Below is a poem written by my father, Ronald Jones who ended up in the rearguard action in Crete where they were left as a sacrificial battalion to give time for the rest of the British Army to embark under arduous conditions, with constant bombing from Stukas as they boarded.
The action took place during 10 days of intense fighting against German paratroopers. His best pal, when a grenade landed at his feet, jumped on the grenade with just his tin helmet and was left for dead. It was later discovered that the Germans had taken him prisoner and given him a metal stomach, but he survived the war and they met up some years later.
My father, having survived a bayonet charge the day before, stayed on fighting through the night into the following morning knowing that it would end in either death or capture. They held their ground until, miraculously, the Navy returned once more under constant strafing to lift the final few off that dreaded island. During that embarkation, another ship sank with few survivors. From a full wartime battalion of 800, only a cadre of around 40 made it home.
The poem, one of many, was sent to his sister Dot in Cardiff on a Bluey. She saved them and presented them to a museum in Australia after she emigrated. I managed to retrieve them in 2007. None of the rest of my family knew of their existence. Both my parents died in 2001.
Crete
When we were drafted out to Crete, all our lives seemed very sweet, the nearest thing to home we found, green grassy fields spread all around.
Now for a time things all went well, and every soldier had a “belle”, things were cheap and savings soared, and never was a man bored.
Then came that sad and gruesome day, when Hitler thought he’d have a say, our life of bliss he spoilt for us, he sent his planes in to make a fuss.
Bomb after bomb they dropped that day, crushing the life out of Souda Bay, Maledrome they also smashed, but many of his planes had crashed.
Then the gliders they came along, bringing with them a murderous throng, with these we fought throughout the day, and many of them we put away.
Now after these came the paratroopers, coming down in enormous groups, the battle raged for ten long days, swaying back and forth all ways.
The Stukas kept our heads down low, ‘twas these which really made us go, on that long trek up through the hills, ‘twas much against the Tommies’ wills.
Oh for some fighters ‘twas our plea, as we made our way towards the sea, our fighters could not fly to Crete, that was the reason for our defeat.
On that long road lay many dead, the Stukas had riddled them all with lead, they strafed us all along the way, we swore some day to make them pay.
When at last on the beach we stood, feeling that life was far from good, weary and hungry, our clothes in rags, everyone asking another for fags.
In come the Navy, what a stampede, officers shouting but no-one takes heed, the wounded were taken on board at first, all were excited ready to burst.
At dawn we were sailing far from land, Jerry is dropping bombs close at hand, right through the day he chased the ship, he’s really determined to give us the pip.
A cruiser was hit the “Perth” they say, many were killed on board that day, their luck was out you will agree, getting through hell, just to die at sea.
Now back in Egypt with time to rest, it seemed like a haven at its best, Crete is forgotten, it’s just a name, another chapter in this bloody game.
