During the war my Aunt Freda was engaged to a medic called Don. His experience at Arnhem in Holland [at Operation Market Garden?] affected him deeply for a while and as a result they broke off the engagement.
Here are letters from him in 1941 and 42, plus a short account of Don’s experience at Arnhem and then a letter from him in 1944 to Freda posted after.
After the war, she married George Adams who was also in the RAF.
These letters are part of Freda’s collection which only came to light after my Uncle’s death a few years ago. Here are the others in her collection:
Transcript:
[Letter 1]
Draft Index RXKHZ
To: Nurse F.M. Edgar, St James’s Hospital, Leeds
No doubt you have often wondered what I have been doing since leaving Leeds. As you know I cannot say much except that we are on quite a large ship and will probably remain sailing throughout Christmas.
The weather now is simply marvellous perhaps inclined to be a little too hot especially for P.T. in the mornings. Nevertheless we don’t over-exert ourselves especially in the afternoon when I spend most of the time asleep on deck or reading my little books on Biology and Phys. Unfortunately they are getting a bit moth-eaten (figuratively speaking) which of course makes things a little harder to sort out.
The water is getting very blue and at night is full of phosphorescence which dances on the surface like stars.
Today for the first time I saw a school of porpoises like great seals leaping out of the water. I am very eager to see a shark! But from a distance.
Lately I have been reading a book called The Ocean by Sir John Murray. It treats of the Science of Oceanology, which deals with the life, tides, currents, temperatures and characteristics of the seas. It seems a most fascinating life that of an exploration party in a research ship. No doubt you will feel I have developed a passion for travel, perhaps I have!
However, I have learnt many interesting things from it, that for one thing the percentage of saline in the ocean is exactly the same as that in the body ! Naturally you will say why cannot one drink seawater then in any quantity. I can only say I don’t know!
I do not think we shall to your favourite town in the tropics. So I shall therefore not be able to bump into your sister; but of course one may go anywhere.
At the moment there seems little more to say. I must admit I shall be pleased to see a little terra-firma for the sea to look at constantly begins to get a bit monotonous.
I hope to give a little more news and a longer letter next time.
Meanwhile
[Letter 2]
Z Coy No. 12 Holding Depot
Dear Freda
Just a few lines to say that in all probability I shall be unable to see you again this side of the ‘Desert’.
I should like to say what happy days we have had together, at least for my part, I have thoroughly enjoyed those evenings when we were together.
No doubt a year or two in the atmosphere of the Middle East will tone down my ambition of becoming a surgeon somewhat. Possibly your own ambitions in the nursing world will no doubt have modified. Perhaps in the peaceful aftermath of war we may meet again and have some really good times. Free from blackouts etc.
On the other hand we may both be as keen as ever on our healing vocations that will not necessarily preclude our meeting. I had however in mind a more permanent meeting, but of course it is early days to think of it especially during this war.
I am afraid I have had little time to find a Christmas present for you. If I go in the meantime, I shall send you a tiger’s skin from Durban or a gold drinking goblet from a Tibetan Llama (Is the spelling correct?).
Sorry the writing is not all it might be but it is possible we may be off any minute. We are at the moment confined to Billets until further notice.
Kindest regards
[Document 3 - account from Arnheim]
Kregie’s Moon
Through the little round windows of the Dakota the sun shone lighting the pale determined faces of the 20 occupants.
It was a lovely day – too lovely to start an invasion. Yet now we were ready and about to begin.
The roar of those planes is in my ears now as I write and I can feel my mouth go suddenly dry as the red light flicked on. We lumbered awkwardly to our positions, each man trailing the kitbag strapped to his leg.
It seemed an interminable time waiting at the open door. It may have been two minutes; but it was 32 years for that is my age and mentally I could see the whole of my life slowly unfolding like a motion picture…………………….
I remember the red light for I saw it first, it came on so unexpectedly that for a moment nobody noticed.
I remember seeing it first and gesticulating wildly to the dispatcher. ’Action Stations………….Go!’ He roared.
A great rush of air. As No. 1 I fell into space. For a second I hung motionless. I saw before me the panorama of a beautiful land – of Holland. Then my soul seemed to leave me ‘swish’ as my body fell at an increasing velocity of 32 ft per second.
That first rush of air penetrates everywhere. A strange, clean, thrilling sensation that cannot be equalled even by a hot bath………..Blackout, then – “flip” the parachute had opened. It is difficult to bend in the parachute harness, but I managed and released the kit-bag. This is not as difficult as it may sound for the buckles strapped to one’s leg fall away when the split pin is removed. It has been known for a man, in the excitement of the moment, to forget entirely that there was a bag strapped to his leg and he landed sitting on it – unharmed! In the instructions each man is told “Pay out the kit-bag inch by inch”. That however is in training. The bag shot earthward and I curtsied as it found its length like the bob float on a fishing line.
The drop was very fast and touching down I managed to roll over as we had been taught, feet and knees together, somersault and end up facing heaven!
It is strange to land in one’s own country but stranger to land in someone else’s native land. The first sensation was one of loneliness, thank God! Not so other poor devils on another dropping zone who came down, their parachutes blazing, dropping into a blazing inferno of withering cross-fire. One does strange things. I found myself, jack-knife in hand, cutting off the tabs on my braces, until memory returned and a slash of the knife severed the harness. Twigs crackled underfoot and I hid; but to my relief it was the giant cheery, Dental Officer who approached me. “Seen anyone?” he whispered. Presently two more arrived. A civilian came up wearing the friendly yellow armband about which we had been warned. He led us to a ploughed field in the middle of which was a hay stack, we skirted it carefully fearing it might contain a sniper.
A platoon had formed up and we marched. The heat of the sun and the weight of my burden made me tired for beside the webbing we carried a stretcher bundle consisting of one airborne folding stretcher and six blankets! At last we came upon the main Battalion scattered in a wood. Snipers were everywhere and only by dodging behind trees did we reach the Dressing Station and then our work really began. The Dressing Station was in a little farm cottage, in other days probably a delightful place; but now a shambles. Shell dressings, Kramer splints, medical supplies and bottles of plasma lay here and there in profusion. Outside in the yard wounded lay. Some on stretchers, one or two on the ground covered by blankets. One poor lad, on an officer of the glider regiment lay with ashen face, shaking. His wounds were many including a head injury. Slowly we carried him inside and lay his fragile frame on the old iron bed. The only item of furniture left. A plasma drip was set up and given him and after a while that terrible shaking ceased……….
Nightfall! – News! The 1 st Battalion are advancing on Arnhem. Leaving the wounded whose injuries were too serious to be disturbed, and a skeleton staff to look after them, we move up with 156 Battalion.
Perhaps it was as well that night had fallen for the darkness hid the many bodies that littered the way. A half glance suggested the field grey uniforms of Germans, but we had a fear that some of those uniforms were of a lighter colour.
A car came up with blazing headlights – a Dutch car, and it seemed laughable that all our blackout precautions had been for nothing. We remonstrated and finally threatened with a Sten gun and it was this last resort only which successfully dimmed them.
By now our sprightly gait had become a crawl. The Jeeps too seemed to become tired and move more slowly and the whole column was growing weary. It recalled vividly to my mind exercises which we had made in Africa, Palestine and then in England. How thirsty one feels on a hot summer night after pulling a ‘buggy’ mile upon mile through hedges, in ditches, over ploughed fields, but alas! My water bottle had fallen by the wayside a mile back!
We pushed through a gap in the hedge and the wounded man strapped across the back of the Jeep gave a sigh of agony as his fractured leg had been twitched by a bough. My heart bled for him, all my troubles seemed as nothing compared with the suffering he endured on that terrible ride. The column bumped over the main line track that led into Arnhem. Suddenly a blinding flash burst from the sky – a Typhoon shrieked down its rockets darting fiery tracks to earth. Every man was petrified then each darted for cover. It is not easy to look death in the face calmly, how desperately we cling to the known world fearing that little barrier however flimsy the provocation may be and yet there was one amongst us who prepared himself for the supreme sacrifice. His name is Corporal Taylor and like many, many others he wears no medal, for his deed went unnoticed. He thought of the wounded man on the Jeep and he ordered others to help him carry the man to the safety of a shelter. We placed him as carefully as we could in the sanctuary of the roadside ditch and to see the man’s eyes reflect a mute thank you is the only reward we shall ever desire!
At last, leaving the rail yard we joyfully struck the main road. It put new heart in us and presently the column halted for a much needed rest.
This was evidently a permanent stopping place for after a short breather the Field Ambulance broke away and moved up to a country house.
[Letter 3]
Bruce Grove
My Dear Freda
I know that you will want to be the first to know that I have regained my soul. I hope it doesn’t sound too dramatic.
It left me on a day in September 1944. “Swish” and it was gone as I dropped into the Sunshine of Arnhem.
Everything appeared bright and sunny; but I was torn with anxiety and distraction, knowing that around every corner was the will to kill and maim and more. I should have talked of these things before, but somehow I didn’t and therein lay my mistake.
I shall never forget the night of the 19th when dosed up to the ……….. with Benzedrine I was meddling over the amputated remains of a Polish boy’s leg with the surgeon elbowing me out of the way to get at it!
….. blowing down the air inlet of a transfusion (on the same boy) which had jammed and would not flow, and blessing the mortar bombs which vibrated the house sufficient to make it flow again!
I have regained my purpose, you were quite right to break off our engagement. It had become, to say the least, an apology for one.
I’d like to see you now and again but don’t write until you feel like it.
Give my love to all at home.
Love
