‘We had this new Captain take
over ‘cos the other one got killed. My mate said “Have you seen him? He’s an old fucker”. D’you know how old he was?
Forty! Goes to show how young we all was then.’
Henry laughs, not an active
thing, more like the gentle release of a deep bubble of humour. It’s a cold
night, so we’ve bundled him up on the ambulance trolley under a pile of white
blankets, the grave and liver-spotted bulk of his head vividly illuminated under
the bright cabin lights.
Henry’s accent is so strong, his
mouth so toothless and collapsed, the journey in to hospital so noisy, I have
to lean in to hear him – and even then there’s a delay between Henry speaking
and the sense of it percolating through.
‘I went through the lot. D-Day. I
was there. It didn’t start all that good. We went aground in our landing craft.
Bullets and bombs flying all over the place. So they says “Jump out quick lads.
We’ll hev’ to walk the rest of the way.” Which would’a been fine ‘cept we were
in about five foot o’ water. Carrying about seventy-five pound a kit. ‘Course,
quite a few drowned. How I made it in I’ll never know. ‘Cept I was young then,
and when yer young you can do a thing as soon as think it, eh? Anyways, a day
or so later, when we was all set-up on the beach, like, they had these tractors
with forks going up and down. And Billy says: “What’re they havin’ now, d’you
think? A ploughin’ match? But it weren’t that. They was collecting all the
drowned lads, you see? Scooping ‘em up and dumping them in a pile. A’ter that
they put us on a forced march. D’you know what a forced march is? Five miles
you run, five miles you walk. No change of clothes. Yer pockets and your boots
full of water. Full of blood half the time. But you dried out, course. And you
took yer ease where you could.’
‘I met ‘em all. The Belgians. The
Poles. The Dutch were all right. The French were grateful but you couldn’t trust
‘em. The Russians were just fixed on revenge. The Americans were fine in ones
and twos but when you got ‘em in a crowd they was a blasted nuisance. We used
to hev’ fights with ‘em now and again. Depends where we was and what else there
was to do. And the funny thing was, d’you know who we got on the best with? The
Germans. You know where you are with your German. It’s all there and out in the
open, if you know what I mean. Personally I don’t think Hitler was as bad as he
was made out. I think he had some good ideas – and he certainly got the country
going again, didn’t he? Trouble was, he was surrounded by some very strange characters. Goering,
Himmler, Hess – they was all a bit weird. I don’t think Hitler was strong
enough to resist what they was saying to ‘im.’
‘Anyway. Difficult days. A long
time ago. I lost a lot of mates. And you know what?’
He turns his misty eyes in my
direction.
‘I wouldn’t ‘a missed it for the
world.’
4 comments:
I enjoy your interactions (such a sterile word!) with WWII vets. Thanks for preserving a bit of history.
Thanks Blair. I must admit I love chatting about their war experiences. It's such an extraordinary period to have lived through. I'm always left wondering how on earth I'd have coped!
It will be a much emptier world when that generation is gone.
I can't imagine how I'd have coped with everything he'd been through. An inspiration (despite his soft spot for murderous tyrants).
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