In June 1943 I received secret word that the Regiment was in
Hamilton, Scotland. We all knew by then that they were about to go
overseas, so another wife and I took off for Scotland. We found our
men and spent three wonderful days there. However, soon enough it
was time for them to ship out. I recall standing on the street,
watching the troops march past as they boarded their ship. All Bob
and I could do was smile as he passed by.
I was never to see my beloved man again, for he was killed on August
5th, fighting in Sicily on Hill 736. By the time the news reached
me, Lieutenant Remple was on his way back to England. He learned of
his friend's death when he landed in Scotland. He and my sister
Phyll had been planning their marriage for some time and I was
assisting him in the arrangements as Phyll was then stationed in
Scotland. During the weeks that followed, Bill brought to our home
another fellow officer, Owen Browne, who was to be the best man at
his forthcoming marriage.
This wasn't to be, for Owen was shipped to join the Loyal Eddies in
Italy. Before leaving, he left me his photograph and a request that
I write to him. During the war, one wrote many letters to young men
overseas, and my list was long. Later, I joined the ATS and it was
then that I came to realize how much the letters meant to the young
men.
Our house was situated on one of the direct paths of the German
bombing runs into London. Consequently, several bombs dropped in the
Oxted area near us, though overall we were fortunate because there
were very few casualties. My family's home was destroyed by a VI or
"doodle bug" which landed and exploded in the wood across the road.
We lost most of our house but everyone was safe as fortunately my
mother and brother were in our steel table shelter.
In the countryside, where once Canadians had their tents, now
RAF men pitched theirs. They manned the barrage balloons that soared
overhead to trap flying bombs, which hopefully would hit a cable and
crash and explode in the country fields rather than land in London,
where they would do so much more damage. Terrifying beasts they
were, so much noise, with flames shooting from behind.
We were also close to Biggin Hill Aerodrome and saw many dog-fights
overhead. I recall huge flights of enemy bombers, escorted by their
fighter planes high up in the sunny skies. Then, our boys would be
swooping down amongst them firing their guns. There were screeching
planes, great dark shapes hit and trying to escape. Parachutes of
the fliers who had jumped from their burning planes dotted the sky.
One German landed in a neighbour's runner beans, another lay wounded
in a field close by.
I found it very scary after dark, cycling through the woods while
enemy planes were overhead. Sometimes they would dump their deadly
cargo trying to return home in a hurry. This posed additional danger for us because our wood,
that had once been home to the troops, was now an ammunition dump,
guarded by the Pioneer Corps. One dark night I was almost home when
Jerry dropped a stick of incendiary bombs. As they exploded they lit
up the woods. They were coming nearer and nearer. I just flew down
the hill, threw my bicycle through the gate, dashed through our door
just as the lights went out. I dove under the steel table to join my
mother, sister, Barbara, and young brother, Graham, who was wrapped
in a towel, having just been grabbed from his bath.
Heritage Community Foundation Presents
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