Sergeant David Hartley
Unit : "C" Squadron, No.2 Wing, The Glider Pilot Regiment
Army No. : 880337
I was born in 1921 in Basra (then Mesopotamia, now Iraq), my father was the Officer Commanding the British Troops, my mother was French, from Le Pas de Calais. I was brought up by-lingual. In 1927 we returned to England and I was put into a Public boarding school at Barnard Castle; next to the Bowes Museum. It was while I was at Barny (that's what we called the school) that my father took me flying in a Tiger Moth at the Leaming Bar Flying Club, it is now a very big R.A.F. Fighter Station, so you can understand why I wanted to join the R.A.F. and be a pilot.
In 1938 I joined the Army; as I was under age, my sponsor an ex-soldier would not hear of anything else, so it was the Royal Artillery. My boyhood dreams had to be shelved for the time being, so off I went to Woolwich, having signed for 21 years!!
Owing to my sporting and gymnastic abilities I was soon picked out by the S.M.I, PT Corps and sent to the PT School, Aldershot at which I stayed for 18 months, leaving as a fully trained Sergeant instructor. I was posted to the 15th/19th Hussars, with whom I went to France with the B.E.F. and returned to the U.K via Dunkirk. While I was with the 15th/19th I was put on a charge. I had crashed a tank in the M.T. compound. After that the Commanding officer said that I was to be given proper instructions on tank driving!
In 1941 the A.P.T.S. changed to a Corps, all the professional games players were offered jobs as P.T.I's in all the services. Sergeants on Monday and Warrant officers on Friday!! They took all our promotions. In the P.T. Corps in those days there was no Staff Sergeant rank, it was straight from Sergeant to Warrant Officer Class III, we all played hell and volunteered for Air Crew. I had already applied for a field commission. I passed all A.C.S.B. exams with flying colours. Then I was told the lists were now full, BUT, if I was an officer I could go for a spotter pilot, but as an N.C.O. I could try for the newly formed Glider Pilot Regiment, which I did.
I was posted to Fargo Camp, I think about the end of 1943, the Commanding officer was Major. J.P. Royle. He was delighted to have another A.P.T.C. Instructor on staff. Sergeant 'Garth' Brown was glad to get away to his E.F.T.S. (Elementary Flying Training School). It was not until later on that I realised what a 'pawn' I had become, I was being kept at Fargo by this Major Royle just to suit his needs. I was still there taking the P.T, route marches, etc long after the lads I was posted to Fargo with had gone on to their E.F.T.S. I demanded to see the Chief Glider Pilot. I really stirred it up. I never did find what happened to my application, but in a short time I was off to R.A.F. Booker for my E.F.T.S., and then onto R.A.F. Brize Norton for my H.G.C.C. (Heavy Glider Conversion Course), which I passed quite easily.
I was posted to 2 Flight, 'C' Squadron as a second pilot and crewed up with Staff Sergeant Laurie L Minall, D.F.M. He taught me how to fly the Hamilcars.
We did the 'D' Day landing, carrying a Tetrarch light tank, we were re-enforcements for the Orne bridge, but we were never called into action, it was a tourist trip.
In between 'D' Day and Arnhem many airborne op's were planned. I volunteered for 'Operation Dingson', to go and help the Maquis, simply because I could speak French, but I was turned down. That was the 4th August. Then we got the warning about 'Operation Market'.
Staff Sergeant Laurie Minall and I were again together, we were a little disappointed as we did not fly a Hamilcar, but took a Horsa to Holland.
So here is my account of Arnhem, I have to say straight from the start, there is a big gap in the days I was there, how it happened I could not tell you, but it did.
We took off in the first wave, soon forming up with the armada. The chalk number of our Horsa was 373 carrying 1st Airborne Recce Squadron. There was some low cloud about, but thanks to our tug pilot from 298 Squadron, Squadron Leader Briggs, flying a Halifax Mk IV, we did not have to go into the low tow position (instrument flying). As we crossed the Dutch coast we got some flak, but we were not hit. We pulled off and landed according to briefing (page 109 of "History of The Glider Pilot Regiment" by Claude Smith, Horsa nearest to the wood, there is also a Hamilcar just off our starboard wing tip). The only ground trouble was the fact that the inmates from the asylum had escaped and were running over the L.Z. We unloaded, I cannot remember even hearing a shot fired, we formed up and marched in the direction of [Wolfheze]. As soon as we were in position, we dug-in. I had the Bren gun which I set up; checking its arc of fire. Harry Puckett and 'Taffy' Carter were our neighbours. It was all so peaceful, there was a Fresian cow very near with a huge udder, she had not been milked for quite a while, I very nearly went to help her, good job I did not as there was a [?] nearby. Not long after we had established ourselves the Spandau's and the 88's started to welcome us.
I think I was at the bottom of our slit trench making a cuppa when the trench caved in; Larry and 'Taffy' pulled me out and I think that it was here that I got the shrapnel in my right shoulder, there was blood all over. Again I am not sure, but I think that a field dressing was applied. Who got me onto a jeep R.A.M.C. ambulance I can't remember. I was taken to the hospital down by the bridge [St Elizabeth's Hospital]. I have no idea which day it was, how we spent our nights or what we had to eat. The next thing I knew was the fact that I was on stretcher in a passage with a lot of other wounded. Who had treated my wound I don't know, there were no labels tied on to me, can't remember having any food.
I had no idea of how the battle was going. I decided that as I could walk and there was nobody about, I would take a walk and try to get back to my Squadron. This must have been afternoon, but which day, not a clue. I came to a row of terraced houses, with long gardens. I was fully aware that there was a lot of firing going on, so I walked up to the back door of one of these houses. I cannot remember how my entrance was received. I do remember being severely interrogated by two paratroopers, they asked me all sorts of questions, some I simply could not answer. I was getting very worried, I did not want to become a P.O.W., but neither did I want to be shot as a spy and it certainly was beginning to look that way. I can't remember how it ended.
I helped to provide, with the 'K' rations I still had the only meal I remember having. We used the cauldron in the basement of this house. By the way there were two women; one was heavily pregnant. It was during the meal that these two para's told me we were evacuating that very evening. We were to rip up our blankets and bind our boots so to keep the noise down, then make our way to H.Q. Good job they knew the way, I did not have a clue. I have no idea of the date, but it must have been about 24/25. Soon the crowd of silent marchers grew, we were following the white tapes, every now and again the whole sky would be lit up with parachute flares and the mortars carried on sending their deadly missiles into the black night.
As we approached the Neder Rhine we stood in queues waiting for our assault boats to arrive (these boats were manned by Canadian R.E. very brave men they were too). It was here that I met up with Peter Hill from 'C' Squadron, he also happened to come from the same hometown [as me], Darlington. Peter told me that he couldn't swim and was very frightened of the water. I told him I would look after him, the first thing we did was take off our boots and next was to sit together right on the edge of the boat. We had no sooner started when we received a mortar bomb right in the middle of the assault boat, we were in the water before we knew it. Peter was a very good pupil, I soon got him into the long tow position and he was using his legs quite well and most important we were getting away from the boat crossing area. The current was very strong and our plan was to let it help us all it could. Peter was starting to lag, the other side, what we could see of it, did not seem to be any nearer and I could really feel my shoulder stiffening up. I was having a job to hold Peter and after a brief struggle I lost him. I cannot remember getting out of the water, changing my clothes or being taken to a field hospital where a Doctor took the rest of the shrapnel out of my shoulder.
Next I was in the back of a three tonner on our way to Brussels with a crowd of G.P's. Here I rejoined Laurie Minall. I was the only one with a razor, it was cut-throat, but the strop was lost. I think I shaved about ten of my best friends before I had to give it up, there was more blood than hairs!!
Then I found myself with some other G.P's and Major-General Urquart (page 114, plate 23 "History of The Glider Pilot Regiment" by Claude Smith). Where we landed I can't remember, it might have been R.A.F. Northolt and no doubt there would be some more Mirror Photographers. This was the first news that my wife had that I was in one piece and on the way home.
Shortly after Arnhem I took my conversion course at R.A.F. Honington. I missed the 'Operation Varsity' (24th March 1945). I was posted to 'D' Squadron and we went to Palestine on R.M.S. Strathnaver, where again I was given the rank of ships P.T.I. There were two Squadrons in Palestine, 'A' and 'D'. 'D' was at Quastina, while 'A' was at Aquir. This R.A.F Station had a lovely swimming pool. I wangled a posting to 'A' Squadron, because I could swim and play water polo!
In 1948 we left Palestine and the Glider Pilot Regiment was disbanded [scaled down], so I returned to the A.P.T.C. and was made a W.O.II.
In 1949 to east Africa as W.O. II attached to 26th King's African Rifles, served in all three countries Kenya, Uganda and Tanganyka and also Mauritius.
In 1961 I took up the post of Chief inspector with the Kenyan Police (so I got my commission after all!). However, my job as C/I of Police was rather short, as Kenya declared its independence and Jomo Kenyata asked us European Officers to leave and return to U.K.
In 1968 I took up a teaching job with a private prep school. P.E. to start with, but after three summer courses at Oxford joined the Burnham scale of salaries, extra subjects, French (in lower forms), Geography throughout the whole school and History.
Finally, in September 1982 I retired fully.
Thanks to Bob Hilton for this account.
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