Hi Everyone, and Thanks for your message Carl Evans. Its quite odd, for when I write these pages I am never sure that is being read. Its only when I get a message, or a query, that I know someone is there. Before long the company will be back in action again, though the journey to recovery has some quite interesting bits. Would you believe with an old Veteran from the war in South Africa. An Old chap that then went on to serve in the Great war and then done his bit in WW2. Sounds daft dosent it? but he was a lovely old man and I was very fond of him.I have been back to my old convalecsent home, now the pop star "Stings" house. and had tea with them.
Sapper.

Warwick.
The Best and the Worst.
One of the first men that I met in my ward, I had known in Normandy, he was just learning to walk again with an artificial leg when I arrived. The Gods of war deal some very odd hands at times. This man had been on patrol when he came face to face with the Enemy, the German let fly with an anti-tank weapon, ( Panzerfaust. Tank Killer) the projectile hit the corner of a farmhouse wall and showered him with shrapnel, he dived into a foxhole alongside of a burning haystack that promptly fell on top of him, getting out, he badly burned his hands and face. Now, badly injured, with bad burns to hands and face and lots of shrapnel wounds, he made his way back to get aid and trod on a schu mine blowing his foot off.

While in that Hospital I received a very nice letter from an old pal in the company. Corporal Ford, who sent me a complete set of my company badges and insignia with the message "don't want you looking like a rookie, Brian" What a lovely thought from one who was in Hospital himself with double pneumonia, having taken a dip in the Rhine while forcing a crossing. I wrote back, but never heard anymore from "Ginger Ford" I do not know if he was invalided out of the army or if he returned to active service, try as I might I have never heard from him again. It's a great pity, I have not found more than a handful of my former company that made it through to the end. Not surprising really. Third British Infantry Division was the only unit to take part in all of the battles in North West Europe. While at the same time taking into consideration their very high casualty rate.

One of my greatest disappointments, (Heart break even!) was that while serving in Holland and just before I was wounded again, my Platoon officer had told me that I would be getting The GOCs commendation. I had better explain; Field Marshall Montgomery thought that there was a gap in the British army awards, they were few and far between. To that end he had awarded his own style of recognition for those soldiers who the officers thought had contributed beyond the normal call of duty. They were called “Montie’s Certificates” One of the things that helped me during my time in Hospital, was the knowledge that sooner or later my “Montie’s Certificate” would catch up with my travels around the hospitals and all that I had contributed would be recognised. Sadly, it never arrived. Out of sight out of mind? Can you imagine the thrill and excitement that I felt at the time? A young 19 year old who was to get a “Monties Certificate”. Not only that, but because our division was his old command, he would award it personally on the field of battle. Just try to think how important this was to a young and patriotic Country lad?

Can you imagine what it was like, waiting in Hospital with suppressed anticipation for the award to arrive. Sadly it never did arrive, and all that I have suffered for my Country, from Normandy till my departure in Holland were as nothing compared with the feelings of disappointment, being let down, and to be quite honest, heart broken. Even today, some 58 years on, I still feel that the same pain. I was not to be put up for this award. I had been informed that I would get it. I know I am being a daft old buffer, but it meant so much to me, but Damn and Blast it! still does! I still feel cheated
Warwick Hospital was a very friendly place, the nurses mostly Irish were (like all of them) great. While learning to walk again, first time out of bed I was sick all over one of them. Some of the local people visited the Hospital and were very kind, a very nice young lady came to see me regularly and always brought her mum and dad and a little gift for me, sometimes the pure luxury of fish and chips. A charming Girl, I had pledged to take her out for an evening when I got back on my feet.

Empty promises, a very long time was to elapse before I was able to get about again. It never happened, I never even got the chance to say thank you to all those wonderful folk for all their kindness, it happened time and again, very often transferred away and never had that chance to say "thank you"

One night a young Dutchman in the next bed to me went berserk, crying with rage, he had lost a leg in Holland and had been brought back to England for treatment, only about seventeen, someone had asked him if he was Dutch, thinking they had asked him if he was Deutsche, or German, he was inconsolable, luckily I was able to clear the matter up.
One of the older nurses when on night shift got very nervous, she came round and whispered "are you awake" I would then have to go and sit with her for the best part of the night, lovely older lady, she made cakes and little luxuries that we shared, such a lovely lady, I never got the chance to thank her either.
The next episode; terrible stuff that penathol!
Sapper

Good morning Sapper. I read your postings daily but sometimes have no time to reply. Thats the same with some of the other guys here.

One thing I do regret is that I dont think I ever met a ww1 veteran. I was born in 1967 and all the vets I ever got lucky enough to spend time with--were ww2 and Korean War vets--which I am greatful for.

__________________
Lost are only those, who abandon themselves) Hans-Ulrich Rudel.

Stevin. Did my answer to your query solve anything? One of the things that makes recall so difficult, is what happened to one of our men. He was posted officialy as absent without leave. and the company orders every day notated that he had still not reported back and was still absent. That in the field of action is very serious indeed and he could have gone to prison at least, when he was caught. Eventually they discovered the poor fellow had been killed by enemy action. For obvious reasons I will not name him. But it does go to show just what the "Fog of War" can do. Looking at the Company war diaries, there are many days when there are no entries at all. not surprising when in action, for the last things you want to doiss fill in forms!
I would have loved to see what Overloon and Venraij look like today and would love to visit the museum there, sadly, that is not on.
Sapper

Thanks for that Carl. Yes it must seem that old Veterans come from another age, and for all intents and puposes, we do! The old South African Veteran was a Regimental Sergeant Major and a very imposing fellow indeed. It was an odd friendship between a very old man and a young nineteen year old, but a good friendship. I recall the old chap with great fondness, for if ever you have seen the carictature of an old guardsman. then he was it! But more of him later.
Sapper.

Thank you Sapper--and that reminds me of a caricature that I once saw that was done of USMC Master Sergeant and two time Recipient of the Medal of Honor--Daniel "Dan" Daly. I think he would also fit that picture very well. This man won his first MoH while serving in China--fighting with the American and German Litigations in Peking during the Boxer Rebellion.

He was alone on a Parapet--was being shot at by Chinese Snipers--and was shooting back at them and at times--engaging in hand to hand combat with Chinese soldiers running up the parapet. This continued til Marine and a few German Soldiers came up as reinforcements.

Anyway--I mentioned him because he was a household word in our house and being a well-known hero who also fought in Haiti and in France in ww1. I heard a few veterans talking about him.

Most of the vets I talked to--were ww2 vets. I just wish I could remember all their stories. I only remember the ones about my Grandfather--Uncle and Father in ww2 and Korea. Now as im older--I have met many many vets--American--British and German. I save all letters I get from these great people and want to preserve their words. Im very glad that yours are here for all of us to learn from.

__________________
Lost are only those, who abandon themselves) Hans-Ulrich Rudel.

Interesting tales Brian. I truly love to log in every day, simply to read your posts. Thank You so much for sharing your life with us all!

__________________

Phear der PanzerPenguin!
HellFish love teh

Hello again everyone. Nice to hear from Peppy! Always very pleased to meet folk!
(Even if only by the internet)

Still at Warwick Hospital.

One Winters evening there was the terrifying sound of young women screaming, the walking wounded dashed off to see what was happening, only to find that the morgue was close by the ward and two young nurses had gone to lay out an old man that had died, when he died he had drawn his legs up and died in that position, the girls pushed his legs down to straighten him up (to get him in the coffin). when he sat up, because his hips had rigor mortise, the air in him also made a noise, it is no wonder that they fled screaming. I think I would!
. After that, my left leg would not join or heal, so they decided to whisk me off again on another move, this time to the old Cornelia Hospital in Poole, another long journey under very difficult conditions and again by rail.

Some time had elapsed. My spinal injuries seemed to have healed, the top of my left knee had been all gathered together to make it look better. BUT, my shattered leg showed no sign of healing, so far my Hospital mileage had taken me from Croydon to Warwick then on to Poole, whoever was in charge of my treatment seemed to be moving me about trying to find someone who would put me back together again, this idea gained more momentum as the months went by. The final battle and the aftermath.

Poole Hospital.
Terrible stuff that Pentathol!
The battle to get back on my feet again was to take far longer than it had appeared earlier. The old Cornelia Hospital was a very sparse place back in 1944. The service men patients had the idea that we were not really welcome, in the event, we were banished to what was known as the 'balcony, it was just that, a balcony.

What follows is one of the most embarrassing episodes of my life. Returning from an operation one afternoon, still under the effects of "Pentathol" (I had better explain)- pentathol was used in those days to put you out, the Doctor would say "count to ten" after having the injection and I never got beyond six. The after effects of this drug were exactly the same as being boozed up, those coming round would often act like they were drunk, with all the stupid chatter that one would expect from someone half cut! Well! It had the same effect on me, I proposed marriage to the matron! Drank a whole jug of water, (Not supposed to drink after anaesthetic), singing and shouting, terrible stuff that pentathol.

What made the matter much worse was that there was a very pretty young nurse in the ward, a truly lovely young Lady. (lost my heart I did) When I came round again into the world of sanity and feeling pretty gruesome, this nice young nurse would not talk to me, what made it even worse was that everyone in the ward had grins on their faces. Time and again I asked her "What have I done?" only to be met with a stony silence. "My Sainted Aunt" Eventually, I found that while on the trolley and on my way back from the operating theatre, I had imparted all of my secret desires about this young lady to all and sundry, and, I may add, at the top of my voice. Thinking? Oh dear I must sort this out, the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass her, I managed to see her privately with the idea of saying sorry for anything I might have said to cause her upset and distress, explaining "it was the pentathol" "That is all very well" she said "but it was in your mind" Well that floored me, because it was the truth, cannot deny it!

Some considerable time later, she wrote to me and told me that she understood. Bless her! I kept that letter for a long time. To the great enjoyment of the other patients in the ward, the Matron came to see me and demanded to know if I was going to fulfill my offer of marriage to her? This particular Matron, like so many, could hardly be described as a raving beauty, though she was a lovely person with a great sense of humour.

Another time when I was coming round from anaesthetic, I recall the hazy memory of a girl I went to school with bending over my bed and kissed me on the forehead and squeezed my hand, saying "Hello Brian, I heard you were in here, cannot stay, very busy" a very attractive girl with very dark red hair I think that she was a Sister at Poole Hospital, That was 58 years ago and I have not seen, or heard of her since. Now my troubles started in earnest, my leg injuries would not heal and I suffered severe pain in my back, I paid a visit to my old Engineering workshop and the lads in there had a whip round for me.

The Foreman pulled me to one side and pointed up at the girder work in the roof, "See that union jack flag up there in the roof Brian, well, we are waiting for you to come back and take it down again" Not knowing what to do with me, they now sent me off to Lady Lees place at Lytchett, a large manor house with Hospital beds on the ground floor and up stairs. The grind started in earnest, back and forth to Poole and then back to Lytchett, like a shuttle.

One day an army corporal turned up with the idea of taking us a route march, I know this sounds stupid, but it is true. Muttering something about getting you up and about, treating us like malingerers, I had to get out of bed with a broken leg that was not healed and with all my back problems, get some crutches, then set off across the fields nearby.
What can you say about a stupid order like this, the place was full of severely war wounded patients for heavens sake! I had not gone far before I passed out, I do not know how they got me back to the hospital, we never saw this idiot again.
Despair. Despair. Croydon. Warwick. Poole .Lytchett. Now the powers that be decided that the army Hospital at Bovington would be my next move. I remember that as being my lowest ebb, all this time I had not progressed at all, my parents had been contacted and gave their permission to have my leg amputated. Silly isn't it, I was still under age!
Bovington was not equipped to deal with my injuries and I have not the slightest idea of why they sent me there? The next thing I knew I was again whisked off to another Hospital, this time to Shaftesbury military Hospital. A huge place built like the letter U with wards branching off all the way round. Here, there was for the first time in my travels, a sense of purpose, I had been put into ward number one. A "privilege ward" for the severely wounded soldiers. I will not bore you with the long drawn out period, but move on to the interesting bits.
Next episode. The Genius.The Comunist. The hut! The Major, What follows next, seems to me to be very interesting indeed, one of the most eventful of times.
Sapper.

Hello Forum members. What follows just goes to show how fortunate I was to come under the care of a ”Genius” for he was just that.

Shaftesbury Military Hospital.
The Genius.
Entirely run by military personnel, Nurses, Doctors, Surgeons and medical staff, this Hospital was run in a relaxed and pleasant manner and had an overriding sense of purpose that inspired one to think that the best would be done for you, whatever your injuries, and with the benefit of dedicated staff.
Ward one, was a privilege ward for the severely wounded. There, we had extra benefits such as a pint of free beer each day, brown ale or light ale. And, the company of gorgeous young women on occasions. I think they were chosen for their good looks to make the men feel better. It worked! What better than beautiful young women to cheer up severely wounded men? They served chocolates, books and other goodies that were in very short supply outside. A truly wonderful place that inspired confidence, I have much to thank that Hospital for. Major Charnley, later, Sir John Charley, was an orthopeadic surgeon of great skill and even in those far off days he was looked upon as a genius. He was held in great esteem by all the staff and patients.

When I was first taken into his consulting area I at first thought that this very young and fair haired man, small in stature, could not be the surgeon, he looked like a youth apart, that is, from the Majors pip on his shoulder. I must admit to be taken aback by his appearance. A man that would not stand fools gladly, his first words were "who put this monstrosity on you" pointing to my leg plaster. "Poole Hospital Sir" "Useless, absolutely bloody useless" pointing to the area where there was an obvious gap between leg and plaster. He had the plaster removed completely and although the leg had not joined and could be bent about in the middle it was not painful, the tiny pieces of bone were dead. They left the leg like that for some time while they built me ready for an operation.

About this time, back home, my half brother was dying in a very unpleasant way, anxious to help, I asked the Major if he could get me home, he promptly fixed me up with a caliper that took the weight off of my feet and on my groin, so that I was able to walk with a broken leg.

Came the day! Victory in Europe day would you believe? I was taken off early to the operating theatre, there, the Major removed all the dead bone from my leg, then took out the top of my left hip and grafted that into my leg, that is the bit of hip you hang your trousers on! (Now! Without bracers my trousers fall down!) All screwed together with a steel plate, the plate by the way is stamped with a WAR OFFICE ARROW and with W.D. for war Dept. The arrow is just like those on convict’s uniforms. Bone grafted, not unusual now, but back in 1944 quite something, unfortunately, he could not obtain enough bone to build my leg to its original length, to that end, one is shorter than the other.

V. E. Night woke up with bottom of my bed tipped up at an angle of 45 degrees, blood soaked underneath me and round my back. They had fixed up a screen and were showing a film, the last thing one wanted while recovering from a major operation.

Later, the Major found out that I was an Engineer and asked me if I would like to help him as he made all of his own orthopeadic apparatus, pleased to help, I was taken into a room next to the operating theatre in my wheelchair, when the apparatus was made, he put them on me and photographed me on a bed with a white sheet for a background, he always gave me a copy.
For me, there is a great deal of satisfaction knowing that I had helped, albeit, in a small way, the genius that perfected the hip joint operation that is so common today. (Still called a “Charnley”) Hospitals of this size are little self-contained communities, surprising how relaxed the atmosphere was for a military establishment.

The army nurses had a wonderful sense of humour and nothing was too much trouble for them. I have so much to thank those nurses for and Major Charnley. Genius! Characters? Yes we had the lot, in the top right hand bed of the ward was a very seriously wounded soldier, severely injured, with half his shoulder blades missing and was often in great pain, on top of his bedside cabinet he had an old wind up gramophone, one of those "His masters voice" type with the large fluted horn, the one with the little white dog! On this gramophone he played records, rather like the Salvation Army songs, but with communist party lyrics. When you are as badly injured as he was, you could play whatever you liked.

Some of the nurses in high spirits because the war was over, had put a hot water bottle filled with iced water under this man, the walking wounded did not like this, got hold of the nurse and stripped her naked, put her in bed and made her stay there. While all this was going on, I was yelling from my bed, tipped up at 45 degrees, "Move me bed round! move me bed round! LET ME SEE" but they refused.

R. S. M. Humphries.
The Greatest Warrior.
A great character of those times and a man I am very proud to have known. Regimental Sergeant Major Humphries. Over a period of time there developed a friendship between this young 19 year old and an old soldier who had served in the South African war, the Great War, and was asked back to assist in training young recruits in the Second World War. He had been decorated in all these conflicts and had a long bayonet wound down one side of his face, he was a perfect specimen for a "Giles" cartoon of a Guardsman. With his peaked cap down over his forehead.

Strange friendship between this young soldier and an old military man, he treated me like a son, and I remember him as one of nature's gentlemen. He showed me all of his medals from South Africa and photo's of him in his pill box hat and red uniform, and the first world war medals, I know that he had been awarded a medal in this war for saving a group of recruits when one dropped a live grenade in the slit trench, while on battle practice. I was supposed to have these medals when he died, for our friendship and because he knew that I would cherish them and look after them.
One day I went to visit him at Wareham and found that the RSM had died and was buried. I do not know what happened to his medals. I was very fond of the old man and was saddened to hear of his death. I will never forget him, and I am saddened that I never fulfilled his wish that I should have his medals!

A Canadian soldier suffering from concussion and starvation was in the next bed to me, what strange effect's concussion can have! He had been a prisoner of war and had the typical bloated stomach appearance of starvation, his wife came from Scotland to see him, only to be greeted with "What do you want" often he would ask for a cigarette and then screw it out on the polished bedside cabinet.
Over all of this sat the Sergeant Major, bolt upright in his bed, drinking his beer and the beer of other patients who did not drink. There were Italian prisoners in the ward, who had been brought back for treatment in this country, unfortunately they kept up a night long moaning and groaning with cries of Momma mia, Momma mia!

The Hut.
Ambition.
At the end of each ward there was a partly glazed double door that looked out on to the well cut grass, about a hundred yards away was a wooden hut, all by it's self, inside this hut was a bar just like a small clubhouse with tables and chairs and with a dartboard.
Now! When you could make your own way to this hut you could go there and have a drink with your pals, as you might imagine, it was everyone's ambition to get to the hut, I have seen young men pass out trying. The golden rule was that you had to make it entirely on your own, with no assistance at all, you could have your pals cheer you on, but they were not allowed to help, and none was ever given, all on your own, or nothing. Came the day. Yours truly was going to have a go at the hut!

My mates to cheer me on, "come on Brian, you can do it", as I struggled with my heavy plaster and crutches, (the long period in Hospital had reduced my weight considerably and I looked like a concentration camp victim), took me ages, but with lots of encouragement from my pals, I got there, only to discover that they did not sell beer, only scrumpy, we all know how alcoholic scrumpy is, two pints of scrumpy and my crutches failed to go where I put them, how I got back to the ward I do not know but woke up the next morning in my own bed.
To my dying day, I will remember the nursing Sister, first thing in the morning, coming through the double doors from the direction of the “hut” with a clutter of false arms and legs, and dragging crutches under her arm, all wet with dew, where they had been discarded the night before, exclaiming "Come on now, who do these belong to"?

SO! In the end they did not cut my leg off, it’s a bit misshapen and has lumps where they are not supposed to be. In addition I always set the Airport alarm bells ringing, I am grabbed, and they search me to no avail! I can tell you members, I have had some very quizzical looks from Airport security staff.
Rather a long tale to day, hope I have not bored you, more later. Sapper

Another interesting post. Brian I have the utmost respect for your courage to share such powerful personal tales to us. Thanks my friend.

To Brian and everyone else following along:
(Thanks again to Peppy), I have included an avatar of Brian in his younger years. Now we can put a face to a name, and now we know how handsome you were Brian! I also, altered the rank under your name, I didn't feel right with medals of another nation hanging there. Further, I made it abundantly clear to any readers that you are in fact a veteran, and as such are due the respect you have earned. Finally, for easy reference, I included a link to the "Cameos of War" Section in the signiature under each of Brians posts.

[ 06. December 2002, 12:54 AM: Message edited by: Otto ]

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Hello once more to all the forum members. First may I take this opportunity to thank Otto for the work he has put in on his site. Thanks Otto! You are a Gentleman! You even managed to make my photo look good! AH, what it was to be young. Sadly that was a long time ago.

To continue this record of the Third British Infantry Division’s journey, from Sword Beach to Bremen, If every one in the Forum is happy, I shall now refer to letters sent me by comrades, and by information from the late Captain M. from my Company. A much respected and Valiant officer. This will be interspersed with my progress into civilian life, and what happened along the way. I do hope that you will find the rest of this story interesting.

The Royal Engineers, the Field Companies. Had a wonderful “Esprit de corps” For we were all “Gentlemen of the Royal Engineers” A real band of Brothers. Discipline in the British army was good, but we never forget this maxim “Once a Sapper. Always a Sapper” One other detail, while I am waffling away. I would like to put on record my appreciation of our Company officers. A courageous and dedicated team, they never asked anyone to take on any task, no matter how dangerous, that they would not do, they always lead. I thought that our officers deserved recognition, for there were many deeds of great bravery and courage that went un-noticed.
Even so, the RE had the most decorations in the Companies of Montie’s Ironsides”

Now friends, I must stop this waffling, and carry on with the story;
The Elizabethan Manor House.
Always made me Welcome.
Now came the most pleasant period of my time in Hospital, I had been sent to this old Manor House previous to having the bone graft with the express purpose of building me for the operation, after, I was taken back there again as a convalescent home.

This old Manor house in the Woodford Valley North of Salisbury, a haven of peace and tranquility, this beautiful old Elizabethan Manor House had the extraordinary ability of making you feel welcome as soon as you entered its portals, (still does, but more of that later) Rolling lawns with the river Avon running through the garden, a beautiful garden. Trout breeding ponds, even in war time. Lady Janet was the owner and the commandant (The Cunard shipping line family, I believe) looked after us and made our life there as pleasant as possible, she had made a little club house for us where we could go in the evenings, in it they served beer and drinks, the food was excellent. Strawberries and Cream. Mushrooms on toast, would you believe.

In May time it was just perfect, try to imagine what it was like for those of us who had returned from the war, with the scream of shell and mortar explosion. All the noises of war, then to find ourselves in this beautiful country manor where the loudest noise one could hear was the singing of the birds in the garden. Nearby was an orphanage and the men were given the job of helping look after the children, once a week in the afternoon. Toddlers, they enjoyed having men look after them and I am sure it had a beneficial effect on us.

Back and forth between Shaftesbury and the Manor House for treatment, it was now nine months since entering Hospital, unfortunately a good deal more time was to pass before I could get back into some sort of normal living. The Major had fixed me up with a caliper fixed to the bottom of my army boots and the weight suspended on my groin, he did not want me to put weight on my legs for six months, it got me about but! Goodness, it got very sore indeed. In the event, I made quite a brave sight hobbling about with my sticks and my caliper. The peace and tranquility that Lady Janet and the old Manor House gave me was beyond price.

For many years after, I had a constant recurring dream, where I would stand on the steps of that old House and look out over the meadow and the trees beyond, the dream was always the same, and always crystal clear.
Back to war shortly.
Sapper.

Hello Sapper Brian!

please excuse my delay in thanking and answering your answers to me. I had hoped to have some more information available at this time to post.

Thank you VERY much for your interesting answers. They certainly helped. I will see if I can get details about sapper Davies's death through other sources. It is very understandable that through the 'fog of war' things were/will be unclear and go unrecorded. For us (amateur) researchers it is a pity 'so little' was recorded. But it is obvious people had a lot of other things on their minds at the time. Alsao understandable that smaller units from your Coy were all over the place all the time. yet, there is a challange to find out as much as we can!

I know Weert a little bit as I did some NCO training there (is that also a British term?). It was also the place where you made a Dutch boy a rich man, I remember....

Reason I asked about the Molenbeek is because I found the following picture in the book THANK GOD AND THE INFANTRY by John Lincoln. He was an officer with the Royal Norfolks Regiment, which was heavily involved in the fighting for Venray and Overloon. The battles are graphically described in this book. The Molenbeek is mentioned often, as well as the fighting over it and the mining! One platoon crossed it and a field and ordered some German stretcher-bearers that they had taken prisoner to take some wounded Norfolks back to the rear, to something called RAP. This was a Field Dressing Station? Anyway, the Germans refused and the British learned they just fought their way through a minefield without setting a single one off!

Many of these kind of stories in the book...also about the times it didn't go as well. Again, the following picture is of the overturned bridging tank near the Molenbeek. Maybe it brings back memories.

OK, Linking to my server doesn't seem to work anymore. I will get my people on it....pic will be available asap.

I checked the address you gave of Byonic Bill and he is still listed in the telephonebook. I wanted to give him a call but haven't found the time yet. Hopefully will do so this weekend.

I hope to be in the Venray area either this month or next, so I will get you some pictures/cards to show you what it looks like. I tried the internet but that didn't come up with any good pics. Here is the link to the official site of the Museum in Overloon though.

http://www.oorlogsmuseum-overloon.nl/

I hopeto have some more information to post on Venray/Overloon soon!

Thanks again and warm regards,

Stevin

[ 06. December 2002, 10:32 AM: Message edited by: Stevin Oudshoorn ]

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HI Stevin. Oh yes, NCO is a British term, None commissioned officer. Sergeant Corporal. anything below an officer. The RAP is the "Regimental aid post"
I do have a Video about Overloon and Venraij, with some pictures of that time it was given to me by an old friend and a member of the "Market Garden Association" like myself. The Video is old and a bit blurred, but it does serve to remind us of those times.

Have you ever been to the Escaut canal at Lille St Hubert.Its such a long time ago, but I think that was the name of the place where we forced a crossing at night.

The Molen Beek for the REs was a particular nasty bit of work and those who fought there will never forget that place. My description hardly conveys just what it was like. IT was terrible. mines everywhere with heavy fire in the pouring rain and muddy conditions.

I have been trying for some time to find out where Lt Cadwallader R.E. is buried in Holland. He died while on recce the day before we assaulted the canal crossing, Suddenly out of the blue and without my asking, I have just had an E Mail from the war graves commisssion telling me he is buried at Leopoldsburg war
cemetery. plot IV. Row B. Grave 1 I shall attempt to locate his family.

Be careful if you get in touch with my old friend Byonic Bill his health has not been to good in recent years.
Weert! The Dutch folk were so pleased to see the British. Flags appeared everywhere, But they all vanished again when they saw me preparing to blow the town front. in case of an armoured attack.

I have in my possession a book entitled. Assault Division. by a man named Scarfe? That is the history of the Third Div but it is out of print. I managed to find an old and tatty copy and paid £36 for it years ago, then looking through a book shop I found a book in fine condition for £5. so I sold the other on for half what I paid for it. One thing has always puzzled me. Did that little boy remember the soldier that poured those cents from a two and a half Guilder note into his hat? I also have several old war time documents refering to the Field Companies history.
Best Regards.take Care.
Brian

Just a quick word.
The picture in my profile.Over my shoulder, and behind me is the entrance to Poole harbour. and away in the far distant top right is Bournemouth. Just behind is the Purbeck Island heathland.
Sapper.

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Hi Otto.
What a good picture, that will enable the forum to have a look at the old Veteran.
You really are a gentleman. Thanks mate!.
Brian.