My grandfathers story

I am making this post in dedication to my grandfather, who passed away several years.
One of the many things he left behind was a short story.
The story is about the 6 weeks he helped the B.L.A. (The British Liberation Army) as interpreter in Noord-Brabant, a county in the Netherlands.
While the story is in Dutch I am personally translating it and I will post a chapter as soon as I am done with it. At this point I only have the first chapter finished, but I will post it now and I hope you enjoy reading it.

1944: The Desert Rats from Oss to Oosterhout.

Dedicated to:
For the children and grandchildren;
Dedicated to the liberators in 1944,
Who made a normal life possible.

Foreword:
For a long time now I have been thinking about writing down some of my experiences which I had during the liberation in 1944. My first attempt back in 1976 was not very successful. Now that I am retired and I find myself with more time, I have been looking up the route we followed and I have been driving down them once more, to remember as much as I could.
The 7th Armoured Division can look back on many glorious battles and victories, and while most of actions in Noord-Brabant in 1944 might not be counted to those, Oosterhout is noted in her list of decorations.
For me, the liberation from the Axis was the most important thing that could have happened, and I think that even in modern time it still is.

J. F. Michels

Chapter 1: The action around Den Bosch.

At their first arrival at Oss, from the corridor Eindhoven – Grave – Nijmegen. I was able to be of help to the liberators: some small groups of Germans, close to where I lived, were planning to surrender as quickly as possible.
At the arrival of the first English Armored Vehicles this was quickly dealt with. The surrendering and deportation of the mostly elderly Germans was quickly arranged and they ware placed into trucks that were called in with the radio without any trouble.
It was a shame that the British (apparently they were a recon squad) also left and German troops returned to Oss at night from the west. A few days later though, the town was permanently liberated.
The same group of Tommies came back and asked if I wanted to be their Interpreter for them. After some persistent asking I agreed, and within a matter of hours I was walking around in uniform and with a pay book, which was necessary in case I got taken prisoner, of the British Liberation Army. The Uniform and the other equipment needed to be picked up by jeep from the supply colon of the battalion: they were still south of Eindhoven, somewhere around Valkenswaard.
The route they would take was the highway through Veghel and Uden, better known as “Hell’s Highway”. The road was littered with dozens of destroyed tanks and armored vehicles next to the road, a reminder of the heavy combat that took place here.
Even now, the Germans remained close to the road on several locations and occasionally fired at the colons passing by. On some locations, the road was blocked and they had to take another route. Even so, the busy traffic was carefully monitored and guided so that everything went perfectly fine. Little to no attention was paid to the Germans occasionally shooting at the convoy and back and forth only took several hours. Down at the supply convoy I also got a pistol, which proved its worth later on.
My battalion was the 1st Royal Tank Regiment, part of the 22nd Armored Brigade which belonged to the 7th Armoured Division.
One of the main reasons why I said yes so quickly was because of the fact that these soldiers where nobody else than the famous “DESERT RATS”, with black berets and the rat insignia attached to their arms. I heard much about them and I was eager to serve and experience them.
My first night was spend in the house of the priest of Heesch. In the mean time I got introduced to some of the many troops and officers. The colonel in commald told me that the next morning we would take the road to Den Bosch as early as possible and I would get a seat in one of the tanks. This was easier said than done. At that time I was about 1,90 meters (6 feet and 3 inches aprox.) and not the thinnest one there. After a lot of effort, I finally managed to get through the small hatch into the tank. I was placed next to the Driver, at the spot of the machine gunner, who got the day off. I also received a megaphone, which I might use.
Finally, the convoy started to move: a few dozen of tanks and everything else that was part of the convoy.
My first thoughts were: “Nothing can happen to us.” and “Now we are going to liberate my people!”, and in fact, the first few hours everything went perfectly fine and the first few miles were easily and quickly travelled.
After a while we passed a village called Geffen and soon we were closing in on the corrsoad Nuland-Vinkel. For the last few miles the road and its surroundings were empty.
Suddenly, without any warning… BANG! The first tank was struck. I had no idea where it came from; neither did the driver, who I asked. A few seconds later another loud bang was heard when the second tank was hit. And the third one almost instantly afterwards. By now, the first tank started to burn, I saw two crewmembers climb out of the tank and hide on the ground behind the burning wreck. We were close to a big windmill which started to burn and also on other locations fire broke out. No longer was the shooting and fighting a distant danger. It had become serious.
Our tank was close to the vehicles which were hit and I was not happy at all. Apparently, I had been a bit to optimistic. Luckily, we received permission to travel back a few hundred yards. After a while the whole colony came to a halt, and between the destroyed tanks you could see about a mile of deserted road, leading to Den Bosch. No Anti-Tank guns or field guns where seen on or near the roads. The weapons used to destroy the tanks were most likely the feared Panzerfausts or Panzerschrecks, devastating one-man weapons used by infantry. However, no German strongholds or Germans in general were seen. I had no clue where they had been, no matter how much I looked. The noise made the use of my megaphone impossible. This was not asked anyway.
The only thing we could do was wait, and hope they would not take any more of us.
After a while Tommie Infantry advanced through the hedges and fields to the left. However, those to, did not advance. After a while it was obvious we were trapped with fear. After a while we returned. This recon, my first task as interpreter, was no success in my eyes; the only thing I did was breathe nervously and feel very uncomfortable in the compact space in the tank.
That afternoon we were sent on recon again, this time only with a few tanks. Not surprisingly, the mood, after the setback in the morning, was grim. The roads we traveled were small. The fields next to us were wet and moist and it took forever. We took little steps forward and more than once did we fall back a little. I asked the driver why it was taking so long, he answered that the place was littered with mines. Something which I ha not even thought off. He was right though: a few days later, a halftrack drove over a mine and ten soldiers died, who were temporarily buried next to the road.
After a few hours which seemed took forever we stopped by a farmhouse next to the road. I was asked to tell my story in German. I opened the Hatch and used the Megaphone to tell the German soldiers that they should surrender, that the ‘Krieg’ was over and that they would be treated well and would soon be able to return home. This self-made story seemed to me like it would work the best on the touchy and highly unpredictable mood of the Germans. After I told the story a few times, with only minor changes in it. I was about to give up when a singly German soldier stepped outside with his hands in the air and walked towards the tank. My story had some success. My first interpreter work would now take place.
“Ask for his Watch”, said the driver. I did not understand him; why did he want to know what time it was? Later it became clear to me that doing this after capturing someone from either side was as common as saying “How do you do?”
The soldier did in fact have a pocket watch, a very old and well-made piece, which he gave for the ‘good cause’. I took it and passed it on to the driver, who took it in appreciation and added it to his already build up collection of watches, which he showed me with pride.
After that I started to talk with the German soldier again, who, after some insisting on my part, told me that there were four of them in the farm. After telling my ‘story’ a few more times in German, the Tommies lighted the big and well-made farmhouse. A drastic measure, which was deemed necessary. It did help: after a while I saw three soldiers fleeing. Apparently the driver also saw then because he started shouting “SHOOT THEM! SHOOT THEM!”. However, I could not get myself to do it. Maybe if I had any sort of military training it would have been different, but who knows. After a minute or so they were out of our sight.
In the mean time it was becoming to late for the tanks to advance any further and we went back to the church with our first prisoner.
I had survived my first day with the B.L.A., though I must admit: with mixed feelings.

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