Morning came, and with it the certainty that within a few hours, we should be rounded up like so many head of cattle and herded behind barbed wire.
After a snack, I sought to ravage among Army trucks for some clothing, for if capture was near, it was up to me to get all I could now; it might be months before the Germans gave us any. I was lucky, for one of my gunners saw me and shouted 'Sergeant! I thought you had been killed!' All the lads who had been with me were safe and were 50 yards away collecting clothing from our own Battery Q stores which was situated on a three-ton lorry.
It was good to see the lads again and soon we were talking about the happenings of the last few hours before the fall of Tobruk. In the scramble for clothes I managed to get a better pair of khaki overalls and a forage cap, and I was fixed up better than some.
My watch said it was nearly 8am, and the Germans were on the move again, the fighting had broken out again near the harbour, or was Jerry firing to tell us he was on the way to get us? Captain Roy called us all together for a roll call, 38 of us. The Sergeant Major was there, 5 Sergeants, and 32 other ranks. Roy told us of the certainty that the chances of evacuation were very remote. The surrender was certain, more certain was our capture by the Germans in the next hour or so. The C.O. had been badly wounded and was in Tobruk hospital, so Captain Roy was now in command.
'Sergeant Major.'
'Sir,' replied he.
'We are going on a recce, you and I, and the rest will stay behind and destroy all the vehicles and anything else that might be of use to the enemy.'
'Stay here, sir, while you are safe! Why go on a recce when you are safe here?'
'Sergeant Major,' replied the Captain, 'are you coming or not?'
'I am not refusing, sir, but only speaking for your own good.'
'Very well, Sergeant Major, I shall go alone and deal with you later.'
Thus alone went the Captain, only to be stopped a few minutes later by the ugly muzzle of a Spandau. Yes, this was it! There on the escarpment above us and in the wadi itself were dozens of Jerry infantrymen. Our job of destroying the trucks had been done, but only just in time.
All was pandemonium now, within the hub of voices one could almost imagine oneself in Caledonian Market. The Germans were rounding us up and a few lads paid the penalty for trying to resist capture. 'Komm! Komm! Komm! Schnell!' shouted the Germans.
'Komm'. Ah yes, this must mean 'come', yes, I had better go, that Mauser in my back doesn't feel too comfortable. And so I started on the long, long trail to the place called home. England, my England; how long, how long...
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Last Action
It was not long before one gun had received an 88mm shell through the recouperator, and shrapnel had seared through the intestines of a gunner who had remarked earlier 'I came out of Dunkirk, but will not come out of this'. Thus he was our first casualty in our last action.
Hell had broken loose , the German tanks had broken thought the perimeter defences and were driving forward towards the town, but our guns were in the way. Two 3.7 AA guns had been sent to the escarpment above the Tobruk cemetery earlier in the day to support the South African Artillery just in case The Hun decided to attack from the eastern side of the perimeter. He attacked just after we had dug in, the Stukas diving above, sighting us, and then we saw the bombs leave the plane, screaming towards us, but Lady Luck was with us and they fell harmlessly into the open desert.
Looking towards the wire, I could see the Hun heavy guns blasting a road through the minefield, and in a short time, the tanks were through. But what had happened to the South African Artillery?Not a round had been fired by the 25-pounders to stop the tank advance. During a lull, I had orders to take 10 men into a dugout for our ration of bully and biscuits. Sitting there, we could hear the staccato rattle of machine guns on the perimeter and the rumble of tanks could be heard now in the distance.
Boom - crash - shells were falling all around us, the gun crews were now in position on the 3.7s, ready for anything. 'On target,' shouts a gun layer; seconds later an HE shell is on its way towards a German tank. 'It's a hit!' shouts Reggie, the No 2, so now, its armour piercing shells to finish it off, and finish it off they do. The turret has been knocked off and a couple of Jerries jump out, screaming, with clothes ablaze, rolling in the desert sand, but their screams are soon silent.
The range finder and predictor looked a sorry sight as I looked from the dugout, for the blast of the guns firing at zero elevation had twisted them out of recognition. As the noise of battle died down, I dashed across the open desert to the gun pit, receiving shrapnel wounds in my legs as I did so. Did the gun position officer want my men on the guns as the instruments had been blown to pieces?
As I stood in the gun pit, I could see that both guns had been destroyed and the crews, most of them dead. Sergeant Cummings lying there as though asleep, Mason, his young body torn to pieces by shrapnel. I was reminded of that poem by Rupert Brook, 'If I should die, think only this of me, that there is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England'.
'Don't just stand there, man, ask for orders or act on your own initiative for once,' I thought. But there was nothing I could do for the men still in the dugout, the wounded were being attended to, the dead beyond attention in this world.
I limped to the foxhole of the Lieutenant, but before reaching it, he came out shouting 'Get out, every man for himself, back to BHQ! Those are the OC's orders!' That was good enough for me - my men could get into Tobruk before the Hun was in possession of the position. 'Every man for himself,'those were my orders.
Ten men in my charge, they must be told, thus again a painful dash to that haven of refuge. Those lads needed no second order, they were told to get into the wadi, get a lorry and drive to BHQ in Tobruk. In two minutes, they had gone, and it was time I went, too. The Germans were now strafing the position, and the smell of burnt bodies drifting in the breeze. I was off, but when I reached the wadi, all the trucks had gone. Alone, with Germans sitting in unfriendly Panzers on the escarpment above.
Was this the end, was I to receive a short burst from a Spandau or a Mauzer? What's this? A British truck? Yes, indeed, one of our own. A second Lieutenant is driving and I shout for him to stop, but he would not, until I stood in front of the truck.
'Stop, Sir, I am coming with you.' So I went on a nightmare dash across the Gubbi Plain, past Tobruk Cemetery, but what do I see on the horizon? My heart bounded - British tanks, three cheers, we are safe! Ah, but don't get too excited; you have never seen British tanks like that. Well, whatever brand they were, we kept on going, and we went past them to be greeted, quite handsomely, with bursts of MG bullets, and guttural shouts of 'Halt! Englander!' . Half a mile to go, and with warm hind-quarters and severe palpitations, we reached our headquarters.
Our news was received with awe and amazement, for most of the HQ staff had just come back from a swim and had no idea the enemy were within the gates of Tobruk. We were surrounded so it was up to us to do something about it. But what?
It was now growing dark, we had been on that escarpment for nearly six hours, it seemed a lifetime and now a small band, sadly depleted in numbers, moved towards Wadi Audar to await further news, for although the Navy had said 'No help for Tobruk', we believed that after dark, they would arrive and take us off.
And so, darkness came, and with it, the news that Tobruk had fallen to the enemy, so now it was rest. Amid the sand dunes now lay the shells of broken, mangled men. The ugly shape of a Panzer silhouetted against the background of the blazing petrol dump. The whine of bullets broke the stillness of the night, like a myriad of stars glistening in the sky.
So the garrison had fallen, but until morning we were free and could still wait to see whether a miracle would happen by then, after all, the Navy may attempt to evacuate some of us!
I was tired, hungry and bewildered over the fact that General Clopper had surrendered to the enemy. After all, the garrison was in a better position to hold the enemy than the gallant Aussies and Tommies who had held out so gallantly against almost impossible odds. We had more men, armour, ammo and enough food to hold out for months. I felt in my own heart that we had been sold - on reflection, the South African battery of 25-pounders positioned on our flank of the escarpment had not fired one round during that action.
Later I was to learn that when the Germans captured the position and the guns, they were intact, and the South Africans there made no attempt to evade capture.
'Are you hungry, chum?' a voice greeted me from a cave nearby.'Why, yes,' I replied. On entering the cave, I found three lads of the RASC who had rations on their trucks for a whole armoured brigade, but unable to get through, had stopped here and had been issuing rations to the lads waiting in the Wadi. What a feast we had - sausages, apple pudding, pineapple and cream and the invariable cup of char!
I ate until I could eat no more, sleep was next on the agenda. Thus, a weary, worn and sad man slept, yes, with a faith that all would be well in the morning.
Hell had broken loose , the German tanks had broken thought the perimeter defences and were driving forward towards the town, but our guns were in the way. Two 3.7 AA guns had been sent to the escarpment above the Tobruk cemetery earlier in the day to support the South African Artillery just in case The Hun decided to attack from the eastern side of the perimeter. He attacked just after we had dug in, the Stukas diving above, sighting us, and then we saw the bombs leave the plane, screaming towards us, but Lady Luck was with us and they fell harmlessly into the open desert.
Looking towards the wire, I could see the Hun heavy guns blasting a road through the minefield, and in a short time, the tanks were through. But what had happened to the South African Artillery?Not a round had been fired by the 25-pounders to stop the tank advance. During a lull, I had orders to take 10 men into a dugout for our ration of bully and biscuits. Sitting there, we could hear the staccato rattle of machine guns on the perimeter and the rumble of tanks could be heard now in the distance.
Boom - crash - shells were falling all around us, the gun crews were now in position on the 3.7s, ready for anything. 'On target,' shouts a gun layer; seconds later an HE shell is on its way towards a German tank. 'It's a hit!' shouts Reggie, the No 2, so now, its armour piercing shells to finish it off, and finish it off they do. The turret has been knocked off and a couple of Jerries jump out, screaming, with clothes ablaze, rolling in the desert sand, but their screams are soon silent.
The range finder and predictor looked a sorry sight as I looked from the dugout, for the blast of the guns firing at zero elevation had twisted them out of recognition. As the noise of battle died down, I dashed across the open desert to the gun pit, receiving shrapnel wounds in my legs as I did so. Did the gun position officer want my men on the guns as the instruments had been blown to pieces?
As I stood in the gun pit, I could see that both guns had been destroyed and the crews, most of them dead. Sergeant Cummings lying there as though asleep, Mason, his young body torn to pieces by shrapnel. I was reminded of that poem by Rupert Brook, 'If I should die, think only this of me, that there is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England'.
'Don't just stand there, man, ask for orders or act on your own initiative for once,' I thought. But there was nothing I could do for the men still in the dugout, the wounded were being attended to, the dead beyond attention in this world.
I limped to the foxhole of the Lieutenant, but before reaching it, he came out shouting 'Get out, every man for himself, back to BHQ! Those are the OC's orders!' That was good enough for me - my men could get into Tobruk before the Hun was in possession of the position. 'Every man for himself,'those were my orders.
Ten men in my charge, they must be told, thus again a painful dash to that haven of refuge. Those lads needed no second order, they were told to get into the wadi, get a lorry and drive to BHQ in Tobruk. In two minutes, they had gone, and it was time I went, too. The Germans were now strafing the position, and the smell of burnt bodies drifting in the breeze. I was off, but when I reached the wadi, all the trucks had gone. Alone, with Germans sitting in unfriendly Panzers on the escarpment above.
Was this the end, was I to receive a short burst from a Spandau or a Mauzer? What's this? A British truck? Yes, indeed, one of our own. A second Lieutenant is driving and I shout for him to stop, but he would not, until I stood in front of the truck.
'Stop, Sir, I am coming with you.' So I went on a nightmare dash across the Gubbi Plain, past Tobruk Cemetery, but what do I see on the horizon? My heart bounded - British tanks, three cheers, we are safe! Ah, but don't get too excited; you have never seen British tanks like that. Well, whatever brand they were, we kept on going, and we went past them to be greeted, quite handsomely, with bursts of MG bullets, and guttural shouts of 'Halt! Englander!' . Half a mile to go, and with warm hind-quarters and severe palpitations, we reached our headquarters.
Our news was received with awe and amazement, for most of the HQ staff had just come back from a swim and had no idea the enemy were within the gates of Tobruk. We were surrounded so it was up to us to do something about it. But what?
It was now growing dark, we had been on that escarpment for nearly six hours, it seemed a lifetime and now a small band, sadly depleted in numbers, moved towards Wadi Audar to await further news, for although the Navy had said 'No help for Tobruk', we believed that after dark, they would arrive and take us off.
And so, darkness came, and with it, the news that Tobruk had fallen to the enemy, so now it was rest. Amid the sand dunes now lay the shells of broken, mangled men. The ugly shape of a Panzer silhouetted against the background of the blazing petrol dump. The whine of bullets broke the stillness of the night, like a myriad of stars glistening in the sky.
So the garrison had fallen, but until morning we were free and could still wait to see whether a miracle would happen by then, after all, the Navy may attempt to evacuate some of us!
I was tired, hungry and bewildered over the fact that General Clopper had surrendered to the enemy. After all, the garrison was in a better position to hold the enemy than the gallant Aussies and Tommies who had held out so gallantly against almost impossible odds. We had more men, armour, ammo and enough food to hold out for months. I felt in my own heart that we had been sold - on reflection, the South African battery of 25-pounders positioned on our flank of the escarpment had not fired one round during that action.
Later I was to learn that when the Germans captured the position and the guns, they were intact, and the South Africans there made no attempt to evade capture.
'Are you hungry, chum?' a voice greeted me from a cave nearby.'Why, yes,' I replied. On entering the cave, I found three lads of the RASC who had rations on their trucks for a whole armoured brigade, but unable to get through, had stopped here and had been issuing rations to the lads waiting in the Wadi. What a feast we had - sausages, apple pudding, pineapple and cream and the invariable cup of char!
I ate until I could eat no more, sleep was next on the agenda. Thus, a weary, worn and sad man slept, yes, with a faith that all would be well in the morning.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Prologue
My late father, Fred Woodward, wrote these brief - and incomplete - diaries of his experiences in World War II thirty-odd years after the conflict. He died in 1993, and I have a feeling, wanted to share these experiences with other people. He served in the Army, and fell into German hands at Tobruk in 1942.
I thought that putting these entries into a blog was a way of recording his experiences for a wider audience, and anyone interested in military history, and how it affected Sergeant Woodward and his comrades.
I thought that putting these entries into a blog was a way of recording his experiences for a wider audience, and anyone interested in military history, and how it affected Sergeant Woodward and his comrades.
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