Chapter 1

My grandkids are always asking me about my part in World War II, so I thought it was time I put pen to paper and shared my experience with them and you!

In January 1944, I was nineteen years old. I had enlisted in my local regiment and was nearly finished with my twelve-week basic training when I saw a notice asking for volunteers for commando training. I spoke to my training sergeant, who told me I was just the kind of lad they were looking for.

I was short, strong, and wiry, I had worked for five years after I left school at fourteen years of age, in my dad’s factory, mainly in the stores. All the lifting and carrying had given me a good set of muscles. Plus, my love of cycling had left me with a good set of lungs and a lot of stamina.

So, I applied to be a commando and was accepted. I took my acceptance letter to my training sergeant, and he wished me luck and shook my hand. I was given one weeks leave between leaving my regiment and heading up to the Commando base in Scotland.

A group of us met at New Street train station in Birmingham to begin the trip to the commando training base.

In 1942 a training camp was set up at Achnacarry Castle in the Western Highlands of Scotland, the train trip took three days and when we got there, we were met by the training team, and we had to load our kit bags onto a two-tonne truck.

One of the lads was getting onto the truck when a big burly member of the training team asked him what the fuck he was doing.

It soon became evident that we were not getting a lift to the camp. We were made to run the ten miles to the camp. The training staff ran alongside us. They were all as fit as butchers’ dogs.

Thirty- five trainees from regiments all over the country as well as two Canadians started the run. Only twenty-nine finished it. As they fell by the wayside a truck picked them up. We only found out later that they were taken to the camp to be fed and watered before being given their kit bags back and returned to the station to be returned to their regiment.

When we got to the camp, we were shown our tents, where the wash house and canteen were, and told to shower, eat, and sleep.

I was bunked down next to a Canadian lad called Hank and a scouser called John. They were both good lads, and we had some good banter; they were both as hard as nails and as fit as fleas. They would make great commandos; I was sure of that.

I unpacked my gear and hit the showers before heading into the canteen for a meal.

There was plenty of chat about the training and the lads that had not made the grade. We all seemed to get on well together. We all vowed not to be the next lad returned to his unit.

We all slept well that night, then at four o’clock in the morning we were woken by the PT staff. Ten minutes later we were all outside in our PT kit, the rain was hammering down. The staff led us through some warmup exercises, and they led us off over the moor. We did a ten-mile run. My legs were still aching from the run from the railway station to the camp.

Once we were back at the camp we were told to shower, eat and get ready for the commander’s parade. I showered and got into my battle dress before heading over to the canteen. The cooks had boiled up a batch of porridge and we all tucked in. Two of the lads said that they were having second thoughts about joining the commandos, but I was happy to give it a real go.

I wanted to fight for my country and to do my bit, I knew that being a commando would allow me to get stuck in.

After breakfast our troop sergeant led us into a huge room in the old house, we met our troop commander and the camp commander and they laid out the training for us, they explained we were to be used to raid the coastline of occupied Europe and to hassle the Germans. They also said that statistics told the training staff that only half the troop would make the grade.

I looked around and hoped that I would be one of those that made the grade.

They told us about the training we would undertake and gave anyone who wanted to bail out the chance. No one did. Even the two lads who had said they did not think they would stay stayed.

And that was the start of our training. We were taught how to blow things up, how to use everyday stuff to break weapons and trucks. Like putting dirt or sand into fuel tanks. We had advanced weapons training; I was good with a rifle and was told I would make a good sniper. We were given advance map reading and orienteering training. Every day was the same an early morning run, then breakfast then training until five then we would eat, shower, and sleep.

Learning about landing craft was fun; they took us out on the Loch and taught us how to attack a village, much to the amusement of the villagers. We did it over and over again, in the day and in the dark. The loch water was cold, and we were shivering all the time.

We had classroom training on explosives and demolition. We were given a new toy to play with, timer pencils. Little detonators that would set off the dynamite at different time periods. We had to learn the colours as they gave you different time periods.

We also got to play with some German weapons, we were told we would attack with only light packs so being able to use the weapons of the Germans we had killed would mean we did not have to carry as much ammo. That made good sense to me, and it was nice to get our hands on some of their kit.

We had unarmed combat training and specialist training with the commando knife. The Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife is a double-edged fighting knife, it was issued to all commandos on active service. It is a great bit of kit, and we all cherished ours when we were issued with them.

I enjoyed the training and was told by the training staff that I was doing well. There was nothing that I really struggled with. I was not the biggest, or the fastest or the strongest but I put all my effort into the training.

We had been there for three months when I was called out of training by our troop sergeant. He told me the CO wanted to see me. That was worrying, I was sure I had done nothing wrong and if I was being returned to my unit, I had no idea why!

The troop sergeant marched me over to the main house.

We waited outside the Commanding officer’s office for ten minutes before we were invited in.

The CO was there with a Major I had never seen around the place and two guys in civvies. The troop sergeant marched me in, called me to attention and gave my details to the CO. The CO called out for me to stand at ease. Then, the troop sergeant was dismissed.

The CO asked me if I wanted a cup of tea, and I was unsure what to say, but a cup of tea is always welcome. He poured the tea and added milk. He did not offer sugar, as it was rationed at the time, so most of us went without.

“Right, Lad, sit down!” he said, and then he stood up.

“Major Austin and his friends would like a word, so just be honest with them,” he said and left the room.

My heart was in my mouth, what the fuck had I supposed to have done??

One of the men in civvies spoke to me in French. My father’s factory had, before the war, made sweets and cakes, we had had an office just outside Nice, and I had travelled and worked there for a few years. We bought fruit and stuff from France, so I learned the language. My accent was okay, and I got by in everyday conversation.

“Good morning how are you finding the training?” he asked with a smile; his French accent was very good. I was not sure he was French or not.

“It is going well. I can’t wait to help get rid of the Nazis”, I replied; I struggled with the word Nazi as I had not heard anyone say it in French.

“And are you liking the weather in Scotland?” he asked.

“It’s the only place in the world where you can have four seasons in one day!” I replied with a smile.

The major and the two men in civvies all laughed at my little joke.

“That is so true!” he smiled, “I hear you know the area around the city of Nice well?

“Yes Sir, my father and I travelled there to find products for his cake and sweet factory!” I smiled, the memoires of our visits there flooded into my head.

“And you explored the countryside?” The other guy in civvies asked. His accent told me he was born in Paris.

“Yes, Sir, my father and I cycled; it was our hobby,” I replied. To be fair, in some places, when we were travelling from farm to farm, it was the only way to get around.

“You like cycling?” the second guy asked.

“Yes, very much so; we once saw a section of the Tour de France!” I smiled; the memory was a good one,

“I have ridden some of the course; those hills are a killer!” he replied.

We made some more small talk, and they asked a few questions about the food I had tried and places I had been to.

I had replied in French to every question, and then, after a few minutes of chatter, the men nodded at the Major.

“SO, Robinson or may I call you Zak? “He asked.

“Zak is fine, Sir”, I said; I noted he did not give me his name.

“Right, anything we say in this room is top secret and cannot be discussed, do you understand?” the Major said looking directly at me and then at the others in the room.

“Understood, Sir, “I said. It looked like I was not in for a bollocking after all.

“We are looking for volunteers for a little job we have planned. We will be invading Europe, and we need some brave and talented men to go behind enemy lines before the invasion to distract and annoy the Huns,” The Major said, and he made it sound like he was inviting me for a game of cricket on Sunday afternoon.

Since the Dunkirk evacuation in 1940, all we had talked about was when we would take action and go and give Hitler and his lads a bloody nose. For most red-blooded Englishmen, the fact we had been driven out of Europe did not sit well, and we wanted to go back and finish the job we had started.

We all knew that something was happening, the country was full of yanks, Canadians, and the like. The roads were full of trucks and armoured vehicles. There were being moved around, something was afoot that was for sure.

“What would I have to do, Sir?” I asked.

“Right lad, we know the Germans have manned the coastal defences, and they will put up a good fight, but there are also platoons of men being held back in reserve inland, and we need to slow them down to give our lads attacking the beach a better chance, there are also anti-aircraft guns that need to be silenced, that sort of thing, “he said with a smile.

“I thought the French resistance was up for that sort of stuff, sir?”