With the 3rd Divisional Signals.

The story describes my Grandfathers personal experiences during the Second World War from the initial militia training through the D'Day landings, the Dunkirk evacuation and finally ending in Stoke Mandeville hospital. It describes the times, the people he met and just how lucky he was to survive.

The story has been published in A5, leather bound book format.

With the 3rd Divisional Signals

By T.W.H Dean, aged 85

Contents

Preface - 4 -
Tom - 5 -
With the 3rd Divisional Signals - 9 -
D’ Day - 22 -
Glossary - 31 -
Owner's Notes - 32 -
D' Day Invasion Map - 33 -

Preface

The following accounts capture my memories and involvement in the 1939-45 war in an attempt to pass on some of the events to my grandchildren and their children.

I take no pleasure in writing down the events but have finally surcomed to constant pressure by my grandson Nicholas and son Roger to capture my stories told to them and others over the years.

Tom

Grandpa is the finest bloke I’ve ever met. I have such fond memories of time spent with him; long hot summers in Barnet, acting quartermaster in charge of what seemed hundreds of chocolate bars, sometimes giving some to my younger brother, being taken around the sights of London, sitting next to him in his big old chair drinking my first half pint of Shandy. These are but a few……

……Nick Dean (33) — Grandson and co-author

Son of a Tyneside shipwright, Thomas Dean was born into desperate times on October 16th 1918, shortly before the end of the Great War.

His father, Thomas Arthur, was a kind and considerate man, who due to his poor eye sight, had been sent up to Sunderland docks to camouflage war ships.

Shortly after the war ended the family moved back to High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire where young Tom spent the rest of a happy boyhood.

Passing the 11+, Tom was given a scholarship to attend the local grammar school where he discovered a passion for singing (unfortunately, some would say, as all too often he continues to subject us to a rendition, usually around the dinner table).

But it was during choir practice at the age of 18 that Tom first met a pretty young girl called Eileen, but as with most young men lacked the courage to pursue the matter. It was not until he found himself with Eileen amid the confusion of a local bus strike that he plucked up enough courage to ask her to the pictures where they saw the classic ‘Ben Hur’.

Despite joining the militia in 1939, the relationship blossomed and whilst on leave, Tom asked Eileen for her hand in marriage which she accepted and on June 7th 1941 they were married.

For a number of years the only time they would see each other was during leave but evidently it proved long enough for Eileen to fall pregnant and on August 14th 1944, whilst Tom was recovering in Stoke Mandeville hospital from a shell wound, Roger Anthony was born.

After peace was declared in 1945, Tom briefly returned to the Post Office. He then sat a number of exams enabling him to join the Custom and Excise Department in 1948, where he worked as the Surveyor's Clerk in the No.1 Clerical Offices at London Docks, dealing with Customs Duties for Wines and Spirits.

In 1952, he moved to Barnet with his wife and son after the Custom's board refused to continue to pay his travel expenses from High Wickham to London.

In 1960, he was promoted to Officer and transferred to the Collector's Office in Finsbury Square when V.A.T. was first introduced. After various Excise duties he spent the last three years examining the V.A.T. returns of the Barristers Fee in chamber 5 at the Law Courts until his retirement in 1980.

Shortly after his retirement Eileen tragically died aged 60.

This had a huge impact and for a number of years after Tom spent a great deal of time travelling to far off places, until in 1990 he met Yvonne at the local bridge club.

Fortuitously for Tom that night Yvonne found herself without a partner so Tom being the Gent that he is, said he would partner her to enable her to play. Tom was soon to become more than just her 'West'.

Yvonne tells me she didn’t quite know what to make of Tom at first. Tom would tell you it was a mixture of luck and fate that brought them together and as you will soon realise, Tom has had his fair share of luck and fate.

With the 3rd Divisional Signals

Now I must take you back to the summer of 1939 when it seemed imminent that we would soon be at war with Germany. The Government (Churchill) introduced the Militia, requiring young men from the ages of 20 and 21 to complete basic training with the Armed Forces.

I was one of those 20 year olds....

Prior to going up for my medical, a man I worked with at the Post Office who had served on the North West Frontier of India with the Royal Engineers said to me “Tom you should join as a tradesman either with the Engineers or the Signals”. So I took his advice and joined up in the Royal Corps of Signals.

For the next 3 months I attended the local barracks at High Wycombe where they taught me Signal Procedure, how to ride a motor cycle, drive a staff car and a lorry, which proved very useful on Exercises known as Manoeuvres. I was getting on well when, on the 3rd September 1939, war with Germany was declared and I found myself in the Army for longer than the six months anticipated.

Within three weeks I was called up to report to Catterick, Yorkshire, one of the main Signal training units. I remember standing on the station platform with 500 young men at Kings Cross all waiting for the special train destined for Catterick.

While travelling up I met a young man from Banbury in Oxfordshire — Freddy Timms — Freddy was the same age as me and also worked in the Post Office in Oxford so we got on immediately. This initial meeting was to turn into a life long friendship where we would both see out the War and afterwards travelling together to many Regimental reunions both at Bulford (Divisional Headquarters), and the Victory Services Club, London and Germany. Our friendship unfortunately ended in 2001 with the sad passing of Freddy.

I still miss him.

On our arrival, Catterick was full of Regulars and Reservists, there was no room for us ‘Rookies’ to the extent that after a quick meal we were all packed back on to the train this time to be sent to Prestatyn in North Wales which was to prove to be a completely different experience altogether.

Disembarking from the train, to our absolute delight, we found we were to be stationed at a local Holiday Camp with civilians, young waitresses, with only two to a chalet. We wondered why we had not joined the Army sooner!

This, however, was not to last. Within 3 weeks the civilians and waitresses had left and we were issued with uniforms and assigned to our various posts. I soon knuckled down into to my roll as Field Wireless Operator, a position I would retain throughout my Army career. Fred on the other hand went to Divisional Headquarters.

Like clockwork, we were required to be on Parade at 7.30am, shaven and ready for breakfast. Then it was on to the training rooms. One morning one of the lads who had been celebrating the night before came on parade unshaven and dressed in a maroon dressing gown lined with gold braid. Needless to say Sergeant O’Hara was furious, he bellowed “My office my lad”. At this point the chap took a card from his pocket and handed it to the Sergeant and said, “My solicitor will deal with this,” We did not see him again, I expect he was sent to the War Office.

After six weeks training 10 of us, having reached the required speed for sending and receiving the morse code and passing a paper on Signal Procedure, left Portsmouth bound for Rouen via Le Havre, one of the main lines of communication for the B.E.F (British Expeditionary Force). From there I was sent forward to join the 3rd Divisional Signals advancing towards the Belgium boarder and became a field Wireless Operator in “Ack” Section, a role I would retain throughout my Army career. At this stage Fred had already been posted to the more enviable position within Divisional Headquarters.

My first experience of ‘Gerry’ (or so I thought), proved to be a rather confusing and embarrassing experience. On the second day, the C.S.M (Colour Sergeant Major) told me to get a meal and then relieve the sentry on the North Gate. The poor chap had been there all day. I reported in for duty and told him that I was his relief. He pointed down the road and informed me that was the direction of the enemy and that I was to fire the gun if they approached. I suppose I looked a little puzzled as when I looked down I found it was an Anti-tank gun. He asked me if I had ever fired one to which I said I had only fired a rifle on the range in England. “Never mind” he said “Just fire it if you have to,” and with that he was gone. The afternoon turned to dusk and I was already looking forward to being relieved myself, when suddenly I heard the sound of motor cyclists coming down the road. So as instructed, I picked up the gun and fired.

I remember slowly picking myself up as the recoil had proved to be so fierce that it had knocked me completely off my feet. Not that surprising as I was soon to find out.

An officer came running up and said to my complete surprise, “you bloody fool,” “You’ve given our position away,” Worse still, it turned out that the motor cyclists were three of our dispatch riders returning from one of our forward Battalions. During the de-brief I was informed that an Anti-tank gun should only be fired from a lying position and certainly not whilst standing. I was not given any further sentry or guard duties after that.

In the November I was promoted to Corporal and sent to the 9th Brigade in charge of the Brigade wireless set working to Division. I had two operators and a Guardsman who was responsible for keeping the batteries charged and the essential every day jobs including keeping us fed. The Number 9 set was a beast; it filled the entire front of the vehicle - a 15 cwt truck which we affectionately called the ‘Fish Van’. The set was designed with screw in ear phones which were thankfully replaced with snatch plugs, making it far easier to leave quickly if needed. The early sets had another dangerous flaw, the output generated was so strong that the enemy could easily pick up the transmission and intercept the message and therefore Head Quarters would not have the set anywhere near them, so a line had to be made.

Our duties were two hours on, four hours off, using two frequencies sending Sitreps (Situation reports), Casualty returns, Requisitions etc and receiving messages in the same way.

By now we were slowly advancing though France towards the Belgium border. In March 1940 we received reinforcements and six of us were given ten days leave. Leave was a great relief but always too short. By now I was engaged to be married which made being away that little bit harder.

We were to return to Lille to catch a train to Louvain and join the Division on the Belgium boarder. I found the journey from Le Havre to Lille a nightmare. It was pitiful to see people with such few possessions leaving their homes, just streaming away from the constant bombing. It made me think of close ones at home in similar conditions.

Everywhere seemed chaotic, all roads appeared to be impassable and, to make matters worse, we could not find our transport to take us the rest of the way to Lille. Eventually we managed to convince an old man to drive us to Lille for a few Francs. I don’t think he was very pleased but he agreed anyway. The journey was awful as a lot of roads were destroyed and at one point I thought the old man was going to turn back as he had to go so far out of his way but eventually he got us there safely.

On reaching Lille we raced to the station only to find it deserted, we had missed the train! We all thought this would mean certain court martial — what were we to do? After spending the night at the station we spent the next morning searching for some kind of transport. With a stroke of luck we found an old lorry in a deserted garage which from its condition obviously hadn’t seen the light of day for a while. We commandeered it and one of the chaps happened to be a first class mechanic and managed to get it going. To top it off we found a number of full petrol cans in a store room close by.

We set off but soon lost our way and were forced to spend the night in an empty old farmhouse, eventually rejoining the Division just north of Louvain where I was ordered to take over the Brigade wireless set once again. I was only in the wireless vehicle a short time before I was ordered to appear before the Brigade Major. Fearing the worst I knocked on the door. On entering, I remember thinking he seemed to look like a kindly man, and to my surprise said “Welcome back, but I have to tell you Dean that you’re extremely fortunate to be alive.” “The train you were meant to catch was bombed with the loss of nearly all our men.” I left his office feeling shocked, thankful and very, very lucky.

Towards the end of May the weather was glorious and we were still advancing through France, Belgium and on into Germany, when I received a coded message from Division to retire back to Dunkirk. We could not understand it. We were on top and the R.U.R’s (Royal Ulster Rifles) had Gerry on the run. The R.U.R’s refused to withdraw. This proved to be a costly decision as most of them were captured or killed as later we found that the B.E.F (British Expeditionary Force) in the centre were being encircled as the Belgium’s had collapsed on the left flank and the Germans had broken through the Maginot line on the right. Events were happening so quickly with the impression that no one really knew what was happening, creating a feeling of every man for himself.

The Wireless vehicle, two operators and a driver made for slow progress as we headed back towards Dunkirk. On the way we picked up two wounded K.O.S.B’s (Kings Own Scottish Borderers), one had been shot in the back and could hardly walk and the other poor chap had been hit in the head and did not know where he was.

All roads to Dunkirk were blocked and so crowded with destroyed allied vehicles that troops were unable to get through. I said to our driver (with the strange nickname of Gotobed), to head back to La Panne, some 5 miles further down the coast. Although we had maps of the region, we were still unsure how we would get to the beach head but fortunately found a small lane leading directly to it. We then set about destroying all our papers, dismantled the set and the driver blew up the vehicle. As I looked down the coast I could see the sands filled with the Belgium’s, French and British troops all digging trenches with an endless line of soldiers waiting to board the assortment of small fishing boats and larger ships. I knew we would never make it!

Getting down on to the beach at La Panne was one thing but getting off was another. As I contemplated the best course of action I turned to the driver for inspiration and as I did so I noticed a tiny, little fishing boat apparently unable to get in at Dunkirk and drifting down towards our beach. We all waved like mad and managed to attract the attention of the skipper. Before I knew it, around 20 of us were wading out and clambering aboard the tiny boat. As we turned from the beach and made our way slowly back towards Portsmouth, I felt a great sense of relief and thought again how lucky I was to be safely on my way home. This became clearer still, as on the way we passed a number of larger vessels that had been bombed with great losses.

It was pitch black when we arrived and remember it was the last day of May. We were a dirty, ragged lot. Many were wounded and shell shocked, so not permitted to go home. I was hoping to be sent home but the military police made sure that all able bodied men were taken by train straight to Doncaster. For three weeks we were billeted on the race course to recuperate and recover before rejoining our Regiments.

The 3rd Division was now stationed at Blandford where we were all re-equipped with new uniforms and kit. That was not the only thing that was new, the old No.9 set had been replaced with the new No.22 with much lower output and much improved ear phones for receiving. We also had a new half track vehicle, a great improvement from the old ‘Fish van’.

It was 1940 and we were now performing defence duties all along the south coast and being paid in French Francs, all ready to follow the Canadian’s into Dieppe, which had ended in disaster. Shortly afterwards the Division was posted to Nairn and Inverary, Scotland to simulate invasion schemes and exercises alongside the Royal Navy. The Division was stationed at Dumfries and the Brigade at Stobs Castle in Hawick. Each exercise was to land and advance ten miles in land as at this stage we did not know that Caen was to be our objective. Our first schemes were dreadful and it soon became evident that the Division were no sailors — nearly all of us were sick on landing and just wanted to lie down on the beaches — not ideal for an invading army!

General Montgomery had recently been appointed Commander-in-Chief of all Allied Troops and soon made aware of this. His solution was to send us out for several days and nights to bob around on the North Sea until we got our sea legs and our landings in the Assault craft were perfect. In addition, I was also required to liaise with the Royal Navy and familiarise myself with their signal procedures.
After nearly three years of training, we were ready to invade France.

D’ Day

We were out in the Channel on the 5th June which was the intended invasion date but heavy storms made any assault impossible. Then, just as quickly as the storm started, the seas became calm enabling the invasion to take place the following day — June 6th 1944.

The Invasion Fleet set sail from Portsmouth to coincide with the rising tide in France. At first there was complete wireless silence making me think if the set was still working. Then it started.

At 3am the Navy started shelling the French beaches in preparation for the landings. The 9th Brigade went in at 8am and though everyone had a wet landing at Lion-Sur-Mer, there was little shelling enabling us to make good ground. Later that day we learnt that when Division came in at noon and suffered heavy losses from the inevitable German shelling.

After being reunited with our vehicles which had been landed along side us, I went in with the K.O.S.B’s through Hermonville and Coalville, slowly advancing through the cornfields and woods taking a village or two.

On the 9th June we were held up at Cambes Wood some six miles from the north coast, three miles short of Caen. The R.U.R’s attacked the wood in the morning and suffered heavy losses. The 33rd Field Battery was called up and shelled the wood for about an hour before a smoke screen was laid down for the K.O.S.B’s to attack. I followed behind in a Bren-gun carrier with a driver and my wireless set.

It was midnight before we captured the wood and established Brigade Headquarters. I will never forget the sights and smells in the wood the next morning, it was dreadful, casualties from both sides were lying all around. Perhaps I ought not to mention these things as they are best forgotten, suffice to say these poor souls were taken care of by the Padre (Clergymen and Parsons), who also had the unenviable task of writing to the loved ones of the dead soldiers and then burying them. I had seen death before but not on this scale. Prisoners were being brought in and sent back to Division, many were Adolf Hitler’s S.S. troops who all seemed so young.

Meanwhile the Germans could be seen through field glasses in Caen but we had our orders to maintain our position, hold the wood and wait for reinforcements.

And so the hours dragged by, snatching sleep, cooking meals and dodging the sporadic shelling hoping that support would soon come. These hours were the most depressing and efforts to keep cheerful most difficult but news bulletins were helpful as we learnt that the reinforcements were on the way.

We managed to hold the wood for three days. On the 12th June we heard that Rommel was in Caen. We had manoeuvred the half track right down in to an old German dugout, it was 10pm. I had just come off duty from the set and was brewing a welcome cup of tea just sitting on the steps of the vehicle when all hell broke loose. A terrific explosion just a few yards away made us all dive for cover under the vehicle. As I lay there I could feel that I had been hit. Looking down, I could see that shrapnel had blown away the back half of my lower leg tearing the gaiter which was bleeding heavily and causing a searing pain.

After half an hour, which seemed endless, the shelling stopped and I crawled out only to find that I could not stand and collapsed with blood pouring from my leg.

Fortunately, the medics were soon in attendance and put me on a stretcher and carried to the R.A.P (Regiment Aid Post) where they made a temporary repair by cutting away the flapping gaiter and sock and bandaged it up best they could. It was nearly an hour though before we reached the C.C.S (Casualty Clearing Station) where the first thing they gave me was a welcome cup of tea closely followed by an injection of morphine as I was feeling extremely light headed caused by the excruciating pain. I was indeed lucky as I was loosing a lot of blood but as darkness fell I was able to be taken by jeep to a C.C.S and out of the wood without being hit by any German snipers.

I faintly remember being passed between two or three stations, some dressing the wound and by the time I had collected my papers all pinned to my chest it was 3am.

When I eventually reached the evacuation tent on the beach head, I learnt I was on my way back to England. The thought of home never felt so welcoming.
The next morning I was transferred to a Canadian hospital ship where I had further dressings and morphine. I became unconscious and have very little recollection of the journey back to Southampton and indeed the onward journey by Hospital train to Chichester.

The next few months consisted of me being transferred from hospital to hospital until finally being transferred to the specialist hospital in Stoke Mandeville where the operation to re-build my leg was performed. By now the wound had turned septic and gangrenous, the Achilles tendon was still severed and the bone splintered. As it turned out, I was very close to losing the foot altogether, as they would have had to amputate in order to save the leg.

The doctors performed a wonderful job. The Achilles tendon was joined together by a sinew after the gangrenous flesh had been cut away. A flap was then cut and raised on my other thigh and positioned to cover the wound on my injured leg. For ten weeks my legs were encased in plaster and raised up between a goal post type of contraption until the raised flap of good flesh had successfully grafted on to the wound.

By the time they cut me free, I had lost all sense of the feeling in my legs and spent the following months simply trying to get the feeling back in order to walk again.

Lying in my bed, unable to do much at all, I often thought about the friends I’d made, if they were still alive and of the friends I had already lost.

By now, the war in Europe was over. Hitler and his allies finally defeated. I wrote many times to ‘A’ Section in an attempt to rejoin them but alas because of my injury I was discharged unfit for Military Service.

Some 20 years later, I eventually made it to Caen. It was for a Divisional reunion and remember how the Mayor of Lion-sur-Mer put on a splendid banquet for us. We visited many of the places and relived the ‘battle of the Beaches’ once again.

As for our original objective, Caen was not taken for six weeks. It finally fell after being surrounded by the allies but only after heavy casualties.

In reflection and despite my injuries, I was incredibly lucky during my time serving with the 3rd Divisional Signals. Sadly, many of my friends and colleagues were not so lucky, like my opposite wireless operator at Division, Sergeant Stanley, who went all the way through to Holland only to be killed by a shell landing on his control Vehicle a fortnight before the end of the war.

All these events have made me realise that if fate is on your side and with you, it is indeed a very wonderful thing as so many times I either just missed danger or got out just in time……

…I dedicate this book to my friend Freddy Timms who is greatly missed.

Glossary

B.E.F — British Expeditionary Force
Billeted - to assign lodging to (as soldiers)

C.C.S - Casualty Clearing Station
C.S.M — Colour Sergeant Major
K.O.S.B — Kings Own Scottish Boarders
Militia - part of the organised armed forces of a country liable to serve only in emergency.
R.A.P - Regiment Aid Post
R.U.R — Royal Ulster Rifles

Owner's Notes

This book is to be treasured and treated with respect.

This book can only be owned by the eldest son of the family (or daughter if no son is present). It should be read by all family members.

To the best of his/her ability, it is the duty of the book owner to pass on these stories to the younger members of the family, in order that they are never forgotten.

It should be remembered, that although it may sometimes seem it, life will never be as bad as the times described in this book thanks to brave men like Tom Dean...

D' Day Invasion Map

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