started just like many of the other nights we had experienced since the Blitz started on September the 7th.

We had just finished our evening meal and had not yet gone out to the safety of our Anderson Shelter that was situated in the garden. I can’t actually remember hearing the sound of the bomb that was to completely alter our lives.

My first recollection was finding myself in complete darkness, covered in dust and debris and that the window of the morning room in which we were sitting had been completely blown into the room and was actually resting on the table at which we had been sitting.
This window had been put in by my late father when we first moved into the house in order to create extra light and it is ironic that because of its presence we were eventually able to make our escape from the ruined house.

When I first recovered my wits, I saw my brother moving around and then the three of us managed to clamber out of the window into the garden. From there we went down the few steps into the cellar and then eventually through another door that gave us access to the front of the house.

By this time the Air Raid Wardens had arrived on the scene and helped us to climb over the debris that was in front of the house.
I particularly remember that one of them took my hand and asked me if I was OK and when I said that I was, he squeezed my hand in reassurance. Sixty five years after the event I cannot think of this moment without a lump coming into my throat. Analysing my emotions I suppose that it was at this actual point in our rescue that I realised we had managed to survive this dreadful experience.

The rescue squad took us to an Air Raid Shelter at the nearby flats of Cambridge Court where there was a First Aid Post.
Here we received treatment for our various cuts, caused mainly by the flying glass. I remember that my arms in particular were badly cut as I had automatically put my arms over my head to protect myself from further injury.

The following day we went back to our house to see what, if anything, remained.

We discovered that the house appeared to have received the first impact of the bomb which had sliced it diagonally and destroyed the upper floors. It had then moved on to our neighbours house which was also badly damaged and finally moved on to a third house which it completely flattened.

This last house was home to a family who had always been very nervous about remaining in their house after the air raid warning had sounded.
They had all been in their Anderson Shelter when the bomb hit and all had survived.

By sheer good luck there were no fatalities or serious injuries caused by ‘our’ bomb.

A few days later, the demolition squad called and were able to salvage some of our belongings and I can still remember the sight of our few precious posessions standing in a heap by the roadside, in the rain, where they were to remain for the next few days whilst arrangements were made to put them into store.

It is heartening to remember today that despite those terrible times, none of our belongings were stolen or vandalised.

I'll never forget that day (as told by Gertie)

Photo shows: Gertie Denenberg

It was early in April 1945. Our enemies had been defeated. Thank God the War was drawing to a close.
During those momentous years my large close family of siblings had been scattered, each of them living out their own wartime drama.
All five brothers, and five brothers-in-law, including my husband, had fought in the Forces overseas, and all had mercifully come through, although not entirely unscathed.
On that day I’ll never forget, I travelled up to London by train to meet my father for lunch, something we tried to do now and again, however difficult it was in those uncertain times. I noticed at once that he looked pale and ill, not at all his robust self.

To my horror he began to shake; his whole body shook, his face, his hands trembled.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he told me in a broken voice that my beloved older brother Jack, 33 year old Sgt. Air Gunner had been shot down three weeks earlier in what proved to be the last raid of the War over Germany, and posted as “Missing, believed killed”. I asked shakily: “Mum, does she know?” And my poor father faltered, a broken man, “I can’t tell her – I think she guesses, but I can’t bring myself to tell her”.
I had no words with which to comfort him, and I had to return home to my little girl, my mind in turmoil.
Dazed with shock, I was torn with pity for Jack’s young wife. Left with two children, a girl of ten and a boy of five. I found myself wandering the streets near Liverpool Street Station, reliving in my thoughts all the pain and hardship of my own wartime experiences. The bombing, the recent tragic loss of my baby son, my husband’s wounding in Normandy, and now, at this eleventh hour, when we thought all our dear ones had survived, to be dealt this terrible blow!
We had all felt, as a family that our partings and privations had been for a worthwhile cause – now I asked myself, had it all been for nothing?
And then, at that moment, like a miracle, I saw him, my brother Jack, across the street. How wonderful, it had all been some terrible mistake – he was alive – I was so happy as I raced across the road to tug at the sleeve of the slim young man in air-force blue. I looked up into his face, laughing in my joy – and it wasn’t him – it wasn’t his face!
Embarrassed, heartbroken, confused, I stammered out my excuses. I was to suffer these fantasies for a long time, seeing my brother in every young man in uniform, having to stop myself running up to them.
Until the Red Cross located his grave, and we knew for sure that he was dead, shot at while parachuting down from his burning plane.
Jack lies buried in a War Cemetery near Durnbach, where after the War our family members said 'Kadish', the memorial prayer, over his grave, with its Shield of David on the headstone.

I end this story on a happier note.

Last month in the 1997 Queen’s Birthday Honours List, Jack’s son, that fatherless little boy, Dr Michael Goldstein, now risen to the high rank in life of Vice Chancellor of Coventry University, was awarded the C.B.E. for his services to the Higher Education. Michael is a great, yet modest man, His sister Leila is a dedicated social worker who cares lovingly for her now ailing mother.
Jack – your sacrifice was not in vain. You did not grow old as we who are left grow old, but your noble spirit lives on in the lives of your children.
This is my tribute to your memory.

Gertie Denenberg

The photo in a serviceman's wallet

Photo shows: Joe and Fanny Goldstein

Like many another serviceman overseas I carried with me the odd photo from home.
One such photo, that of my parents, was transferred from pocket to pocket, small pack to small pack, kitbag to kitbag wherever I travelled and surprisingly managed to survive the war.

It would be churlish of me not to post a photo of my parents on this site after having posted so many other articles about myself, so here I am, trying to make amends.

To accompany the photo I’d like to tell you two small stories about my parents that will, I hope, give you a little insight into their characters.

Firstly, my mother, Fanny or Faigele, as she was known to Joe, my father.

In November 1945 I had my first home leave since March 1943.

As a temporary ‘tenant’ at my parent’s home in North London I found myself sleeping on a couch in the front room, no problem for me since I had been sleeping ‘rough’ for the past three years.

In the early hours of the morning I was un-intentionally woken by my mother who had just entered the room. When I asked her what the problem was she replied “I was just bringing in an extra blanket to cover your head because I thought there might be a draught coming from the window!

At the time and even now, some sixty odd years later, I laughed as I thought to myself “G-D, its just as well she never saw some of the places in which I’ve been sleeping!

My other story concerns the same period of twenty-eight day’s leave.

My Dad was very proud of his soldier son and wanted to take me around to show to his cronies. One of his regular weekly haunts was a local Solo Whist Drive where the prizes were quite substantial, about £50 pounds if I remember rightly.

When we entered the hall he introduced me to all and sundry as one of General Montgomery’s veterans and mentioned that it was the first of such competitions that I had ever attended.

I won’t say that his friends deliberately played badly against me…. let us just say that a combination of beginner’s luck and civilian good-will resulted in my winning the top prize and my father was ecstatic.

The following Friday he was shocked to the core when I apologetically declined his offer to take me to the same place again. I was never a gambler whereas my Dad was, like many of his generation, the eternal punter and he shook his head in bewilderment at my inability to sense when I was on a winning streak.

My parents had five sons serving in the Forces and were ultimately to suffer the grievous loss of one of their boys.

They are both long gone but I hold their name in utter reverence and it is an honour to be able pay tribute to them in this WW2 Archive.

More on German Propaganda leaflets

Photo shows: German leaflet warning us about the perils of attempting to cross the River Po

Every time I promise myself that I've finished putting any more stories on this site another veteran posts something that I simply have to answer. This time it was to do with the River Po and I was reminded that the Germans decided to apply a little mind bending by shelling this leaflet over our lines.
The front of the leaflet graphically depicts British troops being shelled as they cross the river, the back of the leaflet includes some of the text I now give below.

ONE MORE RIVER

But it isn’t only “one more river”, this time it is THE river !

IT IS THE MIGHTY PO !

Do you remember the hells of the rivers Sangro, Rapido, Liri, Volturmo and Garigliano? Do you remember the lives that were sacrificed in crossing these rivers?

Put those rivers all together and the result will be smaller than the

PO!

“PO” means death and suffering
“POW” means security and comfort

Think it over, only
Fools rush in

Dining out in Guelma, North Africa 1943

Photo shows: Postcard of a street scene in Guelma, North Africa

In June 1943 my unit, the 49th LAA Rgt, was stationed near Guelma in North Africa.

A few of us went into 'town' for a drink and a meal and after finishing up in a particular grotty cafe we asked for the menu.

The waiter replied 'No menu, but would you like our speciality?'

After the meal one of the lads said to me 'Find out what that dish was called so that we can ask for it again another time'.

I summoned up my best schoolboy French and was told that we had just eaten 'serpent', which I would remind you translates as snake.

It was quite nice, actually !

Sgt.Jack Goldstein, RAF Bomber Command

Photo shows: Alf White, Ted Hull and Ron Goldstein at 166 Squadron reunion on 1st September 1996

My nephew, Michael Goldstein C.B.E., has, quite properly and very emotionally paid tribute to his late father in various articles on this site.

I thought that the above photograph might be of interest to readers of those stories and in particular the story “The night my father was killed in action”
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/ww2/A8452190 because it shows Alf White, Ted Hull and myself at a 166 Squadron reunion on the 1st of September 1996.

I had gone up to Kirmington to carry out further research into Jack’s death and to make a tape recording of Ted Hull’s memories of those fateful times.

Since that reunion Ted Hull has sadly passed away and I would like to place on record what an honour it was to have met this lovely and courageous man and to have shared his memories.

The last page in my Army Album

Photo shows: This is PART of the last page in my Album. It originally included a delightful cartoon of "Jon's" Two Types but the Moderators were not happy about the copyright, so, no JON I'm afraid !

I know I’ve said it before, but this REALLY is my last posting.

Naturally, it had to be about my old stand-by, my Army Album and the photo to head it simply had to be a picture of the last page in the aforesaid Album..

The Album itself has started to get a bit tatty, has already been rebound once, and it’s just as well that I’ve been able to get most of its contents onto this site.

Having said that, there’s still a lot of stuff that I never got around to putting into the public domain and so, just for the fun of it, I decided to list what’s left.

1.Postcards of Rome, Rimini, Bari, Florence, Sienna, Venice, Trieste and even Guelma in North Africa where I got to eat snake (too late to write about this!)

2. Restaurant bills, sundry maps, a letter from Austria sent to me some three years after the war.

3. Song sheet bought for the equivalent of one new penny in the streets of Trieste.

4. Sundry photos of all sizes showing many friends last seen more than sixty two years ago

5.Theatre bill of a show held in the NAAFI canteen in Rome

6. Newspaper cuttings, YMCA leaflet showing tours available in wartime Cairo

7. Sketches of no artistic value but still capable of forever provoking my memory.

8. A thank-you letter from the Imperial War Museum when I paid them a visit after they had a disastrous fire and were looking for German propaganda leaflets to replace those that had been lost in the blaze.

9. Lots of pages from my remaining diaries.

All in all a fascinating rag-bag of irreplaceable memorabilia and one item that is never going to end up on E-Bay, or am I tempting providence?

Hoping that my many odd (very odd) articles have given some pleasure along the way

Cheerio, Au Revoir, Arriverderci and Auf Wiedersehn

Ron Goldstein

Sometime Gunner, Trooper and finally Corporal Goldstein R. 14300260 4th Queen’s Own Hussars.

A letter to an unknown researcher of the year 2056

Photo shows: Ron in March 2005 ready for a BBC TV interview

Dear Researcher

The BBC WW2 Peoples War website was set up in 2003 to gather in stories of servicemen and civilians who had taken part in what was generally known as World War II.

Late in 2005 it was announced that the site, at least in its present format, was to close for future submissions on the 31st January 2006 and would re-open at a later date as a permanent ‘sealed’ archive.

The BBC have promised that this site will become a ‘permanent’ archive.

With that in mind I am being reasonably optimistic in hoping that it will still be available in 2056 and that is why I have addressed this article to a researcher of that date.

As an eighty-two year old ex-serviceman who came across the site shortly after it opened in 2003 and who had posted about 80 odd articles (some would say very odd!) I felt it incumbent on myself to leave a message for future readers of the ‘new’ archives.

The first thing I would expect my reader to notice is that the postings on this site are a bit of a mish-mash (if such a term is still understandable to my future reader) as the articles run the gamut from “This is what I experienced, backed by my diaries” to “This is something my Grannie told me” .

The ages of those who have posted run from “I joined up in 1939 at the age of 21” to “I was born after the war ”.

Some articles are ‘tribute stories’, where a grateful grandchild writes about a grandfather he or she never knew

Some of the older contributors (including myself) have crossed swords with the controllers of the site because we felt that some articles were, to put it politely, risibly inaccurate. The Organisers in turn have told us in no uncertain terms that the individual posters were responsible for their own stories and that there was even merit in what was referred to by the organisers as “perceived memories”.

In an effort to keep the record straight I would urge future readers and in particular researchers to take nothing that has been written on this site as being factually correct unless it has been confirmed by other research sources. I would also urge future researchers to read any threads that have been added to the stories as these have been, in the main, added by those who were concerned for factual accuracy.

Having stated my case, and with that proviso safely out of the way, may I now praise the site and its organisers.

There are some wonderful stories here.

People have given freely and generously of their memories and have created an amazing patchwork picture of life during the most catastrophic of times.

Despite the difficulty of their task, the organisers have kept the ball rolling and have not allowed petty bickering to distract them from their main task which was always to offer help to prospective contributors, gather their stories and to analyse and categorise them.

I have no idea what innovations will be available to you folk in 2056 but judging by the progress I have seen within my own lifetime I envy you.

Make good use of this site, a lot has been put into it and as you do, spare a thought for those of us who have placed our stories on this site so that the future generations would know about who we were and what we did during World War II.


Ron Goldstein

Ex 49th Light Ack Ack and 4th Queen’s Own Hussars.

An unlikely Post War meeting

Photo shows: Tom and Ron finally get to meet

I thought the Peoples War readers might be interested to know about an unlikely meeting of two WW2 ‘vets’. Tom Canning , born Cowdenbeath, Fife, Scotland 1924 (U519668) and Ron Goldstein , born Bethnal Green, London, England 1923 (U520216) Were it not for WW2, we two completely diverse characters are hardly likely ever to have met and yet through the channels of the BBC Peoples War this unlikely event took place in London on the 7th October 2004 on the occasion of Tom visiting the UK from Canada, where he is now lives in retirement with Veronica. For the past year, on this website, both Tom and I have been bantering with each other about military matters and in the process have established a remarkable set of coincidences in our respective WW2 service. Despite the fact that we both served in different Regiments and never (to the best of our knowledge) ever actually met during wartime we equally seem to have been in lots of the same places at the same time (see below).
1. Bury St.Edmunds, Infantry Training Rgt. Oct. 1942
2. Troopship S.S.Franconia en route to North Africa Apr 1943
3. Transit Camp Matifou outside Algiers
4. Caserta, Cassino Feb 1944
5. Rieti, Armoured Corps Training Camp Nov 1944
6. Villach, Austria Aug 1945
7. Barnard Castle, Transit camp Jan 1947
8. York , Demob Centre Mar 1947

Nice meeting up with you Tom !

Best wishes Ron

Sgt.Major Mick Goldstein, Royal Fusiliers and the Jewish Brigade

Photo shows: Mick as a Sgt. in the 22nd Battion Royal Fusiliers

Foreword by Ron Goldstein

In 1988 the Goldstein’s of Boreham Street decided to write a family history entitled “And Then There Were Eleven”. Under the direction of Esther, the oldest surviving child, this duly came to fruition.

The title of the book referred to the fact that there were eleven children in the family and eight of them contributed their own memories to this saga of family life.

One of the boys was Mick, who sadly passed away today, Saturday the 19th of November 2005.

As a tribute to his valiant service to both his country of birth and his Jewish faith I give below the section of his story that dealt with his military career.

Mick’s Story:

In the early months of the war I was called up to the forces.

I joined the 22nd Battalion, Royal Fusiliers in Kirkintilloch, Scotland, and spent the next four years serving all over England, Wales and Northern Ireland, most of this time as Sergeant Instructor; first as an infantry-man, and when the War Office needed more anti-tank units, I took courses on the 2-pounder, 6-pounder and eventually l7-pounder guns. I was selected to work with a Colonel Vaudrey, with whom I devised a miniature range with moving miniature tanks and a specially calibrated .22 rifle fitted on the 2-pounder gun, to simulate battle conditions.

When, frustrated at what I felt to be my relative inactivity in the fight against Fascism, I heard of the formation of the Jewish Brigade and volunteered to join it, I received a letter from this very fine man at H/O, 7O A/Tk, from which I quote: "Dear Goldstein, I was so sorry to have missed being able to say goodbye to you and to thank you for the excellent work you have done in this regiment. I appreciate only too well the difficulty of training these intakes. It is a soul-destroying job after a time, but you kept up to it. I would like to wish you every good luck not only personally, but on behalf of the Regiment. Yours very sincerely, K. Vaudrey."

Motivated by strong Zionist tendencies and my desire to be more involved in the fighting, I arrived in Naples on January l3th, l945, and after eight days in Eboli I joined the Jewish Field Regiment at St Bartolemeo, leaving there on my birthday, l5th March, for a regimental hide about lO kilometres from the front. The non-Jewish English personnel had been told that the original l65 Field Regiment which the Jewish Field Regiment was replacing was in any case to be disbanded, but they apparently still resented what they considered was our intrusion. It was the worst possible way to form a regiment of this sort, and bound to create ill-feeling; indeed it boiled over into antisemitic acts, such as the burning of our regimental flag by non-Jewish staff. As bad as that was, however, we were to experience even worse later on from the Poles; when fighting alongside them, they cut our lines of communication to the Observation Post!

Our Regiment was to be part of the Jewish Brigade, which consisted of three battalions of excellent infantry, all Palestinians. Israel was not yet created, and it is ironic to recall that all residents of Palestine, Jews, Moslems and Christians, were then called Palestinians - they had already been in action and fought superbly. We were in bivouacs near a dirty Italian farmhouse, close by some Polish troops, near Forli. Major Rosenberg commanded the battery and the troop captain was Capt. Henriques. Edmunds de Rothschild was a major in the unit, and a fellow-sergeant was Mike Evanari, professor of botany and later vice-president of the Hebrew University, to whom the men would bring flowers and botanical specimens from the surrounding countryside for identification.

My sub-section consisted of Bombardier Uri, a grand, bespectacled dark-haired boy from Germany; Lance-Bombardier Weihrach, a tall, smiling blond lad from Vienna; Judah Weinberg, whose family perished in concentration camps in Germany; Mattius Bedrooms, a hard-working chatterbox from Poland, the sub's "old man," about 36 years old; also Blondie Bernstein from Poland, who had just had his first combat crop, and our non-Jewish English driver, Langley, a friendly lad.

It was wonderful to receive letters and parcels from home. While still in England, I had been visiting my Goldstein cousins in Hackney Road when on leave, and my friendship with Sylvia had developed into a romance. Her letters meant a great deal to me, but I found it particularly amusing when she sent me an Italian dictionary to help along my command of that language, at the very time when I was struggling to learn Sephardi Hebrew - my pronunciation was Ashkenazi, but to converse with my gun crew I needed to speak fluently in the Sephardi pronunciation.

In March l945, while we were fighting in Italy with the Eighth Army, our brigade celebrated Passover, and the Army Commander Jewish Brigade, Brigadier Benjamin, sent greetings - "From the Brigade HQ now in the lines of the 8th Army on the Italian front, to all Jewry. As in the times of Pharaoh, our people show their strong will for freedom and liberty and their readiness to fight for it together with the soldiers of other freedom-loving people. Let the Jewish people know that the soldiers of the Brigade are standing well in the trial of battle, and their spirit is unconquerable. I am confident that their efforts and sacrifices will bring honour to our people. To no other soldier is there more justification to be here in the Front against the Nazi enemy than to the soldiers of this Brigade...Pray God that this Passover may bring the dawn of freedom and liberty to Israel and all humanity."

There were inevitable mishaps in providing Passover provisions - the matzot failed to arrive in time for the Seder Service, which was kibbutz style, but they did turn up next day with the rations - together with the bacon! Another time they arrived with hot cross buns! We had a welcome respite from action when Moshe Shertok came to speak to us for the Jewish Agency, and another highlight was entertainment by Hannah Rovina, the star artist of the Habima Theatre, a beautiful woman whose performance thrilled me.

My diary of the war in Italy has been carefully preserved, from which I quote now some of my notes: "A duty in town (Faenza) brought strange contrasts, women in furs and others in rags, modern limousines and oxen-drawn farm carts, well shod children and bare-footed urchins. We passed both a British and German war cemetery, rows on rows of neat white crosses like a regiment on parade. War has ravaged and scarred this country, whole villages are rubble, and no bomb damage I have ever seen can equal the devastation caused by deadly shelling. The letters D.D.T. painted in black on the walls of almost every house puzzled me until one of the lads explained it was the name of a de-lousing process and signified they'd all been disinfected. Every now and then we'd pass a notice 'Out of Bounds' or 'Malaria, no camping, next site l5 miles on'.

"Despite the rain, the roads were terribly dusty, and I dread the prospect of a summer campaign over these roads. The NAAFI was well up to the standard of the previous one, and we stood on the balcony like Il Duce and surveyed the motley throng. Multi-coloured uniforms were in abundance, since clothes are so scarce nearly all the men have retained their Italian uniforms, and the Carabinieri (police) look like ruddy generals.

"The majority of the traffic to town, apart from military, was horse-drawn; jigs and carts, horses and donkeys in the main being in their last stages. What buildings there are left are gaily coloured pastel shades, and here and there elaborately painted with galleons etc. In town everyone seems to have cash, but even this is pretty valueless since most commodities are unobtainable. It is for this reason that one of the most heinous crimes is to sell cigarettes etc to civilians.

"Looking at the terrain one marvels how we ever captured it, and since they say it gets worse and worse going up to the front, the present lull is understandable, particularly since they're reputed to be in five inches of snow. The women work hard to keep clean, and one can see them scrubbing clothes in the most primitive way, down at mountain streams, and lines of washing, mostly ragged, hanging from the inevitable balcony.

"March 27th. We moved up at 9.45, route Faenza, the Sword Route about lO kilos to Brisighella. In action by lpm behind the Senio at Brisighella, a Bailey Bridge over a small river on our left and hills all round, with the main road to the front in our rear. Wonderful to see so much of the Magen David, Infantry, Royal Engineers, Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, Ordnance, etc. We were very lucky, found our gun pits, slit trenches etc., dug for us, and even ammunition on site.

"Saw the Ghurkas, mostly youngsters, though they have a wonderful reputation as soldiers. BBC announced the Brigade had been in action. Had sent home a copy of the 'Eighth Army News' giving a good write-up to the Brigade._"April 9th - D-Day. After Orders of the Day from Gen. Mark Clark, Alexander and McKeery, we've had the dope from Henriques. THE PLAN - Poles start at approx. l4.OO, we create diversion with Italians, our infantry to cross Senio.

"April lOth. We commenced firing again at 4.2Oam. Zero hour 4.3O. Worried about my brother Ron who's also in the region with the Eighth Army. All five boys of our family in the services.

"April l2th. We move to point North East this side of Senio. News from home, my brother Jack, an Air Gunner with R.A.F., is missing from a flight over Nurenberg.

"The action in Italy cost the Jewish Brigade 3O lives. 7O men were wounded, 2l military distinctions were awarded and 78 men were mentioned in despatches. On Wednesday, May 2nd, l945, the war in Italy ended. The Jewish Brigade's expertise and personnel became important elements in the establishment of the Israel Defence Forces."

On Wednesday, May 2nd, l945, the war in Italy ended, by which time we were already in Klagenfurt, Austria. There the Brigade commenced its unofficial role of assisting displaced personnel and concentration camp victims. The British members were in many instances withdrawn, and after leave in England, a very welcome break, I was sent out to India as Battery Sergeant Major Instructor of Gunnery, in which position I remained until the war ended in the Far East. I was posted to Deolali and instructed officer cadets in 25-pounder Field Gunnery, needing all the gunners we could get as we were still at war with Japan.

India was a fascinating country, a mixture of wealth and extreme poverty, and the scenery was breathtaking. Contact was made with the Bombay Jewish community, among whom I was fortunate to make good friends, and I spent a memorable Seder Night at the Malabar Hill home of a Jewish tea planter. It was a veritable Arabian Night's dream in its opulence of gold, silver, ivory and ebony, with red-sashed bearers waiting on us at each end of the table, and punkah wallahs pulling ropes that wafted fans above us as we ate.

By sharp contrast to our opulent Seder in the Malabar hills, we saw the other side of life in Byculla, the Jewish slum quarter, a mixture of East End of London alley and Naples cul-de-sac, with all the smells, noises and garbage, and a cosmopolitan population of Muslims, Hindus, poor-Whites, Chinese, Portugese, B'nai Yisraeli, Iraqui Jews and refugees of every conceivable nationality.

The synagogue was built like a church, with the Jewish school beside it. There we found an amazing B'nai Yisraeli schoolmaster rehearsing a Leslie Henson farce with teenagers - he was almost black with white hair, genial and learned. He believed these coloured Jews had been resident in India for some thousands of years; their Hebrew was Sephardi and they were extremely orthodox, but since they had been in India before the destruction of the Second Temple, they had no knowledge of the festivals of Chanukah or Purim, nor of the name Yehudi - Jews.

In the courtyard at the rear of the synagogue we saw an incredible sight - a community of some three hundred Afghan Jews who had trekked thousands of miles from Afghanistan to escape a massacre, housed in abject poverty in ramshackle basketwork structures about the size of cycle sheds. All were haggard and dispirited, under- nourished and in rags; and emaciated, dishevelled children covered with sores crowded round us; since it was Passover they were living mainly on rice and matzos. I spoke in Hebrew to a bearded patriarch in a caftan and he told me of their desire to escape from their horror and misery to Palestine. We returned to army quarters and organised a collection amongst the lads, and with the lOO rupees raised we went back to the refugees loaded with fruit and eggs - it was hard to restrain tears at the sight of their faces when they saw the food. Fearful of the coming monsoons, I approached the Chaplain about food and accommodation for them, and was told the situation was delicate, as they were supposed to be passing through the area and might be sent back to Afghanistan if attention were drawn to them. Food was being provided, and their plight had been mentioned to Sydney Silverman, the Jewish M.P. when he was in Bombay, but their chance of visas for Palestine was very remote. I often wonder what happened to these tragic people.

During our stay in India there was political turmoil, too, since the Indians were fighting for independence - but fortunately I was not involved in that particular fight. The Atom Bomb was dropped on Japan while I was at Deolali, which led to the surrender of Japan and the final cessation of World War II. When at last I was demobbed in l946, I received the magnificent sum of £64 Gratuity, £4O Post-War Credits, £36 for 67 days' leave pay and £lO Ration Allowance! With this total of £l5O when I married my darling Sylvia on 6th November l946, we started our married life together, over forty years blessed with happiness, with two wonderful daughters Naomi and Susie, whose husbands Maurice and Uri and our beloved grandchildren David, Danny and Gaby have enriched our lives.

An Army Convoy on the move in Italy

Photo shows: Route Card that I forgot to hand in !

Any one who had the pleasure of serving in the Army in wartime will have had the experience of driving or travelling in convoy.
Starting time was usually 'first light' or at nightfall and the convoy itself might have been only a small one of twenty odd vehicles or a massive one of a Brigade on the move.

Orders concerning the order of march ("You will be number 3 in the convoy, following the 2nd I/C") would be issued the evening before the move and, if you were lucky, you would be given a 'Route Card' as shown above.

The first vehicle in the convoy would start off at no more than five miles per hour until one of the Dispatch Riders (who would be acting as liason to the O/C) reported that the last vehicle had actually moved off and the speed of the convoy could be increased.

Invariably wireless silence would be maintained so as not to give the enemy information concerning troop movements.

What did you eat in the war, Daddy?

Photo shows: The Dining Hall at Opicina, optional dining outside when weather permitted

I don’t remember either of my two daughters ever asking me that particular question, but this thread is about food, Army, WW2 style, and is penned while I can still remember it.

No.1 in the category of ‘Food not to die for’ must surely go to Soya Links. These were regularly part of our field rations in Italy and consisted of about nine, 1”x 6” rectangular monsters packed in brine. You had to shake the can vigorously to dislodge them and then they would fall out with a most disgusting plop. I presume that someone must have thought that they tasted like meat but I was never to meet the gentleman concerned.

No.2 in the same category was Bully Beef. If one had the time to cook and spice it properly, then, and only then, it could be made palatable. In most cases we ate it cold from the tin, complete with its congealed fat. Having said that, I once really enjoyed it, see my story ‘Not my worst night, by any means’ (A1996860)

No.3 was M and V or Meat and Veg. I used to think that this was the best of the bunch until we changed coasts to join the Yanks. Our rations then changed dramatically for the better and we were to learn the delights of Spam, tasty Meat and Veg, Rice Pudding and even tinned Fruit Cocktail.

Porridge, a staple breakfast meal, was by tradition always made by the last man on guard, the one doing the 6am to 8am shift and so its quality used to vary from solid salty cement to ambrosia of the gods (that was when I made it)

Cooks used to make all the difference, of course, and I soon tumbled that the Battery cooks were never in the same league as the RHQ cooks and it would appear that COs guarded the chefs with their lives and never allowed them to be subjected to the risks that we other mortal faced.

Finally, when I switched Regiments from Light Ack to the Armoured Corps I found myself acting as cook for two tanks (in addition to my normal wireless op duties). Here I had a chance to cook right from scratch even to meat issued in bulk. I used to carve the meat into manageable chunks, quick fry the chunks using cordite for fuel and then hang the meat in a bucket of salt water from the back of the tank. Later, when we had stopped moving for at least a day I would slice the meat and re-fry it until edible.

I don’t remember anyone ever dying of food poisoning.

What other food have I forgotten and What did you eat in WW2, Daddy?

Looking back to 1939 from the relative safety of 2005

Photo shows: "We Will Remember Them", Cyril Sherbourne, Ron Goldstein and Lew (Larry) Fox on parade with AJEX 2004

In 2003, at the age of 80, I started to post stories and pictures on this site.

I began my meanderings from the year 1939 and kept going until I reached 1947, which was when the Government of the time decided it was safe to release me back to 'Civvy Street'.

I deliberately omitted stories about the blitz although I had more than my fair share of this phenomena, having sensibly considered that many civilians would have a lot to say on this subject and how right I was proven to be.

When it came to subject matter I was luckier than most, perhaps, because my stories were already half written as both entries in my wartime diaries and pages in the family book “And then there were eleven”.

Then there was my Army Album, a full ninety pages here, and already packed full of photographs and memorabilia.

As my ‘portfolio’ of stories started to take form I realised that I was, in effect, transferring my Army Album into the Public Domain and I became eager to finish it while I still had the energy and, much later, before the site stopped taking new entries and became the Archive that it both threatened and promised to be.

I tried desperately to write only of matters that I could put my hand on my heart as being true and I therefore kept dialogue to the minimum. With dates and places, this was fairly easy, particularly as apart from my own diaries I had access to the Regimental Histories of both the 49th LAA Rgt and the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars.

Having said that, I found that in some cases I could remember every word of an incident that had taken place over sixty years earlier just as though it had been burned into my memory.

As I read other stories on the site I found myself becoming increasingly impatient with tales of daring-do that were patently, to be kind, a bit shaky on established fact.

As a ‘Site Helper’ I tried to avoid controversy when it came to reminding people about such factual slip-ups as saying, for example, that the Queen of Tonga took part in the 1946 Victory Parade celebrations.

I won some such arguments, I lost some, as Archive Day draws ever closer I am resigned to the fact that many of the stories that will be preserved will paint a less than accurate picture of life in World War II.

This small piece should, with a bit of luck, be the last piece I shall submit to the “Pre-Archive” site. I am aware that I have sometimes over-stepped the boundary of valid criticism as opposed to legitimate comment and for this I beg my reader’s pardon.

Like many other writers to this site, I have read some wonderful stories and made many new friends. When the stories have been good they have been very good and I encourage future readers to browse around. You will soon see that the gold shines through the dross.

Cockfosters
2nd October 2005

The correct height of Tank Drivers and the use of KRRs

Photo shows: The City Gates, RAC Training Depot at Rieti

In October 1942, when I was first called up, I was asked if there was any particular branch of the Army that I would like to join.

In those heady days of patriotic zeal I rather fancied myself as a dashing young Tank driver so I put down the Armoured Corps as my first choice.

It was politely put to me that at my then height of 5'6" I simply wasn't tall enough to operate the foot controls. With bad grace I settled for the Royal Artillery.

In December 1944 when my Light Ack Ack Regiment was being 'broken up for spares', as someone so neatly put it, my legs had miraculously become long enough to do anything that the Army required of me and I soon found myself at Rieti learning to drive Sherman Tanks!

This bears out the lovely story told about the use of KRRs (Kings Rules and Regulations).

The story goes that, using KRRs, the Army can do ANYTHING it likes to you, except give you a baby.

This was later ammended to say that, using KRR's the Army CAN give you a baby, but it can't make you love it!

A tribute to Edward Arthur Patman, known as 'Pat'

Photo shows: Eddie and Ron by the Ponte Rialto in Venice

I first met Eddie in May 1945, just as the war in Italy came to a close.
He was a newcomer to A Sdrn. (my Sqdrn. in the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars) having recently transferred from C Sqdrn, but we were kindred spirits and immediately became good friends.
My diary for May 7th says:

Monday 7th. May 1945
No sleep but straight on to leave in Venice. Tour of the Grand Canal on gondola. St.Marco, Ponte Rialto and the whole works. With Derek and Pat (Eddie Patman)

Before the war Eddie was involved in the Cinema business, working as a journalist for the trade magazine ‘Cinema’.
His parents were living at the time in North Harrow (his father ran an Off-Licence there) and they literally lived over the shop. I can remember visiting there whilst on my first home leave in 1946.

We visited Venice together on May 7th 1945 (see photo) and generally hung around together in the evenings.

I got out of the forces earlier than he did, but we stayed in touch and he came to my wedding to Nita in July 1949. He also attended the wedding of my youngest daughter Ruth in 1981.
After the war he worked for MGM for quite a while and then gradually rose through the ranks until he held the top PR job for the FOX cinema company, with the job title of Sales Director for the UK.
After that we met up at least once a year and usually took it in turns to visit each other’s homes.

We went to Eddie’s housewarming party in Whiteleaf, near Princes Risboro and also to a party that he threw to celebrate his retirement when he was around 60. It was at this party that an incident occurred that caused me much embarrassment/amusement at the time.
Present at the party were all the top names in the cinema world and Eddie’s father was given the job of taking me round to meet the other guests.
To my horror he introduced me in the following manner:
“This young man is Ron Goldstein, ex of the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars and it was he who was responsible for pulling Eddie out of his burning tank during the war and saving his life!”
The giggle about the whole affair was as follows.
1. Eddie and I were in different Squadrons during hostilities and did not become friends until the Regiment re-assembled in Trieste after the war had finished in Italy.
2. Although Eddie’s tank had certainly been hit during action and he had been wounded, the ‘hero’ of the day was some other un-named trooper.
3. Whatever protestations I made about the real facts were regarded as mere modesty on my part and shrugged off by Eddie’s dad and indeed all of the guests. I was the hero of the evening and my wine glass was not allowed to go empty !

Round about 1990 we received a shock telephone call from Eddie’s only sister Muriel telling us that he had passed away. She told us that Eddie had known that he was about to die but had wanted the news kept from his friends. We were, however able to attend his funeral the next day.
It appeared that Eddie had booked himself into a hospice for his last few weeks and (typically of Eddie) had made all the arrangements for his own funeral service.

You need to know that one of his major roles in the UK had been the promotion and the publicity surrounding the film Dr.Zhivago with Omar Sharif.

Eddie had loved the film and this was made patently obvious when the funeral service finished and the many congregants dispersed to the haunting tune of Lara’s theme, taken from the sound track of the movie.

Eddie was a delightful character, full of Joi de Vivre and modest to the core. He is, and will be, sorely missed by everyone who had the pleasure and privilege of having known him.

Commemoration Parade July 10th 2005

Photo shows: Nita and Ron at Horse Guards

I have already written about my impressions of VE Day in Italy (A2324189)and my feelings at the time that we had 'not been invited to the party'.

In April this year I thought I was going to see a repeat version of my Venice days because, after reading about all the events that were going to take place in London during the week ending July the 10th, I thought I would get in early and apply for tickets.

To my dismay all the contact telephone numbers seemed to be permanently busy and so I decided to write directly to the organisers, quoting my Venice story and saying "it looks like I havn't been invited to this party either!"

Someone with a sense of humour must have read my letter because the short story is that I got my tickets to the event at Horse Guards Parade and Nita and I spent a memorable, if exhausting, day out in the presence of HM The Queen and 12,000 other veterans.

Also present were my brother Mick, his wife Sylvia and my long time friend Lew Fox.

As you can see by the photo, ladies had to wear hats !

The St.John's Ambulance Brigade in WW2

Photo shows: Nat, Sylvia and Alf

One service that contributed much to the safety and well being of the entire nation during WW2 was that of the St.Johns Ambulance Brigade. A purely voluntary service, they were ever in demand during the Blitz and were reponsible for saving thousands of lives. My sister-in-law Sylvia, married to my brother Mick, belonged to a family that had a unique association with St.Johns as the photograph above clearly shows. On the left is her brother Nat, centre is Sylvia and right is another brother Alf who in later life was to become a high ranking officer and much honoured for his life time service. Well done St.Johns !

The Cambridge & Bethnal Green Boys Club, the club that produced heroes

Photo shows: Left is my brother Mick, also a hero in my eyes, to the right is Donnie

As a young teenager in the pre-war years I was a member of the C and B.G Boy's Club.
Every year we hold a re-union and tales are re-told of lads who did more than their share of war-time service.
I have already told the tale of Jack Nissenthal (A2665271) I would now like to tell the story of Donnie Carlton.
Because he is such a reticent character I will have to let the official story speak for itself.


RIFLE BRIGADE, 1939-45

A./CPL. D. CARLTON (10th Battalion), 7th December, 1944: M.M.
For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty at Monte Rentella. On 21st/22nd June, 1944, Cpl. Carlton was signal corporal of a company which was ordered to seize the feature to the north of Monte Rentella.
On approaching the objective, the company came under heavy machine-gun fire. Cpl. Carlton, however, carrying a heavy load of vital signal equipment, followed his company commander into the assault, and on reaching the position calmly set about establishing communications.
Small-arms, mortar and shell fire was intense and any movement in the open was almost suicidal. Cpl. Carlton, however, volunteered to carry a message down 800 yards of exposed hillside to the reserve company, with whom it had been found impossible to make contact by any other means.
This task accomplished, he immediately set out up the hill again, still under intense fire, and showing an example of personal courage and devotion to duty which was an inspiration to all who witnessed it.
By the time he approached it, however, the company position had been overrun. Cpl. Carlton, however, although a signaller by trade, gathered together the men in the vicinity, organized them as a section and, still under heavy fire, successfully conducted a fighting withdrawal to the reserve company area.
Cpl. Carlton's complete disregard of his own safety and fine qualities of leadership and initiative in a crisis are worthy of the highest commendation and have set a magnificent example to all ranks of the Battalion.

Ice cold... but NOT in Alex !

Photo shows: Ron on his morning walk

I consider myself a fairly active octogenarian and, unless it is raining, I kick-start my day with a three mile circuit of my local park.
Despite wearing suitable clothing I confess that I DO notice the cold (10 degrees below zero at the time of writing) but on reflection this is as nothing compared with the temperatures we endured in Italy during WW2 and it is on this topic that I now write.

Our first winter in Italy, namely 1944, was horrendous.

Our introduction to weather conditions overseas had started off innocently enough.

I was stationed in Algeria from April ’43 until August ’43 and the sun presented no major problems. I know that immediately on reading this, some of the ‘old sweats’ will write of desert conditions and the perils of sunstroke but this was not my scene as I had arrived too late for the fighting in North Africa and had no real desert conditions to put up with.

Again, in Sicily, in July and August ‘43, apart from the perils of being shot at, the weather posed no major problems and the campaign was to last for only one month.

Italy, however, was another matter.

The first winter of ’43 found us totally unprepared for the conditions in which we had to serve.

It was nothing to have wet clothes on for three days at a time. We all had, at the most, three changes of underwear and shirts with which to survive and very little chance of washing and drying the same. It was not unusual to dig a slit trench to sleep in and to wake up to find ourselves floating in a foot of water.

But it was the cold that we all hated the most.

We rarely had a chance to see a thermometer but when the petrol froze overnight in our vehicle carburettors… we knew it was cold, when in Trieste our mugs of tea had ice floating on top before we could get them back to our barracks…. we knew it was cold and when , if you took your gloves off and touched the side of your tank , your hand literally froze to the metal … you again knew it was cold .

The winter of ’44 was no better but with the addition of mud everywhere the cold seemed to stick and because of the mud we had to wash more often which in turn made us colder…. It was a vicious, life-sickening circle that sapped our energy and turned us into morons.

Trieste in the winter of 1946 had it's own special brand of wintry delights.
They had (and probably still have)a local wind there called the Bora, supposedly coming from Russia and after the snow had fallen, melted and changed to ice it blew a 50 mile an hour gale througout the Trieste area that transformed people into skittles that were being blown over at every street corner.
The issue of leather jerkins, tank suits, extra blankets and even rum issues eventually helped to lighten our loads but today, sixty odd years later, whilst walking today in the park I was reminded of the cold of Italy and it was good to get back to my wife, my house, and the warmth and peace of Cockfosters.

Keeping clean on Active Service

Photo shows: The swimming pool at Heliopolis in Egypt

The WW2 Team, recently posed the following question: "I just read a rather amusing story about soldiers having a bath in Belgium (A2725193) and I wonder if any of you have bath time memories to contribute. How DID you all keep clean? Especially in the desert? Answers as articles please, and first prize goes to the one who provides a photograph as well."

Well, who could resist a challenge like that? Certainly not I, so I scoured my memory for an appropriate response.

At training depots, ie in barracks in England and at the RAC depot in Rieti, no problem there at all. Plenty of running water and sometimes even hot water in the showers! The problems arose in the field (for the benefit of non-military folk that means whilst in the line).

Necessity has always been the mother of invention and so there were always ways round the lack of conventional means of bathing. We all had our own cut-down petrol cans and, time permitting, some means of heating the water. In the 4th Hussars we used to use pellets of cordite taken from Verey light cartridges for an immediate source of heat. The same fuel was often used for a quick brew-up.

The regimental water carts usually managed to visit us at least twice a week and at the cry, 'Water cart up!' everyone used to come running, loaded with jerrycans or similar containers.

Any chance of a dip in the sea was also always quickly taken up. I have swum in the sea at Carthage in North Africa, off the side of the SS Homer Lee in Augusta in Sicily, in the sea again at a rest camp in Termoli.

On day leave in Cairo I visited the all ranks swimming pool at Heliopolis and that's me in the snap above.

The most civilised of all our 'keep yourself clean' operations was certainly the YMCA in Trieste. I have already written about this in my story Trieste, October 1945 to January 1947 so I'll not dwell on it here.

The funniest story about keeping clean in the field has got to be the one that concerns my good friend Larry Fox.

Larry, a keep fit enthusiast in civilian life, was determined to get himself a good tan at the expense of HM Forces. At every opportunity he would sunbathe, strictly against standing orders that regarded sunbathing as not only a waste of good time but likely to risk sunburn and regarded by the Army as a self-inflicted wound.

On one occasion, Larry was caught in the act by BSM Lillie, who promptly hauled him up before the OC on a charge of 'Conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline'.

When the case came up before Major Mouland, Larry conducted his own defence which was, in effect, that he was washing himself at the time, as could be seen by the presence of his washing bowl.

Major Mouland asked BSM Lillie, 'Did you see his washing bowl, Sgt Major?'

A puzzled Lillie admitted he hadn't.

Mouland said, 'I'm afraid that I find the charge unproven, case dismissed.'

A triumphant Larry was marched smartly away and ever after used to see that he always had a washing bowl to hand!

Getting the facts right

Photo shows: This is how I managed to get some dates right and shows a day-leave pass to Florence on the 20th of November 1944

Since I first started contributing to this website I have contributed some 30 odd articles, all based on my own personal WW2 experiences.

I give this figure purely to demonstrate that I consider myself a ‘serious’ contributor and I ask the reader to accept that I have always tried to be both truthful and accurate when it came to the facts.

One of my own particular problems has been that a lot of my stories had already been aired in my family’s book entitled ‘And then there were eleven’ (referring to the fact that there were eleven children in the Goldstein family). When I first wrote my own contribution to the book it was in 1988, some 46 years after my service days and I suppose I could be forgiven for getting a few dates wrong.

When I eventually found the BBC WW2 website I simply copied and pasted these stories on to the site without any further checking with regard to dates.

If you have read any of my stories you will see that I rely largely on my own diaries and an album that I created in 1946 whilst stationed in Trieste and waiting to get my demob. On the back page of this album I had carefully written down all the places I had ‘visited’ in my travels, together with the month in question.

Unfortunately the diaries that I kept in 1942 and 1943 were lost during active service and only those of 1944 and 1945 survive, albeit in a somewhat truncated form.

During the past year, however, I have been able to examine the War Diaries of both the regiments in which I served, namely the 49th LAA Rgt. and the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars.

These documents are both fascinating and memory provoking and, for the first time, have given me an opportunity of checking the dates I had supplied in my articles.

I am now going through the lengthy process of checking all the articles I have submitted and, where the date was originally entered using my memory alone, I am confirming this from the official war diaries and making the necessary amendment.

If there are any servicemen out there who consider that any of my articles still contain a factual error I would ask them to leave a note in my Personal Box and I will see that the article is corrected.

Many thanks and all good wishes to all who search for the truth

An 'interesting' experience and fifteen minutes of fame

Photo shows: Nita and Ron at AJEX Parade,Whitehall, Nov 2001

Looking back on the various articles that I have submitted, I seem to have written a lot of short stories based on Diary or Album entries.

The main reason for this peculiar format is that when I created my Army Album, in Trieste, in 1946, I attempted to cram into the pages of a relatively small book the highlights of eight very important years of my life, those between 1939 and 1947. It is therefore the ‘highlights’ of these years that I have, in turn, inflicted upon my reader and I can only hope that I have not been too boring in the process.

In retrospect, I think that I had an ‘interesting’ set of wartime experiences but none that were so unique or unusual for men of my age group, i.e. those born in the 1920’s.
Even the fact that I ‘changed jobs’, i.e. from Light Ack Ack to being in the Royal Armoured Corps, was not rare for men in the forces, particularly at the closing stages of the war when many regiments were being broken up.

Where I appear to have varied from the norm was mainly down to three factors.

The first was my decision to keep a diary whilst on active service, the second was the opportunity I had to make an ‘Army Album’ in 1946 whilst waiting to get out of the Army and the final factor was that I got myself involved in computing at the tender age of sixty-two.
As the direct result of all of these ‘factors’, I was in a good position to be able to place many of my experiences and photos, for better or for worse, onto the BBC WW2 website and this, at least, I have achieved.
My Album, which up to now has been buried away in my study, is now in the Public Domain and hopefully may provide some interest to researchers into WW2.

What I didn’t conceive, when I first started submitting articles, was the immense pleasure I was about to receive by the making of many good friends. I won’t name them, they know who they are, but their responses to, and contributions made, to articles I have written have given me immense pleasure and shamed my ignorance of military history.

I would also like to take this opportunity of thanking all of the BBC WW2 Team for being so patient, and understanding with all of us ‘oldies’. Occasionally they have had to take some stick from all and sundry but they have ALWAYS replied in a most polite manner, which is more than I would have done, given the same set of circumstances.

As to my "Fifteen minutes of fame"...

It was Andy Warhol who invented the phrase "In the future everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes."

In my case, I reckon I must have had about about an hour’s worth , I hasten to explain.

Back in the 1988 my eldest sister Esther thought it would be a good idea to compile a family book with all the surviving siblings contributing their own story about the early life of the Goldstein family. The book duly came to pass under the title of “And Then There Were Eleven”, which referred to the eleven siblings in our family.

The original book, entitled as above, was published privately in 1988, strictly for sale amongst the Goldstein family and sold out immediately.
As a result of various other parties also reading the book it was found to be of modern historical interest and it sparked off various sidelines now detailed below.

In 1990 it was ‘read’ on to Audio Tape for the Jewish Care’s Tapes for the Blind and became one of its listed popular Talking Books. The book was then lodged, by request, in the Bishopsgate Reference Library and the Steinberg Centre, thus making it accessible to researchers. It was also used in 1993-4 by the Museum of London for its Peopling of London Exhibition at the Barbican; in 1996 by the Commission for Social Equality for its ‘Roots of the Future Exhibition’ and in 1996 by Central Foundation Girls School to record 20th century life for posterity in a time capsule sunk in the foundations of its new building in Bow.

On December 11th 1999 BBC Radio 4 broadcast “In These Arms”, the final episode of a four-part series examining family life over four centuries; it featured the Goldsteins as representing an immigrant family between the two World Wars. To make this program the BBC invited me to go ‘walkabout’ in the East End of London talking about my early roots and this formed part of a very interesting program that included readings taken from the book.

On the 50th anniversary of VE Day, ITV invited me and a few other WW2 veterans down to the Imperial War Museum and filmed me in front of a Sherman tank talking about VE day 1945 as seen from a field in Venice.

In March 2005 The BBC WW2 Peoples War filmed a trailer to encourage people to send in articles for the site. Together with Frank Mee and Joan Styan I made up the third member of an unlikely trio and the results were shown on BBC 4 for two separate weeks.

In March 2005 I was invited down to the BBC studios at White City and took part in a 25 minute interview by Stephen Sackur. Unfortunately for my self-esteem the program was never actually ‘aired’ as it clashed with the British General Elections.

The family have also managed to get entries in various books, as follows:

The Peopling of London, Edited by Nick Merriman (Contains the photo of Dad’s factory in Gt. Eastern Street).

The Day War Ended, Voices and Memories from 1945, Published by Weidenfield and Nicholson. (Contains Ron’s photo and story about VE Day as seen from a field near Venice)

Victory in Europe, D-Day to the fall of Berlin, by Karen Farrington (Contains a story about Sgt.Jack Goldstein and his final flight over Nuremberg, also Ron’s story of a British POW camp in Austria)

So, all in all, I reckon I’ve had my 15 minutes of fame but no one has ever asked me for my autograph !

Stick it in your Army....Album!

Photo shows: Montage of memorabilia - Memories of made of this

I’m sure that I was not alone in starting an Army Album at the end of the war.
Mine was created in 1946 whilst I was stationed at Opicina just outside Trieste.
Here I found myself with lots of spare time and plenty of memorabilia that I had accumulated over the preceding 4 years so, presto, I had an album.
There were of course lots of snaps and postcards, there were the inevitable Army passes to visit such exotic places as Sienna, Florence and Rome.
There were propaganda leaflets, currency, and handbills for the local ENSA show, route cards and maps.
Here was an arm band of the Afrika Corps, there was an Order of the Day, issued by Field Marshal Alexander, expressing his gratitude to his troops for clearing Italy of the last Nazi aggressor.
There were two years of diaries to stick in, although I stupidly selected the ones that seemed to capture the mood of the time and pasted them (yes, I said stupidly) into the album so that I could not read the underside!
On the point of diaries, originally I had 4, starting in 1942 on my call-up but over the many moves I was to make over the years ’42 and ’43 were lost forever more and I had to rely on my memory and friend’s diaries for salient dates.
Here is a page full of programmes of shows I saw on my first leave back in England, here is an Italian song sheet.
Here is a picture taken after the war of my Sgt.Major, Busty Thomas M.M. in his role as Beefeater at the Tower of London, I took my wife and children to meet him and we were given a private tour of the Tower.
There’s five years of memories pasted into this book and it’s already been re-bound once.
On the credit side, I’ve managed to scan most of it into JPEG images and my kids (now in their early 50’s!) have been given CDs with these and thousands of family photos I’ve taken over the years.

Yes, I did stick it in my Army Album.

Army Transport

Photo shows: Monfalcone, Don R (Despatch Rider) if only for a day!

Someone on this site mentioned Army Transport and it set me thinking, so I decided to list all the vehicles that I got to drive in the Army between 1942 and 1947.
I was surprised to see how many there were, that’s even if I omit the Tank- Transporter on which I passed my Army Driving Test.

Bedford 15cwt (my first wireless truck, whilst in Light Ack Ack)
Dodge 15cwt (this replaced the Bedford wireless truck)
Bedford 3 Ton (my stores wagon, whilst I was A Sqdrn Tech Corporal)
US Willy’s Jeep (I used this to run the O.C. around in Egypt)
Sherman 75 mm (the tank on which I trained on at Rieti)
Sherman Kangaroo (the one we used to carry infantry into action in the line )
Stuart Tank (my personal chariot whilst serving as the SSM’s Wireless Op.)
Greyhound Armoured Car (used by the Squadron in Austria as a RECCE vehicle)
Staghound Armoured Car (as above)
Bren Gun Carrier (which eventually replaced our Stuart Tank)
Norton Motor Byke (which I learnt to use whilst at Opicina)

p.s.
Note the white triangle on the front mudflap of the byke, this indicated 'A' Squadron, a square would have shown it was 'B' Squadron and a circle was reserved for 'C' Squadron

Getting your Army Records

Photo shows: Just one page from my Army Records, seen for the first time 61 years after the events were actually recorded!

I am, by nature, a compulsive diary writer. Originally I used tiny diaries to record my life in the army, but I graduated over the years and I now record everything on a Sharp ZQ-770 Organizer.

I have also, during the last few years, tried to finalise my memoirs, in theory for the benefit of my children and grandchildren, but in actual fact for the simple pleasure of looking back at what I did and marvelling at my own sheer energy.

As I tightened up the record of what I had done I noticed various gaps in the chronology, mainly in my service years between 1942 and 1947, so I decided to write to the Army Historical Disclosures department, because that's the name of the place where they keep your records.

I wrote late in March 2003 and received a package from them at the end of May 2003, but WHAT an Alladin's cave of treasures came pouring out of that large, buff envelope!

There were my two driving licences, the first one dated 9-2-43 when I learnt to drive over the Yorkshire moors and the second dated 10-12-46, ready to be swapped for its civilian counterpart.

There were all my postings, there was my 'Notification of impending release' dated 19-3-47 with its Military Conduct Testimonial from which I learn I was always 'Cheerful and Hardworking and his efficiency at his work is quite outstanding'. (Their words, not mine, I hasten to add!)

There was the momentous announcement that I was 'Promoted Unpaid Acting Cpl wef (with effect from) 20/7/46' followed by a further announcement 21 days later to tell the world that I was now a fully paid corporal.

There, horror of horrors, was an item that read 'Deprived of 7 days pay for (1). Failing to comply with Bty Orders (2) AWOL from 2130 hrs on 17-6-43 to 0505 hrs on 18-6-43. Absent 7hrs 35 mtes.' (The place of this offence is shown as being in the 'Field', although I remember it being at Guelma in Tunisia and although we'd only nipped down to the nearby village wine bar we were charged as though we'd stayed out till the next morning roll call!)

The next item on the same document shows that I made up for this deplorable criminal offence by noting that on 22-8-43 I embarked (ominously shown as 'Destination Unknown') and was taken off the strength of the 8th Army. (In actual fact this was our landing in Sicily.)

Here is a list of all the medals I was entitled to, there is my height, weight and colour of my eyes. Page after page of fascinating memorabilia finishing with two dates, the date I enlisted 1-10-1942 and the date I was posted to Class A release, 21-7-47.

I cannot begin to express how much pleasure it was to get this time machine from the past, I can only recommend this splendid service to fellow ex-servicemen.

Corporal (fully paid-up) Goldstein. R. 14300260, 4th Queen's Own Hussars

The infamous Demob Suit

Photo shows: Ron's Demob Suit gets an airing

In an earlier article on this site I mentioned going through the 'Demob' process at York. To save you looking it up I repeat the relevant para below.

"The long awaited day eventually arrived.
From Barnard Castle I travelled to by train to York where my official de-mob took place.
The large hall where I made my good-byes was packed with hundreds of men trying on the latest that Montague Burton had to offer although, if I remember rightly, you could have any colour suit providing it was navy or brown and any style providing it was single breasted or double breasted!"

A more recent article by another veteran also spoke about "getting one's Demob Suit".

I went back to my oft-quoted Army Album and it confirmed that in 1947, a family wedding reception gave me a chance to give my own demob suit an outing.

The snap above, actually the last photo in my Army Album, shows yours truly and two of my brother Mossy's in-laws striding along Picadilly on the way to the reception.

Note the absence of heavy traffic !

The first Post-War New Year's Eve, December 31st 1946

Photo shows: December 31st, 1946, The Fair at Monfalcone

December 31st 1946 was our first post-war New Year’s Eve and the Squadron spent it at Monfalcone, a small town some 14 miles from Trieste.
To coincide with the Xmas and New Year festivities, a small fair blew into town and parked itself on what was usually the open-air roller skating rink.
Seven of the lads, including your’s truly, went out for a meal and a drink, with which to see the New Year in.
After the meal we drifted over to a shooting booth. The prize, if you managed to hit the tiny bulls-eye, was a magnesium flash photograph, taken automatically, and the result is shown above.
On the same page of my album is the restaurant bill. I see it was the Trattoria Zeno, the cost was 270 lira for drinks and 920 lira for the grub. I can’t remember what the rate of exchange was in those days but the bill was split seven ways and I don’t remember having any problems paying up.

Army Ration Allowance

Photo shows: Two Day's Ration allowance: Six Shillings and Four Pence !

They used to say that the Army moved on paper, certainly when I look through the bits of memorabilia that I pasted in my Album this seemed to be the case.
Take the document above as a perfect example.

I got out of the Army in April 1947.

In June of the same year I was surprised to receive a letter from the Army that enclosed a Postal Order for six shillings and fourpence,(about 33p in today's money). When I examined the note enclosed (see above) the penny dropped.

Earlier in March, whilst still serving in the Forces, I had acted as Escort Corporal to bring home from Lincoln Jail a soldier who had just finished serving a civil sentence of two years.

In the process of bringing him back to a Military prison in Darlington I was away from my unit for two days.

The Army was now recompensing me for two days ration allowance that was due to me. It appears that at the time in question it cost three shillings and twopence per day to feed a soldier (about 15p in today's money).

No wonder I was always hungry !

Keeping Pets in the Forces

Photo shows: Queenie and Curly posing on one of 'A' Squadron's Half-Tracks

Understandably, most units managed to keep the odd pet whilst in the line.

In 'A' Squadron, 4th Queen’s Own Hussars, we had Queenie, a nondescript bitch who subsequently produced Curly and once hostilities had finished they both firmly established themselves at our barracks in Opicina.

I would be hard pushed to say who the official owner was, my guess is that it was probably the cook, as it was at the cookhouse that both dogs could usually be found.
Whoever owned them, they were both spoilt rotten and had complete run of the barracks.

It was rare for a serviceman to be allowed to take a pet back to the UK and so inevitably dogs such as Queenie and Curly would eventually have been ‘passed on’ to successive regiments at wherever one was stationed.

One exception to this unwritten rule was when I was finally posted back to England in 1947.

As we arrived at the docks at Dover I noticed that one of our party was wearing his greatcoat most of the time despite the fact that it couldn’t have been too comfortable wearing it on the train and on the ferry.

Another one of the lads, seeing me staring at my unusually clad comrade said ‘Have a look at his right hand’

I looked again, saw nothing and said ‘What am I supposed be looking at?’

He smiled and said ‘He’s bringing his parrot home!’

Sure enough, being held down in his right hand pocket was a full sized parrot that was about to be smuggled into England despite all the laws to the contrary and the strict anti-psittacosis regulations that were then in force.

I would guess that half the ship must have known by then what he was trying to achieve and to everyone’s amusement and relief when we finally cleared customs and boarded our London bound train he brandished his multi-coloured pet in triumph.

Please, dear reader, make my day and post a response that says ‘That was my Dad (or Granddad) who smuggled that parrot home and they are both still around today!

Churchill and Ron enjoy a meal together

Photo shows: 4th Queen's Own Hussars Regimental Association Dinner

On the 19th of October 1946, my regiment, the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars, held its first post-war reunion, the last having been held in 1938.

As our Honorary Colonel, the Rt.Hon.Winston Churchill, was considered as having played no small part in the allied victory, it was considered that the regiment was entitled to ‘do him proud’ and the necessary arrangements were made to celebrate the event. Churchill, like his son Randolph, had actually served in the Regiment.

Apart from some 340 ex-servicemen who had already been de-mobbed it was decided to send home from Italy no less than 20 representative serving soldiers and I was one of the lucky chaps who’d been chosen.

I see from my album that we left Monfalcone on the Wednesday, got into London on Friday evening and turned up at the dinner on Saturday. By Monday we were on our way back, arriving back at camp on Wednesday evening. Of course I was able to fit some time in at home, and the dinner itself, held at the Connaught Rooms in Holborn, with Winston Churchill in attendance, was quite an experience.

After the meal the catering staff were ushered from the hall and Winston, having obviously enjoyed his meal and a few drinks, told us a few rather ‘blue’ jokes which were very well received by his audience

In the photo above Churchill is fourth from top left, I am over on the top right, marked with an arrow.

Victory Celebrations, 8th June 1946

Photo shows: The page in my Army Album that says it all

There has recently been some controversy on this site regarding the date of the Victory Celebrations in Europe and whether or not there was actually a Victory Parade held in London on VJ Day itself.

Other articles have also suggested that Her Majesty the late Queen Salote of Tonga and various other foreign Royals also took part in the 1946 Victory Parade

Before adding my own views on the subject I would remind myself that Peter Ghiringhelli once unknowingly paid me a compliment by telling me I was a ‘Prime Source’ as far as research on WW2.

Peter, of course, was merely acknowledging the fact that because of my date of birth, 16th August 1923, my many photographs and my Army Records, all of which are easily verifiable, it was evident that I had actually taken part in the events about which I had written on this site. I therefore consider, if only for the purpose of credibility, that I am a fairly safe bet when it comes to giving accurate dates.

On the 15th of August 1945 VJ Day was proclaimed.

At the time I was still serving in Austria and heard on the radio, as I did on VE Day, the celebrations that were taking place back in England. I am more than certain that there was no Parade or March in London on the day, there was certainly no time to organise such an event.

It was a different matter with the Victory Parade.

On the 8th of June 1946 I was on leave from Trieste.

On the day , I got myself up silly early in order to obtain a prime position in Whitehall where I had the pleasure of seeing a fantastic parade of arms which included representatives from my own regiment, the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars.

I have no recollection or any written evidence to suggest that her Majesty Queen Salote of Tonga or indeed any other foreign Royals, took part in the Victory Parade and can only suppose that some folk are confusing this with her attendance at the coronation of HM The Queen on the 2nd June 1953

When I returned to Trieste after my leave I wrote up a page in my Army Album and a photo of that page is now shown above.

Since first writing the above I thought that in the interests of factual accuracy I should ask another party to confirm my memory of the event and I therefore wrote to the Tonga High Commission in London.

My letter, followed by their reply, should put the controversy finally to rest.

17th October 2005
Tonga High Commission
36 Molyneux Street
London W1H 5BQ


Dear Sirs

May I firstly apologise if this letter is not addressed to the right department and ask you to kindly pass it on to anyone who can be of assistance to the writer.

I am a British WW2 veteran who has written many articles on the BBC WW2 Peoples War Website. This website is shortly to become a very important archive of WW2 history and I, and others, are concerned that items included should be factually correct.

One of the articles concerns her late Majesty, the Queen of Tonga and claims that Her Majesty took part in the 1946 Victory Parade in London.

As someone who actually witnessed the 1946 parade, I have pointed out that this information is incorrect and that the writer is confusing her Majesty’s later and famous participation in the Coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on the 2nd of June 1953..
(Please see my article on: http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/ww2/A4768040)
It would be most appreciated if you could confirm that my memory is not at fault and that Her Majesty Queen Salote did NOT attend the Victory Celebration Parade on 8th June 1946.

With many thanks for your trouble

Yours sincerely

Ron Goldstein


Reply received by e-mail:
19th October 2005-10-19
Subject: Re-1946 Victory Parade in London

From: (writers name withheld by Ron)

Dear Mr Goldstein,

Thank you for drawing our attention to the article on BBC and we wish to confirm that Her late, Majesty the Queen of Tonga did not attend the Victory Celebration Parade on 8th June 1946.

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,
Tonga High Commission
LONDON

My Welcome Home

Photo shows: The train that took me home on leave in November 1945


In November '45 I finally got my first leave home after being abroad since April 1943. I came back to London and Manor Road over the LIAP (Leave In Addition to PYTHON) route that I had previously helped to run.

I travelled for three days via lorry, train and ferry and finally reached Stoke Newington where my parents were now living.

As I got off the bus in Manor Road I could see the front door some 200 yards away. Over the doorway I could also see that decorations had been placed in position in patriotic red, white and blue. It was obviously one of those many 'welcome home' signs that I had been seeing all the way from Dover and I have to confess to feeling quite touched.

It was only when I got right outside the door that I could read the sign itself. It said: 'WELCOME HOME JACK'. My name is Ron! My brother-in law had beaten me to it and his name over the door had taken all the wind out of my sails!

Despite the sign, however, Mum, Dad and all at home seemed pleased to see me and I had a fantastic 28-day leave.

Civil Police in Trieste during the unrest

Photo shows: Italian policeman on streets of Trieste

During my stay in Trieste the Regiment quite often found itself working with the new local Police Force.
They had been equipped and largely trained by AMGOT (Allied Military Government of Occupied Territory) and part of their uniform was an American helmet painted white.
The Italians used to refer to the Police derisively as 'Cerinos' because with their white headress they resembled a safety match of that name.

My unit was also stationed for some time at Monfalcone, a few miles away from Trieste itself and for whatever reason this appeared to be the centre of demonstrations for or against the transfer of Trieste to Tito’s forces.

On one occasion A Squadron was providing manpower to back up the police force and I was able to witness an ingenious ploy they used to stop potential riots.

A Jeep, piled high with a small unit of perhaps six to eight officers, all armed with batons, reversed at speed into the centre of the mass of ‘rioters’. When they reached the core of the demonstration they all jumped out, lashed out with their clubs, grabbed what appeared to be the leader of the demo and, just as quickly, drove out using the gap they had previously created. !

It was violent certainly and blood must have been spilt but I had never before (or since) witnessed such an efficient way of calming things down.

Sweating on being released

Photo shows: Sgt.Tom Atkinson goes home as part of Group 28. Names supplied on request!

The time was late 1946.

My current position was that of Tech Corporal for A Squadron, 4th Queen’s Own Hussars. As such, I was responsible for all the ‘Technical’ stores in the Squadron which included, Tanks, Armoured Cars, Motor Vehicles of all description and the spares included thereof.

I knew that I was shortly due to be released from the Army under the current Python scheme that enabled men who had served more than 3 years 9 months abroad to be sent home and released from the forces. Understandably, I was concerned that nothing should hinder my release and ‘nothing’ included any shortfalls in the equipment that I had previously signed for.

For some time now I had been training a young Lance Corporal to take over my place and I’d given him the task of checking the quantities of all the spares held on our Store Truck against the inventory for the same holdings.

One day he reported to me that we were one verey light pistol short of the six that we were supposed to be holding according to the manifest. The verey light pistols were held as part of a tank’s small arms store and were used, in emergencies, to either send a pre-arranged message or identify the tank’s position to other squadron members. I had even used one myself in front line action some months earlier.

The short story is that I was one pistol short and I had to do something about it.

Amongst my ‘un-official’ spares was a German very light pistol, very much the same size as it’s British counterpart but un-mistakeably different to the eye. Some hard and quick thinking was called for.

I solved the problem by covering all the pistols in axle grease then wrapping them up with strips of oilskin so that only the registration number was visible. The German pistol soon had it’s own number erased and replaced by the ‘correct’ British number and the six pistols were left hanging up on adjacent hooks.

Not long after this event we had an un-scheduled inspection by a top-brass Brigadier who inspected all of the Regimental stores, including my own stores truck.
He clambered up the wooden stairs of the truck and with his aide-de-camp sniffed around the stores that were on display. His eyes caught the very light pistols and he demanded to know what these mystery parcels were.

I explained that experience had taught me that the pistols were soon affected by corrosion and so I had covered them in heavy grease but left the numbers visible for quick inspection.

“Bloody good idea Corporal !” he said and telling his sidekick to ”make a note of that will you” he soon, to my great relief, clambered back down the stairs.

Almost sixty years after the event I still wonder whatever happened when the pistols were eventually un-wrapped and the cuckoo in the nest was revealed !
I also wonder if the rest of the units in the Division ever had to wrap all their Verey light pistols in grease !

Trieste had its funny moments

Photo shows: Ron and a view of Trieste from the Goldoni Tunnel

During the period October 1945 to January 1947 I was stationed in the Trieste area.

The end of the war had seen my unit, the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars, change from its wartime footing to its original pre-war role of a prestigious cavalry regiment.

Fortunately for me I had achieved the lofty rank of Corporal and as Tech Corporal to A Squadron was allowed to get on and do my job without too much parade bashing and bull-s***t. Part of the price I paid for this dispensation was being on several committees connected with the welfare of the regiment, one of which was the subtly named ‘Canteen and Cookhouse Committee’ and which included in its ranks the O/Rs Messing Officer.

We used to meet once a week and had a chance to air our views and make recommendations about future menus.

One day someone asked “What about chips for a change?’

The Messing officer said, “The only problem is the shortage of frying oil, unless you don’t mind the cook using horse fat”

This immediately produced shrieks of disgust from the committee until the Messing Officer said, “ I don’t know why you’re protesting so much. You’ve been eating horse for weeks now!”

After a shocked silence he went on to explain that at a recent Gymkhana, organised by the regiment, one of the horses being entered had broken its neck and a decision had been made not to waste the meat.

Thinking back, we never got our chips after all!

As part of the Regiment’s ‘peacetime’ procedure we used to have morning parades in which the whole regiment took part and the CO took this as an opportunity to address us on matters of importance.
On one occasion he told us that he had been annoyed to hear of his troops complaining about the size of their portions at mealtimes.
He went on to say that civilians back in England were still having to live on very restricted rations and to shame us all he was having set up at the entrance to the dining hall a table on which would be the civilian’s rations for a week.
Having delivered his sermon for the week we were then dismissed to our duties.

The very next day the whole regiment was abruptly summoned on an unscheduled parade to be faced by an apoplectic CO.

Some had stolen the ‘civilians rations for the week’!!!!!!

I can’t remember what terrible punishment he meted out to us for this heinous behaviour but I still remember the colour of his face when he made his announcement.

Riots in Triese, circa October 1945

Photo shows: The riots in Trieste, circa October 1945

Riots in Trieste

In my article on Trieste (A2166130) I spoke of the almost daily riots that took place in the city, I give a small quote below.
“The regiment was very involved with the keeping of the peace in Trieste itself, as there were a lot of political parties and even numerous states trying to seize control of the Venezia Giulia area. It was quite common to be sitting in a cinema in town and to have a notice flashed on the screen that said: 'All troops must return immediately to their units.' On our arrival back in camp we would find ourselves being armed and sent back to the town in convoy to control the riots that were taking place.”
The photo above was taken around this time. I don’t know who the photographer was so I can’t give him the necessary credits but if he/she cares to contact me I will be more than happy to make amends.
Whoever took it, it graphically shows the tail end of a Jugoslav procession being attacked by rival Italian supporters.

Trieste, October 1945 to January 1947

Photo shows: October 1945: On board a mine-sweeper in Trieste Harbour

From the Regimental Diary for 1 October 1945: 'Major JJ O’Brien left to go on a course in UK, also 14 days leave. Warning order received that the Regt will move to TRIESTE to become Recce Regt in 56th (Lon) Div in lieu of 44th Recce Rgt.'

October 1945

In October we moved to the Trieste area, to a small town called Opicina, which sat on the top of a hill overlooking the Bay of Trieste. The view from the peak was terrific. The area was known as the Morgan Line and acted as a buffer zone between the Yugoslavs and the Italians, both of whom laid claim to this territory.

The barracks we moved into had formerly belonged to an Italian army unit and were quite spacious. Almost overnight, stones were whitewashed, flagpoles were erected and 'bull' was the order of the day.

The system for release from the army at that time was based on a combination of age and length of service. This then gave one a 'group number', and over the next year or so each group number came up in turn and the members of that group received their discharge. The lower the group number the quicker you got out. My own group number was 48, rather high because I was only 19 when I was called up.

As the older and longer-serving members started to leave there was a frantic effort by those of us remaining to get into a reasonable position so that we would not be obliged to take part in the 'demilitarisation' that was taking place. Just by chance at that time, I was given a choice of two options. I could either go on a skiing holiday at Cortina, or take a course as a technical storeman. If I took the first option I might miss out on the chance for a 'safe' job - but on the other hand, when would another opportunity come up to learn to ski?

Being the coward that I am, I took the course, and as a result was promoted to Lance Corporal, then later to Full Corporal. Within a short time I was put in complete charge of all the technical stores in the squadron. The job required organising expertise rather than engineering experience, and I was soon well on top of the situation and enjoying my new-found responsibilities. At times, when I found myself signing for half a dozen tanks at a time, I used to say to myself: 'Hold on there...that's 180,000 pounds worth of equipment you've just become responsible for!' But I don't remember losing any sleep over the matter!

The regiment was very involved with the keeping of the peace in Trieste itself, as there were a lot of political parties and even numerous states trying to seize control of the Venezia Giulia area. It was quite common to be sitting in a cinema in town and to have a notice flashed on the screen that said: 'All troops must return immediately to their units.' On our arrival back in camp we would find ourselves being armed and sent back to the town in convoy to control the riots that were taking place.

While we were stationed here I got my first leave home back to England, briefly touched on in my story My Welcome Home.

Back in Trieste after my leave I found that the riots were still in full swing and that many more of the old-timers had left. With some of my friends, I also discovered the joys of gracious living. I hasten to explain.

The YMCA in Trieste had taken over a leisure centre which offered, amongst other facilities, a chance to have one's laundry done. On Friday evenings my friends and I would come into town and make straight for the YMCA. Here we would have a shower, a haircut, change our Khaki Drill uniform for a clean set left the week before, and then, all spick and span, we would head for one of the best restaurants in town.

We would go right through the menu, including wines with each course, followed by brandy and cigars. But the best part was yet to come. Instead of paying cash for these blessings we would each sell a tin of 50 cigarettes to the waiter and the cash received was more than sufficient to pay for the whole evening's entertainment, including the earlier visit to the YM! Strictly speaking, of course, the authorities would not have approved of our using army issue cigarettes for this purpose, but the result was that after our evening out we used to glow all the way back to camp.

January 1946

We settled down at Villa Opicina and Eddy Patman took over the job of running the canteen.

A word about Eddy. In civvy street he had been a film reviewer for the cinema trade magazine 'The Cinema'. He loved all aspects of the cinema and when we were in Rome I went with him to see 'The Song of Bernadette' and he sent a review of it back to his old firm and later showed me the article in the magazine. When he finally made it back to civilian life he achieved very high ranking both for MGM and later for Fox, and we were to stay firm friends right up to his untimely death in 1993.

February 1946

On one occasion the navy decided it would be a good idea if they were to send some of the matelots stationed in Trieste to our barracks for a day's leave. We showed them around, let them drive our tanks etc, and in short they had a good day's fun. In turn the navy invited some of us back to their own units and I was chosen to spend a day on a mine-sweeper in Trieste harbour.

It was a lovely day and all was going fine until it was pointed out to us that the degaussing equipment aboard (which neutralised the magnet mines in the harbour) had developed a fault. For the balance of the day the boat was surrounded by floating and very lethal German mines and we found ourselves fending them off and taking pot-shots at them!

March 1946

Among the cultural treats available in Trieste was an old Roman Castle named Castello San Giusto. In the summer months hey used to hold opera performances there, in the open, and I was lucky enough to see a performance of Carmen with an orchestra and cast of several hundred. The audience numbered 12,000 and the performance went on till the early hours of the morning.

April 1946

On 16 April my very good friend Leslie Gilbert and I attended a Passover service at the Marittima ballroom on the harbour front of Trieste. A fair amount of local civilians attended and the service was organised by an Austrian who had been released from a concentration camp and his two daughters, all of whom worked for AMGOT (Allied Military Government for Occupied Territories).

The service was about halfway through when there was a clamour at one of the doors. Some further concentration camp victims had arrived in the area and had heard of the service that was taking place. To our shame, the local Jewish Army Chaplain, who was present, wanted to keep them out, insisting that army rations had only been issued for those expected. Fortunately for good sense he was soon told in no uncertain terms that all those present would refuse to eat if the newcomers were not allowed in, and the evening proceeded without any further problems.

May 1946

Among the few civilians I knew in Trieste was the Austrian AMGOT worker I had met at the Passover service. I was at his house one evening and one of his daughters was just about to leave to visit another friend. Because the streets of Trieste were not altogether safe after dark, he asked me to escort her to her destination and I was happy to oblige.

We had just got into the street outside his flat when we literally stumbled over a body in the kerb. The young girl, I can’t remember her name, was very distressed but able to identify the dead person as another Jew who lived in a flat above her own. She asked me to telephone the police from a nearby bar, because she had no phone in her flat, and I escorted her back to the home we had just left. I phoned from the bar, not leaving my name or any information other than that there was a corpse in the street near the bar - because I had no intention of being involved with the Italian police when I was so near to going home on leave. A few days later I called to her home again to find out what had happened and was told that the police believed the dead man had committed suicide by jumping from the roof.

June 1946

On 8 June I was home on leave again, and this time it coincided with the official victory celebrations. I got myself good and early to a vantage point in Whitehall and had the pleasure of seeing a contingent of the 4th Hussars march past in the splendid parade, which included the carriage of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. The photos in my album capture it all.

When I got back from leave it was to find that our barracks were being shared with the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers.

July 1946

Trieste was a very interesting place to be at this time and it was not unknown for a lot of black marketing to be going on between the troops and the civilians. Cigarettes in particular were in great demand by the civilian population. We as troops got a 'free issue' of 50 a week, plus we were able to buy at least a hundred a week in the NAAFI. These used to fetch a fair price on the streets and there was at least one 'scam' that some of our own MPs were said to have practised.

Apparently the MPs would watch out for British troops making a deal in a side alley, then pounce, confiscate all the cigarettes and any money being offered and let the offenders go on a promise not to offend again. Needless to say, once the guilty parties had fled the evidence was kept by the MPs for later sale to their own pet buyers.

August 1946

I had been overseas since April 1943 and it was therefore getting near the time for me to be sent home to England under the Python scheme. This was a system whereby, if one had served three years and nine months abroad, you qualified for home posting.

As my time got nearer I got more on edge and lived in fear of being involved in a situation that might postpone my home posting. One such possible event occurred because of my position as Tech Corporal in charge of Squadron Technical Stores. The stores themselves were in the barracks but immediately outside the store I kept various large items that were too big to be kept indoors. Among these items were two huge Staghound Armoured Car tyres. These, I hasten to say, were worth at least £100 to anyone who could supply them to the Yugoslav forces. One morning, immediately before roll call, the young lad who was my assistant and who I was training to take over from me came to me in a state of panic. The two tyres had been stolen.

I reported the matter to Busty Thomas and within minutes all the camp was sealed off. The short story is that the tyres were never recovered but all the evidence pointed to one Trooper X. The matter was never proven, however, and for about two weeks I sweated on being kept back in Italy as a potential court-martial witness. By a sheer coincidence, when I eventually returned to England the same Trooper X was on the same draft. For my own peace of mind I asked him to tell me, in all confidence, how he’d organised this massive theft, but he merely laughed and said, 'It wasn’t me mate !'

September 1946

From Opicina we now moved to the dockyard area of Monfalcone, just a few miles down the road but still in the Trieste Area. The barracks we took over were in a terrible state, particularly noticeable after having lived at Opicina for so long, and it says much for the morale of the squadron that we were able to transform it into something that was at least bearable.

For some time now my army rank had been Full Corporal, or Tech Corporal as I was known in the squadron. My responsibilities were twofold. In the first place I was responsible for seeing that all the stores necessary to run a squadron of Sherman tanks were kept up to date and I was the liaison between the mechanics and the Base Store Depots. My second responsibility was to keep the squadron leader, Major 'Loopy' Kennard, completely informed at all times as to the state of readiness of all the vehicles under his command.

Every morning I would set up the plan board in his office showing which, if any, vehicles were 'off the road'. This was vital information, as at the drop of a hat the squadron could be called onto the streets of Trieste to keep the peace. 'Loopy', or to give him his full title, Lieutenant Colonel Sir George Arnold Ford Kennard, 3rd Baronet, was quite a character then, and even now and his biography entitled simply 'Loopy' makes very good reading.

At the time in question he was sufficiently satisfied with my services to both him and the squadron to ask me to stay on in the army after I was due for demob. To induce me to stay he offered, as a bribe if you like, very rapid promotion, mentioning that it was quite common for a Quartermaster Sergeant to be made up to an officer in a very short time. I was not to be tempted, however, as the delights of London called and I was looking forward to life as a civilian. After the war I wrote to him and his delightful reply is at the back of my album.

October 1946

On 19 October the same year I struck lucky in what must have been a regimental ballot. The Regimental Association was about to hold its first post-war reunion, and as Winston Churchill was the honorary colonel the affair had to be done in style. Twenty men drawn from all ranks were sent home from Italy to be present on the night, and wonder of wonders, I was one of four corporals to travel a total of six days to attend the dinner.

We left Monfalcone on the Wednesday, got into London on Friday evening and turned up at the dinner on Saturday. By Monday we were on our way back, arriving back at camp on Wednesday evening. Of course I was able to fit some time in at home, and the dinner itself, held at the Connaught Rooms in Holborn, with Winston Churchill in attendance, was quite an experience.

From the Regimental Diaries: '8th Oct The Rgt was inspected by the Corps Commander Lt General Sir John Harding.'

The Regiment was visited by the Corps Commander, Lt General Sir John Harding, and the photo in my album brings it all back to me because I was in my office at the time. As I peeped out of the window to see what was going on I actually saw them take the photo. It’s particularly interesting to me today as it shows Busty, Loopy and Chesty Reed, the RSM.

December 1946

On New Year's Eve we were still at Monfalcone and a photo in the album shows seven of the lads, including myself, at the local fairground. We were at a rifle range that took your photograph if you hit the target and, much to our surprise, it actually worked!

January 1947

In January l947, just three months short of four years from the time I set sail to North Africa, I was posted home to Barnard Castle in Northumberland. I arrived just in time for the worst winter in some people's living memory and spent a large amount of time digging trains out of snowdrifts. For almost three months I then kicked my heels until in March I was finally released to return to civilian life.

February 1947

England was in a state of crisis as fuel was almost unobtainable. Rail travel ground to a halt. Heavy snowstorms and sub-zero temperatures made our barracks a place of purgatory and there was not a single toilet that worked in the barracks. We spent all day digging trains out of snowdrifts and as virtually everyone in the camp was on the point of being de-mobbed, rank meant nothing at all. For the first time in my army career I saw officers under the rank of captain being ordered to join snow-clearing parties and issued with spades to do some of the digging themselves!

March 1947

The last three months of my army life was boring to say the least, and I welcomed any chance to do something different. This probably accounted for the fact that I must have volunteered for the job of prisoner’s escort, of which details now follow.

While I was fighting in Italy, somebody who shall be nameless had apparently been a naughty boy back in England and had been sentenced to a term in Lincoln jail. He’d just finished his sentence (two years) and I as 'Corporal in charge of Escort' plus one other trooper were to meet up with him at the prison and escort him back to the army at Darlington.

The ex-prisoner lived in London and as we had to change stations at King's Cross I agreed to let him visit his folks in Caledonian Road before we finally took him back to camp. Mindful of the fact that if I lost a prisoner it was a court martial offence I took no chances and we kept him on handcuffs all the way to his house and afterwards all the way back to barracks.

Demobilisation

The long-awaited day eventually arrived. From Barnard Castle I travelled by train to York, where my official demob took place. The large hall where I made my goodbyes was packed with hundreds of men trying on the latest that Montague Burton had to offer, although if I remember rightly you could have any colour suit providing it was navy or brown and any style providing it was single breasted or double breasted! I had been in the army for four and a half years, and as dad, G-d rest his soul, would have said, 'It's enough already'. It was time to go home.

Three months after I was demobbed I received a payment from the War Office of six shillings and four pence. This was accompanied by a pay form that explained that the money in question was two days' ration allowance for escorting a prisoner back to Darlington from a jail in Lincoln!

And so I come to the end of this unlikely saga. I had packed a lot into the years between 1923 and 1947, and at the age of 24 was ready to start my life all over again.

The Beer Cellar in Munich

Photo shows: Major J.J.O'Brien and Lt.Walmsley posing outside the Burger Brau Keller

In August 1945 my unit, the 4th Queen's Own Hussars, was sent to Ulm in Germany to run a staging unit for troops going home by the overland route.

We travelled due North in convoy from Austria and on the way passed the infamous Burger Brau Keller or Beer Garden where Hitler made some of his fiery pre-war speeches.

The convoy stopped for a minute to let Major Paddy O'Brien and Lt.Walmsley pose for pictures which included the one that I took.

The sign says "American Red Cross Canteen"

Running a Staging Camp in Germany in August 1945

Photo shows: The Cathedral at Ulm, before and after the bombing of the town. A page from my Album

Thursday 16th August 1945
My (22nd.)birthday was celebrated in the Squadron canteen. Aided by Vic, Hewie,Wyatt, 29 tins of beer and 6 bottles of beer I got very happy and so to bed
Regimental Diaries:
19th Aug Advance party of A Sqn moved to TUNIS camp, ULM on overland leave route
22nd Aug A Sqn main party left to relieve 17/21st Lancers at ULM. Rear party commanded by Lt.Balfour remained at TRIEBEN to guard Armd Cars
Sunday 19th. August 1945
Moved off at 7.15 am through Salzburg, Munich, Dachau, Augsberg and arrived in Ulm about 6'ish. Had dinner, shower and went to canteen where I met Dizzy.
August/September 1945
Running a Staging Camp in Ulm in Germany
In September we (that's A Sdrn. 4th Queen's Own Hussars) landed another interesting job, that of running a staging camp in Germany. At that time there was an Army scheme in operation called L.I.A.P., which stood for Leave in Addition to Python. Python was the code name for leave that was given to troops that had done four years or more abroad and were due for home posting, whereas LIAP was now being given to those who had "only" (my inverted commas) done two years and nine months overseas service.
To get the returning warriors home, a series of staging camps were set up, starting in Italy, extending across Germany and France and finishing up at Dover. "A" squadron had been chosen to run the camp at Ulm, about l5O miles north of Munich and so off we went again, for the first time in Germany itself. On the way through Munich we passed the famous Beer Cellar where Hitler had made speeches in his early days. Lt.Walmsly and Major Paddy O'Brien stopped the truck they were travelling in and posed for me. The snap is still in my album.
We settled in very quickly.
Every evening about seven o'clock the convoy of lorries used to arrive and then facilities were laid on for the two or three hundred men to be fed, refreshed and all their needs attended to before they left the following morning at O7OO hours.

My own particular job was the cushy one of camp librarian and my duties were simple, to say the least. At the beginning of the "run" in Italy all troops were given opportunities to purchase paperback books from the NAAFI canteen. As they arrived at each staging camp in turn, they could swap on a one-for-one basis and so they had plenty to read en route. As librarian I was only on duty from seven in the evening until 9pm and then the rest of the day was my own. One other small duty was taking down the news from the BBC broadcasts and posting it on the canteen notice board.

The giggle was the fact that on some occasions reception was bad and the announcer spoke too fast. When this happened I used to fill in my own version of the news, regardless of the accuracy of the statements, but I don't think that anyone was ever the wiser and the next bulletin was always updated.

As we were now a British outpost in the heart of Germany we often had visitors turning up looking for repatriation to England, and I was often called in to interpret. On one occasion a strange young man turned up claiming to be of British origin and I was told to translate. When I found my German was not enough to cope with the situation I switched to French and Italian whereupon the young man said to me: "You must be Jewish," going on to say that the only British he knew who could speak so many languages were Jewish.

The canteen at the camp had a film projector and nightly shows were given for those in transit. Because we had a different audience every night, it must have occurred to someone that it was not necessary to change the film, and therefore the whole month that we were in Ulm the film was always "Cover Girl" with Betty Grable. As the town itself was off-limits to the camp staff, we would invariably find ourselves watching the film and consequently we knew all the script and the dance routines backwards! For months afterwards some of the lads would break into one of the complicated song and dance routines. One favourite lyric was "Who's complaining, I'm not complaining, together we'll see this thing through, Because of Axis trickery my coffee's now chicory, and I can hardly purloin a sirloin."

Dale Carnegie's "Pursuit of Happiness" courtesy of Stalag XVIII

Photo shows: Montage of Hoentauern, site of our Road Block and Stalag XVIII

I have already written about “Life in Wartime Austria”, see (A2545517), but, as always, something that another veteran has just posted sparked off a memory and I went back to my Diaries to check a date.

I see that at the end of July ’44 I was again being called upon to act as interpreter for Lt. “Dutch” Holland and on this occasion we were paying a visit to what had been a small German Stalag ,or POW camp, that had previously held British Prisoners of War. It was very spooky going into the wooden huts that had been the cramped living accommodation for these poor blighters and the place still reeked of German carbolic powder.

My diary reads:

Monday 30th July 1945
Taken off fatigues to do interpreter for Lt.”Dutch” Holland. Out in the dingo to the end of the boundary area. Crashed plane on hillside. Beer at roadside Gasthos at dinnertime
Regimental Diaries:

Tuesday 31st July 1945
Rgt. ceasing to be under command of 78th Div (Now under 6th Armd Div). Out with “Dutch” again, this time to the Burgomaster at Hohentaun. Collected three crates of books from ex-Stalag XVIII. Back early for Road Block guard. Truck broke down.

Among the books that we collected from this camp were a lot of paperbacks provided by the International Red Cross with their bold Red Cross Emblem stamped on the inner cover.
A summary glance at the books before we handed them over to the British Authorities revealed a copy of Dale Carnegie’s “Pursuit of Happiness”.
I “liberated” this book, it provided me with some quiet reading and a little moral support for the rest of my time in the Army and I took it with me into civvie-street.

In 1949 I realised that with my marriage to Nita I had achieved what I had sub-consciously been seeking for most of my adult life and the book seemed to miraculously disappear from my bookshelves!

In 2005 I still havn't felt the need to buy a replacement copy !

Life in wartime Austria

Photo shows: Ron and one of our captured German trucks at Ferndorf

My diaries still remind me of what it was like in Austria.

Sunday 1st. July 1945
Spent the greater part of the day in bed and didn't even bother to go to the canteen. Received parcel from home with usual cherry brandy.
Monday 2nd. July 1945
On stag and didn't it pour. I was on first relief and my 10 to 12 shift seemed to collect all the mist in the valley. Half the P.O.W. cage is under water. Snow on the nearby mountain peaks.
Tuesday 3rd. July 1945
Feeling the effects of last night's do. Corp' from N.Demob Unit is getting my films developed at Villach for me. "Sorcerers Apprentice" at canteen.
Wednesday 4th. July 1945
On stag for the umpteenth time. 2nd Relief and arranged my own beat. Quite a lot of fun watching 'Teds' ( Tedeschis, therefore Germans)negotiate 'bridge'.
Regimental Diaries:
July 8th Regiment moved to area GRAFENSTEIN coming under command 26th Armd Bde in the 6th Armd. Div. A and C Sqns now re-equipped with Staghound Armoured Cars and the Recce Tp with Greyhound Acs.
Monday 9th. July 1945
Arrived at Velden rest area on the Worthersee. Hotel Mosslacher is my billet and the food is first class. Had my first swim of the year.

Leave at Velden
After our spell of POW work finished I was sent on leave to Velden on Lake Worthersee, and this was a really first class holiday in beautiful surroundings. Apparently it had always been a well-known holiday resort and the large hotels were commandeered by the military authorities and turned into rest camps. The food was out of this world, or at least so it appeared to us at the time.
At the other end of the lake was Klagenfurt, and I can remember going by steamer to see a dazzling performance of" Die Fledermaus". On the way there and back we were entertained by an accordion band and there were coloured lights hanging from the rigging to complete the scene. The water was, as I remember, very cold, but the sun was hot and one could lay on the wooden planking that ran down to the lake's edge and up to the hotel terrace.

Thursday 19th. July 1945
After a good day's work on the Staghound went with George to hear a Beethoven recital by Klagenfurt Symphony Orchestra. Hewitt, Lt.Richey and Porter left for Burma.
Friday 20th. July 1945
Painting has started on the Staghounds. Sgt.E.... slightly stinko all this morning.
Inoculation parade but I was not due, Touch Wood.
Saturday 21st. July 1945
My Staghound has gone to H.Q. for wireless installation and so I did no work this morning. Warned by Sgt.Metcalfe for advance party tomorrow morning.
Regimental Diaries:
21st July Major JG Vauhn assumed command of Rgt. The CO went on leave to the UK
Sunday 22nd. July 1945
Left Grafenstein about one'ish and proceeded in Regimental convoy to Trieben where we were treated more as liberators than conquerors. Billet in Gasthos.

Trieben
On returning back to Ferndorf we pulled up stakes and moved on to Trieben. Here by comparison with the POW cage, we had a cushy job and were able to take it easy. The village was positioned at the bottom of a mountain pass and the squadron's task was to set up road blocks to catch escaping vehicles, and at the same time to set up a traffic system that allowed vehicles to travel only one way at a time through the narrow road.

Tuesday 24th. July 1945
Have been put in charge of a large billet which is for 3,4,5 and H.Q. troops. Was shown Hager and his son, the local Hitler Youth Fuhrer!

Amongst our duties in this area were going out various patrols to pick up known war criminals or senior state officials who were wanted for questioning. I remember going one day with Busty Thomas to pick up the local Hitler Youth leader, a certain Herr Hager. When we got to his house and he answered the door Busty said to me: "Tell him he's under arrest and has got to come with us." Hager then showed us a document from another field security unit that in effect gave him a week to put his affairs in order and then to report to the local town hall.
A very disgruntled Busty said to me: "I wish they'd bloody tell somebody what they're doing before they send us on a bloody wild goose chase!" and Herr Hager was left to get on with whatever he was doing at the time.
Thursday 26th. July 1945
Out with Yates in Dingo for more eggs. Lt.Balfour is approaching flapping climax. Tried piano in 1st. Troop's billets. Helped Red Cross woman to get petrol.
This item in my diary about a ” Red Cross women” was like something out of a film.
I was on guard outside our billets when an ambulance type vehicle pulled up and an English speaking women got out and asked me if we could help her. The ambulance was full of young kids, orphans or ‘lost’ children and she was driving them South to, as she put it, “get them away from the Russians”.
All she wanted from us was petrol and I roused the duty officer to see what could be done. We must have given her some fuel because by daybreak she was gone.

Regimental Diaries:
27th July A Sqn established in TRIEBEN
Friday 27th July 1945
After waiting nearly all day the Squadron arrived at 5 pm. Busty leading complete with Union Jack! Straight on guard after showing the troops their billets.
Saturday 28th. July 1945
On tank park picket until 4.30 p.m. "Thomo", Vic and Roy have got in the same room as me and I think we will be quite comfortable. Canteen is open in the nearby pub.
Sunday 29th July 1945
Before dinner did a bit of “gardening” in front of billets
Monday 30th July 1945
Taken off fatigues to do interpreter for Lt.”Dutch” Holland. Out in the dingo to the end of the boundary area. Crashed plane on hillside. Beer at roadside Gasthos at dinner time
Regimental Diaries:
July 31st Rgt ceasing to be under command of 78th Div (Now under 6th Armd Div)
Tuesday 31st July 1945
Out with “Dutch” again, this time to the Burgomaster at Hohentaun. Collected three crates of books from ex-Stalaag XVIII. Back early for Road Block guard. Truck broke down.

Acting in my role as un-official interpreter I went with Lt. Holland to inspect a deserted POW camp that had been used to hold a hundred or so British prisoners of war. Although it was now empty, there was something quite eerie about the atmosphere of the place; it was as though all the memories were somehow trapped inside the wooden huts, and I was glad to get out into the open air.


August 1945

Wednesday 1st August 1945
Guard room is in ex-Gasthos. Cooked our own meals. Young orphan has French father and Russian mother
Thursday 2nd. August 1945
Rain nearly every day is holding up work on the Staghounds. Clicked for a petrol un-loading fatigue. Mail situation practically non existent.
Friday 3rd. August 1945
On guard in the evening. Have managed to swap for lower road block guard as it means I can get away earlier tomorrow evening. On with “Horsey” Davies.
Saturday 4th August 1945
Lt. “Crunch” Jackson asked me to come with him to Vald where we asked the usual questions of the Burgomaster. Lofty Elliot’s Dingo still breaks down !
Monday 6th. August 1945
Uneventful day on guard. Civvie truck with one doubtful passenger who I sent down to Squadron office

Immediately by the lower road block was a farm house, and we were supplied with fresh milk and cheese by the inhabitants, a family by the name of P… The youngster of the family, Herbert, was a very bright young kid and keen to learn English. I took the opportunity to improve my German in exchange for English lessons and this in turn meant that I was called upon to act as interpreter whenever it was needed.
On one occasion I was giving Herbert an English lesson in English . His grandfather was also present and expressed a desire to show that he, too, understood some English. We said a few words to each other and then I said to him, very slowly: "Have you a brother?" to which he replied: "Yes I hab a brudder."...."Is he married?" I then asked, "No...he is dead!" came the reply. (I rather think that the old man confused the German word "habe" with the English word "had" but anyway it amused me at the time

Tuesday 7th. August 1945
Working on Staghounds but was taken off it for very important job of fixing a flagpole!
Wednesday 8th. August 1945
Working on the Staghounds. Letter and Parcel from home. Blighty leave party back.

VJ DAY
Tuesday 14th August 1945
I remember the day well even though I’ve long since lost the original diary entry. Our Squadron was in Trieben in Austria at the time, ,controlling the roads leading into Germany and I had just come off the road-block guard in the early afternoon.
I was changing from my guard uniform into more comfortable gear when I heard the wireless in the next room creating quite a racket.
I went next door to see what was going on and found myself the only one there.
I realised that my mates were probably eating dinner in the mess-hall and that they must have been listening earlier and had then left the set on.
It was VE Day all over again. The announcer back in London was describing the noisy scene as tens of thousands of jubilant servicemen and civilians swarmed the streets. As on VE Day I felt no emotion at all, if anything, I probably felt like a kid who had not been invited to a party and who was now watching the lucky ones coming home with their party bags.

The short explanation was that the end of the war had come too late for my older brother Jack, G-d rest his soul. On the 11th of May, just three days after VE Day, I had received a letter from home telling me that Jack, who was an Air-Gunner, had been shot down over Nuremberg on the last such raid of the war.
The loss to his widow, his two young children and to all of our family was as incalculable then as it is today some fifty odd years later and our family was never to be the same again.

Ron's Grand Tour

Photo shows: The route of my travels, courtesy of Ron Tee

I am a product of my times,an active 81 yr old, happily retired with a lovely wife and a delightful family and ever anxious to put on record how my family served their country during World War 2.

I was born on the 16th of August 1923 and started my Army service on the 1st of October 1942.

I'm computer-literate as the result of a year's Open University (on the Fundamentals of Computing) which, in 1988, started me off on a new hobby.

In the fond hope that other folk have trod this path with me, I now give
Ron’s Grand Tour, 1942 to 1947
Aug 16,1942 I am now aged 19
Oct 1, 1942 Called up,and Posted to 53rd Primary Training Wing at Bury St.Edmunds
Nov ’42 Whitby, Yorkshire, Posted to 52nd Anti Aircraft Driver Training Regiment,Royal Artillery to be trained as a Driver/Wireless Operator
Feb ’43 Haltwhistle, Northumberland. Posted to 112th L.A.A. Regiment
Mar’43 Hove, Sussex, Congleton, Cheshire, Woolwich (Where the overseas draft REAYK assembled),London, and home for embarkation leave.
Apr’43 Liverpool, S.S.Frankonia, The ship that took us to North Africa. Algiers,( North Africa ) Posted to 49th Light Anti Aircraft Rgt. at Tunis
Cap Matifou, Ghardimeau, Medjes El Bab, (Tunisia)
June ‘43 Carthage, Guelma, Hammamet. Boarded ship for the invasion of Sicily.
July’43 Syracuse, (Sicily), Bronte, Adrano, Messina,
Sep’43 Reggio di Calabria, Invasion of Italy, Crotone, Bari, Foggia, Termoli
Dec ’43 Carovilla, Cantalupo, Agnone, Riccia, Campo Basso, Bagnolia
Feb ’44 Ortogna, Mignano, Cassino (The Regiment was responsible for smoke laying beneath the monastery), Caserta, Afragola, San Vittorio
Apr’44 Vanairo, Vanafro, Ceprano, Lake Trasimeno, Rome, Baschi, Tiber, Frosinino, Taranto Pulled out of the line. S.S.Empires Pride The ship that took us to Egypt to reform and re-equip)
Jul’44 Alexandria,(Egypt), Cairo, Ishmalia, Amiryah
S.S.Homer Lee (The American ship that took us back to Italy). Augusta, (Sicily) Assisi (Italy), Vasto, Termoli, Sangro, Pescara, Scarperia,
Florence, Firenzuolo
Oct ’44 Sienna, Tavernelle, Naples, Ancona
Dec’44 Rieti Posted to Royal Armoured Corp Training Depot for re-training on tanks
Mar’45 Posted to 4th Queen’s Own Hussars as Loader/Wireless Operator on Sherman Tanks.
Gubbio, Ravenna, Rocciano, Rimini
Apr’’45 Commachio, Traversare, Ferrara, Lugo, Santerno, Reno,
May’45 Venice, Ferndorf,(Austria) (Set up a POW camp for SS Cavalry Division), Lienz, Spittal
Paternion, Grafenstein, Trieben,Villach,
Jul’ 45 Velden, Klagenfurt,Salsburg,
Aug’45 Munich, Ulm ( Germany) (Running staging camp for troops going home on leave)
San Giorgio, (Italy)
Nov’45 Udine, Milan, Brig, Calais,Folkestone,London, (First home leave since Apr’43) Folkestone, Calais, Milan, (Italy) Palmanova, Trieste,
Jun’46 Milan, Calais, Folkestone, London, (My second home leave)Trieste, (Italy) Monfalcone,
Oct’46 Milan, Dieppe, Dover London, Dover, Dieppe, Trieste (Regimental re-union with the Colonel, Winston Churchill, in attendance)
Jan’47 Milan, Calais, Dieppe, London, Barnard Castle, York and finally DEMOB!

My army records show that I was released 0n 12/4/47 and posted to 'Y' list. My length of service is shown as 4 years 294 days
My rank on discharge was W/Corporal and my service number was 14300260.
My medals are as listed below:
1939-1945 Star
Africa Star
Italy Star
Defence Medal (I was in Civil Defence in 1942)
Victory Medal

I have posted various stories on the site. To see how they tie up with the dates above please refer to the Chronological Index in my Personal Journal

Danke Herr Mix !

Photo shows: On the right, our billets in Trieben, on the left, German troops marching in. Both photos were taken in 1936.

In June 1945, my Regiment, the 4th Queen's Own Hussars, was running a POW camp for Germans that had surrendered to us at the war's end.
The entertainment officer had decided that it would be a good idea to open the local gasthaus or pub for our troops but the proprietor of the said pub had no beer. I went with the entertainments officer to the pub to act as interpreter and explained that the publican was suggesting that if the pub was in effect 'taken over' by our Regiment then he could get the beer from the local distillery which was now under the control of AMGOT or the Allied Military Government.
Arrangements were made for us to turn up at the pub with a 7 tonner and the pub owner loaned us loads of barrels.
We were then taken to the right place near Spittal and the manager of the distillery had fresh barrels of beer loaded for us on to our truck. We had just finished loading and the distillery manager was keen to get a signature from us to keep things in order.
My officer casually said to me 'sign for it will you while I get my things together'.
I was not completely convinced that what we were doing was completely legal so when a place in a ledger was presented for my signature I signed it as TOM MIX (a cowboy hero of my younger days).
The distillery manager looked over my shoulder and said 'Danke Herr Mix'. We beat a hasty retreat and the signature is probably still there today.

Shows running in London during 1945

Photo shows: Some of the shows I saw on leave in London in November 1945

I had my first LIAP in November 1945

I have already mentioned this scheme in my article about ULM in Germany but to save you the bother of looking up that article I reprint the details here.

From about 1944 there was an Army scheme in operation called L.I.A.P., which stood for Leave in Addition to Python. Python was the code name for posting home troops that had done four years or more abroad and were due for home posting, whereas LIAP was leave that was now being given to those who had "only" (my inverted commas) done two years and nine months overseas service.

In November 1945 I became qualified for LIAP and was able to spend a wonderful month in London.

It was ‘the done thing’ in those days to pack as many shows as possible into one’s home leave, particularly if, as in my case, one lived in London. When I got back to Trieste, after my leave, I made a collage of programs from just some of the shows that I saw and the list makes interesting reading.
1. Ivor Novello in ‘Perchance to dream’
2. Terrence Rattigan’s “While the sun shines’
3. Revudeville at the Windmill Theatre
4. Another farce “Is your honeymoon really necessary?”
5. “Can-Can” with music by Offenbach
6. “High Time” at the London Palladium
7. The farce “Fifty-Fifty” by Larson Brown
8. No room at the Inn
9. The Brothers Karamazov

Keeping a diary in wartime: 49th LAA & 4th QOH

Photo shows: Diary entry for 16th August 1944, my 21st Birthday, celebrated in Egypt

Occasionally, on this site, I get my knuckles slightly rapped for admitting that I kept a diary during my days ‘up front’.
I admit it was stupid of me, perhaps I justified it at the time by saying to myself “if it looks like I’m going to be taken prisoner then I will throw them away ” but in reality it was remiss of me and I hang my head in shame.
But……………..
Looking back as I do now, over 60 years later, I find them of great use in propping up my memory and in providing me with a 100% reliable source of reference. Take the following as an example, written in Italy as the war ended.


Sunday 22nd. April 1945
Woke to find mortar crew right at my head in yard right in front of casa. Rations came up with T.R's kit (?). More prisoners. Slung my 'spare' rifle. Moved into fields.

On this particular day I was literally woken up by the sharp crack of the mortars being fired at an enemy who could have been no more than 500 yards away. I remember feeling distinctly aggrieved that the Infantry mortar crew had not had the common decency to wake us up and to give us a chance to move out of the way while they fought their own private battle with their German counterparts!

On the reference to the ‘spare rifle’ anyone in the line, that is anyone who was anywhere near the enemy, usually had two lots of ‘kit’. The first set of kit was the official stuff that one had been issued with by the Army. This would consist of, for example, 1 Large Pack, 1 Small Pack, 1 Large Mess Tin, 1 Small Mess Tin , 4 Blankets, 1 Groundsheet , etcetera, etcetera.

The second lot of ‘kit’ that one owned was gradually accumulated along the way and was hidden in the truck or tank whenever a kit inspection was looming on the horizon.
A typical list of un-official kit would probably include such items as extra blankets, camp bed, eating utensils such as enamel plates and non-Army cutlery, a suitcase, a German rifle, binoculars, in fact anything that could help to supply a modicum of comfort whilst trying to survive in very unpleasant surroundings.
The reference to ‘more prisoners’ referred to the small pockets of German soldiers anxious to give themselves up to our unit. It was particularly shocking to see the many young boy soldiers, some of them looked no more than 13 or 14 and made us realise that Hitler was really scraping the barrel at that stage of the war.
The reference to 'T.R.s kit' is now completely meaningless but perhaps on some wonderful day yet to come 'T.R' will come out of the woodwork and say 'Here I am, it was me!'
The reference to 'moved into fields' meant that we moved away from the farmhouse area probably to get away from the mortar firing Infantry.
Thank you Diary!

VE Day, as seen from a field near Venice

Photo shows: 12th May 1945, Piazza San Marco, day leave in Venice


Diary entry for 8th May 1945
Filling up with petrol while Hewie has a day in Venice. Packed most of the tanks. Dinner was just for Bill and I. Boys came back from leave 'dry'.

There we were, in this field in the middle of nowhere, when someone on another tank called out, 'They're going mad back home, get the BBC on your set or you'll miss all the fun.'

I tuned in my 19 set to the Home Forces station and for the benefit of those outside the tank, hung all the earphones over the side of the hull. The crackle of the headphones soon drew a small crowd around the tank and we all listened in amazement to an unknown announcer describing the scene in Trafalgar Square.

I remember quite clearly that my emotions at the time were mixed. On the one hand it was good to feel that perhaps some of my loved ones back home were taking part in the scenes that were now taking place. On the other hand I, and in hindsight, I'm sure most of my comrades, felt somehow cheated that we, who had 'risked life and limb' and had been away from home for so many years, were not there in England to share in the triumph.

There is a footnote to the above.

In May 1995 one of my local papers asked their readers to send in stories relating to 'Where were you on VE Day?' I sent in my small story and as a result of this being published I was contacted by London News Network who were doing a run up to the VE Day Commemoration programs.

I, with a few other veterans, was invited down to the Imperial War Museum, stood in front of a Sherman Tank and interviewed on what it felt like to be listening to the crowds in Trafalgar Square whilst I was still so far from home. I still have a video of the program that was shown during the ITV news and a photo that I took of myself as it was shown on the screen.

The war ends in Italy, 2nd May 1945

Photo shows: The Guardhouse at our POW camp at Ferndorf

Notes from my Diaries

Wednesday 2nd. May 1945
Jerry threw his hand in Italy and Austria. Fired all our 2" mortars, phosphorous bombs and verey lights and had bonfires all over the shop.
Cease fire about 11 pm.
( At noon today the Germans signed an unconditional surrender at Caserta)

Within days the whole regiment was summoned on parade by the CO who addressed us as follows:
"As you know the war in Europe is now over, and I suppose most of you are looking forward to seeing your loved ones again after years spent overseas. I must tell you, however, that there is an SS Cavalry Division in Austria at the moment who refuse to cease fighting and our regiment has been given the honour of going up there and persuading them that it would be a good idea on their part to surrender to us."

Wednesday 9th. May 1945
All packed ready for move to Austria of all places but cancelled when S.S. Division packed in. Parcel from home with Kummel.
Thursday 10th. May 1945
Playing cards all day. Latest griff is we are getting armoured cars and then going to Austria as occupational troops. Still no mail.
Friday 11th. May 1945
Spent all afternoon in Padua, iced drinks, ices and ENSA show.
Met lads of brother Mick's Brigade.
Hear that Jack has been shot down over Nuremberg.
This was the terrible day when I received a letter from home to say that my brother Jack had been shot down over Germany and had been posted as missing. It reached me within a week of the war ending in Europe and at a time when we were all congratulating ourselves on having survived the war.
Saturday 12th. May 1945
Afternoon in Venice. Took lift to the top of the Campanile in Piazza San Marco. Had picture taken with the clock in the background.
Sunday 13th. May 1945
Had a day in, fortunately, as orders came in that we are on 12 hours notice to move into Austria
Monday 14th. May 1945
Moved off at 8 am. Stopped for night just North of Udine at small village that had been bombed by us. Partisans swarmed all over the place, one with Robin Hood beard.

The Partisans were something new in my experience. In my estimation these were genuine heroes, to have been captured by the Germans would have meant certain death for themselves and probably their families. Without exception they were all bearded and dressed in the most motley of clothing. They were armed with mainly captured German weapons and at this point in their lives they were living a dream come true. We saw one small group who had recently captured a German soldier. They were pushing him along in front of them to lord knows where. The soldier was grey in face as if he knew what fate awaited him and no one in our party made the slightest move to ask them what was going on.

Regimental Diaries:
15th May Verbal orders received from 78 Div to establish POW camp at FERNDORF for 500 POW.

Wednesday 16th. May 1945
At Ferndorf. Nothing to do but wait arrival of (German) prisoners. Griff is very confused. Am not on guard list. Billets crowded but quite O.K.

Ferndorf
The site for the camp was almost ideal. Situated in a valley it must originally have been a field for grazing and had the river on one side and railway embankment on the other. We quickly put up some barbed wire around the perimeter and bingo, we had a cage. Within a few days the first 2OOO prisoners arrived by train and eventually this number was to swell to 4OOO.
Timber was requisitioned from far and wide, and after it was dumped in the cage, the Germans were told to get on with it and build their own accommodation, which they soon did in a most professional manner. One of the first buildings put up was a guard room for our own benefit and I, in company with the rest of "A" squadron, was to spend the next month doing 24 hours on, and 24 hours off guard without a break.

At any one time there were only four men on actual guard around the perimeter, one patrolling the railway embankment, one the river bank, and the other two each other side of the cage. The Germans had their own internal guard to keep things in order within the cage itself and it was quite common for the British and German guards to patrol together, each on his own side of the wire.

On one occasion, in the early hours of the morning, I was chatting in German to my counterpart on the other side. I told him I was Jewish, to which I got the almost automatic response: "Ich habe so viel Freunden Juden!", ( I have so many Jewish friends!) and I asked him as a matter of academic interest what would have happened if some weeks earlier I had the misfortune to be captured by his own unit and they discovered I was Jewish.
He considered the matter for a moment and then told me that if I had been one of a large group of prisoners, then no attempt would have been made to segregate me, and I would have just been sent to the rear with the others. If, however, I had been captured separately and if his own officer said to him "shoot him" then he would simply have shot me, for as he quite cheerfully pointed out to me: "If I don't shoot you, then he shoots me!"

At the time, it all seemed perfectly logical to both of us and I have often been glad that events had never put the matter to the test.

On another occasion I was on the river bank duty and was being observed by a bunch of young Jerries. It was fairly obvious that they were amused by something and I asked them what they were laughing at. The ringleader said: "It's because you are only armed with a pistol!" (as tank crew this was standard issue and worn in a belt holster). I pointed out to him that if he personally attempted to slip through the wire and swim the river, the pistol was more than sufficient to stop him, if on the other hand the whole 4OOO of them were to decide to make a run for it, then all the armoured cars in the village would probably have difficulty in stopping them. He saw the logic of it and shared it with his friends.

Occasionally we would lose some prisoners who would scoot up the railway embankment and make for the hills, and we used to send out patrols in the early hours to see if they were hiding in the local farms. To everyone's embarrassment we sometimes found our own troops having a liaison with the local "talent."

The day my brother Mick nearly killed me

Photo shows: All is forgiven Mick! That's Mick (on right) with Ron at AJEX Parade, Whitehall, November 1992


First of all, some background to the day itself. Mick, who is three years older than I, was called up in 1939 (whereas I was not called up until 1942). He was originally an Infantryman, serving in the 22nd Battalion, Royal Fusiliers, and spent the next three years serving all over Britain, most of this time as a Sergeant Instructor. When the War Office needed more anti-tank units, he took courses on the 2-pounder, 6-pounder and eventually l7-pounder guns.

In 1945 he heard of the formation of the Jewish Brigade and, eager to join in the fighting, volunteered to join the unit. He arrived in Naples on 13 January l945, and after eight days in Eboli joined the Jewish Field Regiment at St Bartolemeo, leaving there on his birthday, l5 March, for a regimental hide about lO kilometres from the front.

The Regiment, consisting of three battalions of excellent infantry, had already been in action and had fought superbly. Mick found himself in bivouacs near a dirty Italian farmhouse, close by some Polish troops near Forli and by March l945 his unit was an established part of the Eighth Army.

News from Mick
Anyway, as the war in Italy was coming to its close, I had this letter from Mick to say that he had arrived in Italy and was a battery sergeant major with the Jewish Brigade.

Once I knew this, I started looking out for regimental or brigade signs that would give me a clue as to where he was and so give us a chance to meet. The fates conspired against us, however, and as the action was so fluid at the time I had no chance to get away from my unit to find him.

Brotherly fire
What did happen however, was that on the last big push over the Senio I discovered that the guns giving our own unit covering fire were actually the Jewish Brigade's. The inevitable happened, and when some shells fell short, SSM Busty Thomas, my tank commander, said to me in his lovely Welsh accent: "Your blooty brotter will bl****n' kill us yet!"

Two diary entries of around that time, compared after the war, make interesting reading:

Mick - 10 April: 'We commenced firing again at 4.2Oam. Zero hour 04.3O. Worried about my brother Ron who's also in the region with the Eighth Army. All five boys of our family in the services.'

Ron - 9 April: 'Moved to other side of Traversare. Dug in and have bivvie to myself. D-day and H-hour have started. One rocket landed fairly near. Leaflets dropped.'

Charlie 4 is not answering my signals

Photo shows: German propaganda leaflet shelled over our lines the day after Roosevelt died

Every time I say to myself ‘This really has to be the last story you’re going to submit’ up pops another vivid memory of my time with the 4th QOH and I hurry to my computer to get it down on file.

This particular memory was not recorded in my personal wartime diary but subsequent reference to the Regimental Diaries of the period in question point to April 13th 1945 as being the most likely day on which the events took place.

As I have pointed out elsewhere in "Joining the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars" (A2310003) one of the Squadron Sergeant Major’s jobs in the armoured column was to find and shepherd any 'lost sheep' back to the Sqdrn’s lines. At daybreak on every morning that the 1st Armoured Brigade column moved off, Control Station at RHQ would ask everyone on the net to ‘Report my signals’. This would be followed immediately by each station on the net in turn reporting the signal strength at which they were receiving Control, usually strength 4 to 5 out of a possible 5. During the day, as things hotted up, Control would not bother to ask for signal strengths unless they were having problems in calling up a station.

On this particular day, after about an hour of action, one of our Sherman Kangaroos (Infantry carrying tanks) had failed to respond to Control’s signals and Busty Thomas (on who’s Stuart tank I was wireless operator) was ordered to find out what had happened.

The Stuart M3 tank, unofficially and affectionately known as a ‘Honey’, had been my first surprise when I joined the 4th QOH.

During its glory days in the 8th Army desert campaign it had possessed a turret and a 37 mm gun. Now it had been ignominiously stripped of its ‘heavy’ armament and by removing its turret had been made into a glorified recce vehicle, not unlike its counterpart, the Bren Gun Carrier.

Anyway, our Kangaroos were carrying infantry of the London Irish Rifles who would be dropped off nearer the Santerno bridgehead where they would then be called upon to perform whatever the PBI (Poor Bloody Infantry) had been lumbered with.

The tank that was not responding, lets call him Charlie 4, as I can’t remember his actual call sign, would have been carrying at least a troop of the LIRs and we started scanning our surroundings to see if we could spot the culprit. It seemed like only minutes before we saw this lone tank in the middle of a field to our left.

Busty told Hewie to pull up alongside the stranded vehicle, which was soon accomplished. Because of the difference in size of our Stuart and the Kangaroo I was reminded of a tender pulling alongside a destroyer but was soon pulled out of my daydream when Busty said to me ‘Have a shufti and see what’s happened to them’.

I clambered up one of the series of metal rungs, placed there for the benefit of the infantry and then, steeling myself for what was to come, looked down into the well of the tank.
The interior was thankfully empty of troops or corpses but was awash with the evidence of being hit by an air-burst. The worst sight was the 19 set that was smeared with unmentionable pieces of flesh and I offered up an unsaid prayer for whichever operator had been standing there at the time.
I slid back down to our own tank and reported what I’d seen. I remember Busty saying rather mischievously to Hewie ‘Do you want to take a look?‘ and was pleased to hear a vehement ‘No thanks!’ in reply.

We quickly rejoined the Squadron and Busty reported back to Control to say that the Charlie 4 was now permanently off the air.

I don’t remember ever learning at the time what had happened to unlucky Charlie 4, but last week, fifty-nine years after the event, I had another look at the Regimental Diaries for that day and noted the following item:
“At first the advance was rapid but later Kangaroos met many ditches which slowed them down considerably. A number of POW were taken. Own casualties one NCO killed and two wounded. The Sqn was subjected to very heavy shell and mortar fire during the whole day.”
The day before, on April 12th, Roosevelt had died and the Jerries lost no time in shelling over propaganda leaflets that made capital of this point.

The day I should have died: 4th Queen's Own Hussars in Italy

Photo shows: Diary entries for the 15th to the 18th of April 1945


Wednesday 18 April 1945
"Stonked near wood for solid hour. Corporal Todd wounded badly in head when air-burst caught their Honey. Farmhouses burning, stuck in ditch."

The entry in my diary is fairly innocuous. Checking back using Regimental Diaries I can see that we were with the 2nd Armoured Brigade column in the Reno bridgehead area and that I had been with the 4th Hussars for about three weeks.

The day had started with my tank commander, Busty Thomas MM, going sick, I believe with an old wound, and he had been replaced for the day by Sgt. Broderick. Shortly after moving off at dawn we came under mortar fire from dead ahead, and Broderick craftily directed Hewie (Steve Hewitt, our driver) to place us under a knoll, or hillock, that was directly in front of the wood from which the fire appeared to be coming.

As I've already explained in an earlier tale, our tank was an old Stuart tank from the days of desert warfare and its turret had been removed to make it into a light reconnaissance vehicle. Protection from shell and mortar fire was not one of its major priorities.

It soon became apparent that we were safe, or relatively safe, as long as we stayed where we were. Every time we tried to move, however, the mortars landed within yards of us and we saw other tanks getting hit only yards away.

They say that when you are about to drown all your previous life flashes in front of you. Well, that is exactly how I felt that day and I could almost read the article that would appear in the local Hackney and Kingsland Gazette. "We regret to announce the death of trooper Ron Goldstein on active service in Italy. It is ironic that whilst on leave in Egypt some six months earlier he had tried to see his brother-in-law Jack Rosen, without success and only a few days before his death he had also tried to see his brother Mick, a Sgt. Major fighting with the Jewish Brigade, but again without results."

I just can't remember how long we remained sheltered in this manner but the German mortar crew ahead of us must have found some more interesting targets and Broderick was able to get us away to regain our position with the rest of the Squadron.

By the time the long day had finished and whatever we had to do had been done I realised that I had survived and that I was therefore not due to be killed that day after all. Looking back now over this period of my life, I realise that it was pretty much the toss of a coin that decided whether we lived or died. On that day my coin landed the right way up.

Diary Entries 11th April 1945

Photo shows: The Bren-Gun carrier that replaced our Stuart tank

Some excerpts from my Wartime diaries
in the 4th Queen's Own Hussars

Wednesday 11th. April 1945
Woken at 4 am to go into Lugo area with Recce party. Stood at cross roads for a couple of hours. Area lousy with mines. Late breakfast when tanks arrived.


On April ll th I went with Lt. Walmsley by jeep to Lugo, the fortified town that is surrounded by water and to which access is made by many small bridges. We stopped the jeep on the outside perimeter and looked across one of these bridges at the town that we could see in front of us.

The trouble was that the bridge had obviously been hit by shell fire and was in a bit of a mess. It did, however, look as if we could get across on foot through the rubble.

With its back to us a notice board had been fixed in the centre of the bridge and Walmsley said to me: "Nip over there and see what it says." Without any further thought I did this, and after I had reached the spot and read the notice I called across to Walmsley in what I hoped was not too shaky a voice: "It says 'Achtung Minen!'. I had, in fact, just walked through a Jerry minefield and was now faced with the unpleasant task of trying to remember exactly where I had placed my feet on the journey in. The fact that 58 years later I am able to write about the incident means, of course, that at the time I must have been blessed with either a good memory or good luck.

Thursday 12th. April 1945
Bit of stonking last night. Moved into area South side of Santerno river and waited for bridge to be slung across. After supper lined up with 2nd. Armoured Brigade column.
Friday 13th. April 1945
Moved over Santerno. Some M.G. nuisance and one H.E. about twenty yards away. Bags of prisoners, Kiss from Signora. "Liberatoris !". Chasing after tedeschis with 30 browning blazing!

The Browning machine gun referred to was rarely fired in anger, the exception being on this one occasion when I nearly killed Hewie our Stuart Tank driver.

We had been on the move all day and the Germans were surrendering left, right and centre. To our left, about two hundred yards away, German infantry were climbing out of slit trenches with their hands high and we were gesturing to them to get behind us and to make their way to the rear.

Suddenly someone to our right opened light rifle fire at us and Busty (SSM ‘Busty’ Thomas) lost patience and yelled at me "Let the bastards have it!" Hewie swung the tank to the right so we could face the new threat and I started firing non-stop, without giving Hewie a chance to drop his adjustable seat down below the level of fire belching from the Browning. A horrified Busty yelled: "Get down you stupid bastard!" and to my immediate relief Hewie disappeared from view before I could hit him.

Within seconds the rifle fire was replaced by more hand-raising, and we were able to proceed without further incident.

Whilst looking through a transcript of my remaining Diary entries I came across the following that I felt should be included in my 'memoirs'.

Tuesday 24th. April 1945
Flap in the night and we moved off at 2 am. XXXXXX was blotto and consequently net was lively. Made sweep of Ferrara suburbs. Busty smashes door in.

Wednesday 25th. April 1945
Moved off at first light. Stopped at casa where Busty fitted out old people with suit. Pulled into new H.Q. area then out again. Finally stopped at factory

This episode about Busty was a piece of pure ‘black comedy’.
The squadron was advancing Northward, and in the middle of the night of the 24th we came across a small farmhouse. Busty, Tommy Gun in his hands,very melodramatically kicked open the door of the house then, as no-one was in residence, rummaged through a chest of drawers.
He found and ‘liberated’ a tweed suit saying ‘this might come in handy later for a bit of swapping’ . The next day we were at another farmhouse where the occupants gave us a bottle of vino and Busty promptly gave them the suit he’d ‘liberated’ the previous day. I couldn’t help wondering at the time whether or not at some time in the future farmer A would see farmer B and ask him ‘Where did you get that suit from, I used to have one just like it !’

Looking back at this event some sixty odd years later I suppose that other folks might have considered this came under the heading of looting. In all honesty,Busty would have hotly denied this and I suppose that as I shared in the bottle of vino I was also an accomplice and I certainly don’t feel guilty of any such crime.

German Propaganda Leaflets

Photo shows: One of the German Leaflets shelled into our sector

My wife recently bought me Mathew Parker’s excellent book Monte Cassino.
Three pages are devoted to German Propaganda leaflets and this sent me immediately to my Army Album to have another look at my own collection.
I see that I have seven leaflets on display and thought I’d better list them while I’m still able.
The leaflets, mainly in lurid colours, were nearly all shelled into the Senio sector whilst I was in the 4th Hussars and were sometimes used by us as toilet paper, that’s why I only have seven left!. There’s a lot to read, so I will paraphrase just to give you a taste of the contents.

1. Meet Charlie the Gunner
‘Just now I want you to keep your brains clear, for in the coming weeks the big show is timed to start on the Italian Front. What do I mean? Well our officers are talking about large scale attacks against Jerry. We could of course wait until the b****y thing was over , but no, we must get ready for new attacks’

2. Italy wants to see you
On the front is displayed an idyllic coloured picture of palm trees and villas.
When you turn it over it says ‘But did you expect to find it like this ?
with black and white graves, with a helmet on top of each cross and a skeleton hovering overhead

3. One more river!
‘But it isn’t only one more river, this time it is the Mighty Po!’

4. He also had been told
‘that the Germans were a horde of huns’

5. His way leads safe home
‘True it passes through a prison camp’

6. Churchill without Roosevelt
‘The Big Three are now only two. One has gone’
This was a ‘topical’ leaflet shelled over a day after Roosevelt died.

7. Every Soldiers Problem
‘How to get out of the war alive (via a prison camp)

This last one I presented to the Imperial War Museum back in 1987 after they’d had a disastrous fire and appealed for replacements of their own collection. They photo-copied the original for me and then sent me a nice letter.

Joining the 4th Queen's Own Hussars

Photo shows: The first post-war official photo, taken at Ferndorf. See below for surnames of all concerned

Joining the 4th QOH

(Some use has been made here of the 4th QOH Regimental Diaries and I fully acknowlege any or all copyrights to the original publishers)

By the 19th of March, 1945 I had finished my transformation from driver-op in Light Ack to loader-op in the RAC and I was posted to the very prestigious cavalry regiment, the 4th Queens Own Hussars, then in the line at Ravenna.

En route to join the Regiment I was first posted to ‘E’ FDS (Forward Delivery Squadron) where I found myself in charge of a squad preparing Fantails for delivery to units getting ready for the Commachio push.
The Fantails were amphibian versions of the Sherman Tank, designed to cross the marshes and at that time very ‘hush-hush’.

22/3/45 My diary reads:
The ‘Fantails are now in the wood, having been brought in 1 o’clock in the morning. Weird looking things. Spent greater part of the day un-sheeting. Had to guide in a new lot at 9.30 pm.

23/3/45 Am now I/C grease point. Only got through four of the water buffaloes. Everyone needs a bath and some rest. At 8.30 pm met transporters, unloaded and guided in the ‘jobs’.

24/3/45 On solid days work and then we had to go back after dinner till 8.30 pm. The staff officers are in one big flap. Parcel (from home) with wine in it.
29/3/45 Army records confirm this is the day I joined the 4th QOH.

My first shock on joining "A" Squadron was to find the following:

l. I had been assigned as wireless operator to the SSM (Squadron Sergeant Major), one Sgt. Major "Busty" Thomas, as Welsh as it was possible to be.

2. His tank wasn’t the nice, solid-looking Sherman on which I had been trained for the past three months, but was instead a Stuart tank from the 8th Army desert days. To make matters worse its turret had been removed and the only protection "up top" was a canvas hood that was designed to keep the rain off.

3. The SSM's job on the battlefield was to act as nursemaid to the squadron, and this involved anything and everything that no-one else had been detailed for, including picking up stragglers, prisoners, the wounded, and in fact every job that no one else could be spared for, or, would want to do.

Once I had recovered from my first shock I settled in quickly and soon discovered the difference between being in a unit that was strictly an "up front" operation, as opposed to being in a support role such as the Ack Ack regiment I had previously been in.

The next thing I found out was that the Regiment was now part of an armoured spearhead that had been formed to capitalise on the breakthroughs that were taking place here in the very north of Italy. The Germans were finally on the run, and the need was not so much for heavy artillery and slow moving support groups, but rather for fast moving light vehicles and particularly armoured vehicles that could carry infantry right up to their firing positions.

Consequently the Sherman tanks had their turrets taken off, their sides built up and almost overnight were transformed into a new secret weapon with the code name ‘Kangaroos’.

I was elected cook for our tank and also Lt.Walmsley’s tank and to my surprise made a pretty good job of it, of which, more later.

The crew consisted of myself as wireless op and gunner, Busty as tank commander and a lad called Steve Hewitt, or more commonly referred to as "Hewie" as driver. By the way, on the point of nicknames, everyone had one and I was always known as Goldy. The armament of the tank consisted of a .3O Browning machine gun mounted fore, a .50 Browning mounted aft,a 2“ mortar, loads of grenades and pistols that we all wore in our webbing holsters.

We were always very mobile. This mobility was taken to such an extreme that it is worth a short description of the routine.

Suppose that we had been moving along a road and the order to halt came over the radio. We would pull off the road, get under the nearest tree for camouflage purposes and then our bedding sacks would be thrown off the back of the tank, quickly followed by the small cooker and the half petrol can that served as the brew up can.

If we were there for five minutes tea would be made and we would start to cook a meal. If the order to move came crackling over the radio we would simply throw everything back on the tank and the hot brew up would be hung at the rear of the vehicle.
If, however, it became apparent that we were there for the night, the bedrolls would be unrolled and, providing we were not on guard or wireless watch, we would get down to some sleep. The tank suits that we wore were ingeniously designed so that one could unzip them right down to the ankles and we would then use them as an extra ground sheet. In the morning one would then just reverse the process, zip up, roll the bedroll back to its packed position and we were ready to move off again. You can see my tank suit here :
http://db.bbc.co.uk/dna/ww2/A2017630

Regimental Diaries for that period read as follows:
1st March to 8th March
Re-equipping of A Sqn
16th March
A Sqn moved to new location 522270
19th March
A Sqn trained with Royal West Kents
20th March
A Sqn trained with Royal West Kents. 1200 (hrs) One Kangaroo carrying guardsmen of the 2nd Coldstream Guards exploded on a dump of mines causing the complete wreckage of the Kangaroo and killing 3 Guardsmen and wounding 5. The commander was killed and the driver seriously wounded.
21st to 25th March
A and C Sqns trained with Infantry with B Sqn as Armd protection
29th March
A Sqn carried 6th RWK in exercise HOSANNAH, the Armd protection supplied by the 9th Lancers. 49 Wos,Sgts and Ors departed on Python
By the 15th A Sqn was equipped with the long promised Priest Infantry carriers and on the 16th the Rgt started to move up into an area where it could train Infantry units of 56,78 and 8 Indian Div. as they were available from tours in the line.
All this month the ground has been dry enough for tracked vehicles to deploy and move across country.

One of the perils of rapid advancing that was taking place at that time was that if you broke down, you were left to your own devices until the rear parties could catch up with you. On one occasion, later in the day, we had some barbed wire entangled in our tracks that brought us down to a crawl, and we had to drop behind the main advance. Fortunately we were near a farmhouse, and so we decided to bed down for the night and wait until daylight would allow us to see what we were doing.

Before we could get to sleep we were disturbed by some Italians who had their hands full of rifles of various types. Apparently they had been informed by some earlier troops that if they had arms on the premises they must hand them in to avoid being shot as German collaborators. Quite naturally they were very keen to hand them over to us, but by the same token we were loath to tell them to fill our small crowded turret with their antiquated firepower!

We solved the matter in a rather black comedy manner by allowing them to pass the guns up to us and then, in the dark, we threw them over the other side of the tank instead of into the turret. At first light we got rid of the offending barbed wire and got away sharp before the Italians discovered they had been spoofed.

Back to the cooking while I think of it. It was the practice then for two tanks to "mess" together for the purposes of drawing rations etc., and we used to mess with Lt. Walmsley's tank. If I remember rightly he was second adjutant to the squadron leader, but he was certainly Canadian by birth. I still remember the fact that he used to put his marmalade on top of his fried bacon, and when he once saw me looking at him with amusement he rejoined; "It all goes down the same hole, doesn't it?"
As official cook I would draw rations usually every second day, and I would be permanently on the lookout for a chance to swap items with the locals for eggs or bread, to supplement our diet. I became a pretty dab hand at finding potatoes in the fields and even managed to produce the odd spotted pudding for high occasions.

On one occasion only Busty complained about the "sameness" of the cooking, and I was so incensed that at the next meal I gave him his plate piled high with his original rations of corned beef and dehydrated potato. Fortunately for me he saw the humour of the matter and accepted the fact that of the six crew that I was cooking for, I was probably the best bet.
As I have already mentioned I found I had an aptitude for languages and by now my Italian was pretty fluent. Consequently, whenever it was necessary to do a small reconnaissance I was often chosen to go with to interpret.

April 1945
Regimental Diaries:
1st April
4TP A Sqn carried 43rd Royal Marines Commando in Op Roast and were extremely successful, 43rd Commando being responsible for 420 of the 1000 POW taken by the Commando Brigade. One Kangaroo hit by 50 mm but was recovered. No casualties.

The attack over the Senio

Regimental Diaries:
A Sqn carried London Irish Rifles on 2nd Armd Bde exercise, Armd protection by the Queens Bays
3rd April
A Sqn carried 5th Buffs on 2nd Armd Bde exercise, Armd protection by the 9th Lancers
5th April
A and B Sqns moved to GODO area
6th April
Preparation for Op BUCKLAND
9th April
A Squadron HQ moved to area 420385
10th April
A and B Sqns crossed the Senio
11th April
1630 hrs A Sqn moved to outskirts of LUGO. A Sqn 2 and 4tp carried Gurkha Rifles. 1 and 3 Tp carried RFF Rifles in an advance to the banks of the river SANTERNO. After 1 and 3 Tp dropped their Infantry they encountered A/Tk mines. 6 Carriers of 1 Tp and 1 of 3Tp were damaged. No casualties.
13th April
A and B Sqns moved off with 2 Armd Brigade and passed through the bridgehead. Advance went very well as far as the canal crossing 315535 where the bridge was blown causing the advance to be held up. At first the advance was rapid but later Kangaroos met ditches which slowed them down considerably. A number of POW were taken. Own casualties one NCO killed and 2 wounded. The Sqn was subjected to very heavy shell and mortar fire during the whole of the day.
14th April
2nd Armd Bde advance. A Sqn entered LAVEZZOLA to advance North of the RENO bridge which on arrival was found to be partially blown. Considerable mopping up was done by all troops during the day..
15th April
All Sqns spent the day reorganizing and doing maintenance.
16th April
A Sqn moved across river RENO to area 331581. Intention, immediately the ARGENTA Gap was broken the group would advance North. Waited all day while others battled to break through the ARGENTA Gap.

18th April
A and B Sqns forming part of 2nd Armd Bde Grp advanced to form bridgehead across FOSSA SABBASOLA at 240665. A Sqn worked hard all day to be rewarded with excellent results. RHQ Tp did bulk of work but suffered 2 Kangaroo casualties. Air bursts over the 2nd i/c’s Honey badly wounded 2 of the crew. In general, the enemy were taken by surprise.. Many SPs and Mark Ivs were encountered but in conjunction with excellent fighter-bomber support throughout the day the majority were destroyed. (See my diary for the same day)

Sunday 8th. April 1945
Colonel gave A and B squadrons griff talk talk for this 'final' campaign. Packed tank sheet and covered my bed with Honey canopy.
Monday 9th April 1945
Moved to other side of Traversare. Dug in and have bivvie to myself.. D day and H hour have started. One rocket landed fairly near. Leaflets dropped.

One interesting feature at this particular time of the war was the increase in Jerry propaganda to which the front line troops were subjected. At one time I had quite a few of these and in my Album there is still a small collection.
See my posting (A2297333) German Propaganda Leaflets.

Collapsible beds

Photo shows: Ron, at Rieti, where he was re-trained by the Royal Armoured Corps to be a Loader/Operator

A recent article on this site mentioned that the writer had a collapsible bed dating from WW2. I was immediately reminded of my own experience of this type of sleeping gear.

The time was February 1945 and I was stationed at Rieti in central Italy being re-trained as a loader/operator in the Royal Armoured Corps.
The camp was also used as a transit camp for personnel being posted back to Blighty and there was much selling and bartering of personal equipment.
One such item was a collapsible camp bed, made of slats of wood and canvas and the whole contraption neatly folded into a parcel about eighteen inches long.
I think I must have paid the equivalent of a couple of quid for it and I couldn't wait for a chance to use it in the field.
In March the same year I joined the 4th Queen's Own Hussars who were then in the line near Ravenna.
On my first night with the unit I noticed that neither my tank commander, SSM 'Busty' Thomas, nor the driver, Steve Hewitt, had any form of sleeping gear other than their straw-filled paliasses and I rather smugly unfolded my camp-bed and set it up near the tank.
I was rudely awoken in the early hours by some fairly heavy shelling and so I learnt lesson number one of survival in the line.
One does NOT sleep above ground level if one can help it!
From then on the folding camp bed was consigned to my non-essential kit and was not to be used again until the war finished and I had leave in Austria.

Transformation from Gunner to Trooper

Photo shows: Pete Burns, Ken Atkinson and I, all ex wireless-ops from the 49th Light Ack Ack

Tuesday 12th December 1944
Left Foligno after lunch in the 3 tonner. Arrived at R.A.C T.D. (Royal Armoured Corps Training Depot) just before dark. In No.2 Sqdrn Barracks. Visited YMCA
and Cinema, seeing "In our time".

By the time December 1944 came, the war in Italy had reached stalemate and it was decided by the powers that be, that the Luftwaffe was no longer a threat to the ground troops and consequently the Light Ack Ack regiments could be disbanded.
This turned out to be in Rieti in the exact centre of Italy, and I spent the following three months training to be a loader operator on Sherman tanks, as opposed to being a driver operator on a Bedford wireless truck! It was here, by the way, that I first met up with Leslie Gilbert, (Gelbfarb) who was to remain a lifelong friend.

Wednesday 13th December 1944
Drew black beret and badge and also TT, TAB, Typhus and Vaccination jabs. Strangely enough feel OK after it. Played 'Joanna'(piano) at YMCA and nearly saw film.
Thursday 14th December 1944
PT and route march took up nearly all the day. Still no sign of actual training.
Left camp shortly after 5 pm and had photo taken in Rieti.
Friday 15th December 1944
Lecture on Burma by Captain of 7th Armoured Div. Had vaccination inspection by
M.O. ABCA (Army Bureau of Current Affairs) period in afternoon by Sgt.Grimm.
Saw Eleanor Powell in "Sensations of 1945" at YMCA and so to bed.
Saturday 16th December 1944
Route march and PT in morning. Afternoon off. Went into town with Steve. After tea
went to the "Royal" to see Patricia Burke in a 3 person show which was very good.
Tea at the YMCA opposite.
Sunday 17th December 1944
Tried to see dentist but no luck. Collected my snaps, they're awful. Mooched around in town with Steve and tried rifle range. In the evening saw "The Vernons" with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
Monday 18th December 1944
Visited dentist near the gunnery school to have tooth stopped. After dinner we were on "recreational training " that was rather like a sports meeting. In the evening saw "Sweet and Lovely".
Tuesday 19th December 1944
Tank recognition by models in the Intelligence Room. All afternoon spent in ABCA room talking about "what to do with the Germans after the war!"
Saw "Joe Smith, American" at the Bat.
Wednesday 20th December 1944
At Airdrome all day prodding with bayonets for mines. Found none, fortunately. Was late getting out in the evening. Received parcel and air-letters. Finished up at the YMCA and played piano in the dark.
Thursday 21st December 1944
Learnt a little bit about the compass and touched on the old 19 set. PT in the rain.
Some mail. Saw "Marriage is a private affair" at the Royal.
Friday 22nd December 1944
Volunteered for cookhouse fatigues and was on it all day. Queued up till 6 pm for NAAFI issue. Paid first visit to art class and learnt something. Stayed in for supper and cleaned up.
Saturday 23rd December 1944
Quite an energetic morning. "Normal working day" idea was cancelled and went into town in the afternoon. Had snap taken in the park. On fire picket 6 - 10. Haircut in evening.
Sunday 24th December 1944
Out with "the troopers " the better part of the day. The NAAFI had opened up and is quite a decent place. Saw "Moonlight and Cactus". Detailed for T.T.W (Technical Training Wing) on Tuesday morning.
Monday 25th December 1944 Xmas Day.
Tea in bed. Good breakfast and fairly good dinner. On the dodgems and rifle ranges,listened to the band in the square. Wrote letter to Jean, Draughts with Steve at the YMCA.
Tuesday 26th December 1944
Started refresher course at Wireless Wing. Our instructor, Sgt.Pike is quite a decent chap. The Morse code, about 14s shook me! . In the evening went with Ken and Pete to see an eytie version of an old film.

Morse Code
I was originally taught Morse Code back in Wireless Training School in Whitby. The passing out speed was 12 words per minute, which was always considered fairly slow. When we were given a refresher course at Rieti we found the starting speed was 14 words to the minute and this shook us up a bit!

Wednesday 27th December 1944
Pretty busy day today, Aerials, batteries, Morse procedure, I think we covered nearly everything. Ken (Atkinson) was ill today and packed up early. I rushed to see "The Iron Major" at the Royal, first show.
Thursday 28th December 1944
Bags of procedure. Have palled up with some other ex L.A.A . lads. In the evening went to the Royal hoping to see "Fallen Sparrow" but it turned out to be "The Iron Major" again. Finished up in the NAAFI.
Friday 29th December 1944
Fault finding on 19 sets. Security lecture by Major Carrol. Morse and internal Wiring.One long rush all day. Saw eyetie version of Joe.E.Brown film and finished up at the YMCA with Pete and Ken.

January 1945

Time went quickly at Rieti. There was so much to do so much to learn and I loved the glamour attached to riding around on tanks (as opposed to my old Bedford 15 cwt. truck in former times).

One drawback, however, was the weather. The time of the year and Rieti’s location in the centre of Italy meant that the barracks were freezing, particularly at night.
After a hard day’s work we would go into town as a group. We would usually try and get some food in the N.A.A.F.I and then see a film. On the way home from the Cinema we would call into one particular bar. We would have a cognac or some such spirit and this would be placed in a tumbler together with a twist of lemon. They would put this under the spout of a cappuccino machine and produce a scalding hot toddy. We would drink this up and then literally run back to barracks before the effect it produced had worn off. A quick dive into our bunks and we were asleep before we could get cold again.

February 1945

My diary entries have gone missing over this period but by

Thu 22nd March 1945

I can see that I am about to join the 4th QOH

Commandeering billets in Italy

Photo shows: The 78 British Infantry Div epaulette 'Flash'
Sunday 22nd. October 1944
Through Firenzolia, roads murder as it had rained all night and was still raining. Had to evict eyeties out of house for Major Mouland. Carried set up mountain to try and contact Batteries. Near Div cemetery.


The entry in my diary brings the scene back immediately to mind.

At the time I was still being called upon to act as an unpaid interpreter.
We had arrived at this small farmhouse complex and Major Mouland decided it would do nicely as B.H.Q and sleeping accommodation for himself and the other officers. He told me to explain to the very belligerent looking owner of the property that it was being commandeered by the British Army and that he, the owner, would have to leave forthwith.

I tried to sugar the pill as nicely as I could by explaining to the farmer that he would be re-compensed in due course but that leave he must. The Italian wasn’t having any of this.
“Spara!” he said vehemently, “Shoot me!” ..."Spara! Non posso far'
più!" or, in other words “You can’t do any worse to me!” and he demonstrated this by tearing open the front of his shirt and offering his broad chest to Major Mouland.

The O.C. turned peevishly to me and said “What’s he bloody talking about Goldstein!” I explained what the farmer had said to which Mouland replied, equally vehemently “ I don’t want to shoot the bloody man! ....tell him not to be such a stupid bloody idiot!”.

Somewhere along the way reason must have prevailed and I vaguely remember that the house owner was allowed to stay in his house by keeping two rooms upstairs, from where he was able to keep an eye on his property, while BHQ remained down below.

With reference to my use of the word 'eyeties', this was common parlance in the days in which it was written, were I writing it today I would have used a less offensive word.

Day Leave in Alexandria July 1944

Photo shows: Bob Dunne and Ron in Rameses Square (complete with bananas!)

It was July 1944 and my regiment, the 49th Light Ack-Ack Regiment, was taken out of the line in Italy and shipped to Egypt with the rest of the 78th British Division.

Our first port of call was Ikingi, near Alexandria, where we were to spend a month re-fitting and re-training before returning to Italy.

Whilst in Egypt, my fellow wireless operator Bob Dunne and I had a day’s leave in Alexandria, and one of the sights we took in was Rameses Square with its famous statue.

The street photographer had obviously learnt that it was impossible to buy bananas back home in England, so he provided a basket of the fruit as a 'prop' for his customers. I seem to remember paying to have a small box sent to my folks back home, but I can't remember checking to see whether they ever received them!

Photo shows: The Sphinx, that's me, 2nd camel from the right

This brief episode relies largely on my Diary notes and starts after our stay near Rome.

Thursday 13th. July 1944
Div flashes taken off us, kit packed and on lorry ready for train journey to Taranto. Rumours seem to bank on Egypt.
Friday 14th. July 1944
Left area at 1230, 30 men and kit to a cattle truck. Heat terrific and not feeling too well. Hope it passes over. Larry in same truck.
Saturday 15th. July 1944
Not much sleep, passing all the old places. San Angelo, Cassino, Mignano, Caserta. Life in truck is pretty hectic and dirty! Arrived Barletta.
Sunday 16th. July 1944
Arrived in Taranto at 2 o'clock. 5 mile march to Div. area with most of equipment. Blazing sun made it pretty grim. Changed all my gear and handed in Big Pack.
Tuesday 18th. July 1944
Marched to docks, seven miles, on board "S.S.Empires Pride" by 12 o'clock. Sailed at 1 o'clock. Boys call the ship "The Altmark" due to the excessive heat and discipline. Slept naked in hammock.
Wednesday 19th. July 1944
Heat still deadly. Boat drill lasted over an hour. Action stations when plane was fired at. Sleeping on deck tonight. Queued for hour in NAAFI.
Thursday 20th. July 1944
Violent stomach cramp due to food. All the lads on my deck the same. Boat drill deadly as usual. Won 10/- at Housey. Passing coast, believe it to be Libya. Sleeping below tonight. Handed money (Lira) in.
Friday 21st. July 1944
No lifeboat drill. Met Syd Bofkin ( a friend from my boy’s club days0 on deck. On ships guard 6-8 p.m. and 12-2 am. Writing this whilst guarding Armoury. Docking on morrow.
Saturday 22nd. July 1944
Last to disembark at Alexandria. Trucks took us to transit (camp) near Mersa Matru. First sight and taste of desert (in Egypt anyway) . Pretty whacked.

Egypt

Following my visit to Rome the rumours of a "big move" came to be founded on fact, and on July l8th we found ourselves at sea on the S.S. Empire’s Pride and our destination turned out to be Alexandria in Egypt. We were there for just over a month to re-equip, retrain and have some leave in the fleshpots of Cairo. Whilst we were there the 78 Div Infantry set about making a mess of Cairo because of the excessive ‘bull****’ that was imposed, maily by the Redcaps (Military Police)
In my Album is a snap is of Bob Dunne and I in Alexandria with bananas which were then non-existant at home!
As we were out of the line I was able to get off the wireless for a whole month, but instead found myself roped in as a jeep driver to the C.O., one Major Mouland. This was fun, and I was able to dash about the desert between Alexandria and Cairo at speeds of over a hundred miles per hour with the windscreen down to get the maximum cooling effect.

Monday 31st. July 1944

Left camp at 0730 arrived Cairo at 1230. Visited Jewish clubs, ate Kosher Food for first time in years!. Bed and Breakfast for 35 piastres. First impressions of Cairo O.K.

August 1944
Of my week's leave in Cairo I most vividly remember a day trip to the Pyramids and the Sphinx and the pleasant days we spent swimming at the pool at Heliopolis. In my Album is the standard photo of me on a camel in front of the Pyramids.
On the l6th of August l944 I celebrated my 2lst birthday by having a drink with an American seaman in a bar in Cairo.
I had just dropped the C.O. off in the city and was killing time before picking him up for the trip back to camp at Ishmalia. By one of those remarkable coincidences that used to occur in wartime, the seaman at the bar, a John Merry of 383O North Carmac St Philadelphia, U.S.A., happened to be a crew member of a Liberty ship called the SS Homer Lee. When at the end of our stay in Egypt we boarded ship for our return to Italy the ship turned out to be, yes, you have guessed it, the afore-mentioned Homer Lee and as a result I had the pleasure of access to the crews' quarters and some smashing food.
By September we were on our way back to Italy.
September 1944
Friday 1st. September 1944
Swimming in an adjacent dock, very enjoyable. Read and finished "Crowthers of Bankdam" by Thomas Armstrong. Very little discipline on board. Wrote letter to folks. Heat pretty deadly, stripped to the waist.
Saturday 2nd. September 1944
Ship still in docks. Last night whilst I was on 4-6 stag there was a bit of trouble and the ship was 'boarded' by U.S. Military Police, the ship's carpenter was taken off. Swimming was very oily today. Handed in 85 Piastres.
Sunday 3rd. September 1944
Ship sailed out of Alexandria at 9.30 am. Balloon was brought out to us by motor boat, already inflated! Convoy formed up about 5 miles out. Our present course is N.W.

We actually set sail on September 3rd, five years to the day that war broke out, and I must have remembered with irony, Mum, G-d rest her soul, saying in the kitchen in Boreham Street, "At least Ronnie won't have to go!"

Monday 4th. September 1944
Sea still calm. Course West. Infantry officer held quiz and to my astonishment I came 6th and won a bar of soap! Concert (of sorts) in the afternoon. In the evening Jack Merry took us to his cabin and showed us various 'souvenirs'.
Tuesday 5th. September 1944
Course N.W, obviously heading for Italy. A bit of action stations and boat drill. Another quiz but no luck this time. The ship is doing quite a bit of rolling but so far I feel OK. Jack Merry is a very good friend in need.
Wednesday 6th. September 1944
Heading for Sicily. The sea is the calmest I've ever seen. My first sight of flying fish. Played Solo Whist all day, lost 5/-. At 1130 pm battle stations sounded but nothing happened.
Thursday 7th. September 1944
Convoy split up about 4 pm, half joined another Gibraltar bound convoy. Steamed into Augusta at 6 pm and anchored a mile off shore. After dinner did a bit of swimming off the side of the ship. Grand!
Friday 8th. September 1944
Left Augusta at 9 am and hugged the coast going North all day. Played cards the greater part of the day. In the evening a storm blew up and we nearly lost our hatch tarpaulin Not much sleep.
Saturday 9th. September 1944
Following the coast round all day. At 6pm entered Taranto harbour and anchored alongside an Italian cruiser of pretty heavy armament. It is still uncertain as to whether or not we disembark here.
Sunday 10th. September 1944
At 9 am disembarked and hung around waiting for my truck to be unloaded. At 6pm a 3 tonner took us to the Div. area where we met the advance party. Dumped kit and came back to Taranto for a show. Met Nat Krieger. (A friend since my Boreham Street days)

By the end of September we were 'back in business' in the Pescara area and our days in Egypt were as though they had never been

Day Leave in Rome, June 1944

Photo shows: Ron on day leave in Rome

The tailboard of the Bedford three-ton truck slammed down with a resounding crash, someone yelled, 'Everybody out!', and we all clambered out stiffly on to the baking pavements of wartime Rome.

There were some 15 of us, all from the same Regiment, the 49th Light Anti-Aircraft Rgt. The time was 10am and we had just arrived after a bone-shaking three-hour journey from 75 miles north of the city.

The date was Wednesday, 21 June 1944. Rome had fallen to Allied troops 18 days earlier when the American General Mark Clark of the 5th Army had been given the honour of formally accepting the city's surrender. Six days later, on 9 June, my unit had driven through Rome on its way North and we had been there ever since, figuratively catching our breath while the powers that were decided what our next move was to be. Someone up top must have said, 'Give the troops a chance to see what they've been fighting for,' and I was one of those who had drawn a short straw.

I was not quite twenty-one at the time, had been in the Army since October '42 and abroad since April '43. I had arrived in North Africa just in time for the end of the First Army campaign, had been through the whole of the Sicily campaign and (in company with most of my comrades there that day) had been on the long slog north since the invasion of the Italian main land in September '43.

In my wartime album I still have some snaps taken on the day so I don't have to think too hard to remember what I must have looked like on this scorching day some fifty odd years ago. I was slim in build, dark from successive summers in the Mediterranean and wore khaki drill, as it was officially referred to. My shirt was open necked, sleeves rolled up to the regulation length and I wore blankoed gaiters over my boots.

On my right sleeve I wore a forked lightning badge to show that I was a wireless operator, and on my shoulders I wore the distinctive yellow battle-axe on a black background, which signified that I was part of the 78th British Infantry Division. My chest showed only one medal ribbon, that of the Africa Star and my pipe, a hangover from my civilian life, was clenched at what I obviously imagined was a jaunty angle.

As I've said, the time was 10.00 hours, we had to be back at the pick-up point at 18.00 hours and the Sergeant in charge left us in no doubt as to the likely trouble we would be in if we missed the bus. Back at the camp we'd been given a leaflet that told us of some of the glories we were about to see and printed on the back of the leaflet was a reasonably accurate, if not detailed, map.

I had no particular friends with me on that day, just the way the draw had worked out. This suited me fine however because even a cursory glance at the map had shown that I would have to go like the proverbial clappers to see even a tenth of what the city had to offer and what I had in mind for the day.

We had been dropped off at a lorry park near the Colosseum and so this was an obvious starting point. I followed the early crowds into the amphitheatre and tagged on to a group that had managed to secure the services of an Italian guide. After a short while I slipped away to visit the cells underneath the arena where the slaves and early Christians were held prior to the games and their subsequent death. I have never considered myself to be significantly claustrophobic but the atmosphere in the dank, shaded quarters felt unbearably evil, and I was glad to get back out into the sun and the heat.

Next stop was the nearby Forum where I wandered for a while before heading northward to the Victor Emanuel monument, known to the locals as the 'Wedding Cake' because of its garish architecture. Still heading north, I stopped for a while at the Pantheon and then the Trevi Fountain finally finishing up at the monumental steps of the Piazza di Spagna, where I rested in the shade and ate my haversack rations augmented by fruit and drink I bought on the spot.

Crossing the Tiber and the Vatican
It was now time to head west, crossing the Tiber for the first time over the Ponte San Angelo to the castle itself, no time to hang around here because the nearby Vatican beckoned and I pushed on relentlessly.

The Vatican was fantastic, all that I had expected, and I spent a few hours there armed with a guide book. It was almost 17.00 hours before I could tear myself away.

The last item on my mental itinerary for the day was to find the Great Synagogue and, if I could, some fellow Jews. In anticipation of such a meeting I withdrew from my wallet a small brass Magen David, which I had acquired somewhere along the way and I let it hang from the buttonhole of my breast pocket.

The map I had been using made no mention of the Synagogue but I had heard from a Jewish friend back at the unit that it was near the Isola Tiberina, the island that sits in the centre of the Tiber near the Campidoglio.

After leaving the Vatican I re-crossed the river at Ponte Vittorio Emanuel, and then turned right to follow the embankment south until, almost wilting in the heat, I saw the synagogue on my left. It was huge, Moorish in design, with a large domed roof. I walked completely round the outside until I found a small side door that looked as if it was in use. After knocking a few times an elderly man, obviously a caretaker, let me in, and when I explained I was Jewish he let me wander around un-escorted to study the interior. There were no worshippers present and the stained-glass windows and marble pillars were all too much reminiscent of the Vatican that I had just visited. It was certainly a far cry from the Bethnal Green Synagogue where I had been bar-mitzva'd less than eight years earlier!

After about twenty minutes I quit the cool interior to face the baking streets again after first asking the caretaker where I was likely to find other Jews. He told me to cross over the other side of the Tiber and ask any passers-by for the Jewish Quarter.

In the event it proved unnecessary because immediately I had crossed the Ponte Cestio I saw a small whitewashed garage facing the Synagogue. What drew my attention to it was a large Magen David that someone had painted on its walls in black paint.

More than 50 years later I can still feel the mental blow to the pit of my stomach on seeing this crudely painted sign with all its obvious connotations and its reminder of the photographs I had seen of Jewish shops in Berlin in the late thirties.

I made my way into its dark interior and once my eyes had adjusted to the dark I saw a young man working on a car engine. 'Sono ebrei qui?' ('Are there any Jews here?'), I called into the darkness.

There was a pause and then back in Italian came, 'Why do you want to know?' This, in the most unfriendly of tones.

'Because I’m a Jew,' I replied, and gestured, as if for confirmation, to the Magen David that was now dangling from my breast pocket.

He came close, studied my face carefully, then the Magen David and then, all restraint aside, bear-hugged me as though we were brothers. He, I never knew his name, called out to someone deeper in the darkness who was old enough to be his father or his uncle and introduced me as 'Un soldato Inglese, ma Ebreo!' - an English soldier, but a Jew!

Soon others joined us and each newcomer was solemnly introduced.

'Are there any more Jews around here?" I asked.

My new friend laughed and said, 'Come, I'll show you!'

He wheeled out an ancient motor bike. I was invited to take the pillion seat, and we roared off along the banks of the Tiber.

We didn't have far to go because I soon realised I was back at the Vatican. He parked his bike and pushed me forward towards the stalls that were selling religious objects. He called out to one of the stallholders and within seconds I found myself in the centre of a swarming, back-slapping crowd of men women and children, who proceeded to treat me as if I had just personally liberated Rome.

The kids in particular were particularly interested in my presence and kept touching me as if to convince themselves that I was real. Their parents were content to fire non-stop questions at me, always ending with, 'Do you think the war will be over soon?'
I spoke to my guide and tapped my watch face. I had already told him on the way that I had to be back at the pick-up point for 18.00 hours and the time was flashing by.

He explained to the stallholders and then said to me, 'They want to give you a souveneer (un ricordo),' and I could see that they wanted me to choose something from one of the stalls. The joke was that all of their merchandise was aimed to please good Catholics, and the numerous icons and crucifixes were hardly suitable gifts for this British Jew who was just about to leave them. The matter was soon resolved - one of the men pointed to my own Magen David still hanging from my shirt pocket. I took it off and handed it to him whereupon he promptly took a gold chain off one of the crucifixes and re-fixed it to my own charm.

A roar went up from the crowd - honour had been saved all round and as I hung my ‘ricordo’ around my neck and waved my good-byes I was choked with emotion.

My final call that evening was to another relative of my new found friend and as I drunk the obligatory glass of wine I listened to harrowing tales of what it was like to be a Jewish civilian in wartime Italy. I remember in particular their comments that life under Mussolini had been good even during the early days of the war, but that the horrors had started once the Germans had taken control in September '43.

It was 17.30. I apologised to my hosts that I really must be on my way and we solemnly shook hands. My guide and I roared away into the gloom and with about ten minutes to spare I was back at the lorry park and looking for my transport.

Later, as our ‘passion-wagon’ drove off into the darkening night, in the back of the truck it was noisy as everyone compared notes of how they had spent the day.

There were of course the inevitable tales of booze-ups and female conquests although to be fair to my comrades of fifty years ago there were many there that evening who had obviously also enjoyed sights and experiences that they too would cherish for a lifetime.

For whatever reason, I didn't tell the others about my own day, at least I said nothing about my meeting with fellow Jews and as the truck roared noisily northward, taking me back into the cocoon of life within a British army unit, I consoled myself with the thought that one day I would write it all down.

Two weeks in dock in Naples and not a wound to show for it !

Photo shows: Front Page of my Army Album)
On March 17th, 1944, whilst my regiment (the 49th LAA) was smoke laying at Cassino, poor living conditions finally caught up with me and I erupted into a bad case of running sores, mainly on my arms and face. The lads on our wireless truck persuaded me to report sick and I duly presented myself for MO’s inspection. After a cursory glance he instantly diagnosed Impetigo and sent me off to the nearest FAP. Here they kept me a day and then sent me packing to the 93rd General Hospital based in Naples.
The trip down, by hospital train, was un-eventful although I was immensely embarrassed to be travelling in the same compartment as a batch of ‘walking wounded’ most of them still with their original dressings and plaster casts. One chap in particular kept thrusting the plaster cast on his arm at me, wanting to know if it still smelt bad!
When we arrived at Naples the city was covered in a grey ash as Vesuvius had chosen that month to erupt for the first time in I don’t know how many years.
The 93rd General was perched up on top of a hill overlooking the bay and I have various strong memories of my two weeks stay.
The best was the combination of a hot bath and clean white sheets, the first I could remember since October 1942 and producing sheer bliss.
The fact that the hospital was bombed during the night did nothing to reduce my pleasure although I did think at the time it would have been ironical to lose my life in that manner after surviving life in the field so far.
The worst memory was the extremely painful, twice daily, treatment sessions, none of your white starched female nurses for me, just a heavy handed male orderly breaking open scabs every time they healed and much painting with a horrible violet coloured ointment.
We were obliged to wear ‘Hospital Blues’ a completely soul destroying operation. White shirt, red tie, blue serge ill-fitting jacket and trousers, all presumably to make us instantly recognisable as non-combatants and how that uniform itched!
On the 30th of March (G-d bless my Army Records) I was released from purgatory, returned to my unit and was back to the same living conditions as before.

Gunner Burnard and the Brigadier

Photo shows: Geoff Burnard ringed with Larry above to the right

I first met Geoff in March 1943 at Congleton in Cheshire.

I had been posted to his unit, the 228 Signal Training Rgt, to join a draft of Driver/Wireless Operators about to be sent to North Africa as re-inforcements to the British First Army.

Geoff stood out like a sore thumb, not because he was noisy or flashy, the reverse in fact, he was overly quiet and perhaps too well spoken for your average ‘squaddie’.

He also seemed much older than the rest of us, I would have guessed in his 30’ s as opposed to the early 20’s of his peers, it should have occurred to me then that he was probably a volunteer.

Sixty years later and trying to remember his accent, the nearest I can get to it is that it was like Brian Sewell’s, the renowned art critic. The beautifully enunciated vowel tones were certainly there and as an ex Londoner with a slight cockney accent myself, I was suitably impressed. Rumour had it that Geoff was a former bank manager and, somehow he never seemed at home in his uniform which, I noticed, he always kept immaculately pressed.

After our spell in North Africa and Sicily I next remember meeting up with Geoff again as our unit assembled for the forthcoming battle of Cassino. We were in this nameless field and had been watching with some interest a procession of French North African Gouams in their colourful uniforms, trudging along the nearby road with their heavily laden mules.

Suddenly , with a shriek of brakes, a Jeep pulled up and out popped a red-tabbed Brigadier. After checking our Div and ‘Tac’ sign by the roadside to make sure he had come to the right place he strode into our camp.

There was much saluting from all ranks, a flurry of activity from the BSM and an abortive attempt to call out the guard but the Brigadier insisted that he wanted no fuss.
He was, he said, only there on a personal matter and could someone find him Gunner Burnard ?

In the meantime our O/C, Major Mouland was peeping furtively from his tent-flap, obviously not wanting to be involved if it wasn’t an official visit and yet presumably slightly peed off that the Brigadier hadn’t actually asked to meet with him.

With much interest and amusement from all the onlookers, Geoff was warmly greeted and back-slapped by the Brigadier who, we later learned, was his brother-in-law !

I can’t remember any further sightings of Geoff and was to hear no more of him until April the 14th when we received the shocking news that whilst carrying out his normal duties as a wireless op he had been killed by a blast from a German mortar.

There is a footnote to this little story.
In 2005 the Heroes Return scheme reminded me that I had never been back to Cassino and I so I decided to visit the Commonwealth cemetery and pay my respects to the fallen.

I looked up the details of Geoff’s burial site on the CWGC website and discovered for the first time that his name was Reginald Geoffrey Burnard, he was aged 42, married and came from Somerset.

I’ve no doubt that when I visit the Cemetery I will find other men of the 49th LAA Rgt who fell at Cassino but it is Geoff that I will remember the most because he was the first and I believe the only Driver/Op of our group to be killed at Cassino and his death reminded us only too well that we all lived on borrowed time.

Monte Cassino, March to May 1944

Photo shows: Larry and the program of the Seder Service we attended together

Larry Fox figures very much in this period of my life. He was, and 60 years later, still is, a very good friend of mine. He kept copious diaries, for which I have always been grateful, and still has a good memory of our days together in the 49th LAA.

Feb 17: My diary entry is very sketchy, reading: Left Bagnolia, very bad road, still driving when night fell. Slept alongside road.

Feb 22: 11 men from the Regiment, Larry and I included, were sent to Div. Signals on a cable-laying course. This was to be of much help to us in the months ahead.

March: By early March we had arrived at Monte Cassino. Like most of our moves, we travelled after dark and so we did not get our first sight of the Monastery until the next morning.

Our camp was just below the ridge of a small hill that faced the Monastery so that if you wanted to see what was going on you had to first walk up the hill and then peer over the crest.

In front of us was the Liri valley, then the Monastery Hill with the actual Monastery right on the crest itself. It was very menacing, right from the word go, and it was fairly obvious that every move that was made below could be seen, plotted and shelled with relative impunity.

Larry drew a few sketches while we were there and very much caught the menace of the Monastery to those of us who had to live below it. We dug in, literally, each man responsible for his own 6ftx3ftx3ft of Italian mud, and perched on top of each slit trench we put up our bivvies in a vain attempt to keep the rain out. Some of us tried to give our trenches a bit of individuality by making the top of the trench slightly wider thus making a ledge on which we could stand a lamp or our personal belongings.

Part of the Regiment was engaged on smoke laying whilst others were defending the New Zealanders from attack by the Luftwaffe.

The weather was atrocious, mud was the name of the game and my main memory of Cassino was always being wet.

March 15: The New Zealand Corps, which our Bofors were defending against air attack, launched a full attack on the Monastery which was preceded by a tremendous bombing. I remember vividly seeing this bombing mission take place and it really lifted our spirits.

March 17: Bad living conditions finally caught up with me and I was passed back to the 93rd General Hospital at Naples (see my story Two weeks in Dock at Naples)

Mar 22 : Larry's diary says he was at Mignano and two Messerschmits were shot down.

Mar 27 : Larry says we finally left the Div concentration area, were no longer operational but still in sight of the Monastry.

Mar 30 : I returned to the unit after my stay in hospital.

April 7 : Larry and I attended a Jewish Passover service organised by the South African Forces at the Junction of the Vanairo/Venafro roads.

April 8 : Larry's diary says worst night for shelling since Bronte (in Sicily).

April 14: Geoff Burnard was killed by a mortar blast today. When the news filtered back to us we were all shocked. He was the first and I believe the only driver/op from our Regiment to be killed and being only human, it worried us deeply with its implication that if Geoff could be killed, then so could we.

April 23: Larry's diary says '8000 yards from the Jerry lines'. Our Div, the 78th Div, was relieved and went into reserve in XIII Corps.

May 11: The big attack went in at 2300 hours. Larry's diary reads:'1500 guns firing, I really enjoyed watching it.'

May 18: The Germans finally surrendered to the Polish Division.

New Year's Day 1944, Snowed in at Carovilli

Photo shows: The Aerogram I sent home to Mick, who was serving in England at the time.

Can it really be 62 years ago ?
It was, according to my diary.

Saturday 1st. January 1944
Spent in Carovilli in the Central sector. Snow, cold, damp but still had a very good Xmas.
Sunday 2nd. January 1944
Spent most evenings with Fioccas, very nice people. Troops are getting it rough at Vastgirade due to the cold

The format for most of the troops in Italy on entering a village for the first time was to establish themselves with an Italian household. Instead of spending off-duty evenings in our un-comfortable billets, one could then relax in front of a roaring wood fire. Inevitably one brought spare rations for the mother of the family, which were thrown into the communal cooking pot.
We then ate an evening meal with the rest of the family.

In Carovilli I found myself in the household of the village priest, Signor Fiocca, and we spent many evenings discussing theological matters including how could a nice boy like me be Jewish!

In my Album I still have a photograph of the Priest’s two younger sisters, Delya and Iola.


One interesting aspect of the month or so we spent there was the time that one of the lads went down with pneumonia. We were completely cut off from other units by snowdrifts some 2O feet high and when we radioed for help were told to enlist the help of the local convent.

We moved Peter, I have forgotten his second name, to the convent, and they took over completely and probably saved his life. We used to visit him occasionally to see how he was getting on and on the last occasion found him sleeping in a huge chapel with altar candles placed near his head and feet for all the world like a monarch lying in state. When he saw us he said: "For Christ's sake get me out of here!" Apparently he had woken out of his fever to find himself lying in that manner and thought that he must be dead!

Another clear memory was coming out of our billets one morning to see ski tracks of a German Patrol who had calmly come through the village and made their escape without bothering us.

Dive Bombing in Italy, A memory confirmed

Photo shows: Larry with some of his friends

One very strong memory that remains with me till today, concerns watching ME 109s dive bombing and machine-gunning our troops.

The time was November 1943, the place Termoli, in Italy and our wireless truck was by a farmhouse some 1000 yards away from a road junction.
Well within our sight were some of our guns, sited near the junction to give protection to passing vehicles.

On this particular day I was working in the back of the 15cwt Bedford truck when I heard the unmistakeable "gedang-- gedang" clamour of Bofor guns in action.

I piled out of the back of the truck, still with my earphones on, and could see the dive-bombing taking place imediately to my front.
Common sense should have told me to get under cover but I was held spellbound by the grandstand view that I now had of the spectacle.

I watched with horror as at least two planes at a time were taking turns to dive, literally vertically on to the guns, and were pulling up sharply just as they reached ground level.

Too much dust was being raised by the effect of the bombs and the machine gunning to be able to see anything at ground level but it was obvious that our troops were getting a hammering.

After no more than five minutes of intense action the planes peeled off and comparative silence decended on the scene.

This therefore was, and is , my memory and it is only some 60 odd years later that I have been able to obtain actual confirmation of the event.

Firstly, from the Regimental History of the 49th LAA Regiment, (Copyright RA Historical Trust 2004, Compiled by Major D.Rollo):

OCT 1943
On the 2nd, RHQ moved to San Paolo. The next day 90 Bty guns moved towards Termoli on route protection and RHQ moved to north of Serracapriola and was joined there by HQ 280 Bty. 90 Bty had one man killed and one wounded by enemy aircraft machine-gunning.

Secondly from 'Larry' Fox's own diary (my own diaries for this period having gone missing over the years)

2/10/43
Very early we had orders to go out on a Recce with the adjutant (Capt.Weeks).
We went right up the front overlooking Termoli, in fact I saw the tanks and infantry moving up to take it. The place we found for RHQ was Serracapriola on an un-swept minefield. He left Les Cooper and myself to wait until the engineers had swept it. At about 9pm our truck turned up with some grub and we slept in a barn with C/84. During that I think we were in and out of the truck about a dozen times as Jerry was bombing and machine gunning the roads.

Again, the Regimental Diary:
On the 4th RHQ moved again, to a farm south of Campomarino and was joined there by HQ 84 Bty. 84 Bty had one man killed by aircraft machine-gunning. HQ 94 Bty moved to near Termoli.

Finally, from Larry's Diary:
4/10/43
As we were only just outside Campo Marina and Termoli well within enemy artillery range we started digging slit trenches and after we had dug only about 2 feet we had to leave off and get behind the house as shells were falling in the road next to us. Following that the Jerries came out of the sky machine gunning. This was my most frightening experience.
(The photo shows Larry with some of his friends, Larry is dead centre)

A postcard from Sicily, 3rd September 1943

Photo shows: The Postcard I sent home from Messina

On September the 3rd 1943 the British 8th Army, under General Montgomery, landed on the toe of Italy.

I had a first class view of operations, as my unit, the 49th Light Ack-Ack Rgt.,was one the many artillery units that laid down the original barrage to prepare the mainland for the British assault.

I had previously bought a postcard of Messina and I used this to send a reassuring message home.

On the reverse side of the card is a view of an unnamed building in "........" unnamed simply because the censor had very effectively scratched it out.

I see also, that although I wrote the card on the 3rd of September, it was only passed by the Field Post Office unit on the 11th.

The card reads:
Dear Mum,Dad and all
Quite well and happy and receiving your mail regularly.
Love to all of you
Cheerio
Ron

Considering what I was doing and witnessing on the day in question I think the card was a masterpiece of understatement.

A week or two before I sent this postcard I experienced the little episode that follows.

We'd been driving North and pulled off the road at nightfall. Our resting place was in a small park and as I drove the truck in I felt it go over a heavy bump. Because I'd been seeing bodies all day I knew instinctively that we'd parked on top of a corpse but I was too shattered to alter the truck's position and we so we stayed where we were. I was on duty on the set all night and the smell got progressively worse.
When morning came I finally investigated under the truck and found to my relief that all we'd done was to park on top of a pile of horse manure.
I can still remember the pong!

Lt.Whitfield and the Butterfly Spring

Photo shows: Our 15cwt Wireless Truck, drawn from memory in 1946

In my story “Lt.Whitfield’s directing debut" (A4268658) I had the pleasure of introducing you to Lt.Whitfield. I’d like to tell you about another episode in which he played a leading role.

We were parked in this nameless field in Sicily, just outside a similarly nameless village.

Ted Dudley and I had just stripped down our Johnson Chore Horse preparatory to carrying out maintenance , and that otherwise excellent two stroke battery charger was now laying in pieces on the tailboard of our 15cwt wireless truck.

Suddenly Ted exclaimed 'S*d it !' and I knew what had happened even before he had a chance to explain.

The tiny butterfly spring that normally sat in the carburettor had jumped off the tail-board, was now somewhere in the grass below and Ted and I we were now in deep s**t. The engine could not function without the spring.

You need to understand that the afore-mentioned butterfly spring was only about 3/8th of an inch in diameter (sorry, I can't measure in metric ) and we did not have a spare having already lost it on a similar operation. The spring was now off the tailboard, in the surrounding scrub and as far as we were concerned anyway, gone forever.

Just at that moment Lt.Whitfield came ambling by (did I mention that he was rather portly) and spotting that something was amiss demanded to know what was up.

One of us said ‘We’ve lost the butterfly spring Sir’.

“Nonsense” he said , “you havn’t lost it, you just don’t know where it is”

He then took charge.

“Where was the spring when you last saw it ?”
“ How far do you think it could have jumped ?”
“What does it look like, what colour is it ?

Having been given the necessary data he then made us mark a three foot circle with minefield tape, shift the truck forward and then BURN the grass within the inner circle.

He then made us sift the remaining sand through cheese-cloth obtained from the cook house and empty the examined waste OUTSIDE the magic circle.

I can’t remember how long the operation took but to our utter amazement we ‘found’ the missing spring !.

Our emotions on making the discovery were mixed.

Gratitude ? certainly, he had virtually saved our bacon. Chagrin ? that's for sure, nobody likes to be made to look like a fool, but, to his everlasting credit , Lt.Whitfield only said ‘I told you it wasn’t lost’ and then ambled away again , no doubt to tell the rest of the officer’s mess how he had just solved another problem.

Please Lt.Whitfield, tell me you are still around and I will buy you a much deserved drink.

Ex-Driver/Op Goldstein.R, 14300260, 84 Bty, 49th Light AAA Rgt. RA

Lt.Whitfield's directing debut

Photo shows: Ron in rather dis-shevelled KDs in Rome

The campaign in Sicily had been sucessfully concluded and we were waiting for our next move, the invasion of Italy.

Someone at Regimental level had decided that the Batteries should put on their own concert parties to 'entertain the troops' and young Lt.Whitfield had drawn the short straw, he was now 84 Battery Entertainments Officer.

In a moment of madness I had volunteered to play on a battered 'joanna' and other fools had likewise offered to sing, tell jokes or tell monologues but all this was not enough for Lt.Whitfield who obviously considered that this was his moment for show business glory.

“What we are going to do” he proudly told us ('us' being his not over-enthusiastic band of volunteers and pressed men) “is to finish the first half of the show with every one on stage singing “Come landlord fill the flowing bowl until it doth run over”.

“The clever part” he confidently continued “is that whilst this is all going on, we will have other chaps coming down the aisles dishing out mugs of vino, which I will organise”.

Came the night, the show went like a dream and we duly sang ‘Come landlord fill the flowing bowl’ as though we meant it.

Bang on cue, the mugs of vino were brought down the aisles to rapturous applause.

One slight hitch… the vino was in such quantities that we never got to start the second half of the show but dear Lt.Whitfield has gone down into Army folk lore history,mine anyway!

Sicily, then on to Italy

Photo shows: Ron on day leave in Bari

The history books remind us that the Allied Army invaded Sicily on the 10th of July. The British 8th Army under the command of General Bernard Montgomery, the American 7th Army under General Patton.

On the 24th of July (see below) my unit, the 49th Light Ack Ack Regiment, disembarked North of Avola, Sicily as part of the 78th British Infantry Div. We arrived 14 days after the initial beach landings. This was my first taste of 'real war', as I had arrived in North Africa when virtually all the fighting was over and had seen the spoils of war without having actually to fight for them.

Sicily was different in more senses than one, my most vivid impression was the constant blinding dust that our vehicles threw up as we made our way northward towards Messina, the springboard for landing in Italy.

My schoolboy French, which I had an opportunity to practice in Algiers and Tunis, helped me learn Italian, and as I have always had a flair for languages, I was soon acting as unofficial interpreter in the bargaining that took place whenever we entered a village. The most common swap was our bully beef for their eggs, although it was not unknown for a fair amount of black marketing to take place with lira changing hands for cigarettes or clothes.

One of the towns we passed through was called Adrano and the impression it made on me was sufficient to inspire the only poem I have ever written or am likely to write. Apart from a slight alteration to the last few lines it remains as I wrote it some sixty years ago and I print it here without comment.

"Darkness was falling as we entered the town, but t'was light enough still to see
The shattered ruins of what had been, a town, in Sicily.
It wasn't much to call a town, compared with those of greater size.
It wasn't built for modern war and now a stinking heap it lies,
Rotting beneath the azure skies, of Sicily.

It seemed as if an angry God had run amok with gory hands,
Then dropped a veil, a canopy, of dirty, blinding, choking sands
And as to wreak his vengeance more
Had propped a body in each door

We drove on by with sober thought,
Of those poor b******s who'd been caught,
We grimaced at the sick, sweet, smell, of this small piece of man made hell
This could be you, the bodies said, this could be you, soon gone, soon dead
We hurried by, enough to be, alive that day, in Sicily"

The campaign in Sicily lasted only a month and at the closing stages when we were moving up towards Messina I had my first serious flirtation with death. As I have already mentioned, I was part of a crew of three wireless ops, and for my sins I had been made the official driver.

In theory the driving was supposed to be split three ways but in practice the other two lads were happy to drive during daylight but disappeared into the back of the truck when night fell.

On this particular occasion I was driving without lights along a mountain road between Patti and Messina, with the sea on my left. I had been without sleep for several days and the strain of following a tiny light on the differential of the truck in front finally mesmerised me to such an extent that I literally fell asleep on the road.

The first thing I knew was this G-d Almighty crash and I automatically stamped on the foot brake and applied the hand brake. I then attempted to take stock of the situation and found the following:

1. I had run off the road towards the sea but had been halted by a telegraph pole.
2. The impact had been such that I had literally run UP the pole and my bonnet was pointing skyward.
3. It was impossible to tell at that stage what was going to happen if and when I released the hand brake.
4. Peter and Danny, my crew-mates at the back had woken and were demanding to know what the hell was going on.

Fortunately the fates smiled on me that night and when we had unloaded the back of the truck of its occupants and moveable gear I was able to release the brake, the truck slid down the pole, while Peter and Dave hung on to the tail to ensure that it did not slip seaward. We waited until the REME (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers) sergeant caught up with us and then with only light repairs were able to drive on.

On the 3rd of September (see below) our guns supported Operation Baytown, the invasion of Italy.

On the 20th of September we landed in Italy, via the short crossing over the Messina Straits. The actual transport over the water was a tank landing craft just big enough for two vehicles. I drove the truck onto the tank landing craft without any problem and was therefore surprised when on reaching the Italian beachhead it failed to start up. The Beach Commander gave me half a minute to try again and then to my acute embarrassment and the annoyance of the Major M*****d, whose vehicle shared the TLC, we were ignominiously pulled off the craft by a recovery tank.

Once on dry land it was soon established that it was only a battery lead that had jumped off on impact as I had dropped on to the TLC's deck, and we were quickly on our way.

Note: Dates in this article have now been amended after checking with Regimental Diaries as per this article.

A Driver/Op in Light Ack Ack

Photo shows: The old 19 set, lovingly restored by Keith Yates who generously let me use the photograph

I’ve already covered my training in my article entitled ‘Training to be a Wireless Operator in Wartime Whitby’. What follows is an attempt to explain what it was like to actually do the job in the field.

In May 1943 I was posted out to 84 Battery of the 49th L.A.A Regt. and with two other driver/ops we formed the first communications crew of this particular type of communication within the regiment.
Without getting too technical, in the past every Ack Ack regiment had used dispatch riders known as "Don Rs" to communicate between the troops, batteries and headquarters. Under the new regime each battery had a wireless truck, in our case a l5cwt Bedford Truck, with a crew of three to man it 24 hours a day. And this basically was my life for the next 2l months.

Whether life was easy or not depended on a lot of factors which could be summarised as the weather, the conditions and the shift. For example if the month was August, if we were outside the "line" and if my shift happened to be the O8OO hrs to l6OO hrs then there were worse ways of spending one's time than sitting on the tailboard of the truck with the headphones round one's neck, stripped to the waist and playing cards. On the other side of the coin, if it was December, in the line, under fire and on the 24OO hrs to O8OO hrs shift, then life was far from pleasant.

To add insult to injury, when, later on, in Italy we used to be bogged down for any length of time, it was necessary to set up outposts some considerable distance from the truck, and this involved carrying heavy batteries up and down mountainsides in order to keep communications open.

The wireless truck itself was a 15cwt Bedford and this was home for three men, a No.19 Wireless set, spare 12 volt batteries, all the additional wireless paraphernalia, a petrol driven charging motor (more about this later) all our kit, camouflage nets, and whatever else we could cram in the back when we were on the move.

A typical day would start off with us being on the move from A to B.
When we arrived at our destination the truck would be parked near a tree (if possible) this in order that we could use it as a base for our camouflage nets.
A tarpaulin would be thrown on the ground in order that we could unload the trucks contents ready for action and in minutes it would be cleared for use.

The first job was the “Netting-In” procedure. This was achieved by the control station at RHQ sending out a signal to which we could tune in to. We would then lock our frequencies to achieve maximum receiving and sending strength. It was a very rigid and formalised set procedure. Control would announce “All stations net now” and on our headphones we would listen for a signal that started off as a high pitched whistle and that, as we tuned in, would drop to a low ‘trough’. All sub-stations would then be asked, in turn to ‘Report signal strength’ and after all had reported in the net was officially on the air.

Most of the stuff we received and sent over the net was in code and consisted of apparently meaningless lists of eight letter words. In actual fact these messages were giving command information to all those using the net and the codes would be altered on a daily basis.

We very rarely used morse code, this despite having devoted a lot of time to this form of communication during our training. The sad truth of the matter was that most of us could only receive morse at about twelve words per minute and so we kept morse for receiving in poor radio conditions when it was difficult to hear the transmitting station.

One vital part of our equipment was the charging engine that was necessary to keep all our batteries fully charged. This was permanently chugging away just outside our truck and everybody at BHQ would beg our services to charge their own particular battery. It was not uncommon to have up to ten batteries at a time, all linked up in series, connected to our ‘Johnson Chore Horse’ and later on at night these batteries would provide lighting for the various messes and individual slit trenches.

‘Waffling’ (or chatting un-necessarily) was strictly forbidden, as only one person could talk at a time on the air and the net was monitored so that culprits could be reported.

If reception (strength of signal) was poor we would climb up a few trees and set up a lengthy ‘end-fed’ aerial. The only problem with this was it would take time to reclaim all of this when we moved off again and invariably we left loads of these lines all over Italy!

In December 1944 the use of LAA regiments became un-necessary and I was retrained as a Loader/Operator on tanks. To my surprise and joy I was to find that the wireless set we used was our old friend the No:19 set and it was just like coming home.

Algiers, April 1943, Our first sight of Africa

Photo shows: Postcard of Algiers

In late March l943 I was detached from the 112th LAA Rgt. and told that I was to join a large draft of Wireless Operators that was being posted overseas, destination unknown. The draft itself assembled at Congleton in Cheshire and it was here that I first met up with Lew Fox who was to stay friends with me from that time on. We then moved down to Woolwich where we were to be given ten days embarkation leave to put our affairs in order.

The final pay parade prior to my leave was to offer some amusement and I tell it now as I remember it at the time. The draft consisted of some four hundred wireless operators and we were all assembled on parade to receive our leave passes and pay. The sergeant major started calling out names in alphabetical order and each soldier in turn marched out some fifty paces to the table that had been set up, saluted the pay officer and after receiving his cash returned to the ranks.

I have now to confess that at this time I was politically naïve and still self-conscious of my very Jewish-sounding name. I was cringing inwardly at the realisation that eventually the letter G would be reached, the name Goldstein would be bellowed out across the parade ground and 399 assembled troops would have ample opportunity to study this Jew boy who was about to join them on their big adventure.

The short story is that when the name Goldstein was barked out, and before I had a chance to answer, another voice in the ranks called out: "Which one Sgt.Major?" There were at least two of us on parade, possibly even three and my only regret to this day is that I didn’t keep in touch with the others.

When I got home to London I was annoyed to find that no one took the significance of my embarkation leave seriously. I was told by all and sundry "Don't take any notice about it being embarkation leave: my son/friend/brother has had seven,eight or even nine such leaves and he is still in England."

When the S.S. Frankonia glided into the harbour at Algiers some four weeks later, I would have been glad of an opportunity to have some of the scoffers aboard with me!

Some memories in life stick more than others, and one such memory was my first sight and smell of Africa. As soon as I could get up on deck after docking I was hit by the immense bright light of the sun hitting the white-washed houses along the coastal strip. This, when coupled with the green of the hills, the blue of the sea and sky and the completely alien smell drifting out from the land, was something completely outside my experience and was a fitting start to my wartime overseas experience.
I remember very well the march to the transit area in full kit and in the blazing sun.
After a few weeks in the transit camp at Cap Matifou, just outside Algiers, life started to get boring and I rashly volunteered to join the camp boxing squad. The immediate short term effect was that I was excused the normal PT which consisted of six-mile runs with full kit and instead had the luxury of training on the beach in singlet and shorts.

One Friday the coach told us that he had got us seats for the weekly boxing tournament in Algiers. As this was going to be where we would eventually perform ourselves, we looked forward to the weekend. Come Saturday evening and the actual show, and I realised for the first time what I had let myself in for. All the contestants had been terribly mismatched with little or no consideration for height, weight or amateur status, and we saw, for example, what looked like a six foot six, fifteen stone American stoker making mincemeat of a five foot six, ten stone stripling from Yorkshire.

The fact that the crowd loved it was of no consolation to me and my fellow squad members, and for the next few days back at the camp we anxiously waited to see each day's postings in the hope that we would be spared the pending bloodbath. To our joy within a day or so the coach came to our hut to give us the "bad" news that we had received our marching orders and therefore could not fight at the next tournament!
I had been posted to the 49th Ack Ack Regiment in Tunis, and the method of transportation turned out to be cattle trucks on an antiquated railway line that took three days to get us to our destination. I have written briefly about this trip in my story “Not my worst night” (A1996860)
On arrival in Algiers I had hardly time to get unpacked before I found myself guarding the regimental car park whilst the rest of the regiment marched through Tunis on the Victory parade before King George the Vl, who had flown out specially for the occasion.

Not my worst night, by any means

Photo shows: Ron in a street-side studio in Cairo

The time was April 1943, and I was a 19-year-old very green wireless operator, who had just arrived in Algiers in north Africa as reinforcement to General Anderson's 1st Army.

After spending a few weeks in a transit camp at nearby Cap Matifou, I found that a few others and I were to be posted to a light anti-aircraft regiment in Tunis. Our method of transportation there turned out to be cattle trucks on an antiquated railway line.

The train itself caused us some amusement, if that’s the right word. The wagon to which we were allocated bore the sign ‘6 Chevaux au 20 Hommes’ stencilled on the side. We were destined to sit on bare, broken floorboards for the best part of three days.

Occasionally, without warning, the train would stop, and one of the officers aboard would run down the length of the train calling out, ‘We’re here for an hour if you want to do anything.’ ‘Anything’ could include cooking a meal, digging oneself a small hole in the desert scrub or buying hard-boiled eggs from the Arabs who appeared as if from nowhere.

At the end of the first day, the train clanked to a halt, and we all clambered out stiffly to make our beds under the stars.

I had already made friends with another young chap, whom I had first met back in England – a Londoner, like me – and we bedded down next to each other. As we ate our evening’s rations, my friend broke the silence.

‘You know, Ron, this has got to be the worst moment of my life, eating a meal of cold, uncooked bully beef and sleeping on the sand out in the open.’

The joke was that I personally was in seventh heaven.

The brilliant stars in the jet-black sky under which I now lay were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen in my own short life. The romance of actually being in the desert was manna from heaven for this particular cockney boy who, until he went in the army, had never been further from home than Brighton.

As the war progressed, I was to savour many experiences, some good, others not so good, and my travels were to take me to Sicily, Italy, Austria, Germany and Egypt. No memory, however, has stayed with me as vividly as that first night in the desert.

I have often thought about my friend’s remark and wondered if he later had occasion to change his mind about ‘the worst night of his life’!

German 'Tip and Run Raiders' over Hove in 1943

Photo shows: Page from my Army Records showing dates

On the 9th of March, 1943 I was stationed in Hove, Sussex.

My unit, at that time, was the 112th Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment and its 40 mm Bofor Guns were providing defence against Luftwaffe incursions into England via the English Channel.

As part of our air-cover the guns were spread out along the Hove promenade between HMS King Alfred (a Naval Officer’s Training Establishment) and the nearby coastal town of Portslade.

On this particular day I was off duty as a wireless operator and was sunning myself next to one of the guns that was sited on what used to be the kids paddling pool in Hove.

Without any prior warning whatsoever, 'something' came hurtling along the front, travelling from my left to my right, firing its machine guns as it swept along the promenade.

I estimated its height as being no more than two hundred feet directly above me.
The Bofor gun crew had no chance at all to ‘lay on’ to their target but fired ineffectually at the rapidly disappearing Jerry fighter plane.
Everyone, including myself, thought it exceedingly funny (we were much younger in those days) and for the rest of the day we were bragging to all and sundry about how we had scared the living daylights out of the raider.

This then was my vivid memory of that particular attack and (as my wartime diaries of 1942 and 1943 had gone missing over the years) the event was un-recorded but filed away purely in my mind. I also had no idea whatsoever what type of plane had attacked us on that occasion.

That was the situation until a few days ago when I had occasion to send an e-mail to my good friend Peter Ghiringhelli and mentioned this air attack.

To my immense surprise he told me that in fact there were many such low level attacks and all were well documented: locations, dates, etc. and that the raids were known as the 'Tip and Run' campaign of 1942-43.

He went on to say: The Jagers used the Focke-Wulf 190 and were very effective. The best book I know on this is "Luftwaffe Fighter-Bombers over Britain - The Tip and Run Campaign, 1942-43" by Chriss Gross, with Peter Cornwell and Bernd Rauchbach.The fighters concentrated mainly on the south coast and would fly over the channel at top speed at 100 to 500 feet under the radar screen. The tactic was to drop the single bomb on a designated target and then to strafe targets of opportunity and pull out fast. It was highly dangerous and required great skill. All attacks are fully documented in the book.

A subsequent e-mail from Peter confirmed that a Focke-Wulf 190 of 10/Jg 2 strafed Hove at 4.50 PM on 9 March 1943, coming in from Worthing along the coast and that the plane I had seen in action was from a crack fighter unit, a Focke-Wulf 190 from 10(Jabo)/Jadgeschwader 2 'Richtoven' (i.e., 10 (Fighterbomber)/Fighter Group/Squadron No. 2 'Richtoven'), their insignia was a cartoon of a red fox holding a broken ship in its jaws. They were stationed at Caen-Carpiquet.

It has taken sixty-two years for this last piece of a jigsaw puzzle to be fitted into place.

Thank you Peter

Training to be a Driver/Wireless Operator

Photo shows: Ron's first Army Photograph, Whitby in Yorkshire
During my first few weeks in the army we were given various aptitude tests and it was discovered that I had an affinity for reading Morse code for when the course was finished I found myself posted to the 52nd Driver/Wireless Operator Training Rgt. at Whitby in Yorkshire

I arrived at Whitby in mid November '42 and first impressions were very favourable. It appeared as if we were to be treated like adults here as opposed to the training camp we had left behind at Bury St.Edmunds

We found ourselves billeted, six to a room, in small houses scattered around the town. First thing every morning the troop corporals to whom we had been allotted called round each of the billets in turn and we 'fell in.' outside and joined an ever lengthening group of marchers. When we were all finally assembled we marched to a local church hall where breakfast was ready for us.

After breakfast we marched to an imposing ex-hotel on the cliff top, the Metropole, which was to be our training college for the next three months. Here we were to learn the rudiments of both radio transmission and driving, in almost equal measure.

We soon learned that the purpose behind the course was to train us in the then newly established role of Driver -Operators and to send us out to the Middle East to join Anti-aircraft units. Apparently the War Office had decided that communications in the Artillery needed speeding up.
In the past, whenever a unit commander wished to pass a message to one of his gun crews he would use a motor cycle dispatch rider who would deliver the command and then return with a confirmation. The new idea was that every battery would have a small wireless truck as part of its establishment and this truck would be in permanent communication with both H.Q. and every other battery in the Regiment. Each truck would have a crew of three men and all the crew would be able to both drive and operate the radio.

I enjoyed the course, I particularly enjoyed learning to drive and the hilly roads of Yorkshire were ideal for this purpose. At least three times a week we would be marched to the Metropole car park and formed up in the centre of the square which also doubled up as our parade ground.
Round the outside of the square a wide variety of army vehicles would be lined up and on the command "To your vehicles --- dismiss!" all assembled would make a dash for their favourite vehicle or instructor.

Almost at the end of the course I was due to take the driving test that would enable me to call myself a qualified army driver. As luck would have it on the same morning as I took the test I had a dental appointment and so by the time this had finished it was about eleven a.m. before I could get to the car park where I was due to meet my examiner.
To my horror when I arrived the only vehicle left in the car park was a huge tank transporter.
When the examiner saw the petrified look on my face and I had explained the reason for my lateness he laughed aloud, took pity on me and gave me a two minute course on how to handle this monster with its complicated gear changes and its huge turning circle. He also gave me a pass at the end of what must have been for both of us a very alarming ride!

Quite apart from our training we were also called upon to man pillboxes along the coast against the always threatening German invasion of England. Despite our best intentions we could never take this very seriously particularly when we found ourselves manning a pill box on a deserted strip of the coast outside Whitby armed with only a Lee Enfield rifle and five rounds of ammunition.

At the end of the course my comrades and I proudly sewed on our Driver/Op. badges, a stylised hand grasping forked lightning and we were posted to various anti-aircraft regiments around the country.

Early Army Days, October 1942

Photo shows: Page from my AB64 showing my various 'jabs'.

The long awaited buff envelope had arrived on our doormat a fortnight before informing me that I had been called up into His Majesty's Army and that I was to report to the Beds and Herts Infantry Training Regiment at Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk.

The Army had thoughtfully provided a railway ticket (ominously a single, one way only) and on arriving at Bury St.Edmunds we were met at the station by a three ton lorry, our first acquaintance with this favoured form of military transport.

We got to the barrack gates, dismounted and formed up into ragged ranks for identification against a master roll on a clipboard held by a very important looking sergeant.
Allocated to various platoon numbers we then marched through the barracks to a series of catcalls coming from young men in denim uniform lining our route.
"Go home while you can you stupid b******s!" was but a mild example of what we were subjected to and it was only weeks later that we realised the troops who 'gave us the bird' on our entry into camp had only themselves been in the army for two weeks and that this was a favourite pastime every Thursday lunch time when the new intake arrived at the Depot.

On this Thursday however I was not to know about such things and found myself looking around me and absorbing like a piece of blotting paper all the atmosphere of an army camp in wartime.

We were marched around the perimeter of a large parade ground getting various items of kit on the way and were eventually broken into squads of about twenty strong and allocated to squad leaders. My particular squad leader was a sergeant, looking as tough as old nails. He marched us to our barrack hut and then gave us a short lecture based roughly on the "You play ball with me and I'll play ball with you" syndrome. He then told us to fall out and get our gear into the hut.

As luck would have it, I was the last person to file into the hut, and found my way impeded by what looked like a pair of size ten army boots worn by this imposing sergeant. "Your name's Goldstein, isn't it?" he demanded. "Jewish, aren't you?" he continued. Everything I had ever imagined concerning anti-Semitism immediately came to mind and with much misgivings I promptly replied "So what!"
"Don't be a bloody idiot," he replied, "My name's Kusevitsky!" (or some such equally Jewish sounding name).

Within seconds he had established the fact that my new comrades would soon find out that their Platoon Commander was Jewish, and therefore in order to avoid complaints of favoritism he would have to be extra tough with me during training, but that I should understand the motives behind it and ignore the harassing. When the course eventually finished we had a drink together and had some fun out of the situation.

The six weeks primary training passed in a flash, my main memories of this period being those of inoculations, usually performed three at a time and the strange diet.My new found friends soon discovered that I couldn't eat bacon and used to arrange to sit next to me in the dining hall.
Once we'd had our jabs and had learnt how to look reasonably presentable in uniform we were allowed to go into town in the evening and we used to swagger there in groups of about six strong.

We learnt very quickly that the cheapest place to get a meal off duty was at the Y.M.C.A or the Salvation Army, affectionately known as the Sally Ann and we all became heavy smokers, lung cancer not having even been heard of in those heady days.

Whilst at Bury St. Edmunds we were given various psychological tests and apparently it was discovered that I had an aptitude for reading Morse code for when the course finished and the 'postings' were put up on the camp notice board I found that I had been transferred to a Royal Artillery Driver/Wireless Operator training unit in Whitby, in Yorkshire.

One family, Five sons, All serving in HM Forces

Photo shows: The Goldstein boys in uniform

I come from a large family. My parents, of Blessed Memory, were Joe and Fanny Goldstein and when war broke out on September 3rd 1939 the family was based in Boreham Street, Bethnal Green in the East End of London.

Head of the family in every sense was Dad, otherwise known as Joe, Mr.G. or the Guvnor.
When war broke out he was aged 56.
Mum, known as Fanny, or Faigele was 55
Annie , the oldest daughter, was 31
Lou, the oldest son, was 30
Jack, next in line, was 27
Esther was aged 26
Mossy, one of twins was 23
as was
Gertie, his twin
Polly was aged 22
Mick was aged 19
Debbie was aged 18
Ronnie was 16
and
Jean was aged 9

By 1944 all the boys were in the forces as detailed below

Lou was a Lance Corporal in the Royal Army Service Corps from 1941 to 1946

Jack volunteered for the RAF in January 1944 and served in 166 Bomber
Squadron at Kirmington in Humberside. As a Sgt.Air Gunner he flew on fifteen operations over Germany and was tragically Killed in Action over Nuremberg on the 16th March 1945.

Mossy was a Corporal PT Instructor in the Kings Royal Rifle Corps and stationed in the UK between 1940 and 1946.

Mick enlisted on 24th July 1940, initially served with the Royal Fusiliers and subsequently became a Sergeant Major in the Royal Artillery. He volunteered for the Jewish Brigade, served with them in Italy and was de-mobbed in January 1947.

Ron, that’s me, was called up in October 1942 serving firstly as a Wireless Operator in Light Ack Ack in the UK, North Africa, Sicily and Italy and was later re-trained as a Loader/Operator. He finished the war with the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars and was demobbed a Corporal in March 1947.

In addition to the boys all serving, Esther, Gertie and Debbie all had husbands in the Forces and Polly was in the Land Army.

Updates:
1. By the time that this website became a 'sealed' archive in January 2006 and following on the passing of his much loved brother Mick in November 2005, Ron was the sole surviving brother.

2. Jack's son Michael has written movingly about his father in a series of articles which can be found at http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/ww2/U2883517

Return to Cassino, March 2005

Photo shows: The Monastery looks down over the British Cemetery

I was last here between February and May in 1944.

I was then a humble wireless operator in the 49th Light Ack Ack Rgt, which at the time was attached to the New Zealand Div.

My Battery, the 84th, was busy with three roles. Laying a smoke screen at Speedy Express Highway, providing air cover for the New Zealanders and, when it had nothing else better to do, being loaned out to the Infantry as stretcher-bearers.

To get back however to today, the 9th of May 2005.

It was 10:34 am, I had just arrived by train from Rome, this time with Nita, my wife and partner of fifty-five years and we had come here to do a job.

Back home in London I had volunteered to take photos of headstones for any relatives or friends of the fallen and about half a dozen people on the BBC website had taken me up on the offer.
In addition, I had been approached by AJEX (Association of Jewish Ex-Service Men and Women) to perform a similar service for them and in particular to bring their own records up to date.

Shortly after arriving at Cassino station I had negotiated with a local cabbie to take us first to the Abbey, perched high above us, wait for us there and then take us to the British Cemetery which was about a half mile outside of town.

The road to the Abbey snaked furiously ever upwards and what with the rather ancient taxi we were glad to arrive at the top. The Abbey itself was very imposing, stark, white and almost prison-like in appearance. There was however a huge PAX sign over its portals and who could argue with that sentiment?

Fifteen minutes was enough for us, we had work to do down below.

At the cemetery below visitors were arriving by coach and car.

In deference to the fact that I was visiting hallowed ground and conscious of the respect that was due to the fallen I was suitably attired with a black beret, regimental tie and a full set of medals. As a direct result of this, when Nita and I started our research, groups of people were coming over to us, asking us what we were doing and whether or not I personally had been involved in the battle for Cassino some sixty one years ago.
They also spoke of their own losses and told of relatives they had come to visit. Several people said, “Can I shake your hand?”. At first this shook and worried me but then I realised that I was acting as a representative, albeit a poor one, of those 4000 men who lay around me and I was pleased to be of some small service

It was starting to get very hot and the Cemetery is huge, Helped by Nita I took photos of some 25 headstones and was able to make detailed notes for use by AJEX.

Despite the research I had done back in London it was not the easiest of tasks to make sure that we were not missing specific grave sites. The Cemetery is very functional and there are no seats to be found or watering points for elderly visitors.

By 1.45 pm, the time I had arranged for our cab to pick us up, we were both mentally and physically shattered and my earlier plans to visit a small town called Carovilla (where I had been stationed in 1944) were sensibly abandoned.

We trudged back to the Cemetery gates and were glad to soon see our returning taxi.

On the train back to Rome I had a chance to discuss with Nita what my feelings had been on returning to Cassino and what it was like to have lived under the shadow of the Monastery.

Sixty-one years after the event there is still talk as to whether it was right or not to have bombed the Monastery and whether or not the Germans had used its position as an observation tower.
Speaking purely for myself and not owning to any military research expertise, I have but one comment to make based on personal experience.

We were down below, the Monastery was up there above us.

If we moved during daylight hours we were promptly shelled and a large number of those who’s graves we had seen today had been killed in that manner.

I saw the Americans bomb the Monastery and along with many of my comrades had mentally cheered their efforts.

I was glad to be able to go back to Cassino.

I will not be returning again.