Last year, to mark the 80th anniversary of D-Day, I wrote for TCW about how my late father’s wartime unit, the 92nd (Loyals) Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment, Royal Artillery (92nd LAA), had taken part in the Normandy landings on June 6, 1944. To mark the 80th anniversary of VE-Day, here is a brief account of how the regiment went on to the end of the war in Europe on May 8, 1945.
AT the beginning of April 1945, after crossing the Rhine, the 3rd British Infantry Division – of which 92nd LAA was a part – launched an all-out assault on Bremen, Germany’s second port. Three troops of the 92nd, equipped with self-propelled 40mm Bofors Guns, joined the 170-mile fighting advance, reaching the southern outskirts of the city by April 24, overlooking the River Weser.
The gunners bombarded targets including road junctions and an airfield and kept watch on the river in case the Germans tried to send in naval forces from further up the estuary. On Thursday May 3, the 92nd’s guns were fired in anger for the last time, when D Troop sank two enemy boats on the Weser and blasted a signal station on the far bank. Next day, the Germans in North West Europe surrendered and the order went out to 3rd Division: ‘Cancel all offensive operations forthwith and cease fire 0800 hours May 5.’
It was the signal so many had waited so long for. Driver-radio operator Bill Wills, whose ability to speak German had led to him going out regularly on reconnaissance missions, heard news of the capitulation while liaising outside Bremen with American troops whose positions the 92nd was due to take over. ‘The US soldiers gave us a barrel of sherry with which to celebrate,’ he recalled.
Gunner George Baker, who had recently transferred from 92nd LAA to the 20th Anti-Tank Regiment, was camped in a field near Osnabruck when he learned the momentous news. ‘Somebody came round our tents in the early hours of the morning and said, “The war’s going to be over at such and such a time.” We didn’t believe him. But later in the morning, we got it officially. We had made it – we had made it.’
The men of Guns F3 and F4 of the 92nd were relaxing when Lieutenant Nigel Coombs suddenly appeared and to their surprise sharply asked Sergeant Bill Hewitt of F3 why they were not manning their gun. He was told: ‘There’s nobody fighting, sir. The Germans are surrendering everywhere. There’s no opposition any more.’ But the officer sternly insisted: ‘Sergeant, man the gun.’
The men obeyed. Next second, Lieutenant Coombs started laughing and said: ‘Now you can stand down. The war is officially over. The Germans are signing their defeat this morning. Well done, lads.’ A cheer went up – and it was time to celebrate.
‘We went over to a big house nearby, turned out all the civilians and put them in the cellar,’ Gunner Len Harvey recalled. ‘We took over the house for our own use. Johnny Chadwick went to his kitbag and took out a small accordion. Nobody knew he had it, or could even play it. He started with all the war songs – Dolly Gray, Tipperary, etc – and out came bottles of wine and two sergeants brought in bottles of whisky.’
Eleven months earlier, the men of Gun F3 – at the behest of their then sergeant, Bill Fletcher – had set aside the rum ration issued to them on the landing craft taking them to Normandy, resolving instead to use it to toast the end of the war. Driver Ike Parry had kept it safe in a flask and it was now time to drink it. ‘We drank and sang most of the night,’ said Len. ‘We really enjoyed ourselves. The civilians down in the cellar must have been terrified at what they were hearing.’
Absent comrades were never far from their thoughts. My father, Gunner Leo McCarthy, part of the F3 gun crew, had been wounded by a mortar bomb soon after D-Day and on his return to active duty was transferred to another unit of the regiment. Sergeant Fletcher had been seriously injured by a shell blast at the end of June 1944 and was unable to fight again. ‘We diluted the rum and wished that Sergeant Fletcher, Joe Lavender, Lance Sergeant Benn and Leo McCarthy were there to drink with us,’ said Len. ‘This was the happier time that Sergeant Fletcher said we should keep the rum issue for.’
VE Day was marked by the regiment with a service of thanksgiving and a day’s holiday. The 92nd then moved to Gesmold, south-east of Osnabruck, where it took control of the district around Melle.
After landing on Sword Beach in Normandy on June 6, 1944, the regiment had travelled some 600 miles, firing 95,627 rounds of 40mm ammunition at air and ground targets. In the air, there were 117 separate engagements, expending 18,878 rounds of 40mm ammunition and 8,687 rounds of 20mm ammunition. The 92nd’s final tally of enemy aircraft destroyed was 48 confirmed and 21 probables. During the campaign, two officers and 18 men were killed and four officers and 42 men wounded.
For the next nine months, the regiment – which had been formed in November 1941 – remained in Germany on occupation duties with the British Army of the Rhine until it was disbanded in February 1946.
My father was demobbed in December 1945 and came home just before Christmas to be reunited with his family, whom he had not seen for almost a year and a half. He was 34 years old and had served five years and five months since being called up. He and my mother were married while he was on leave early in 1941 and their first child, my sister, was born in 1942.
Among the few souvenirs he brought back from the war was an Iron Cross, which a German prisoner had exchanged for cigarettes, and a pair of clogs from Holland, which my sister delighted in wearing as she played. Dad also carried another memento of the war for the rest of his life – shrapnel in his back from the German mortar bomb that had wounded him in June 1944.
Having served so well and so long in the Army, he and many of his old comrades found themselves facing another battle when peace finally broke out – the struggle to make a living back in Civvy Street. But that’s another story.
