...

Happily, however, the German garrison had by now had enough from what must have sounded like the culminating stage of a determined infantry assault. Just forty yards to the left, a score of them, hands on high, began to emerge even as Harris announced the stoppage cleared. 'Just put a burst between that lot and where they came from, ' I ordered. Which was unwise because it might so easily have prompted a change of their minds. Hastily I stood up, waist high in the cupola to wave them in the direction of Canadian infantry emerging to disarm and loot them.

We spent the morning and afternoon standing by for further orders while the rest of Column C systematically cleansed Mont Lambert of Germans. Occasionally we heard their battle noises and were shelled from the powerful Herquelingue position across a deep valley. About 1000hrs Dan asked me to take my tank on recce to look for a way round Mont Lambert. One glance at the cratered state of that route, which also was overlooked from Herquelingue, put that approach out of mind. Instead I chose to go on foot, but none of my crew wanted to come along as escort. (Later Harris told me they thought that venture was contrary to our contract and irresponsibly going too far. I saw his point).

Instead I found a willingly aggressive Canadian as companion. We crept along battered trenches and across the deeply cratered ground until it became perfectly obvious that this was no way to the top of Mont Lambert and the Chemin Vert spur leading to Ostrohove. Having reported to Dan we were left in peace until tea time when orders were received to reform C Column. This took time, not only because most of the AFVs had been committed to the Mont Lambert skirmish but also because, to quote the War Diary, 'Considerable delay was caused waiting the infantry who had no veh ... Carriers were obtained. The bulldozer could not now be found. Two of the AVREs dropped out and the Inf PI Comd formed up his scout car, his four carriers and the FOO facing the wrong way. He then adv past all the tanks and would have been heading the coln had he not been stopped.'

I will name that straying Canadian. It was Burton Fitch whose son, Major Ed Fitch, some forty years later, coincidentally became my colleague and good friend when we were editing a very successful Canadian Army training manual called First Clash.

At last at 1800hrs C Column moved off. As I led it round a corner there, spread out was a breathtaking panorama. Bomb spattered open ground swept down to Ostrohove and the outskirts of Boulogne. Dominating the town stood the dome of Notre Dame church (which I had last seen with my Father on the day trip in 1931) and in the far distance by the clear light of evening, the Channel and the white cliffs of Dover. Then to add a thrilling overture to the drama about to unfold, the sound of a Mozart symphony broadcast by the BBC which, freakishly and momentarily, invaded our radio frequency.

Through lack of a clear picture of the ground from maps and air photographs, I do not think Major Pocock, Mac nor I had fully decided how best to reach the built-up area in safety. One glance, however, now convinced me that a combination of maximum speed along with heavy prophylactic fire was most appropriate.

'Driver, speed up down the road towards those houses (the already battered hamlet of Varoquerie). Gunner, traverse left. steady. ON. Shove a 75 through the gable end of that first house.'

Turning a small screw in the fuze of the 75mm HE caused a .05 second's delay so that when the shell hit a hard surface it bounced and produced a splendid air-burst. We had set every round that way and now, with satisfaction, watched a small hole appear in the gable end followed by the building's contents shooting out through the windows. Everybody followed our example as the column madly charged. Mac was right behind. The air was alive with shot. Close by the first house the road was cratered. I directed Brailsford through the back garden and had Lloyd spray the hedges ahead before turning back to the road and halting to make sure we were being followed.

Lloyd spoke politely over the intercom. 'Excuse me sir, there are two Germans standing beside the tank.'

Grabbing a grenade I looked hastily over the cupola rim. There they were, hands up and bags packed, looking up beseechingly at me. I waved them back only to hear Mac (who during planning had suggested shooting all prisoners) asking what to do with them.

'Sod the prisoners,' I acknowledged. let's keep moving.'

We progressed quickly, firing into the houses as we went. Indeed at one point I had to call for a little more care with the wild shooting, most of which came, ironically, from Burton Fitch's infantry who were firing bren guns to discourage snipers firing at the tank commanders. On one occasion I fired local smoke to screen our exposed right flank. Near la Madeleine, to my outrage, a file of Germans got up and, led by a man with a white flag, ran for their own lines. Traversing right I ordered Cpl Harris to fire a long burst of tracer to head them off; thereby discovering an aversion to killing except when under the urgent demand of self-protection. For, as the flag bearer ran straight into the line of fire and, with his nearest follower also going base over apex, I instinctively shouted 'Stop!' I can honestly say that I never tried to kill for the sake of doing so. On the other hand I have no idea how many were hit by the hundreds of rounds ordered for prophylactic effect.

So far everything was most exhilarating and encouraging. We were on top of a cowed enemy and winning. I could hear Pocock and Herbert getting more and more excited as they acknowledged each report of a bound reached. What they did not know however was that, when I reported COVENTRY STREET to announce we were entering the built up area leading to TRAFALGAR SQUARE, Cpl Harris had reported a dire shortage of 75mm HE. Thus, as euphoria was replaced by a twinge of fear, I suggested, more in hope than anger, that the reserve pilot tank might take over the lead. No such luck! Instantly (correctly) Herbert came on the air in order to maintain momentum:

'Hullo 22. No, keep going. You are so nearly there.'

'Hullo 22. Wilco,' I replied, We'll just have to bluff it out and hope for the best.' Adding to Brailsford on the intercom as I closed down my hatches. ‘Flat out!'

We bounded down the slope between the houses, rounded a slight curve to bring TRAFALGAR SQUARE into view 300 yards ahead, saw a German soldier dashing across the narrow street and an ex-French light tank pointing in our direction. It hardly needed the order, ‘Hornet. On. Fire,' to have Harris hit it first shot. It exploded as, with Mac close behind, we thundered past.

According to our special plan I halted at the crossroads for a quick inspection from the manoeuvring aspect and to sort out any likely enemy action. The latter, was instantly forthcoming as, from the house opposite, a flame thrower fired a derisory puff with no target effect. This Harris snuffed out with AP followed by a stream of Besa, while I reported to control. Pocock's reply was amusing:

'Twenty two. Did you say you want a flame thrower?'

'No thanks, I've got enough of my own and it's now dead.'

End of jollity as I fortuitously happened to glance left in time to see a shot hole appear above my head in the wall of the house alongside. An anti-tank gun had fired from the right down the Route Nationale. The instinctive 'Driver reverse!' also was according to plan, but originally intended to make room for gathering speed when crossing the main road.

Almost as soon as the tank started backwards, however, there was an explosion. A streak of sparks spurted across the turret floor, flinging open turret hatches and instantly setting ammunition alight. We had been hit by some sort of bazooka from the left. I glanced at Davies whose expression reflected my thoughts. 'This is not happening to me.' No orders to bail out were needed. Something rapped my right shoulder as we heaved upwards. That was the last I saw of Davies, who at once got clear. For, to my horror, I not only became stuck by the waist, half in and half outside the narrow all-round vision cupola, but also realised that the tank was rolling slowly forwards into full view of the enemy.

I heard somebody screaming in uncontrollable terror and realised it was myself. Then in milli-seconds came a sensation of repose in the certainty of death followed by dynamic pressure from below as the desperate Cpl Harris struggled to escape the flames. It threw me out like a cork to land on the track catwalk, where my normal quick and clear thinking in emergencies reasserted itself. I rolled off the catwalk onto the road and lay inert, playing dead as the tank rumbled slowly by to inbed itself in the flame-thrower's house. Waiting a few seconds in the hope that the enemy had lost interest in a corpse, I suddenly leapt to my feet and ran for safety.

Not a shot was fired. But then I found that Mac's flail was nowhere in sight because he had reversed to safety round a slight, unnoticed, curve. Harris was standing there, however, beside two sewage pipes at the roadside. Our eyes met. We both guessed that to run back up the road would be straight into enemy view. Instinctively we sought cover in what Bruce Bairnisfather's Old Bill might have called 'A better 'ole'. He dived into one pipe as I into the other. ...

Turning Points: Table of Content

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