Time was running out for the Third Reich. The
6th Airborne Division had dropped over the river Rhine and having been re-inforced
by ground troops, were preparing for the next phase.
After a first night of fierce fighting
they commenced the advance on the road to final victory. Joining
forces with the Guards Armoured Division, the forward Platoon of "A" Coy, 8th Parachute Battalion, under the command of
Lieutenant
Maurice Tugwell, were leading the advance,
sitting atop the supporting tanks. As they were entering the German town of
Minden, they were suddenly met by a hail of fire. Galvanised, the Paras
dismounted and took up positions in a deep gully . The Officer shouted,
"Sergeant, check the strength of the enemy, around that bend
ahead". I crawled along the gully and around the bend and reported
back that a Tiger tank, equipped with a standard 88mm gun and supported by
infantry, was impeding our advance. We were then ordered by HQ to take
cover while our tanks engaged the enemy. Taking advantage of a convenient house,
we took cover in the cellar. At a pre-determined signal, we threaded our
way through the devastation being wrought by the opposing tanks and detoured
around our armoured forces.
As
night approached a convenient, large house, overlooking a parkland, beckoned
invitingly and so together with my platoon, we accepted the invitation. Because
our advance had been so swift, the electrical power was intact, so having posted
my sentries I decided to explore the house. A room, which was probably the
library, had obviously been abandoned in great haste. Evident everywhere
was the unmistakable evidence of great wealth and on the wall was a painting
that excited me. As I endeavoured to take it down, to my surprise, it swung out
to reveal a small safe. McNight, one of my bren gunners and I, forced it open,
to find two watches and some documents inside.
Before
settling down to write a letter home, I decided that a glass of the wine
standing in a decanter on the sideboard would be appropriate.
"Also", I thought, "a cigar from those cigar boxes on the
bookshelves, would complete the irony of the situation". The cigar box, one
of many, however, contained not cigars, but German currency !!! Pte Baker, a
member of my platoon who was familiar with this currency, informed me that I was
holding a very large sum of money. Removing my Denison smock, I stuffed notes
into every pocket.
We
halted, some days later, at a town named Celle. Taking advantage of the time
available, Pte Baker and I, went shopping. Borrowing the Company 15cwt truck, we
patronised first, a butcher's shop, where waiting to be served, we took
pity on an old lady, who was in difficulty, not having sufficient cash to pay
for her purchases. I gave her a handful of my acquired 'loot', enough, so Pte
Baker informed me, to buy the whole shop. She rushed out of the shop before I
changed my mind and we, in turn, bought sausages. Then, it was down
to a grocery store. We arrived back with sufficient food to feed the whole
platoon !
Advancing,
stopping, fighting, then advancing again, constantly repeating the
sequence, we eventually reached a town named Ratzlingen, where we took up
defensive positions for the night. Instructing my lads to dig in, I traversed
the area to check on our supply of ammunition.
Wham !!!
then
The impact of
the shell, dropped by a German FW190, had hurled me skywards into the branches
at the the top of a large tree ! Fortunately, I was unconscious, as I fell
back to earth.
Back
in 'Blighty', I was taken to the Royal Hospital, Sheffield. I was very ill and
delirious. Because, from the time I was wounded, until then, a period of some
days, little attention had been paid to the wounds in my leg and it was now
gangrenous. The affected part, high up on my thigh, was so bad that amputation
was recommended. Luckily for me, one of the doctors was prepared to experiment
with a new drug, 'penicillin'. They injected nine pints of this wonder drug and
my leg was saved.
My fellow
patients, in the ward, numbered about forty; all ex-POW's from prison camps in
Germany, Poland, etc, who were in the process of rehabilitation. During a
conversation, mention was made of a coming visit by a paymaster. Curious, I
questioned my informant. It appeared that those POW's who had worked on farms
had received a small wage in Reichmarks. The object of the visit was to change
this money into Sterling. 'Taffy",
I said to the Welsh guy, who had lost an eye, and who slept the next bed to
mine, "can you find out where they have put my clothes ?". He came
back with my smock, the money still intact. I divided it between the
guys, in both my own and another ward. The paymaster duly arrived, with a suitcase
containing an estimated amount of English currency. Needless to say, that amount
and the final amount after replenishment, created a state of alarm and
bewilderment in the minds of our benefactors.
Any
thoughts I have harboured, of returning this 'loot' to it's former owners, have
long since dissipated !
