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Those who Served
P/O R. Henderson R. . RCAF 149 Sqd. P/O Henderson was taken POW when his Wellington was shot down by a night fighter whilst on Ops to Duisburg, it crashed at Haelen in Holland. |
Trimmer H. Rainey . Naval Auxiliary Personnel HMS Forfar H. Rainey was amongst the survivors of HMS Forfar. |
Richard J. Ramsey . My grandfather, Richard J Ramsey of Indiana, was a POW at the Stalag 9B Bad Orb Hessen-Nassau, Prussia 50-09. I do not have additional information. He never spoke of his experience to his children. He died in a car accident in 1975. If there is anyone who remembers him there, I would appreciate any information. Thank you.
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Pte. William Ranner . Royal Marines HMS Manchester My Grandfather served on HMS Manchester. His name was William (Bill Ranner) Private Royal Marines. His service docs show that he was interned after the sinking of the Manchester. I can only assume he made it ashore and was captured and held as a POW.
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Matt Ransom . US Army Air Force tail gunner 452nd Bomb Group |
William "Bill" Raper . Navy HMS Penelope My grandfather William Raper (known as Bill) served on the HMS Penelope during WW2. He was one of the survivors when she sank in 1944. Unfortunately I don't know what his rank or number was at this point. |
Flight Sergeant Alexander "Sandy" Rattray . RAF 139 Squadron I am looking for history of pilot Alexander "Sandy" Rattray, Flight Sergeant 1571518.
All I know is he was in 139 squadron and flew Mosquitos.
Any information, or where I should look, would be of great assistance.
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Ord. Seaman T. Rayment . Royal Navy HMS Forfar T. Rayment was one of the survivors when HMS Forfar was lost in 1940. |
Sgt. Jack Read . RAF(VR) flight eng. 207 Sqd |
George Frederick Reece . Navy HMS Cairo I have recently found out that my grandfather was leading signalman on
HMS Cairo during the Second World War. His name was George Frederick
Reece, he survived the war and died in 1964. |
Sgt. Ian Henry Milne Reid . RAF(VR) flight eng. 101 Sqd. (d.21st Jun 1944) |
Sgt. J. D. Reid . Royal Air Force 514 Sqd. Having been shot down on the 3rd of August, Sgt J.D.Reid evaded capture until the 9th when he was captured in Paris with his crew mates, they were taken to Buchenwald before internment in Stalag Luft 3 |
L. Reid . US Navy 103 Sqd. Fleet Air Wing 7 |
Tpr. William A. Reid . Army Nottinghamshire Yeomanry from Dublin, Ireland.) (d.10th Sep 1944) My Grandfather was a member of the Nottinghampshire Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry. His name was Trooper William Reid, born in Dublin, Ireland in Feb 1923, he joined the regiment in late 1943 and fought from Normandy, through France, to Gheel in Northern Belguim where he was killed in action, aged 21, during the heavy fighting there to secure a bridgehead over the Albert Canal, on sept 10 1944, he is buried in Stelen churchyard 2km from Gheel. He was buried by the regiment's Padre, Leslie Skinner along with 9 others in Stelen Churchyard near Geel. Members of the Durham Light Infantry who were supporting during the battle are also buried there. He was married to Cathrine and they had one daughter Bernadette
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Trimmer James Reilly . Naval Auxiliary Personnel HMS Forfar (d.2nd Dec 1940) |
Sub.Lt.(E) John Reilly . Royal Naval Reserve HMS Forfar from Saltcoats, Ayrshire, Scotland) (d.2nd Dec 1940) |
Able Seaman. J. Rendell . Royal Navy HMS Forfar J Rendell survived the sinking of HMS Forfar in 1940 |
Able Seaman James Renshaw . Royal Navy gunner HMS Hunter from Sheffield) My father Mr James Renshaw, has recently been featured in the local paper, as one of only a handful of survivors from the ill fated HMS Hunter, which was lost at Narvic in 1940. He is in contact with a few of the other survivors but would like to know if there are any others out there who might remember him. With the recent finding of the wreck of the Hunter, it has brought the memories flooding back after sixty eight years. I have in my posssesion a photograph with the caption HMS Hunter survivors camp Gunnarn Sweden 1940. This photo features thirty two of the ships company, and my Dad is second from the right, on the bottom row. (The only one not wearing a jacket)
Here is his story:
I was born in Sheffield. After an uneventful youth, I decided to join the Navy. My brother and I applied through the recruitment office; he failed and I was successful, so I finished up with a ticket to go up to Manchester to join the recruitment group, and I was sent down to Plymouth, in the Royal Navy. After my six months’ training, I was shipped out to the Mediterranean, to join a ship that had just been sunk. This is still actually in peacetime; it was the H.M.S. Hunter, and she was reputed to have hit a mine, but she sank down to a floating level. I joined her when she had been rebuilt. The first journey that we had was to join the Spanish Revolution that was taking place. We clued up in Barcelona and took out the British Consul and all of his employees, because Barcelona was being bombed.
We had one attack, which was by small Italian fighter planes. Meanwhile, the Germans were practicing their bombing technique on the poor Spaniards. After that, we did a cruise of the Mediterranean, then came home to Plymouth, and whilst we were back in Plymouth, restoring, threats from Adolph Hitler came along, and the ship finished up joining the South Atlantic Fleet to cut off two ships that were going to cut the trans-Atlantic cable. From that, we started doing convoy duty from Halifax Nova Scotia, in Canada, to Bermuda, picking up cargo ships, grouping them in Nova Scotia, for the journey across the North Atlantic. During this, we got into a hurricane, and we had to be convoyed ourselves, as we were so damaged.
After arriving in Plymouth again and being repaired, we went to cruise the North Atlantic again, and whilst we were doing the Iceland and Beyer Island run, we had a signal sent to us, to say that the Germans were invading Northern Norway, and would we kindly go up there and give them a thrashing? But it didn’t work out that way; being a junior member of the ship’s company, I was supplied with nothing more than an empty revolver. On querying as to what I was supposed to do with this thing, I was told that I’d be given ammunition when we arrived in Norway. Meanwhile, if I got into any trouble, I was to swing it around my neck. Anyway, the boat landing never came in. Whilst we were off Lofoten Island, where we’d gone to escort four mine-laying cruisers, we heard that the Germans were in Narvik and we were asked to kindly go in and sort them out. So on the tenth of April, at 4 a.m., we dashed into Narvik harbour, where there were twelve destroyers, each one with it’s own cover behind a merchant ship. Anyway, we sank four of them, then our captains decided we’d go in for a second helping, so we went in again, and by this time, the Germans were up and about, making certain alterations to their positions.
We charged in and Hardy, the sister ship of The Hunter, was driven aground. My ship, having learners aboard, was having a bit of difficulty with the smokescreen. There will be no record of this anywhere, not even the Admiralty will admit it, but we had quite a few greenhorns (rookies) with us, and they were given responsible jobs such as setting off the smokescreens. Now, there were three smokescreens on the destroyer, one is on deck, one is below deck and the other is the funnels themselves. This young lad, he lit a large canister, the size of a dustbin, but he didn’t have the strength to push it overboard, thereby ending the smokescreen. So now we’re trailing around Narvik Harbour with our smokescreen coming behind us. Smokescreens are produced to go into and out of, and our following destroyer went in and out of ours, but on coming out, it plunged into the Hunter, virtually cutting her in two. I was down in the shell room supplying the ammunition, when all of a sudden, a shout went out, “ABANDON SHIP!!” I was very cautious of abandoning ship in twelve degrees below freezing, because Narvik is an ice-free harbour; the tide is so strong that ice cannot form. Anyway, I got into a life raft, and that was the last I could remember until I found myself aboard a German ship. It was a whaler called the Jan Wellen.
We finished up as Prisoners Of War under the Germans in a schoolroom, high upon a hill overlooking Narvik Harbour. We had to join a couple of hundred Merchant Navy seamen, whose ships had been captured whilst anchored in Narvik, but that wasn’t the end of it. They decided that we were to be shipped out, because they couldn’t feed us; there was no food in northern Norway, so we were to be shipped over the border into Sweden, then into concentration. We joined a parade comprising seamen, sailors, Norwegian seamen, Norwegian fishermen on a death march from Narvik to Bejer Mountain, which is on the border between Norway and Sweden. It’s a posh ski hotel. Now, I, being who I am, decided that whilst we were in this hotel, we’d make the most of what we could, so I ventures into the bowels of the hotel, the basement. Of all things, I found a box with about a gross of unusually shaped chocolate bars. A chocolate bar in Norway and Sweden in those days was finger shaped, not a slab. Anyway, I finished up with these bars, plus two oranges. I took ‘em up to what we were using as sleeping quarters and I was forced to give them out to the ship’s company. This led to me being the urchin of the gang. I finally had to entrain with the land storm from Sweden, which is the equivalent of the W.V.S., who gave us tea, cigarettes and other things.
We were locked in railway coaches for a journey across Sweden. Various tactics were used to find out in which direction we were going, e.g.: if the sun is over here, the shadows will be over there, so early morning, we were heading eastwards. We arrived at a little church in a village called Gunarn. I became friendly with a little girl from outside of the barbed wire; she taught me Swedish. She wished to learn English and I wanted to learn Swedish, so between the two of us, we managed to make something of it. I learnt quite a lot, but the company we had, was taken away to another camp, because even being Navy trained, as I am, we were just that little bit above the standard required. We were then kept in one block; the Merchant Navy men all disappeared, we don’t know where they went. The next move was, the church authority decided we had been there long enough. It was a brand new church, it wasn’t blessed or anything. We had to go to another camp down in Helsingmo, which is another prison camp. Now there, I met up with a young lady, a head mistress of the local school who wished to learn English.
Now, some of the features of this co-operation were quite unique. I was taken in, and the family that took me in, clothed me and fed me to a standard that was way above that which my shipmates were receiving. I was accepted into the family. The reason being, was that whilst we in England, buy the Christmas turkey, they purchase a suckling pig. A huge van comes round, selling these suckling pigs, and the pigs are fed on table scraps until Christmas. Come Christmas, it gets the chop. They were all leaning over the sty where the pig is kept and the owner of the pig is crying his eyes out. “The pig is dying, the pig is dying,” was all I could get out of him. The pig was over here, then over there and it was shivering and they couldn’t figure out why. I found the answer; I shoved my hand into the straw and found that it was wet. So, we took out the wet straw and replaced it with dry straw, in goes the pig and there goes another medal for me. I was the hero of the village at the time.
Now, I was beginning to learn how to ski and all those other things that rich people do. I was becoming a local figure, insomuch as when we had our next move to a nearer camp, I was taken away for a holiday back to the first camp. Meanwhile, the British Consulate decided that we couldn’t run around like this, we’d have to be more suitably dressed. Being Englishmen, we were brought under the spotlight by the newspapers, and we were to be more suitably dresses. He never mentioned the fact that the supplies in our camp were the remnants of the 1914 — 18 situation. And you can imagine a chief stoker riding on the back of a horse, with an umbrella up and a bowler hat on; I personally had a velvet suit. But they decided that we should be measured and supplied with the necessary kit, so we all in turn received two grey shirts, a pair of grey trousers, shoes we had to provide ourselves; but we got this kit and we were beginning to look a little bit smart. That wasn’t the end of it; we knew there was something behind it.
Now, 2 ½ years are going by now, and I couldn’t get home, there was no outlet, yet it was a situation where Sweden was neutral. So the British Consulate came up with a system: they’d have three high speed boats, and they would dash in through the Skagerrak, into Gothenburg, load up during the night, with butter and coffee, dash out again, loaded with ball bearings and various other hardware pieces. They were running back with these small motor launches across the Kattegat, then the Skagerrak, into the North Sea and back to Newcastle. So he told them of this idea that in the harbour of Norway, in the Baltic Sea, there are numerous forts in which there were English owned cargo ships with no crews because they’d been imprisoned, so, would we man them? Well, obviously, yes, we’ll man ‘em. We navy men were given a job of fitting all these appliances that the navy could supply. I had a twin Lewis gun, 14 — 18 war vintage, two large sugar boxes full of ammunition, two rocket launchers on the roof, which, at the pull of a string, would launch rockets, which would open out a parachute with dangling wires, and they were supposed to make the planes run into them, but they were a total failure.
Anyway, I left that particular ship, did all the necessary alterations, and being the leader of the band, I was given the job of testing by a firm called, Trellyborne Gummy Fabriek which is Swedish for Trellyborne Rubber Factory. They’d invented a survival suit. Now this survival suit consists of a boiler suit in rubber, with gloves welded on, feet welded on, and a double zip up the front, one in brass followed by another one that closed two rubber grommets together. I had to test these, so we blasted a hole in the ice, whilst we were alongside, and I had the job of getting into the 20 feet thickness of ice, getting in and testing the suits. They were remarkably good, but extremely bulky, and they had a hood. When it came to personal use, you had to take your arm out of the sleeve; if you could get your arm out of the sleeve you could get it into your trousers pockets, and you’d have a kidney shaped flask. It wasn’t to drink out of, it was for other purposes. It was designed to facilitate urination.
Anyway, I finished up having to take six Lascars (Indians) as passengers. Now of six Lascars in that day, five would be workmen, one would be the boss man who would be in charge of the other five. He’d be collecting their wages and sharing out, and providing for their religious beliefs and all that. I had to train them how to put the suits on in an emergency. Anyway, came the day that we had to sail, so, there were twelve ships. I have a list and a certificate signed by Sir George Binney. He ran a system from whence we get the Binney Medal. He organised all these ships to come together, of from Gothenburg, and sailed together behind the icepack. But the big ships go in first, breaking the ice. Three of the ships did manage to make it to Newcastle. The one I was in, which carried Sir George Binney, was H.M.S. Dicto, the M.V. Dicto. Several of the ships, I still have the names of them, we had a wine carrier a Charente, which is a district in France, B.P. Newton, which was an oil tanker. The one I was on, H.M.S. Dicto, was a one-passage ship, she made one passage to South America, and they’d loaded the fuel carrying cargo holds with wheat, so there was wheat everywhere. There was no room at all for oil. She was imprisoned in a port much further up the harbour, in the Baltic. Anyway, we all gathered together and at four o’clock, we had the orders to sail. The unfortunate part about it was that the pilot who was to take us out to sea, had bought a local newspaper, and that paper reported the fact that the English ships were sailing. So all the Germans had to do was to come out and wait for us behind the ice. The first few ships were sunk, two or three of them got through, three of ‘em were captured and they finished up in Germany. The one I was on, because I had the chief with me, turned around in the ice, being a big ship, and finished up back in Gothenburg. The following day, there was a ruckus in the paper, “Why let these ships go?” I was called up with a friend of mine, to go to the Consul’s office
Now, we were living in the Salvation Army in Stockholm, and we had to turn up every day to see the Consul. I ran out, having only two shirts and one only has two collars, so I ended up wearing a silk scarf. The Consul called us in one at a time, and queried, “Why are you wearing a scarf, where’s your collar and tie?” I explained to him that I had one collar in the wash, and the other was dirty. “Well,” he said, “this won’t do y’know, you represent England, you know. Get that muffler off, and be available at six o’clock tonight.”
I’d had 2 ½ years in Sweden now, no sign or sight of anybody doing anything for me. We waited until six o’clock, then suddenly there’s a knock on the door. So we opened the door and there was a fellow in a chauffeur’s uniform. So we gathered what few belongings we had; I was in a trilby hat, burgundy raincoat, silk scarf and collars in my pocket, and any toiletries that I had. He said, “Jump in the car.” So we jumped into the car. It was absolutely black, we didn’t know where we were, we didn’t know where we were going, all we knew was that we were in the taxi. So we finally pulled up outside a door, so we rushed in and when we got in, there were two Norwegian gentlemen, young seamen, and we all got chatting. We didn’t know what we were there for. The fellow came back again and said, “Right, go in there and sit yourself down.” Now, in there, was a Pilots’ dressing Room. There was everything from helmets, to flying boots to jackets. So, what do we do with all that? Well, we got rigged up in all this lot and his last words were, “Watch out there, and when you see a flashing light, run, and run like you’ve never run before.” So we’re all sitting around waiting, and all of a sudden, a light flashed, and we all rushed across the tarmac, and we came to a Wellington Bomber with its side door open. We were virtually pulled in by an airman, and he said, “Sit there, sit there, sit there. That’s your seat and that’s your toilet, there’s a pack of sandwiches and there’s your coffee. When I go like this, pull your masks down and put them on.” So, we’re all sitting there, locked in, not knowing what to do. I wasn’t going to move off my seat for that toilet anyway. So, we could hear a rumbling and we knew we were under way; we knew we were going north. We flew up and finally climbed above the height of the German fighter planes from northern Norway, up towards the North Pole and came down into Scotland, where we landed. In the meantime, I was ‘took short’ because cold weather is a natural laxative. Anyway, we arrived at an airport in Scotland, and I jumped out and opened my bowels right there on Scottish soil.
We were then shepherded again, into the Officers’ mess, but they couldn’t accommodate us lying down, but we could use the lounge. Come next morning, someone decided we should have breakfast. Now, we found it very peculiar that a fighter pilot should have to pay for his breakfast; all the pilots from the fighter squad had to go in and buy their food. Anyway, we had a jolly good breakfast, y’know, we had not seen eggs and anything like that. So, a young fellow came round and wanted money. We’d no money, we’d just been in Sweden, so he said, “Somebody will have to sign for it.” So I signed my name for four breakfasts and four railway tickets from Scotland.
By dawn, we’d both decided, Stanley and I, that we’d both go back and report to the navy. We were kept incarcerated for a couple of hours until the big navy boss came. He took me to one side and he said, “Who won the cricket match at Lords this year?” We had been in contact with nothing, absolutely nothing. “Who won the cup then? Who won the Derby race meeting? “ I said, “I know nothing about any of that.” “Alright,” he said, “who’s that other bloke outside?” I said, “That’s my mate, Stanley Cooke, a seaman wi’ me. He’s been wi’ me for the last 2 ½ years.” “OK,” he said, “now you go out through that door there.”
So I went out through that door there, then he called Stanley in and asked him the same questions, the final one being, “Who’s that bloke in that room there?” “That’s Jim Renshaw,” he said, “I’ve been with him for 2 ½ years.” So they finally decided that, yes, we are English, yes we are navy men. “Oh, by the way,” he said, “don’t forget to report back down to barracks.” Now, we’d got to go from Scotland, on a wartime train down to Plymouth. It took us 24 hours to get to Plymouth. I obviously went to my fiancée’s house, much to her surprise Well, we decided that we’d report in at 9 o’clock in the morning, so I went to see the bloke, I went in on my own. He said, “Who are you?” I said, “I’m Jim Renshaw.” “What’s yer number?” I gave him my number, my service number. “What ship?” and I told him. “Are you sure?” “Yes!” “Who’s that fella out there?” I said, “That’s Stanley Cook. He’s been wi’ me for the last 2 ½ years. “Alright,” he said, “Oh,” he said, “before you go, come back Monday,” he said, “and have yer bloody hair cut.” That was my greeting. And Stanley had to go through the whole lot too.
Anyway, I rejoined the navy, and they were gathering the remainders of 45 survivors. They got them out from Sweden one way, and they got them out in other different ways and they got the whole 45 seamen there, doing one particular job. The job was cleaning out female gas masks. Of course, females used gasmasks as handbags as well, and what we turned out of those handbags was nobody’s business. A lot of rude stuff there was. We were there for weeks, following the same routine, doing nothing, because we’d signed the treaty. We signed that, declaring that we would not fight any more Germans. They’d taken our fingerprints, and if we were caught again, we’d be shot. We finally finished up back in the navy and there was so little that they could do with us, that they had to discharge us. So I was one of the few discharged.
Unfortunately, one of my other shipmates was on one of the other craft that was captured and he finished his time in Germany as a prisoner of war. I never saw Germany as a prisoner of war, I saw it in Norway. It’s an experience you have to live through to understand it. I eventually got married and I then joined the dockyard navy, a tug section of the Royal Navy; I join all the tugs in the dockyard. I served there for forty odd years, losing half my hand in the process. I received the Queen’s Medal.
But, you know, looking back, it was amazing how we learnt to live in such cramped conditions. 45 people in a cattle truck, a real filthy environment. We did it sleeping, standing up using one corner of the truck as a toilet. Then we were marching through twenty feet of snow, from this blasted hotel, it was on a border station between Sweden and Norway and it caters for the highfaluting skiing fraternity that we had in those days. We had Norwegians with us, and we asked, “How much further?” With their limited English, they’d say, “Four miles.” Now four miles is 6 ½ kilometres, which is a considerably longer. It was actually somewhere in the region of 25 miles and it took us the best part of a week to cover it. It’s important to note that the men were naked, absolutely naked. They swam naked from the ship; they were picked up naked, taken to a school naked, then over the border naked. They had to be told to get onto a train. This was April the tenth in 1943; the sea temperature in Narvik was averaging 12 degrees below freezing. But due to the speed of the tide, it cannot form any ice.
I can recall the ship going down and I know she’s still down there. The Norwegians have made a museum of a couple of them. I’ve never managed to get back up there to, shall we say, have a look at it all? I lost every possession I had, including my bankbook, all my kit, everything went, and I finished up……….what did I finish up in? I was naked when I woke up. I was on a bunk with the chief stoker nursing me and I managed to scrounge a pair of canvas trousers, and a jersey of sorts, and in the next cabin to me was a civilian. They wouldn’t give him any leeway, but we got rumours that he was a relative of Winston Churchill. I became friendly with him, and all of a sudden, he disappeared and left his cabin open, and he left a pair of fisherman’s Wellingtons, so I nabbed them, but they were much too big. He was never heard of again. Of the Officers that were salvaged, we had one of them dead, and they made us carry him; I didn’t carry him, four lads carried him. He was dead and his entire bowel was hanging out, so I stopped the four of them and shoved it under his life jacket. Then they finally decided to cover his face and turn him over and take him away, and away he went. The Germans took him and they took the only living officer we had. I’ve never seen him since. From close on 200 seamen on the ship, only 45 of us survived. Most of ‘em, being like me, we put up with 2 ½ years of it.
I make a point to my own children, that it they go to foreign places, then they must learn a little of the language. My learning of a little of the language has stood me in jolly good stead, insomuch as they permitted me to leave the camp and go and live privately, 200 miles away with a little family. And they fed and clothed me, in fact, the son of the family (they had sons and daughters), deferred his father’s Will, he didn’t want his father’s property. Somewhere in the woods, they own a portion of land, which they have turned over to me. They made it in my name, so, somewhere in Sweden is a plot of land that I can legally claim, but I’d rather not go back, no, I’d rather not go back.
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Able Seaman. E. G. Repsch . Royal Navy HMS Forfar Able Seaman Repsch is listed as one of the survivors of HMs Forfar. |
Sgt. Reynolds . Royal Air Force mid upper gunner 101 Sqd. |
Doreen "Rusty" Reynolds . Land Army |
Joyce Reynolds . Land Army |
Ordinary Signalman C. F. Rhodes . Royal Navy HMS Forfar C F Rhodes was one of the crew members who survived when HMS Forfar was sunk. |
Agnes Rice . Timber Corps |
W/OII Alan Norman Rice . RCAF navigator 101 Sqd. from Toronto, Ontario, Canada) (d.31st Mar 1944) |
Donald Raymond Rice . RAF 242 Squadron I only know a little about my Canadian grandfather's service in Squadron 242 under Douglas Bader and I have been trying to find out more. The MOD sent me three of his service medals he never received, but I have hit a brick wall because he was held by the Japanese in Java. I would like to ask if there are any other avenues that I can go down to try and find some answers as he would not talk about his experiences to me, so I know nothing. |
Albert F. Richards . Royal Navy HMS Newcastle My late Father Albert F. Richards served on the Newcastle, and was on board when she was hit during the Malta convoy. When he returned from the repairs in New York he married my Mother in Elburton, Plymouth, Devon England.
My Father served on many ships, but loved the Newcastle.
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Ord. Seaman D. Richards . Royal Navy HMS Forfar Ordinary Seaman D Richards was amongst the survivors brought ashore from HMS Forfar. |
Hilda Richards . Land Army My Mum was recently asked to recount her memories of her Land Army days
which she did and jotted them down. I typed them up and she is happy for
them now to be passed on to you. She was Hilda Richards then and joined
in the spring of 1943 working on the land of Richard Dennis on the
Haverholme Estate near Sleaford, Lincolnshire until November 1946. She
had moved from Nottingham where she had worked in Roughton's drapery
shop before the change of life style...which - as with other ladies who
have related their memories, was obviously a time of great camaraderie
and satisfaction!
Congratulations to all the 'girls' that they will at last receive their
recognition and I'm sure,wear their badges with pride!
During the war, boys were called up for duty at 17 years and three months - and quite a lot of girls were too! Some were sent to the ATS, WAFFS and WRENS but mostly girls were sent to work in munitions.
My two older sisters had joined the Land Army and I followed suit when I was old enough.
Quite a lot of the girls had been shop assistants or office workers and were much happier to work in the country than be shut up in a factory. I was sent to Ewerby, near Sleaford in Lincolnshire and it was the first time I had been away from home in my life! There was no bus into the village so I was met to continue the three miles or so and I imagined that another land army girl would meet me but I was in for a surprise. A real country chappie with horse and dray helped me up onto one side of the dray and off we went. As we passed the field the gang working on the threshing machine all waved and shouted “hello”…everyone seemed so friendly. Ewerby was a pretty village and the big manor house was where one of the foremen lived with his wife and his son in one half of the building and the six land army girls lived in the other half. All the girls shared an extra large bedroom which housed six camp beds and three chests of drawers for all to share. The foreman’s wife cleaned and cooked for us and would shout for us when the evening meal was ready. We had the big room beneath for meals and relaxation. My first cooked meal I couldn’t finish half of it, it was such a plate full but the next day was a different story. After working hard all the day – well, I ate everything that was served!
My first job was with the thresher that I had seen coming in. Men were forking the bales up, some men on top to catch them and then another putting them into the machine. The corn went into boxes and when full was changed for more empty ones and stacked up. The chaff was collected on big sheets under the thresher and carted off…these were the girls’ jobs. There were three of us called to take a horse and cart each and deliver and collect stuff. I had never been with a horse before but it was taken for granted that we knew how to go on. I soon got used to the way of things although nearly took a gate post off the first time out!! From then on everything was to do with potatoes, setting, picking and riddling. For the setting, two girls worked together facing each other a ‘chitting’ box between them filled with spuds. One hand on the box handle and one hand taking a spud out. You took a step and slid the box as you set one spud in the groove and you if you had a good partner as I did, it was ‘one, two, one , two’ down to the end straighten up then fill your box again and down the next groove…cor my back! When all setting was done we went on to the graves of old potatoes the men had done from the year before. These had to be riddled – two sizes of riddle, small beneath and larger on top. The potatoes that stayed in the bigger riddle were flicked into a hopper on the scales (sack bag fitted onto a hopper) and smaller spuds would drop into the bottom riddle and went into another bag for pig potatoes. One girl would work on the shovel putting potatoes in the riddles (two girls on the riddles) and one girl taking the bag off the machine. When the weight was right, sewing the top of the bags and then putting in piles with three, two and one on the top. Later two girls lifted these onto lorries putting a strong stick under the bag so that we could throw them up. Is there any wonder that we became strong and big muscled girls? When the picking season came on, it was very back-breaking. The tractor came and spun the spuds out and you had a round basket called a molly between your feet and grabbed potatoes with both hands as fast as you could; emptied into a hopper and ran across the other side to do the same. You each had your own stint and if you didn’t hurry, the tractor would be behind you waiting to do the next row. We all found this job the most tiring. Mr Richard Dennis who was our boss (Dickie to us when he couldn’t hear us) was known to be the biggest potato grower ever. Much less time was spent gathering hay, singling beet, hoeing etc.
I did manage to get a lovely job now and then with the horse and dray delivering the chitting boxes to different fields. The way we had to learn things though was often by our own mistakes. A prime example was when I first yoked the horse up after being shown how to put the collar on upside down first, then turn it…only thing was as I reached up the horse nodded his head and the collar fell over my head instead. The first time I had to turn a horse and cart at the end of a field, I turned the horse towards me “Ouch! Ouch!” he trod on my foot so I learned - NEVER turn a horse towards you …always AWAY!!
I was always delighted to work with horses especially Perky …we became the best of friends. Land Army days were happy and hard working and it was wonderful the friends I made amongst the girls and the hardworking Irish lads who worked alongside us - one of whom became more than a friend, in fact a loving husband for 48 happy years until he sadly died in 1993.
It’s done my heart good recalling these old times.
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CPO Richard Patrick Richards DSM & Bar, BEM. Royal Navy HMS Penelope, HMS Ceylon from Gosport, Hampshire) |
F/S J. E. Richardson . Royal Air Force 514 Sqd. (d.30th Jul 1944) F/S Richardson was lost without trace over the English Channel on the 30th of July 1944 when the aircraft failed to return to Waterbeach after a raid on Caen.
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Assistant Storekeeper Robert Henry Richardson . Naval Auxiliary Personnel HMS Forfar from Bootle, Lancashire) (d.2nd Dec 1940) |
William Andrew Riches . Army from Canterbury, New Zealand) My Father was William Andrew Riches. I was wondering if anyone can help me find anything about Dad when he was in Stalag 8B in Lamsdorf Germany. He was a driver, his Reg number was 12585. He was from Canterbury New Zealand. I cannot seem to find anything about him, via the net.I have several photos and letters he sent home etc. whilst a prisoner. He was captured in Crete in 1942. I have a few newspaper clippings of him presumed missing etc.
Looking forward to anything at all.
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Pte. Bernard Ricketts . Army Highland Light Infantry My Father, Private Bernard Ricketts served with the Glasgow Highlanders HLI, he was a pow in Stalag 11b. He is also in the photo of the soon to be freedprisoners, he is the man behind the hand showing the victory sign.
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Private Bernard Francis Ricketts . Army 2nd Battalion, 16th Platoon, D Company Highland Light Infantry Does anyone remember Bernard Francis Ricketts, my dad, who was a prisoner at Stalag 11b, liberated 16th April 1945 with the appearance of tanks of the 8th Hussars? Or do you know anyone who was in his regiment: 2nd Battalion Glasgow Highlanders, the Highland Light Infantry, 16th platoon, D.Coy? Forward platoons of D Company were taken prisoner and sent to Stalag 11B, Fallingbostal. His best friend's name was Cassidy, also held at Stalag 11b, and also served in the same regiment. Please, if anyone knows any info on my dad, his regiment, or Stalag 11B I would be truly grateful.
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Sergeant Thomas John Ridd . RAF 106 Squadron (d.3rd April 1943) |
Engine Room Storekeeper Richard Rimmer . Naval Auxiliary Personnel HMS Forfar from Bootle, Lancashire) (d.2nd Dec 1940) |
Midshpmn. Ritchie . Royal Navy HMS Forfar |
Rfm. John Ritchie . Army 9th Btn. Cameronians (Scottish Rifles) |
James Patrick Roache . Royal Navy HMS Manchester |
Elsie Lillie Roberts . Land Army from Eccles. Lancashire) Born in 1924 I lived at Barton Lane Eccles with my parents Father Edward.Wm. Roberts, my mother Lillie Roberts and My younger sister Olive
We lived close to Barton Swing Bridge, Aquaduct , and Barton Power Station
We could see Trafford Park Industrial Area across the M/c Ship Canal.
Sitting ducks so to speak.When war came
In 1939 A Anderson Shelter was delivered my father Dug a hole in the back garden and Erected the shelter Covering the top with soil and turf.
Made bunk beds .Hoping we would not have to use it.
Gas Masks. I.D. Cards isued Ready for what was to come
In December 1940 Hitler decided to Blitz Manchester Night after night we slept in the shelter.
22nd Dec. was the worst night.
Manchester was on fire. Noise was deafening, Bombs, Guns.
The sky aglow for miles around.
A bomb landed four gardens away. Our house was unlivable.
We moved to my Aunts Nursing Home in Gatley Cheshire.
A Memorable Xmas
In 1941 we moved to Berwickshire, Scotland
May 10th 1942 I joined the Scottish Womens Land Army.
I was sent for a four weeks intensive farming course to the West of Scotland Agricultural College Auchencruive, Ayrshire.
So many days milking, field work, poultry. Pigs. Tractors, Reversing a tractor with traier thro a farm gate etc etc.
This was not a good idea as some farming methods on the W.side were somewhat different to the E.side where I was destined to work.
After this I was sent to Bemersyde, Roxburghshire
Earl Haigs Mansion House Was patially used as Billets for S.W.L.A.
We had a dormitory called Rookery Nook..
We went out daily to various farms in the district. Seasonal work. Tattie picking., Muck spreading, Singling turnips, sugar Beet. Threshing Mill,
Stooking etc. etc.
Opening up a field at Harvest Time, Following an old man with a Scythe
Making a straw band to make a sheaf Three or four times round the perimeter to enable e Binder machine to come in and cut and make sheaves for us to pick up and stook.
Barley was the worst. Oh those Barley Alns. Stuck to everything. quite painful.
We worked with elderly men, young lads, and lots of S,Ireland Men who came over to work. S,Ireland was not at war. Italian P.O.W's
I worked on many farms in Roxburghshire and later Berwickshire.
It was hard work.
It is amazing now how mechanized farming has become. No more hand picking potatos . No more muck spreading with a fork. no more threshing mills.
I now live in Queensland. Australia.
At 84years old May 30th this year 2008 I remember the times like yesterday. Sad and happy days.
Looking forward to that Medal/Badge. Better Late than never.
Cheers.
Elsie L. Roberts.
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Radar Operator George Louis Robertson . Royal Navy HMS Manchester from Thirsk, North Yorkshire) My Dad, George Louis Robertson served as Radar Operator on the Manchester during Operation Pedestal, he also served on Tartar and Campania. George died in 1978 but I am researching that time of his life. If anyone served with George or served on the ships at the same time could you contact me. Thank you. |
Leo Robideau . RCAF mid upper gunner 408 Sqd. |
Sgt. Robin . RAAF 106 Sqd. I have in my possession a photocopied log book of Australian Sgt Robin, Air Gunner dated from the 1st August 1941 to 3rd September 1945. I also have one squadron photograph dated approx 1942/3.
I gather that the Mr Robin started his career as Sgt Wireless operator / AG and ended as OC Gunnery School Point Cook Victoria.
His tunic bears the ribbon (diagional slanting purple strips on white back ground) DFC? |
Ord. Seaman G. Robinson . Royal Navy HMS Forfar G Robinson was aboard the Forfar when she was torpedoed, he was one of the surviors. |
Gayle Robinson . Looking for anyone who worked at the American Red Cross Club in Edinburgh WW2.
I am seeking information on a Gale Robinson, Gayle Robertson who visited the Red Cross club.
The club had a guest register, need to know where this can be traced and would appreciate any help.
Janice |
Iris Winnifred Robinson . Land Army This is my Mum and she was billeted at Woodrington House Hostel,Romsey in 1945/46.She was with girls named Rita & Pat,unfortunately she is not able to remember their other names but if anyone remembers her she would be happy to hear from them. |
Pte. John Trevor "Ted" Robinson . New Zealand Army 21st btn. from Wellington, New Zealand) My father, Trevor Robinson, served with the 21st Battalion, 2NZEF. He was captured on the 28th November 1941 in Sidi Rezegh and was a POW in PG57, Italy. Udine Gruppignano. He was then tranfered to Germany to Stalag X1A, camp 341 Altengrabow, Germany. His prisoner of war number was 139761. He was a POW for the majority of the 2nd World War and suffered the consequences for the rest of his life. I would be most grateful if someone could please give me details of these camps, when and how the prisoners were transported to Germany and then after the war to England and my father's journey home back to New Zealand. Any information at all during that time would be gratefully appreciated. |
Patricia "Patsy" Robinson . Women's Land Army My mother, Patricia Robinson, worked in the Ministry of Aircraft Production early in the Second War, but her mother thought it too dangerous for a young girl(she was 17 when war broke out)to work in London and told her to look for a safer job. Mum joined the Women's Land Army and used to tell us of her exploits driving Fordson Tractors and ditching, hedging and ploughing. Unfortunately she now suffers from Alzheimers and now cannot recall much about where she was posted and who were her workmates or friends at the time. She used to recall that there were Italian prisoners of war on the farm as well. If anyone remembers Patricia Robinson in her Land Army days we would love to hear from you. She is now Patricia Blake and lives in a nursing home in Brisbane, Australia. |
Tina Robinson . Land Army |
Sergeant Arthur Robson . RAF 582 Squadron (d.16th September 1944) |
Ambrose "Joe" Rocca . Royal Navy HMS Sirius My dad, Ambrose Rocca, often known as Joe, was on HMS Sirius. Sadly I
don't know much about his service as he died when I was 12, and he
52. I know he was in the Mediterranean and we have pictures of Churchill when
he visited. I think he was an officer, and he had a good friend
called Ted Gordon who was from South Africa. I would love to hear any
information about his war time. Also, he was in the Med for quite a
while after the end of hostilities. I would welcome any info about
that too. |
P/O James Menzies Rodger . Royal Air Force pilot 115 Sqd. (d.16th Mar 1944) |
Jean Rodgers . Timber Corps |
Pfc John S Rodriguez . US Army from PA, USA) Hi,
I'm the daughter of John S. Rodriguez I really don't know too much info
except he was a pow in stalag 6G he was disabled missing a leg how and when during the war? He never talked about it. I was hoping the someone out there has some info for me, I tried to obtain his records only to hit another dead end according to St. Louis Mo. His records were destroyed in the 1974 fire, they did reply with a letter stating that and if I had more info they might be able to pull up his military records another way. The info I faxed them is all the info I have, I don't even know where he is buried he died 7/1984. The cemetery the services were held is not the place of final resting. I've been estranged from his family since childhood, I'm turning 49 at the end of April! I would appreciate any info or photo anyone can share with me. I just need to know some military info to satisfy my soul before I die. I'm sure many family members of ww2 vets can understand. |
Jennie Roe . My mother, Jennie Roe, was posted to HMS Royal Arthur for the duration of the war, first at Skegness then Corsham. She died on the 20.09.07 and among her paper work we have found The Souvenir Programme for the GRAND VICTORY BALL on the 7.06.1946. It has been signed by Janet, Joy Barber, Doreen, Bobbie, Connie Cockroach and Ethel. Are any of you still around and do any of you remember Jennie Roe? |
Sub Lt. Rogers . Royal Naval Reserve HMS Forfar Sub Lt Rogers was one of the survivors when the ship went down on the 2nd of December 1940 |
Stella Rogers . Timber Corps |
Frank Rollow . US Army Air Force tail gunner I am looking for any information on my grandfather, Frank Rollow who was in the United States Army Airforce. He was shot down and captured in World War II. He was a tail gunner. He was in Stalag 17 for three years. He passed away in 1996. I am trying to get any information available. Also, I would like to know if the prison camp still exists.
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J. P. Rosen . US Army Air Force VB 105 Sqd. |
E. I. Ross . US Navy Fleet Air Wing 7 |
Gordon Henry Rout . Army RASC 8th Army I am trying to trace anyone who may have have known my great uncle Gordon Rout. He served in the RASC in East Africa and then in Italy. He was attached to the Eighth Army. I have recently discovered a diary he appears to written after the war in which he recounts his experiences from setting off up the Clyde in May 1942, to arriving in Egypt 9 weeks later. I would be interested to hear from anyone who has information about him as all I have are his diary, some photos and his medals which although give a good picture of the war and his experiences, I would like to know more about what he was like as a person. |
Pte. Arthur Rowledge . Army 5th Btn. The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders |
C.P.O. Joseph Rowley . Royal Navy HMS Penelope from London) Joseph Rowley from London was my husband’s father. My Mother’s sister’s husband Wilfred Burton, also served on the Pepperpot, though they never met within the family.
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Leading Stoker Cyril Douglas Rudd . Royal Navy HMS Diane, HMS Ceres, HMS Vindictive 1st ship. HMS Diane - a few months in 1939, I was a Stoker.
Shore based for 6 months then tranferred to HMS Ceres - two and half years(1941-43) - Leading Stoker.
HMS Vindictive - 18 months (1944-45) Petty Officer. |
Hugh Ruddock . Army C Company Kings Royal Rifle Corps I am trying to trace any members of the Kings Royal Rifle Corps, C Company, who were captured at Calais 1940, and who may have been with my father when he was also captured by the Germans.
I am trying to trace his time in Germany as a POW. He was taken to Stalag 20A then transferred to Stalag 20B where it is thought he stayed until freed by the Americans in 1945.
Any help with this matter would be extremely appreciated. |
Gerry Rush . Army Gerry was in Stalag 8b with my Father, Arthur Booker, if anyone remembers him or his fellow POW's please get in touch.
Editors note: Does anyone know if this man is Spr G.G.B Rush of the Royal Engineers? Other possibilities are Pte J. Rush, Argyle & Sutherland Highlanders or Pte J. Rush, Northumberland Fusliers. |
Frank Rushton . Army 2nd Battalion Coldstream Guards from Salford) My Granddad Frank Rushton, served with the 2nd battalion Coldstream Guards from 1938-1946. Anyone with information on Stalag 4B and 7B and Jacobstal would be very helpful |
Olive Rhoda Russell . Womens Land Army I was 15 years old at the time however I lied my age to join the Land Army and said I was 17. My first job was picking potatoes. We also would sort the potatoes. (good ones from bad ones) We were all taken in the morning by truck to different farms and brought back at night.
At one point I was stationed at Lakenheath (spelling?) and I was surprised by my older sister who came and stayed with me for the weekend. I remember cleaning a lot of dishes through the winter.
We did it all, never staying at the same place. I worked in greenhouses, on many different farms.
I remember staying at one time with a Mrs. Veck. Her son was in the Navy and she had a daughter who worked on the farm but was not in the Land Army.
We didn't have time to make too may friends. We slept in barracks and were sent on different
jobs each day. |
Sgt. Thomas P. Russell . RAF pilot 460 Sqd. from Ardrossan, Ayreshire, Scotland) |
F/O W.A. Russell DFC. RCAF 428th from LeRoy, Sask) |
F/O W.A. Russell DFC. RCAF 428th from LeRoy, Sask) |
F/O S. J. "Junior" Russell-Smith . RAF 184 Sqd. My Father F/O S J Russell Smith (or 'Junior') who flew for a short period with 184.
 He's sitting on on the wing, extreme right, taken in Germany 1945.
Here are some photo's I have received while doing my research on 184 Squadron, I would like to share them with the world rather than being confined to my computer.
 Ron, Andy and John, 184 Sqd ground crew with a Typhoon in Holland 1944.
 BR-A with ground crew
 BR-M undergoing maintainance.
 BR-D undergoing maintainance
 184 Squadron in 1945
 BR-N JR194
 A Typhoon of 184 Sqd in post war colours.
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Phyllis Rutherford . Land Army
After reading the article in the current Practical Family History Magazine, I connected to your site. I feverishly read all the contributions from former Land Girls but was disappointed to find no names or places to link them to me. I am 85 and it is perhaps too late to hope to find any of my colleagues, who included Sylvia Farrow, Pat Strange, June Hetherington, Madge, Kath, Vera, but my story may be of interest. I was trained in Stithians, Cornwall and spent the next three years in Wheathampstead, Hertfordshire. I seem to have missed out on any distribution of certificates in recognition of my service but I have always said they were the best years of my life.
In 1942 I lied to my mother that to avoid direction into factory work I would have to join the Women's Land Army.
I attended an interview in Oxford Street and when questioned on suitability I had to admit to none, except that I had read a lot about the countryside and it appealed to me. "What books have you read?" the lady asked. Er, that stumped me and I mumbled something about, "Man and his furry friends". In spite of that I was accepted and in due course dispatched to a farmer in Cornwall.
I was a nuisance to my farmer straight away, as I had brought my bicycle and he had to arrange for it to be collected the next day. I found I was one of four or five Londoners off that train and we were all green as grass. As we walked into the farm buildings one of the girls said, "Oh what a dirty yard." The farmer glared at her and said, "Yes my girl, and your first job will be to clean it." Before the end of the month's training I helped to concrete that yard.
Somehow, the farmhands, with the support of a wonderful Head Girl, managed to teach us the rudiments of milking, hoeing, digging ditches, and there was one horror day when I held the squealing piglets for castration. I know one girl didn't last long and the farmer muttered angrily that these city girls couldn't stand being so far from Woolworths.
But I loved the life, though I didn't get on with the farmer. I was first sent to after training. I think it started when he complained about my having one hand in my pocket while turning the handle of the separator. It reached the stage where I wanted my mum and I left in a hurry, the local taxi proprietor lending me the train fare to London, me leaving my bicycle as security.
Years later, while on holiday, I visited this farmer and over a cup of tea apologised for the trouble I had caused him, offering the excuse that if I had beeen a little older I might have been able to cope better. The Women's Land Army was very cross with me but I was transferred to Hertfordshire, where I settled happily for the next three years, being able to go home on my days off.
It was a dairy farm, there were eight other land girls, a delightful village, and it was really the best time of my life. We had rosters, so no job became monotonous. I liked best the early morning milk-run, first catching the reluctant pony, then making sure I had my bottle of cream off the top of the Jersey milk churn-no wonder I got fat.
The gentle meander through the village and down the lanes on a snowy morning, not another soul about, was sheer magic, in spite of having to leave the pony at the foot of a too-steep and slippery hill, and carry a heavy crate of bottles to the top. I got into the habit of buying the pony a currant bun on our return through the village, but it caused a problem on Sundays when the bakery was closed. Spot would stop, drag the float across the pavement and plant his feet on the shop step. I can't remember how this problem was solved, but I know some of the other girls were not pleased when it was their turn for the milk-run, especially if they were hurrying for their half-day off and Spot wouldn't budge from the bakery.
We were billeted out to homes in the village and I was with a dear old couple, the husband still working as a gardener. He came home on the train and his wife dare not miss hearing it, as he expected to see his meal on the table while he was taking off his boots and gaiters, so that it would be cooling to the right degree. There was no bathroom so I had to wash in my bedroom. One day I carried up a kettle of hot water and jug of cold, poured half of each into the basin and started with the dirtiest bits. I poured the rest of the hot into the cold, then had to empty the basin to start again. It wasn't until my landlady called up the stairs for the kettle to make the tea that I realised with horror that it was now filled with my dirty soapsuds. She was furious!
Another memorable day was my 21st birthday. I went into the cowshed and found a golden key tied to Buttercup's tail with a satin ribbon, and I moved the key from tail to tail as the milking progressed. While I was weighing the milk from my last cow someone let out the whole shed and my key went up into the meadow on Marigold's tail. I looked for it many times but it was never seen again.
A highlight was the annual Harvest Home when the farmer treated his staff to a feast and dance in the barn. The farm secretary wrote little sketches for us girls to perform; I once had to wear a frilly apron and cap, knock on the door and say, "If you please ma'am, there's Miss Thurlow to see you." Just that, but it took hours of practice to get it right. Needless to say, after appearing day after day in our dungarees, we dressed to kill on these occasions, and one young man went through the whole affair in his best suit, heavy boots and bicycle clips.
There was an interlude when I went into a hostel and we were driven out by lorry every day to wherever needed, but I found no joy in picking up potatoes day after day, or brussels sprouts in the freezing early hours. I soon returned to my beloved cows and stayed with them until we were no longer needed. I went back a few years ago, and whilst the village was much as I remembered it, the farm, sadly was now a housing estate.
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F/O John Patrick "Buck" Ryan . Royal Canadian Air Force pilot 15 Sqd from Lower Hutt, Wellington, New Zealand.) (d.18th May 1942) After leaving Waimate College John met his future wife in Timaru and married in Melbourne after which they returned to New Zealand. John then travelled to the U.S. to study and, when he had completed the course, his wife joined him and they both worked for Bernar McFadden in Dansville, New York. While at Dansville, John Ryan learned to fly. When war broke out, they waited for their son (John Jnr) to be born (November '39) and then tried to get a booking for mother and son to return to New Zealand. Being war time, this took some time, but they finally secured a cabin on the Port Hunter. After their departure, John Ryan travelled to Canada to enlist in the RCAF, he trained with 11 OTU from 27 Jun 41, then joined 15 Sqn on the 1st of August 1941. He was promoted to Flying Officer on the 16th of March 42.
He was killed along with his crewmates on Monday 18th May 1942 he was 30 years old.
The crew were:
- F/O Ryan
- S/L J.C.Hall DFC MiD
- F/L N.G.R.Booth
- Sgt A.Spriggs
- F/O J.P.Ryan RCAF
- Sgt R.Maycock
- Sgt J.B.Butterworth
- Sgt F.L.Sharp
- Sgt R.Nicholson
- Sgt D.J.Jeffs, the only survivor was taken PoW and held in Stalag 8b.
For the full story see Don Jeff's Story |
Cpl. Michael "Paddy" Ryan . Army 2nd Btn. Hampshire Regiment. from Ireland) My father, Cpl Michael Ryan, usually known as Paddy, 2nd Hampshires, was captured in Tunisia at Tebourba in December 1942 and was a prisoner in Sicily and mainland Italy until June 1943 when the Germans transported him to Stalag IVB. He was Irish and served in the Irish Army until 1939. After his enlistment ended he went to England and enlisted in the Hampshire Regiment in November 1939 in Southampton. Because he was an Irish Army reservist he was treated as a deserter when he returned to Ireland after repatriation, so he came back to England and married a Land Army girl from London.
He remebered being liberated by the Russians and walking with a large group of others until they reached the American lines. His close friend in Italy and Stalag IVB was Brian Probyn, a tank driver captured at the same time as himself and who become a well known film cameraman after the war, finishing up in Hollywood in the 1970s.
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Corporal Michael Ryan . Army 2nd Battalion Hampshire Regiment My late father, Michael Ryan, was in Stalag 4B. He was a Corporal in the 2nd Btn, Hampshire Regiment. He was captured at the battle of the Tabourba Gap in December 1942 and spent the rest of the winter in a tented camp in Sicily before being sent to a proper camp somewhere in mainland Italy. After the fall of Mussolini he thought that the camp would be liberated as all the Italian guards disappeared, but the Germans arrived and took them all to Germany and he spent the rest of the war in Stalag 4B near Muhlberg. He was there when the Russians arrived and remembered that the first Russian soldiers he saw were Mongolians riding little ponies.
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> His best friend in the camp was Brian Probyn, who was from an armoured unit in North Africa. Brian later became a very successful film cameraman, working in Hollywood in the 1970s.
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> My father was Irish, he had served in the Irish Army in the 1930s but came to England in 1939 to join the British army. When he went back to Ireland in 1945 he was treated as a deserter because as an Irish army reservist he had been called up in 1940 when the State of Emergency was declared by the Irish Government, so he came back to England. |
Fireman Angus Ryce . Naval Auxiliary Personnel HMS Forfar (d.2nd Dec 1940) |
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