The bravery and the honour of Bermudians who went to war
More Bermudians volunteered for overseas service in the Second World War on a per capita basis, than any other country of the British Empire or the Commonwealth, says Tommy Aitchison, who was one of those volunteers. Here he recalls the story of his and others' wartime service.
I was honoured to be a member of the First Draft of Bermudian volunteers in the Second World War to leave Bermuda on June 23, 1940 to serve overseas as a group. We left our homeland just nine months after the outbreak of war on September 3, 1939.
The military granted each of us an initial favour. We could choose the unit or branch we wished to join. After that, most of the time we were simply sent wherever it was felt we were needed.
On a memorable morning a few days before, we assembled at Command Headquarters, Prospect where the Governor, Lt. Gen. Sir Dennis Bernard, RCB, CMG, DSO came to address us. Drawing on his own experience, His Excellency recalled his service in the First World War. He predicted that we could, as they had done, become subject to boredom, even as much as 99 percent of the time overseas. For the remaining one percent of the time, we could be scared out of our wits. Believe me, he wasn't holding back anything. He reminded us it was a great honour to be the first Bermudian volunteers to go overseas as a group. Bermuda was very proud of us. He also reminded us that our generation had a huge job to do, just as his had.
The Governor said it would have taken an Act of the Bermuda Parliament to have ordered us to go overseas. Volunteering was still the only alternative. So why did we volunteer? Whenever this question arose, I think of a reply by Major Pat Purcell. By the age of seven, Pat and I were close friends. Indeed, when we were not abroad at school – Pat in Canada, me in Scotland – we were inseparable.
Pat's father, Arthur Mann Purcell, was a brilliant musician and organist at the Bermuda Anglican Cathedral. He was also the distinguished Editor of The Royal Gazette, Pat and his father were direct descendents of the celebrated English 17th century composer, Henry Purcell.
Pat's answer? "Somebody's got to do it." That remains for me the best reason I've ever heard for volunteering to serve overseas. Eventually hundreds of Bermudians did.
Looking back, we may or may not have been subject to spells of boredom. However, the First Draft didn't have very long to wait for our experience of being scared out of our wits. We were about three-quarters of the way to England on the faithful old SS Mataroa on its New Zealand-England run. She was the flagship of the convoy. It was just after dawn one morning. An enormous explosion jarred us awake.
The concussion felt as if every plate had been blown off our ship. There is a handsome memorial to the Mataroa telling all the details of her service during her frequent contact with Bermuda. In the end she was sunk following a direct fight with the German pocket battleship, The Admiral Scheer. It was very much a no-contest, but the Mataroa put up such an incredibly brave fight, the Admiral in charge of the convoy received the Victoria Cross on behalf of the crew.
Back to our morning's awakening. Immediately, we disentangled ourselves from our bedding. Our faces were so white, we looked bleached. If any of us wasn't entirely sure before, there couldn't be anyone who doubted that no we really were at war.
The convoy was ringed by a dozen Royal Naval destroyers, plus an Anson reconnaissance plane above them. The Navy proceeded with a spectacular display. Three destroyers were promptly withdrawn from the outer circling ring. They raced at top speed to where obviously they had been directed to find the submarine(s). In racing to their immediate rendezvous they moved so fast, they generated plumes of spray that shot higher than their masts. The destroyers must have been doing at least 40 miles per hour. They put on the brakes simultaneously. They unleashed a barrage of depth charges.
The charges were of such violence that if any subs had been there, they could not have survived.
It wasn't over for the Mataroa. Two voyages later, she had had much more to do than just accompany the convoy. The torpedo attack was in the alley between Northwest Spain and Southern Ireland. Some onboard were killed in action, or seriously wounded. Those who recovered eventually joined the 2nd Lincolns Battalion, and then on to the decisive Battle of Winnekendonck from whence they advanced into Germany.
Travelling with us to England (they had joined the Mataroa in New Zealand) were the sister and mother of Edgar James (Cobber) Kain of New Zealand, the first great flying ace of the Second World War. As early as May 1940 Cobber was all ready a household name around the world. During that brief period he had shot down an amazing 14 German bombers and fighters.
In addition, he was credited with a further five "Probables". A probable was the designation given a plane shot down with not quite enough conclusive evidence to identify who shot it down immediately.
The bulk of the RAF Hurricanes and Spitfire fighters did not take part in the retreat to Dunkirk. They were subsequently withdrawn from France and sent back to England. It was feared that, if the Germans were successful in defeating the Allies before any significant number could be rescued, a German invasion could follow. The RAF fighters would definitely be needed to repel it.
When we finally arrived in England, we left the ship and entrained to our British destinations. The 17 from the BVRC travelled to the City of Lincoln where we remained for a couple of days before moving on to the 18th Battalion of the Royal Lincolnshire Regiment, in Spaldinq at the lower part of the County. The BVEs divided between the Royal Engineers and the Royal Corps of Signals.
I want to give you a few examples of what we were doing overseas:
Sgt. Saul, a platoon sergeant, had arrived in Bermuda in 1926 with the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders. Subsequently, he had taken his military discharge in Bermuda securing employment first with Major Kitchener (a relative of the famous First World War Field Marshall) who operated a dairy farm on Hinson's Island. By this time, Sgt. Saul had brought his valuable experience to the BVRC. He had that natural leadership qualification, plus a sense of humour and fun. It was distinct luck for me to have been associated with Major Anthony (Toby) Smith and Sgt. Saul simultaneously.
It was Sgt. Saul's idea that I should pipe the first Draft from the dock at St George's on to the tender which was waiting to transport us to the waiting Mataroa. For a moment I wondered what to play. Then I decided on an improvised version of "The Lincolnshire Poacher". The march-past of the Lincolnshire Regiment may have been the first time a group of Lincolns had ever been piped anywhere!
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Just as so many of us did while overseas, Major Toby Smith wrote many letters to his family. They were all kept. Jonathan Smith, OBE, Toby's grandson, the former Commissioner of Bermuda Police, edited them all carefully. As I write, the book, the story these letters will become, is at the printers. However, this book is not "just history". It is the poignant story of a couple deeply in love separated for all time. I should like to add what a privilege it was to serve with him in command during the few early weeks of the Second World War. Toby Smith was killed in action in Holland in 1944.
I have already written at length of contributions of Tony Madeiros and Geoffrey Osborn and a number of others whose deeds while serving Bermuda and the world overseas should forever be acknowledged for the calibre and bravery they deserve. I shall undoubtedly write about them again in the future. Those to whom I refer are the kind of soldiers about whom Rudyard Kipling, Noel Coward and others wrote books, plays and such memorable songs.
Yet there are some critics in our fair land who seem to have nothing better to do than criticise the brave and dangerous service of those who reasoned that only the direct confrontation with the enemy would win the war. Wars are seldom if ever won by defence alone. They are won normally through confrontation with infantry of both sides.
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Turning to the Royal Navy. A significant number of Bermudians joined the Navy and the Royal Air Force and the Royal Canadian Air Force. Jack Lightbourn joined the Royal Navy. After completing basic training, he was posted to a flotilla at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. He was only 19. His ship's job was mainly to transport prisoners-of-war to Egypt. Such were the numbers having to be dealt with, the Navy ran out of both trained small ships and crew to convey them. Jack Lightbourn shortly found himself on one of the boats as captain. Jack was a gifted natural leader, a quality soon spotted by the Navy. Indeed, the oldest serving senior sailors were soon referring to Jack as "the old man", the traditional nickname for the skipper.
After the War, Jack had a distinguished career as a senior executive with the Bank of Bermuda.
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Edgar Ward had an amazing career with the BVRC in both World Wars. In the First World War, he was one of the youngest volunteers to go overseas.
He won the Military Medal as a teenager. In the Second he served as a commissioned officer with the rank of Captain. Between the Wars he served on the BVRC Headquarters Staff. Before emigrating from Bermuda, I had the good fortune to be able to attend one of the former November 11th luncheons for war veterans. I sat between Capt. Ward and John DeShield of the Caribbean Regiment (I was unable to secure his rank). John and I had known each other as boys and tried to sit together always at the luncheons. The "lunch-ups" ended in not very happy circumstances a few years ago. Everyone has been hoping it could be reinstated into the normal programme, as formerly.
A steady stream of well-wishers came over to chat with Edgar and John. Now, sadly, with John's death when only needing six more years to reach 100 years of age, they have both left us.
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George Fisher's story at the Arnhem Bridge Battle is a major contribution to this summary.
Field Marshall Sir Bernard Montgomery needed to capture at least one of the bridges to enable his armour to progress into Germany. If he could get any one of the bridges Montgomery could attack right into the heart of Germany and shorten the time needed to win the war.
George, who had spent most of his time overseas with the Lincolnshire Regiment, had transferred to the Border Regiment and it was with that regiment that he attacked the bridge. This was not the actual Arnhem Bridge but the one next to it. George led the attack.
On the bridge George was attacking, he had arrived with a full complement of troops from his glider. His orders were to capture it as quickly as possible.
They did so within an hour. But the attending German force did not give up.
The job was to attack the bridge and then move on to their next assignment. Actually, they had taken control of their bridge and, at the appointed time, were turning it over to the Paratroopers. Which they did.
During the fierce fight, Sgt. Fisher had been covered by an enormous stack of rubble. He had to spend the night like that with two severely wounded legs.
He had to wait until the German medical corpsmen could free him and treat his wounds. After that, however, he was immediately listed as a prisoner-of-war, a status he had to endure until Germany surrendered on May 10, 1945.
A special medal to commemorate those taking part in the North-Western German campaign was awarded. This episode undoubtedly was one of the finest achievements by the British Army, and especially the Bermudians in it, during the Second World War.
