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STREETLY, STAFFORDSHIRE MEMORIES  (1936 - 1961)

WEDNESDAY 7th JUNE 1944
- TINTERN, NORMANDY and ROME -

by Chris Myers
 

 

Wednesday, 7th June 1944.......

Hello again, it's Wednesday, 7th June 1944.  It's been a normal school day for me today, here in Streetly, like every day this week.

 Although yesterday wasn't really normal, or so it seems. Grown-ups are calling it an important moment in history. I suppose it must be.

**********

But before I get to that, I told you last time about my eighth birthday, in April. And I said that we were going to have a holiday. We did. Lucky me! A week in a place called Tintern.  We had to change trains twice on the journey. Once at Chepstow. It was a farm we stayed at - no electricity, no inside lavatory and so just chamber pots, but lovely food.  I don't think they have heard of rationing there.  So we got an egg EVERY day! We have stayed there once before, last year. It's all exactly the same as then.  The little stream is still there in front of the house which I can play in. (This time, though, I managed to fall in). And also the little pub where we can sit outside and I get given a small  glass of cider with lemonade in it and feel quite grown up. In the woods the anthills are nearly as tall as I am, just like last time.

The farm dog is still there as well.  I expect he doesn't remember biting me on the cheek last time but I do and I still have the scar. THAT was all a real kerfuffle!  I'm keeping my distance. And definitely won't be trying to stroke him again while he's eating his bone.

We were there with some friends from King's Norton, Mr. and Mrs. Ward and their son Martin who's a lot older than me. They've been friends since before I was born and they used to go on camping holidays together. Here are Mr. and Mrs. Ward with Mum in the middle.  And me of course, and their dog.  This one doesn't bite. (Mr. Ward is in the Home Guard, just like Dad).

When it was time to go home, the journey seemed to go on for ever.  We kept on being shunted off the main line to let other trains go by.  There seemed to be lots of them. It was dark by the time we got to the Lickey Incline and Dad was telling me to wait and feel the bump as the banker engine buffered up to us at the back. I let the carriage window down on its leather strap and peered out. I got a real shock.  Just up the line at the side of us, with steam billowing out all around it, was an American loco! Just like you see in the films, huge and with a cow-catcher on the front.  But no big headlamp.  Not in the black-out! What it was doing there, I have no idea. They usually have a special engine there to do the banking. Perhaps it was just giving a hand.

The Lickey Incline is always a thrill for me.  I've been up it two or three times now.  (And down it as well, I suppose, but you don't notice that). I once saw it from the outside. From a hospital window. Two or three years ago. I was only a little boy then but I remember it ever so well.  It was at a place called Blackwell. My brother, Graham, was there.  He was one side of a ward with a lot of people there as well.  The windows on the other side had a super view of the Incline. But my brother couldn't see anything of it.  Both of his eyes were bandaged because he had just had an operation. It was strange, watching him fumbling for a bit of chocolate when Mum passed it to him. And a bit sad.  I hadn't seen someone who was blind before. Poor Graham! And what made it worse for him was that he was mad on trains, just like me. And there he was, with a wonderful view of the main line, and he couldn't see a thing!

I got ticked off that day.  When I realised what could be seen out of the windows I tore across the ward as fast as my legs would carry me. And then got the lecture.  You don't run or make a noise in hospitals.  There are other people there.  You must always remember how they are feeling.  And so you must never behave in the wrong way which might disturb or upset them.  (It seemed to be the same rules in a library or in Church.  There was SO much you had to remember when you were only little).

My brother was only blind for a few days. And he got home and was soon better. Back to his Home Guard duties with Dad and waiting for his call-up papers which could come at any time. He was looking forward to joining the RAF as a bomb aimer.  I don't know why he wanted that, rather than becoming a pilot.  But they had told him, yes, OK, you can become a bomb-aimer provided you have that eye operation first. So he had the eye operation.  Finally the call-up papers arrived. That was two years ago, almost exactly - June 1942. What did they tell him? It wasn't to be the Royal Air Force. It was the Royal Artillery instead. So no big bomber.  No Wellington or Stirling or Halifax or one of the new Lancasters. A big gun instead.

I don't know if he was disappointed. I bet Mum and Dad weren't, though!

**********

But I must get back to today, Wednesday 7th June 1944.....

Even though this week has been just a normal week for me, yesterday was really a very special day. I didn't know anything about it until I got home from school. We only listen to the wireless in the evening. I expect that people started to find out about it during the day. But Miss Cook and Mrs Fairey, our teachers at Sandwell School in Egerton Road, Streetly, didn't say anything about it and so they probably didn't know either. Otherwise I expect we would have had a little prayer for the soldiers, or something like that.

So I learnt about it from hearing Mum and Dad talking. And by reading the Birmingham Mail. We get it delivered every evening and I'm now old enough to read nearly all of it. Or at least the bits which interest me. I like the For Sale page where sometimes somebody is selling some second-hand Hornby Trains. They probably belonged to a boy who is now grown-up and is away, somewhere, fighting. And sometimes I read the news. I did that last night. This was yesterday evening's front page in the Mail.



Later, after our wireless set in the dining room had been switched on and warmed up, we listened to the news on the BBC which told us more about it. It was the Armada bit which really impressed me. It was the biggest Armada ever. It made me think of Sir Francis Drake. So it has happened! I wonder why they call it D-Day.

If I think about it, I know this is very important. But, to be honest, it does seem to me to be just another bit of the war which has been going on for ever. People have been talking for weeks that it is going to happen and I suppose that, now it has, it doesn't come as a huge surprise. Things for me carry on just the same, today, tomorrow, next week. Even so, it has to be really good news. Of course it is. I'm sure it will bring peace nearer. I can even start to think of a day when Mum can get bananas and oranges in the shops, we might possibly go to the seaside for our holidays or I even might get a brand-new Dinky Toy bought for me. And I'll be able to see grown-ups not worried about anything any more, and perhaps never again.

But goodness knows when. I don't remember much at all what pre-war was like. For me, the war has always been here, in the background, part of my life.  And I can't really imagine post-war.

If I have enough imagination, and I probably haven't, I can think of that Birmingham Mail being the way that a lot of people in Birmingham and around here found out about what was happening yesterday. Somebody at work will have passed on the news. Or they'll have picked up a paper on the way home. Possibly from the bloke in New Street by our bus stop who shouts something which sounds like "SpatcherMile". They'll be happy when they read the news in the Despatch or the Mail. And then, a moment later, they'll start to think "Oh, what about our Frank?" (Or our Ron or Jim or Arthur or Ted or Mike). Frank is away, somewhere - and somewhere in this country. No one knows exactly where at the moment, or what is he doing. Is he all part of this? Is he OK? When will we know?"

**********

We don't have that worry about my brother.

He is in the 17th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery, part of the 78th Division. He is what will soon be known as a D-Day Dodger. (That's something called sarcasm).

We know he is safe in Italy, with all his mates and their big guns..... 

.......... SAFE ???

**********

POSTSCRIPT
(7th June 2024)

Much, much later - more than half-a-century later, at around the millennium - my brother Graham will tell us what he was doing at that moment in time and history, days after the end of the Battle of Monte Cassino, and now travelling northwards, on the road to Rome.....


....... By that evening, May 26th 1944, north of Cassino on the Hitler Line, the town of Aquino (right) had been fully cleared. There was a general surge forward and the recce (reconnoitering) parties were called out yet again. The move to the next position was a tortuous one, crawling along hot dusty tracks and, every now and then, enduring long hold-ups due to traffic jams. All this time, we could see battles in progress on the hillsides to our right rear.

After some time, we were beyond Aquino and crossed the railway to regain Highway Six. Pressing on northwards, the signs of battle were noticeably fewer and we spent the night in a farmhouse before proceeding to the designated gun area the next day. There were crowds of civilians around, all anxious to be friendly and telling us that they had been awaiting our arrival for over four months. That night, the Luftwaffe sent out its bombers to strafe and bomb Highway Six and the rear areas. Our previous gun position, where they were still in action, received a pounding but, despite near misses, suffered no casualties.​

The new position proved to be in a field, overlooked by several mountains to the east as well as by the town of Roccasecca, all still in enemy hands. The guns followed us in but, despite the lack of cover, we were undisturbed and spent a quiet time there.

On May 28th, another move took us to a position near Arce, in the MonteGrande/Monte Piccolo area. Moving up with the main Battery, everything seemed quiet with nothing much to be seen except for the odd tin hat sticking out of the ditch, with a chap crouching beneath it. We were soon to discover the reason for the caution as a welcoming salvo of artillery shells and mortar bombs arrived and we had to dash for cover. A ding-dong battle developed, and Monte Grande changed hands more than once. We fired "Uncle" targets (a codename for a concentrated salvo of the 72 guns of the three Divisional Field Regiments upon a single map reference point) at rather short ranges. The next day, the recce party moved ahead once more, proceeding along Highway 6 to Ceprano. North of here, even our Observation Post and infantry were to the rear of us and we set up in a small house where, happily, all remained peaceful.​

The rate of advance continued to accelerate though we still met with determined resistance at several places. Meanwhile, on the coastal sector to our west, the Anzio beachhead had finally linked up with the main Fifth Army and there was a general thrust forward towards Rome.

On May 31st we pressed on to a position near Ripi where it was quiet except for a number of mines which had been laid in the area, causing the loss of one of our water trucks shortly after arrival. Again we pushed onwards, next day reaching a point just to the south of Frosinone. It was on June 2nd that we passed through that town
(below, on May 31st) and branched off the main road to the north-east. Unkindly, the suggestion was that this was done so as to leave the way to Rome clear for the Americans.
We reached one designated area, and orders came through to proceed further. So it was that we went bowling along the road to Alatri. Within sight of the town, progress came to a sudden halt as we encountered a sharp battle for possession taking place immediately ahead of us. It was decided that the Regiment would move up and go into action just where we were, and so we busied ourselves with the usual preparatory work. To our rear, we could see a battery of self-propelled guns belonging to one of the Armoured Divisions, firing over open sites at a church tower where the enemy was supposed to have established an observation post. Some unfriendly fire came our way and I found myself reasonably safe shelter and remained there intermittently for some hours.

Towards evening, the town of Alatri
(right) was taken: our guns, still moving forward, had not reached this so orders were given for us to go back and rendezvous with them at a specified point, midway along the road back to Frosinone. The higher command had decided that the Division would remain in that area for a few days, whilst other formations maintained their thrust northwards. It was here that we learned of the fall of Rome on June 4th; this welcome news was soon overshadowed by that of the Normandy invasion two days later. As a diversion, I had been running a small sweepstake in the battery; the winner was to receive the kitty in exchange for having correctly forecast the date of the landings. Somebody duly won, I forget who it was, but I think that a few of them were surprised to find that I had safely retained all the stake money and was actually able to pay out on the nail!​

On June 7th we were ordered to be on the move again: rumour had it that the destination was to be either Pisa or Florence, both to be taken within a fortnight, or so an optimistic general staff would have us believe! The following day, June 8th, we started off, first to Frosinone to rejoin Highway Six, on which we proceeded to its "source" in Rome itself. Valmontone appeared to have been severely devastated but by the time the outskirts of the capital were reached, were very few signs of damage to be seen.​

Our passage through the centre of Rome was a moving experience, especially after all the weeks of "slog" to get there. There were huge crowds of Romans milling around and most of them seemed happy enough to have us there.

Continuing northwards we headed out of the city on a new axis, Highway Three (via Flaminia) to a point near San Oreste, some 40km or 25 miles due north of Rome. Here the German General Kesselring had established his HQ set in a large underground township, carved out from beneath a prominent hill. All seemed very quiet – perhaps suspiciously so. Next morning, June 9th, we were shaken to receive sudden orders to bring the guns into action immediately as a scare was on, due to the reported presence of armed raiding parties in the area, and we heard one of the Divisional Headquarters sites had been shelled overnight. As in the past, we were allocated a platoon of infantry for "local protection" and they duly arrived, dug themselves in all around us and set up Bren guns........."​

And so tomorrow, June 8th, exactly 80 years ago, I shall think of Our Kid (as we always called each other), trundling through the middle of Rome with the rest of his Battery and their 25-pounder guns, sitting in the back of his truck and happily accepting flowers and glasses of Chianti from grateful Roman maidens while the rest of the smiling crowd shout out and wave handkerchieves. Unless of course the population has run run out of such things after three or four days of celebrating the departure of the Germans. I shall see him still, in my mind's eye, conscious of the historic moment he is living through in that most historic of cities for, even at his young age, he already has an interest in such things. And enjoying it too: at that moment at least, and even though his battles are no longer the first item on the BBC News, it's definitely all a lot nicer than being in Normandy......

And then, I imagine him an hour or two later, after all the excitement. The city suburbs have been left behind long ago. The crowds have disappeared. There's just the constant roar of the lorry's engine. An Austin or a Bedford or even a Dodge. In front of them and behind them, bigger vehicles each tow a 25-pounder. Some of the crew sit on top of these strange looking tractors, enjoying the fierce afternoon sun until it gets too much for them. Behind them their guns bounce and rattle over the broken-up surface.

On and on they go.  Through open countryside and ruined villages. Clouds of dust come up from all the wheels, mixing with the fumes of the vehicle in front, all around the lorry and inside it too. The sun of early summer beats down on the canvas roof. It's hot and smelly and gritty and everything is jolting and the seat is hard and the uniform is itchy. Graham has his arm raised as he holds on to a roof stay to steady himself, as do the others. They all know there's a job still to be done, ahead. What would he give at that moment, I think to myself, for a lovely, quiet pint of bitter at the Hardwick Arms in Streetly with his Home Guard mates - including our father - and afterwards perhaps a game of solo or cribbage? Or even, at a pinch, at the Parson & Clerk - although without Dad because he would never have set foot in the place.

The lorry trundles on, together with hundreds of others, through the long, hot afternoon. To the north. Ever onwards. Towards the front line and all the battles still to be fought.

That is all tomorrow, exactly 80 years ago, when he was 21 and I was 8. And so I shall think of him then, as he enjoys his few minutes crossing the very centre of Rome.  And of all the thousands and thousands of young men just like him, there in Italy, and in Normandy, the Far East and other places, their futures unsure and wholly unknown to them - our grandfathers, our fathers and uncles, even our elder brothers, perhaps.

We owe all of them our respect and our thanks and we must never forget them. I certainly shan't.

 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Please see INDEX page for general acknowledgements.
Grateful acknowledgement is made to:
- The Imperial War Museum, the source of all the military images on this page
- The British Newspaper Archive
- family members

This family and local history page is hosted by www.staffshomeguard.co.uk 
(The Home Guard of Great Britain, 1940-1944)
All text and images are, unless otherwise stated, © The Myers Family 2024 

 

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Streetly and Family Memories
1936-61

L8A2 7th June 2024 - © The Myers Family 2024 
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