Lance-Corporal Sydney R. G. Nunn

Unit : Medium Machine-Gun Group, Support Company, 7th (Galloway) Battalion The King's Own Scottish Borderers

Army No. : 4750985

Sydney Nunn was 23 years old and a member of the 7th KOSB MMG Group. Since the Borderers had moved to Keevil in anticipation of an airborne operation, he had been longing to get into action as he hated their new camp, largely due to a mole which insisted on repeated attempts to burrow its way into his mattress at night. He flew to Arnhem on the First Lift inside a glider carrying a Jeep. After about an hour in the air the glider entered a cloud bank, but when it came out the other side it was seen that the tow rope had wrapped itself around the port wing. One of the glider pilots shouted "I'm in trouble! I'm in trouble!" and moments later they cast off. Nunn recalled "We seemed to come to a dead stop in the air, then the glider's nose dropped and we careened earthwards with the tow rope streaming alongside like a broken kite string". The steep descent provoked a terrifying  noise as the air rushed along the length of the fuselage, and furthermore all that prevented Nunn and his comrades from being crushed to death by the Jeep were the chains that held it in place, and all were unsure if they would take the strain. Despite a rough landing, bouncing upon contact with the ground before coming to a gradual halt, everyone was unhurt and were able to fly to Arnhem with the Second Lift on the following day.

Nunn fought in the Oosterbeek Perimeter. During the Battle he had become friends with a glider pilot in a neighbouring slit trench. Once the mortaring of their area had ceased this man pointed out to Nunn that over to their right was a Tiger Tank. Such a monstrous vehicle was a challenge to disable, nevermind destroy, even if the proper equipment was to hand, but those in the area were only armed with light weapons. However they spotted a concealed anti-tank gun in some nearby bushes; the crew of which had been killed. No one in the vicinity knew how to operate the gun, but undeterred Nunn and the glider pilot crawled out to it. En route the tank spotted them and opened fire, first with its main weapon, bringing down trees around the two of them and forcing them to crawl forward with their faces pressed into the dirt, then with its machinegun, but no hits were scored. The pair made it to the gun and by pure luck found that it just happened to be aimed perfectly at the tank. The glider pilot pulled the trigger, which resulted in a huge explosion that blew both men clean off their feet and onto their backs. When the ringing in their ears had stopped, they heard the laughs and cheers of their comrades around them. Nunn and his friend looked up to see that the Tiger was completely engulfed in flames. "Our game I think." said the glider pilot as he shook Sydney's hand.

As he was on his way to the evacuation area on Monday 25th, Sydney and some fellow Borderers were involved in a brief confrontation with German infantry. During this skirmish he was dealt his only injury of the battle when shrapnel landed close to him, hit a pebble, and ricocheted up at his face, chipping one of his front teeth.

Successfully evacuated Sydney Nunn returned to England with the battalion, and in May 1945 accompanied them to Norway where they oversaw the surrender the occupying German forces. While here there came news that a film was to be made about Arnhem, Theirs is the Glory, and due to his interest in photography and the cinema it was with some delight that Nunn returned to England to participate in the production. Filming took place around Arnhem and Oosterbeek and Nunn had an acting role, but also gave assistance to the director, writer, make-up artist, and cameraman. On his walks around the area he stumbled across several dead airborne soldiers, still in their slit trenches from the previous year, and he reported these to the War Graves Commission who gave these men a proper burial alongside their fallen comrades in the War Cemetery at Oosterbeek.

The following is a letter which Sydney Nunn sent to the daughter of Sergeant George Nattrass, 7th KOSB, who had recently passed away, describing their experiences earlier in the war.

The war came, I went first into the Army at Plymouth. The Yorks & Lancs Regt. Doug followed, then Jack. But me, we trained at Plymouth. How to fire a rifle, & use a Bren. The usual stuff. Then unknown to us (we didn't read newspapers then, or hear a Radio) Dunkirk took place. We only knew something had happened 'cos French soldiers arrived in our Barracks & threw us out into the grounds. Then later we were told we were going to Colchester to join the Army there. The C.O. said at the time we may see action there because of the Bombing. When we left, the German Air Force flattened Plymouth!

After a full day train ride we arrived at Colchester. We were rounded up like cattle, put into lorries & driven off to a small village. In the dark. N.C.Os. led us by torch light into a field, given blankets & told that the field was now our bedroom for the night. Like a lot of kids we huddled with our mates & we got down to it. The ground that is. Us & a herd of cows.

Next morning (Thank Gawd is was dry) we joined a queue for Brekker - a large mug of tea & slices of bread and I believe, a sausage. Later on it was "on Parade" I checked. "Who can drive?" - "Who can ride a Mo'bike?". I had driven & passed the test on a Rudge Ulster Side-car job with a hand change. So ignoring my father's warning "Don't volunteer for anything" I stepped forwards with a few others, Nobby Clark, Reg Brown, Tom Walters, Geo Gillette (he wore a wig!!) That was where we saw our first K.O.S.B. Sgt. - yes, ol' George [Nattrass, whose daughter this letter is addressed to]. It took a long time to get to him in this story, Margaret. He growled (yes he did, he tried to frighten us. Bullshit baffles brains we thought). He showed us to the Mo Bikes B.S.A. 500cc & said pack your stuff on the bike & follow me (Oh George, you were so Army!!) We went off to Fingring Hoe, a small hamlet near the River. Me, I was steadily learning how to change gear with my foot. We got to "Fing" & I was told this was our billet. 30 of us to sleep in the village hall on the "deck". Me & a couple of others grabbed the Billiard table for our bed. Never played Billiards in my life & I was using it as a bed (bloody hard it was).

Sgt Nattrass said next morning to wash & shave etc at the village - well behind the pub. (Never went into the pub all the time we were there. Never had cash to spare). The first day there was bikes to Abberton for Brekker & return to learn how to become a soldier, as taught by Sgt N. (Funny I found out that George hadn't long been in the Army, the same as us. But he was made an N.C.O. We were still struggling to get used to the stiff shirts!). However, in a few days we moved to Colchester Barracks & we now hard a room with beds! That was where we started to learn the army way of life. Crossing the Parade Square to go to the Naafi, we would hear a scream "you 'orrible lot of men, straighten up" The R.S.M.

All the time I was at Col Bks I never once went out to go to the Town just never thought of it - Had letter writing to do... Blancoing & sewing & cleaning. But George got us out on the bikes. We used to go to Peldon & Mersea Island. Didn't know it then, now I do. We'd go to the sand hill & practice our stunt riding etc. Then suddenly the Battle of Britain came on. I remember one Saturday afternoon the Spits & Hurri's were mixing it over Pelham & the chutes were coming down. A crowd of us were on our bikes, rifle on our shoulder with 5 rounds & away to the scene to pick up prisoners or R.A.F. Then the Invasion perhaps by the Germans so we would go to Mersea Island & stand-by all night.

Then the Battalion moved to Clacton-on-Sea. George & us had a place called Rose Cottage. A large house with about 8 rooms. We mucked in with the Carrier Platoon. Again we were doing Guard on the coast awaiting the Invasion. We show down a British Bomber coming back from Germany one night. Nobody hurt, the RAF a bit annoyed.

We moved again to Stoke-by-Clare, Suffolk. They put us in Lord Loch's estate. We had what would be the stables, & gate house. As usual we slept on the floor & Geo was in our Room that held about 6 blokes. We were not so bad there: I got to know the cook & repaired her wireless set. So every night a supper made its way to us. Our HQ was at Haverhill, Suffolk & our meals were given to us there. But mainly our job was to guard the Bren Carriers & look after Stradis Hall 'Drome against the possible dropping of Paratroops (German). Our bikes were locked up in the pub garages & our officer had the key. He got his bike out to go to the Officers Mess & spent the evening there. We were stick in Stoke the middle of nowhere. But I found that a six inch nail would open the doors & some of the lads were on bikes & off to Haverhill for dances & cinema. I think Geo used this run. Me, I stayed in & wrote letters & sat downstairs in the kitchen.

From there it was to Lowestoft & building scaffolding on the beach to stop the Germans if they came. This was a much better place for going out to the cinemas (3 of em). Geo was in our 2nd floor room in this Boarding House. Again the floor, but Nobby Clark found the gas was turned off & we turned it back on. Geo was first into the bathroom! So we had hot water to wash & shave with. We had rides out training & our C.O. decided to have into day, sleep  in day time & ride out at night. I was doing a night run to Saxmundham to Brigade H.Q. & I picked up a Wren who was on leave & walking to Sax. She was lucky I was passing, she got home safe & early.

Geo found the pubs there & once or twice we helped him home to our room. (The beer was cheap - but us blokes could not afford it. N.C.Os. could!) Up the road was a hotel, that's where we "dined". Army grub. We also used the Ball-room of the Hotel as a gym: Jumping "horses", P.T., "Milling" as it was called. A crowd of us wearing boxing gloves & all trying to punch "s..." out of each other. All the N.C.Os. were down the road at the local pub - G included.

All things came to an end. We moved North to Wooler. That was a smashing ride on the bike. All us blokes were policing the road & keeping the bloody long convoy on the right route. We stopped a few times - Doncaster & others - at night. It was after that I'm sure we missed Geo sometimes - did he go home? Arriving at our destination - Ewart Park, outside of Wooler, we Mo'Bike lads - plus Carriers we put into a large building outside the Park and alongside the river. All the bikes were in a shed. Whilst there we were taken out on Map-Reading & hill climbing & riding the River with Geo. He slept with us (on the floor) on the first floor of the building. Again, after a visit to the Sgts Mess he would creep into our large room, trip up over some of the blokes sleeping there in the dark. No electric lamps, just a couple of oil-lamps.

For our shaving etc, we had a long bench with taps & sinks. All the comforts of home!! If I remember rightly, we had a simple cinema outfit come a couple of times. They used our "Bed Room" to show the films. This outfit consisted of a screen, a metal box to contain the projector, & the leads ran downstairs to a mobile generator supplying the "juice". The show was for the Battalion, do imagine all the lads crowding in the room. We/us, used to undo our beds & stretch out in semi-comfort, Geo and all, & soak up the films. We had lots of Carrier & Bike inspections there, & we constantly cleaning & polishing our steeds.

From there we moved, & had to leave all our transport to the new lot coming in. We went to the Shetlands. Gawd, wot a place. If it rained or snowed 24 hrs a day we got issued with a Rum ration. Every night, our new officer used to bring in the Rum & we'd all sit around on our Iron Beds & chat. I had a end-place in the hut & most mornings on rising I had to shake off the snow off my bed. Gawd, it was long pants, serge trews, then Denim over that. Geo used to kip in the Sgts quarters so he missed all this joy.

Us blokes had a job. We had to M Cycle around the Islands every night & check the coast watchers to find out if the German subs had landed. We had the R.A.F. down where we were & we used to watch for the Imperial Airway Air Liner. If it came in we were sure of fresh vegetables, & possibly a new Betty Grable film to see at the Drome.

It was dark most of the day, & Geo used to use our hut for "lessons". We had many adventures there. Our C.O. Major Hill used to like shooting seals & took us out to the cliffs. I didn't like killing the poor "baggos" so I did not shoot. He shot the seal, had a butcher skin them, & then had the skin dried to be sent to his wife (seal skin coat). He was killed the second day in Arnhem.

We moved again, & we went to Woodhall Spa (in England) to become "AIRBOURNE TROOPS". Thus, more training & exercises to make us worthy of the RED BERET. One of these was a trip by lorry out into the countryside - at night - miles away & told to make our way home. Geo took us to our mystery point, had a chuckle, & then went back home. We said "Sod you Geo". However we started back across fields, come to a small town. Found a fish & chip shop, put our pennies together & got a meal. We got back to camp about 3am in the morning. Then Reveille at 6am, out playing as soldier. Then came ARNHEM!

By this time Geo had been moved to another company & we got new NCOs. We crashed on the way out to Holland, we landed in a field in Oxfordshire. No injuries. So back to the Airfield & go again next day. Landing in a flurry of shell-fire we met up with some of our blokes & then we met Geo: again walking out & about loaded with a sub m/ gun, German. Again, it was shot & shell, some wounded, some killed. All mates. I did not see Geo again from that moment until that return to Arnhem for the 45 Anniv, was it? Even then I missed him at the White Hse. He was on the boat trip down the Rhine.

So, nothing for a few years then he wrote to me (why, & how he found me I don't know). So after that it was the meeting at the "White House" when I saw him for the first time for years. This was another big anniversary. For the 50th wasn't it? So after all this time writing to him - & you - it has to stop. As I said at the beginning of this epistle. Another one gone. My two mates, one in the Paras - I saw him once when I got my Hillman Imp in 1975. I drove thro' London (yuk!!) to Croyden. Saw him & wife & small daughter & had a long yarn about When? His daughter yelled with laughter at our tales. After that it was Xmas cards only to each other. He didn't come to see me. About 3/4 years ago his daughter got in touch with me. He died. She came to see me & wanted to see some of the photos I had. She brought up some of hers. They were wedding pix I had taken in Aisby in Lincolnshire(?) when the 3" Musket Beers last met. His first wife died, & he married again. His daughter's now in the Police Force & married to a policeman.

Another Xmas card stopped & another one to his daughter now. Then about 2 years ago, a phone call from Jack's son. The 2nd M.G. Beer had died. I went to his funeral in East London. The cemetery where we used to play as kids. But what got me was seeing his sons - Firemen in the Brigade - & his grown up daughters. Gawd, made one feel old... I am old! 82.  Jack's wife had died the year before & he didn't get over it. Perhaps you'll write & tell me of the funeral of George. Who came. Now I'll close this little letter, excuse mistakes, & I've had it copied & I'll keep the original for my records. All my best wishes to you all.

END.

The following is Sydney Nunn's diary of events at Arnhem:

WAR DIARY - S.R. NUNN. 7 K.O.S.B.

Sunday (KEEVIL 'DROME)

After sleeping outside of tent alongside run-way (Saturday) we wake & after rough wash & shave - we take-off for Holland. After 2 hrs flight our Glider gets tug-rope in a twist. We have to cast-off, we crash-land somewhere in Oxfordshire. No injuries, apart from scratches. We unload jeep & trailer & drive back to 'Drome (believe Down AMPNEY). Load up for 2nd Lift.

Monday

Again, take-off. Roughly 4 hr flight - over sea, note several Gliders down. People rescued by R.A.F. Launches (?) Over Holland, see & hear flak around us. What a sight, 'planes & gliders everywhere. We touch down area of Wolfhezen. See one Glider fly straight into trees. Mess of air-craft & men, & vehicles. Others crashed & several men badly wounded. Unload stuff, & move out as instructed, but wary of German fire put at us. After a drive at speed along road (?) See Dutch people waving to us & offering water and apples at several places. We are too busy to respond, hanging onto jeep & trailer. We meet up with a squad from "D" Company so we join forced. Meet others & prepare to hold landing / dropping zone. Whilst there four German troops (S/S) captured. Night comes & we got order to march. We

Tuesday

advance along railway. We stop alongside Farmhouse (J. Hoeve?) We dig in, heavy fire from Germans - Tanks & Mortars. Farmhouse set on fire. We see civilian evacuate. The Third-Lift comes in, a lovely sight, but shot to pieces. Flak murderous, looks like 4 DAKS down, 1 Stirling - may be more. All a-flame. A large battle takes place, shooting across the dropping-zone. We are ordered to move out to another position. We load up vehicles with Vickers & other stuff, then we drive "flat-out" across gap in view of enemy. Some of our people hit. We try to cross railway but embankment too high. So we go to Wolfheze & cross there. Join up with others & we move off to Oosterbeek area. Large house with grounds ('D' Hotel) Dig in - Bit fed-up with this, get position, dig-in, wait & then shelled, get orders to move, & start again.

Wednesday

After night of odd shelling & houses set on fire, hardly any sleep, feel filthy, we go out to patrol along railway. Somehow 2 Vickers M.G. lost, but are retaken under heavy fire across railway. Get back to our lines, they have moved again! However, on our way back through streets we meet German patrol. They don't expect us, nor us them! We exchange grenades, then get through the houses to our perimeter. All O.K. Night comes, & again houses set on fire. Perhaps enemy wants light to see what we are doing. During night "C" Company (?) gets attacked. Rumour has it many British & Germans killed.

Thursday

Asleep on my feet! Dirty. Believe this is morning we try to wash & shave with the water we have. British aircraft over, drop supplies. We don't have much, dropped on German positions. Flak deadly, 'planes on fire. German aircraft over & M/G our positions. Also Mortar Bombs on area. Several of our people hit. Their Mortars are accurate. We think if we held our pocket open, German could get it in one shot! Evening time we get attacked by large company of Germans. Many of our people killed. We attack back & drive them towards station. In this time R.A.P. get out & we follow. Tanks move in & begin firing & mortars. Position not very safe. As night came on we moved out to around Div H.Q. (?) Dug in around the forest.

Friday

During the night & morning V M/G moved several times. Keep Germans back. We get an S/P Gun or Tank at our position all day. Also our aircraft over. More German attacks & we capture several Germans (What do we do with them?) Night-time, more houses set on fire.

Saturday

First light, Tank moves into our part of forest. We shoot A/T Gun. Capture crew (1 age 16) Odd battles & shooting around perimeter. Killer sniper in tree. Night time did Recce & guard around Roles. Can hardly keep awake.

Sunday

Shelled all-day, many hurt & killed. Move out to houses, set up gun through window & roof. Shelled & mortared all day. We go out to see if we can get water from houses. (Lavatory, w/c Tanks etc.) In on damaged house I find a small watch on floor - it's working! First time I know the time. (I say "Excuse me, may I have watch, but no-one there.) Another house in NASSAULAAN (?) we meet some Dutch folk. Asked to feed their chickens - we did. While this happens, shelled & mortared, sniped at. In our house we manage to cook a hot meal. Preserved fruit, our 24 hour food blocks, all mixed up. Delicious. Night time we manage to get an hour's sleep (or was it an hour?)

Monday

Shelled again all day. Sniper. Our light-bombers over!! Get told P.M. that we move out to River in darkness. Tie blankets etc over boots, move out through back-gardens, across roads, through forests to River side. Rain pouring down, wet & muddy fields to cross, soaking wet. Mortared & shelled & M/G. We lay in wet sand awaiting boats. Await hours. More shelling, & boats & troops hit. Many killed. We finally get boat & land other side. Walking in my sleep, staggering side to side. Get remarks from Troops in slit-trench, "Not far to go, just a few hundred yards." To Elst? Finally arrived at place (?), got tea & Rum, & food. Then loaded (heaped) into truck for mad drive to Nijmegen. Do not remember much of that, unconscious!

Additional Notes

Monday: Those who crashed in sea became members of "GOLDFISH CLUB."

Tuesday. "D" Hotel, believe "Dreyerood".

Thursday. On this day, sniping from houses. Put PIAT Bomb into room. Most of house disappears!

Saturday. This action believe around "Sonne Berg".

Sunday. This small watch has Red Cross on face & sweep-hand. Since that time it has been battered & well used. Still goes 40 years on! Wonder who the folk with chickens? Are they still around.

Monday. Not Elst, must be Driel.

END.

Expanding on the above, Nunn wrote the following under the title "We Were at Arnhem".

I fairly hurled myself over the garden dividing wall and landed with a thud alongside Jock and as we scuttled the few yards to Len in the slit-trench another salvo of mortar bombs exploded in the street. "Well mate there's the gun, you want to get it? - If so, good luck to you." I peered over the trench at the Vickers machine gun sitting mournfully in the centre of the road behind a meagre barricade of bricks and rubble that was once a semi-detached suburban house in this street in Oosterbeek. Even as I looked a splinter of machine gun fire rocked "old Betsy", as we called the gun, and bullets ricocheted over our heads and thudded in the buildings behind us, I ducked my head quickly and glanced at Len, he ducked. He chuckled. "It's a cow, ain't it, " he said. "I'd like that bloke who ordered us to set that gun in this position to be here right now, I'd give him covering fire." Again the crump of mortars only this time behind the houses and again the crack of machine gun fire as they tore overhead.

"Poor old Betsy," I thought. "Was it two years ago that we signed Army Form No. _ 'Gawd only knows', and you were handed over to three of us, to not love, honour and obey; but to strip, disembowel and clean you until we knew every working part of your metal body. You were a bitch at times I thought, when on the range with you for the time you were cleaned, watered and oiled most carefully, you were gently fed with your first belt of 303 ammo' and we caressed your handles and waited for the order 'two taps right and left - Fire!" We squeezed the thumb release and you went into action. We thrilled to your steady rattle, then suddenly you stopped! 'Stoppage No.1". We cleared you and away you swung into action again only for a moment though and then you stopped again, then again. I think you had every ruddy stoppage in the book and were our faces red when the Officer wandered over and said very sarcastically, "Trouble men?" Then again those training days when we took you on our route marches, yes the tripod too. How often we felt like throwing you into the nearest river.

Another load of mortar bombs exploded around the gun emplacement and we ducked even further into the earth as splinters whistled overhead. This was getting hot. My thoughts wandered on. "We'd been briefed time and again for an operation and each time we'd packed you carefully in the jeep and trailer and time and again the operation was cancelled and we began to wonder whether we would ever use you in battle. Then one day in September Arnhem, or operation "Market Garden," was planned. This time there was no cancellation.

We took off by glider from a quiet West Country Aerodrome and gently flew up and up to the clouds to join our fellows in the air armada to Holland. It was in the clouds that the slight mishap occurred, because whilst swinging along in the slip stream of our tug plane, somehow our tow rope had inadvertently looped itself around our port wing and when we came clear of the clouds our glider pilot took one look and snapped into the tele-comm. to the tug plane. "Hullo tug I'm in trouble!" Our tug plane must have seen what had happened because the tow rope was released and we slowly, it seemed, came to a stop in the air then our glider pilot put the glider's nose down and we careered earthwards with the tow rope streaming alongside like a broken kite string.

We sat petrified hanging onto the jeep's sides listening to the screaming wind along the fuselage and hoping that the chains that held the vehicles to the glider floor would take the strain. We heard the pilot then shout, "Brace up blokes, here we come." Then we hit the earth once, twice, and then again, then a steady rocking as we tore across the surface. We slowly came to a stop, then silence. I looked at Jock and Len and thought 'God are they as scared as I am?'. We heard a voice outside at that moment, it was our pilot. "You alright there blokes? Make your way forward and get out at the cabin door." We did as we were told and presently saw us all seated on the grass alongside the glider smoking with somewhat shaky hands. That state of affairs didn't last long because our tug plane roared overhead with much wing waggling to see if we were all safe and sound. Then with our jeep and trailer, which we had unhitched and dragged out, we were soon back at the drome where we had started from, which incidentally, was about ten miles from where we had made our forced landing in an area no larger than a football field.

The following day started the second cycle of events. Again the lift into the bright morning sky, only this time no mishaps. We winged our way together with hundreds of other aircraft over the English coastline then over the sparkling sea where I must admit we callously chortled as we saw one or two gliders cast off through troubles unknown and float downwards to the sea whereupon was waiting our air-sea rescue ships. Jock remarked, "At least we didn't get our feet wet." We found out much later that those unlucky enough to fall into the drink were lucky enough to become members of that exclusive "Goldfish Club.".

However, we flew on. Across the coast of Holland and we became tense with the thought of what faced us in the next few minutes. - "Casting off. Thank you for the nice trip. Good-bye tug." Those words broke our link with England for the next ten days. We landed, albeit much softer and quieter than our previous one in England - was it yesterday? The jeep and trailer came out of the glider and we feverishly rigged up the Vickers and then drove off to find our Battalion H.Q., - our H.Q., permit me to smile, was there such a thing in Arnhem? Perhaps it would be better to say we were free lance soldiers. We were sent to a small wooded plantation and we unloaded, we got "Betsy" a good field of arc, to the layman a lot of open ground to fire across. We waited, and it rained, and Betsy got wet, very wet. So did we. Then another order to move. We stripped the gun down, loaded on the jeep and drove like hell to our new location. Again the field of arc and again we waited - but not for long. We heard the far-off plonk of mortars getting louder and louder then "crash". War had arrived! From that moment we and "Betsy" were in.

Right next door, as it were, in the next pit to us was a glider pilot sergeant and in between "stonks" of mortars we conversed. He said, "I don't know whether you know ol' lads, but there's a whopping great tank out front to our right. One of the tiger family." Jock gulped and replied lamely, "Gawd, - what are we s'posed to do with this Vickers, drill holes in it?" At that moment we heard the ominous clank of a tank and peering from our gun-pit we saw it appear from the back of the wrecked farm house that was in our field of view. It looked enormous! We fingered the firing button on "Betsy" and wondered if a 303 bullet would make much impression on the steel sides of that monster. The glider pilot called us. "Anyone know how to fire an anti-tank gun, 'cos there's one in the bushes to our left with no crew." "Pr'aps it's been knocked out," suggested Len. "Anyway, I'm going to have a look, care to come someone," replied the glider bloke. I nodded my head, "I'll go, keep us covered Len." "What, from that? That's a laugh," said Len.

I crawled out and joined the sergeant and we dug grooves in the soil with our noses, we were that low, as we made our way to the deserted gun. We were half way there when a sudden terrific explosion above our heads and a crackling of timber brought us to a sudden shivering halt. It was the tank getting his hand in with 88mm solid shell. Again and again the explosion and our small forest began to look something like a logging camp with trees lying over the place. Now and then could be heard a cry of pain as some poor fellow got hit. We reached the gun in due course and looked at it with interest. "H'm, seems alright, no damage what I can see," said the glider sergeant; "let's see if we bung a shell in and make it work."

Thereupon we did that and wondered how the hell one fired it. We did not wonder for long, for at that moment the tank turned his head in our direction and began to give us personal attention with his heavy machine gun. We hit the ground together - fast, as those bullets sung like angry bees through the trees and bushes. In the pause that followed this outburst the glider pilot hoisted himself up behind the gun shield and looked along the barrel. I heard him give an exclamation of glee and jerked myself up with him. What a sight. The tank was coming directly to our position and our gun barrel was pointing directly at the tank. If we'd worked miracles we couldn't have worked this one any better. The sergeant remarked that he hoped the gun worked. Then he pulled the trigger. There was an almighty bang, a terrific recoil and we found ourselves on our backs. When our ears stopped ringing and we pulled ourselves off the ground I noticed there was a quietness in the woods. The sound of breaking and falling trees had stopped. Then suddenly Len and Jock bounded up laughing like drains, crying out, "Did you see them go up in flames?", - what a shot, right on the button." We looked and there was the tank completely on fire with ammo spasmodically exploding in the heat of the flames. The glider sergeant looked at me, put out his hand, shook mine and said, "Our game, I think."

That was the second day of action. The third day came with an attack of infantry just as dawn was breaking. They streamed across the broken ground yelling and shouting to an accompaniment of shells and mortars. We settled ourselves behind the Vickers trying to guess the range with our sleep-weary eyes. I heard Jock say, "Don't these so and so's ever rest?" The grey-clad visitors grew nearer and we waited tensely, then suddenly it seemed all hell was let loose. Our old gun chattered as she'd never chattered before and we fed belt after belt into her breech. We fired right and left and we fired even upwards and downwards. Then just as suddenly the attack petered out bar the sporadic firing here and there. I looked at Jock squatting next to me and I was amazed to see his face was covered in blood. "You hit," I asked rather stupidly. He felt his face. "Blimey, I never felt a thing," he said. Len nodded over to Jock and thought it'd be better to get him over to the "Medics", so leaving him on the gun Jock and I moved cautiously out of our gunpit and scurried bent double to the back area where our M.O. Detachment was stationed. We arrived at the M.O. and were appalled to see the amount of wounded awaiting attention from the hard-worked medical orderlies.

During the time we were there Len had received orders to move the gun to a spot overlooking the railway cutting as they were expecting a further attack there and they needed heavy machine gun covering fire. So, asking a couple of chaps from another Vickers section for a hand and leaving information for us whereabouts to find him, they moved the gun back and thro' the undergrowth and made off in the direction of the railway to find when they arrived there that it was conspicuously quiet. An Officer who came out of one of many ruined houses stated that the best position would be in the rubble right overlooking the cutting and it would give a clear field of fire in case of attack. The chaps set the gun up and the two from the other section made their way back to the perimeter.

Len lay back and fished out a cigarette end (one of many) and lit it with relish. It was quiet, the sun was shining, even some birds were twittering in the gardens of the ruined houses. "Gawd, this is the way to run a war," thought Len. Then suddenly - crash, crash, crash!!! Len practically fell over himself trying to get in position over the firing button whilst trying to see where the attack might take place on the other side of the railway cutting. It was of no avail, as fast as he got his head up the next salvo of mortar bombs crashed down sending splinters of steel whizzing over his position. He thought, at the time, that there was no future in these proceedings so awaiting the next pause in explosions, he crawled out and over to the houses and frantically dug himself a slit-trench. This is where we came in....

Len said, "Wotcher, so they patched you up, eh Jock?" "Yerse, it was only a cut," replied Jock. Len said something about Jock and Errol Flynn. Then he told us about the nice quiet position until Jerry took a turn in it. So there was the gun, practically in the middle of an open street, and none of us able to get out there because of the flying lethal steel all around it. "Here," said Jock suddenly, "couldn't we lassoo the thing and drag it to us." We turned pitying eyes on him. "What with?" "Look," he said, "there must be some clothes-lines in these back gardens." Len remarked that the boy had brains. "Let's see if we can't find some."

Without any more ado the three of us crawled out of our small trench and moved sharply, one at a time, to the front door of the nearest house. We didn't have to use force to gain entry because the door was hanging open on one hinge. We nipped in smartish and made our way down the passage towards the kitchen and rear door. Our size 10's made a clatter on the once polished floor and the noise apparently was heard by the inmates of the cellar beneath. (It appears that most houses in Holland have these cellars and some that we saw afterwards were spacious places fitted with beds, food and drink. All the occupants of the houses in the battle zone went to ground eventually - and I don't blame them.)

However, we got as far as the window overlooking the gardens when a feminine voice haltingly spoke. "Hullo Airbournes." We all spun round like one man and there facing us was a young girl, rather grubby I'll admit, smiling at us. In a few minutes we were all talking together and piecing her story together. It seemed she and her family had been cellarwise ever since the "Airbournes" had landed days ago and her one concern at this very moment was her father's chickens in the shed at the bottom of the garden. Garden? Perhaps the right word was farm, it was that large. Could we, she said, possibly take some corn out there and feed her little "chickens" as they hadn't been fed since they, the family, had been forced to the cellar by the noise of the battle. Jock looked at me and I glanced at her and with one accord we burst out laughing. It seemed ludicrous, us dodging shot and shell for days and now being asked to go out and feed chickens. For one thing, were they still alive after all that machine gunning and shelling, and for another we hadn't eaten for over two days, bar apples we'd taken off the trees, feed the chickens - Good Lord! We stopped laughing.

Len said, "Give me the corn, I'll see what I can do." She handed him a large tin and he opened the door then turned and said with a mock salute, "Farewell, I go to feed the chickens." Then he was gone, running from fruit tree to fruit tree, from bush to bush. (I said they had large gardens, didn't I?). Then far down in the garden we saw him fumbling with a door o a shed. Then Jerry turned on his hate song again. Mortars, machine guns, they all seemed to be directed, it appeared, on our little area. Meanwhile Len had managed to get the door of the shed open and at that moment we completely forgot the barrage and the machine gun fire because we became doubled up with laughter, as the chickens sensing food, flew at him from all angles and he throwing valour and discretion to the winds, tore back through the garden followed by his feathered friends squawking madly for the food they'd nearly had. He skidded to a stop in the kitchen followed closely by the birds and he hurriedly handed over the tin of corn to the girl saying that she had better feed them as they were too vicious for him.

However the birds were fed and taken down into the cellar and we carried on with what we had meant to do, namely, get some rope. The girl assisted us there by giving us a coil of it and we went out to the front garden again to do our lassoo stunt. The stuff was flying over thick and fast that made us keep our head down as we went into our final act to retrieve the Vickers. Jock had the first throw and only succeeded in dragging back a brick to our position which culminated with a snipers bullet whizzing closely overhead. We waited a short while hoping that the sniper would go away, then again we threw the rope which, more by luck than judgement, caught onto the Vickers and we started to pull it to us.

Having to keep low to dodge the bullets and the mortar bursts made it really hard work to pull "old Betsy" in but after some steady tugging and heaving it appeared above us. We looked at it, then swore most horribly. The outer casing of the gun was holed in several places and the breech was just a mangled piece of steel due to the mortar bomb explosions that were still coming in thick and far. So, "Betsy", to use a German expression, was "Kaputt".

The rest of my story is History... The story of the perimeter getting smaller day by day and the list of casualties getting larger... of the men at Arnhem itself fighting to keep the Bridge over the Rhine open for the appearance of the 2nd army tanks which never came. The ceaseless battle of those men until they were practically cut to pieces... And what of us? During the time we were away the Division had tightened the perimeter and on to the German lines before several bursts of machine gun fire made us realize we weren't wanted there, so throwing a couple of hand-grenades in the direction of the German positions with a muttered "Share that amongst you", we slithered back and into the area of our own troops. That didn't last for long because in a day of so we were back in the same houses we had left earlier, only this time we had the rest of the battered Division with us.

Then came the withdrawal; the great pull-out to the River Rhine. I still cannot remember clearly how we silently left the houses, our feet wrapped in sacking and curtaining materials, of how we trudged wearily through back lanes, along wooded paths and on to the marshes of the Rhine and lay there in the mud with the rain gently falling upon us all, not forgetting the mortar bombs that fell upon us too. The hoarse whisper that came from the river for us to move down and embark upon canvas boats that ferried us to the other side. Boats incidentally that were crewed by some men of the 2nd army that had fought their way to the River bank to rescue us..., and the long, long walk along a dark muddy road to a barn where we were given a good helping of rum. Finally a lift in an army vehicle to the comparative quiet of Nijmegen.

END.

The following account by Sydney Nunn, "Recollections of an Airborne Trooper", also describes the Battle and the months which followed:

As I walked the quiet lanes of Hertfordshire on a fine September Sunday morning, I pictured the scene in that Cemetery in Holland. Passing the hedges laden with berries, the orchards hanging heavily with apples and pears, and most of all, the sunflowers towering high, I thought of Oosterbeek and Arnhem.

I remembered that fine sunny morning in September '44. When we landed, our glider had clattered to a stop, and we frantically hacked at the tail until it became free. We then got the jeep trailer out, and onto Dutch soil. Then, casting a quick look around, off we went, at top speed to the position we had been given around the landing zone in Wolfheze.

I remember that we drove very hunched in the seats of our jeep, and our heavily laden trailer was shaking all over the road. Our poor unfortunate colleagues sitting on the trailer, had a hell of a job to remain seated and not thrown off at every twist and turn.

We were very alert also, to any possible ambush of shower of bullets, but all we got was a shower of fruit from the excited and happy Dutch folk, that were lining the roads at different areas.

As the Battle progressed, we all finished in the houses of Oosterbeek village. I remember when dragging a Vickers machine gun up to the attic of our particular house, and knocking out the tiles, my mates shouting up that we had visitors already. Clattering downstairs, I found not German troops, but a young Dutch girl who had come up from the cellar. Apparently, she and her family had retired to the cellar when we, the Airborne, had arrived that Sunday morning.

She spoke to us and asked us very kindly if we could go out to her back garden and feed the chickens - they had not been fed from the time we British arrived. Being helpful, I took the tin of food and dashed off to the bottom of the garden, giving some very good practice to several German machine gunners at the end of our particular road. Arriving safely, I opened the chicken shed door, and began to throw them the food.

Those hens realised that grub was up, and flew at me with screeches of welcome. Being buffeted by several ravenous birds, I decided that it was far safer outside with the enemy, and ran for cover with the birds in hot pursuit up the garden path. My mates watching me in the house, fell about laughing, and said that it had made their day.

Still remembering, I thought of the German sniper, who shot at several of our blokes, whilst they were at their "morning devotions" in the woods, whether this particular sniper had a sense of humour? In any case he made it had for our chaps to sit down for quite a time.

I also remember the Glider Pilot who wandered about, staring up each tree as if hunting squirrels. But without any regard to his possible danger, he searched out the intruder, and then when found, despatched him with one shot. I also remember another time, when still another sniper crept into a house in the Massaulaan, right opposite our position. He was spotted, and in order to move him gently, we put a piat bomb into the house. We were all surprised to see the house completely disappear, and presumably the sniper.

When we were asked to help out the blokes at the Bridge, we packed all the ammo we could find in our jeep, and driving at speed, we got as far as the St. Elizabeth Hospital. There we met two large SP guns, and we were rather put out at the amount of explosive lobbed at us. Therefore we were forced to bail out, and slip back through the streets and houses, to our position in the woods.

As we all remember, in those last days in our dwindling perimeter, food was non-existent. We were just living on apples and pears found in the gardens of the houses we inhabited. Water too, was a problem, this we got by taking it out of the lavatory cisterns, that is if the cisterns had any water in them!

Then there was the withdrawal, back to and over the river. Stumbling every inch of the way, good as asleep on our feet. And the welcome hot food and the long sleep when we finally got to Nijmegen. Then there was the hectic ride by lorry through the narrow gap held by the British between Holland and Belgium. Our truck went through this area like bats out of hell, as shot and shell was being slung from both sides. After a fairly pleasant stay in Louvain, we made our way back to England by air, and to our various camps. No doubt, the survivors, like myself, remember sitting in the dining halls and NAAFI's, while the Company Commander, or what was left of them, went through the roster, checking on the men who survived and those who didn't. It was a case of "Jones 82, and Jones 86, when were these last seen". Etc.

After practically a week, while we went through the roll of those missing, we settled down in our various huts, in our spare moments looking at the empty beds of the blokes who didn't return.

Then came the proud moment that we were to be presented at the Palace. Groups of men from each and every Battalion and Unit, were sent to a place outside of Grantham, where we drilled and bulled ourselves up for the big occasion. We were taken down to London, and I think we were put up in the Chelsea Barracks.

The morning came, foggy, dull and cold, when we were paraded into the Square and marched off to Buckingham Palace. There were the odd sightseers along the route, including foreign service men, who looked at this smart bunch of blokes marching into the courtyard of Buckingham Palace, perhaps wondering what they had done.

We all managed to parade in the Long Hall of the Palace, awaiting the time when the King and the Queen walked slowly through the ranks, asking us questions and offering the odd compliment. This apart from handing out the various medals for gallantry.

During that period, we were all offered seats at the Victoria Palace, and once seated, the star of the show, Lupino Lane, requested all the spots to be turned out this bunch of khaki clad warriors. The people in the theatre turned and clapped, and frankly, I never felt so embarrassed in my life!

On another occasion, we were all invited to Quaglino's Night Club in Mayfair. I still have the same menu, with various signatures of Airborne types and those of certain young ladies who frequented such places in these days I wonder where they all are now.

After this brief spell of debauchery, we went back to our various Battalions and then got stuck into training and being a soldier once again.

But then came the day when Germany capitulated, and England went mad! At this time, British Gaumont decided to do a documentary film of the Arnhem Battle and a few hundred of us were picked to appear in this film. I remember going to Saffron Waldon; from there we travelled to Tilbury, I believe it was, and from there by boat to Holland.

Once arrived, we walked through these ruined streets, looking at the pathetic broken homes, with rooms exposed to the open sky. These desolate roads which we were to use as sets for our battle scenes in this forthcoming film. I remember walking around the old perimeter, and even down to the river's edge, ignoring the signs that mines were present, and finding several dead Airborne troops still lying in position from the previous year. They were partially covered by freshly grown weeds and bushes, as though nature wished to hide them from man's inhumanity to man. Of course we contacted the War Graves people over there, and later on these bodies were removed for burial in the Oosterbeek Cemetery.

Some years later, I again returned to Arnhem, for the first time as a Pilgrim, and taking my wife. With her I retraced my steps all around the area, and in company with my C.O., we recognised many of the old landmarks. We also marvelled at the transformation, new houses, streets, even estates in the old battle area. But still, after all this time, an atmosphere could be felt. In the years to follow, I returned time and again to Oosterbeek. I made friends, and these friendships are still very strong. I have seen the children grow up and strangely enough, I still don't feel a day older than when I was an "Airborne". And now, in our Autumn countryside, I remember the last evening of the Pilgrimages: the ship leaves the Hook, old friends wave goodbye, the shouts of Whoa Mohammed, then the song "now is the hour", and it echoed across the harbour as the ship slowly left for England.

END.

The following brief account describes VE Day and the 1st Airborne Division's departure for Norway.

We were stationed in a Transit-camp outside of Saffron-Waldon, Essex. For the past few months we had been on Training schemes around East Anglia, & at the same time filling the empty spaces in our Battalion with new intake. The reason being that we had returned from the Battle of Arnhem, and many of our original men had been killed, captured, or wounded. So on that evening prior to V.E. day we were in S/W enjoying a beer. None of us at that time ever read a newspaper, or had the luxury of listening to a Radio, so we really had no clue regarding the war news. To show how ignorant we were, we had never heard of Vera Lynn! But the people in S/W told us the news that the War in Europe could be over in a few hours. - It was!

The following day we were told to parade with our gear & we went to an Airfield locally, embarked on Stirling & Lancaster aircraft and flew to Norway. Once there we were told our business being in Norway. We were to travel from Oslo to the north & "round-up" Quislings & odd German units. Also to collect all German fire arms... These were taken by log-burning trains to sea-ports (the weapons) & dropped into the [boincy?]. So that was our experience of VE day.

Though some weeks later a small group of us were told we were to return to England, en-route to Holland & Arnhem, to make a film of the battle. We went back to England by Lanc and met our film producer & crew. After a week-end leave, we all moved off to Harwich to travel by ship to Holland. As we left the port we noticed that lights were on all along the coast including a pier - presumably Clacton-on-Sea. We were then told over the Tannoy that a special Bomb had been dropped on Japan & the war was now over. We weren't worried, we were on our way to make a film, unpaid! The title? "Theirs is the Glory."

END.

In 1967, Sydney Nunn completed the following questionnaire during the research phase of Cornelius Ryan's book, A Bridge Too Far. Only the questions he gave a response to are included:

4) What was your rank and unit in September 1944? L/Cpl in 7 KOSB

5) What was your age in September 1944? 23

7) Where were you born? 11.9.19

8) What previous action had you seen? None

9) When did you learn that you were going to take part in the operation in Holland? After many briefings covering France, etc.

10) What was your reaction? Were you, for example, anxious, resigned or relieved to be going into action? In a way relieved of tension after so many briefings & cancellations. Anyway, in our camp at Keevil it was a nightmare of [?], & moles boring up into ones bed every night.

11) What was the trip like into Holland? Did you see anything unusual? Do you remember any conversations you had, or how you passed the time on the journey? Took off with the rest of the Batt. but after a couple of hours our Glider had to cast off. Apparently got our towing lines crossed in cloud. Came down in a field no bigger than a football pitch. Nobody hurt bar my chum who had a tree branch in his face Broke thro' the fuselage.

12) How did you feel about a daylight operation? Do you recall any conversations with your friends about it? What was said? Did not think much about it.

13) What were the rumours? Had you heard, for example, that if the invasion of Holland was successful, the war would be over by the coming winter? We'd had so many briefings & had them cancelled, that some believed that by the time we arrived at Arnhem the 2nd Army would be there already & we would just join them.

14) Did you keep a diary or notebook of what happened to you during any part of September, 1944? Do you still have it? Yes, just a few notes written after the Battle. Also a story 3200 words of what incidents took place.

15) Were any of your friends killed or wounded on the day of the drop or on subsequent days? 1 friend getting out, sprained his ankle couldn't walk. Several bods injured. One lost a leg later.

16) Do you remember any conversations you had with them before they became casualties? One who had knee & leg smashed by mortar & shell fire said "My foot ball's buggered".

17) Were you wounded or captured during this period? Can you give details? No.

18) Do you remember any significant dealings you may have had with Dutch civilians or members of the Dutch Underground? Please explain. When we landed & took to the woods, we stayed clear of any civilians. Believed they were 5 column. Knew no better till later in the battle when some went into the houses with us.

19) What do you recall most vividly about the country of Holland? At that time that large houses, the gardens full of apples & pears (our staple diet) & large amount of forest. Gawd!

20) Do you recall any incidents with the Germans - fights, surrenders, truces or conversations you may have had with them afterwards? Whilst in one house trying to get to an abandoned M.G. a party of Germans strolled by the back gardens. They did not realize we were looking at them from an upstairs window. One H.G. (all 3 we had) was thrown. We moved on.

22) Do you recall seeing or hearing anything that seems humorous now, even though it may not have seemed so at the time? Drinking the water from the cisterns of the houses - of the Vickers M.G. Feeding the civilian chickens in a street in Oosterbeek.

23) Do you recall any incident, sad or heroic or simply memorable, which struck you more than anything else? One of our Companies being attacked in their part of the woods at night, we couldn't help them.

END.

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