Norman Staley
I joined up in the Cornwall Light Infantry on 15 April 1931. When I went to James Watt Street, all the regiments had a year allocated to them for recruiting campaigns, so when I went they were recruiting for the CLI. When you first join up you don't give a damn about regiments, you just want to join, so you sign on the dotted line and down I went to Bodmin in Cornwall.
In 1937 I'd finished my army career; my 7 years, and 5 minutes afterwards I was back again! Because you do 5 with the reservists, you see, and they have to go back first. I met my mates down there, and we all got split up and sent to different units. I was sent to the Royal West Kent's. We went down to Axminster where they'd got this body of mostly young kids and territorials, and that's where I first got a promotion. I was made up to substantive sergeant, and I kept that rank all through the war.
We were posted off to France, and then on to Belgium. It was just chaos; our leaders didn't know anything. The first indication we had that things were not going well was on this Skell Canal. We could see the enemy positions from a distance and we were sent out on listening patrols. You weren't armed, you just kept to the woods or undercover and pick up on enemy vehicles and so on, then you'd report back on what you had heard. On the return from one of those "listening patrols" everybody had gone. They'd left a note saying "make your way to Dunkirk".
So you got to Dunkirk the best way you could, follow the crowd kind of business, until you got to the beaches. I finished up at a place called Lapannes, about 5 or 10 kilometres from Dunkirk. I was fortunate because the Dunkirk people got a right old pounding, they lost a hell of a lot of men there. My job was to collect 50 names and numbers of blokes coming on to the beaches. You'd get the paper stamped and these people had to stay with you the whole time. Then we went out on to the beaches until we could get a boat out.
I was there for about 3 days; you just mill about in the sand and hide yourself. The waters there are very shallow; you could wade out about a quarter of a mile up to your chest. The food was a bit dicey, but they dropped what they could in the way of cartons. They dropped cigarettes in tons! I had a big carton that I carried about for bloody ages. I'd never have smoked them in a month of Sundays! I even took them out to the boat, and half way up the ladder I dropped this bloody carton in the water.
One of the chaps in my party had his right hand all wrapped up in bandages. I asked this lad what he'd done and he said "I've got a live grenade in there, but I've lost the pin". He said he must have dropped it before he threw the grenade, and then something happened and they all ducked down, and when he stood up he's lost the pin. When he told the platoon commander, they got somebody to wrap the hand up. It was just closed around this grenade. He said he couldn't feel anything in his arm! When we got to Ramsgate I thought I've got to get rid of this bloke, I can't have him hanging around my neck all the time! I told the MP to take charge of this man; he's got a live grenade in his hand. Well, he nearly filled his trousers there and then. He didn't know what to do, so I told him to take him to a hospital and they must keep his fist closed when they take the bandages off. I never saw him again, so I never found out what happened.
We got on a train and were told not to get off until we reached our destination. I fell asleep and woke up at Snow Hill. I couldn't believe it, 5 minutes walk from home. We went on and finished up in North Wales. There were thousands of tents and we were ordered into bed straight away, no roaming about for 48 hours. We didn't need any rocking; we just slept.
After a couple of months we were all sent abroad to North Africa. At West Kent we had the Bren gun introduced to us; it became my pal and my blessing, that gun did. When we got to North Africa, I had the job of teaching them how to use it, firing positions and all the rest of it. It kept me away from the main fighting until we got to Italy.
Cassino is a beautiful place, but when we got there all the troops were muddied up, it was torrential rain. The main road that led to Monte Cassino was called Route 5. Along the road you could see tanks blown up, with bodies hanging out and this, that and the other. You had to follow a white tape; if you veered from it you'd probably step on a mine. I had the job of taking 15 blokes out to the forward positions. Our forward position was a bloody great baking oven. It sounds daft, but the bakers in Cassino used to do their bread in tremendous great ovens and that's where we slept. You'd be at these positions for about a week, then you'd bring your men out.
On your way to and from the forward positions you had to go in to a crypt and report. They were parts of the churches that were there. You were stopped by a guard and then you'd slide down in to the crypt through the blankets hangin up, and inside there was all this sophisticated equipment and Royal engineers! They gave me instructions when it was best to move. You'd got the Germans on one side and the Canadians on the other, and between them they were letting fly everything, so you stopped where you were until given the all clear. This is how it was most of the time in Italy.
At the last crypt, the officer in charge would say "Don't stop until you hear the birds singing". Well it's a long way, and you don't talk and you keep to the white tape. At the end of the march you go up this lane and you could hear the birds by the bloody million! They knew they were in a safe place. When you heard the birds singing, you could lie down on the ground and light a cigarette.
