Like so many of his generation, Edwin (Ted) Inge was called up to fight in World War Two. This is his story as told to his daughter, the story of a very ordinary man who, along with thousands of others, was called upon to do his bit.

When Irish eyes are smiling!

So it was that in about May 1940, some 130 or so oddly assorted men, some highly qualified instructors and some mere clerks like myself received orders to proceed to, of all places, Northern Ireland, where we descended upon the village of Markethill in Co. Armagh, and established ourselves in Gosford Castle. This sounds grand, but the Castle had been unoccupied for years, and was a gloomy, dank place. However, with the good will and efforts of all, it was transformed into a workable unit and we awaited our first intake of officers, practically all second lieutenants.

The training course lasted for about a fortnight or so and took place mostly in the Mourne Mountains area. I often had to accompany the instructors and take copious notes of what parts of the course needed to be changed – as far as I can recall the course programmes never reached perfection and I and my office staff seemed perpetually at our typewriters, working to an almost impossible deadline. I suppose I was lucky to be in Northern Ireland, for the War hardly existed, food was never a problem (especially among the locals) and the scenery magnificent. The only drawback was the weather, which was unpredictable and, in a word, abominable at times. But I enjoyed three years in Ulster, our Battle School became quite famous and moved several times, and I was able to see a great deal of the area. The local population were as friendly as could be – Protestant and Catholic alike.

Overlord; Overland and Over Sea to 'Over There'

The good times had to end, however, and having, by May 1943, been promoted to the dizzy heights of Serjeant the War Office decided my talents (?) were being wasted and I was ordered to report to a 100% Royal Army Service Corps unit at Thetford in Norfolk. The unit was known as a DID¹ and was responsible for keeping other units fed and fuelled, among other things. By this time the clamour for a Second Front was considerable and, although we did carry out our duties to a limited extent, a lot of our time was spent training for the realities of working in battle conditions. One particular training exercise was dropping supplies from the air in metal canisters. I remember a pleasant week near Amesbury and our daily flights over Salisbury Plain in the marvellous workhorse, the Dakota.

It was a 'nervy' sort of summer – everyone knew the invasion was not far away, but where and when was the most closely guarded secret of all time. Rumours were rife, but the year dragged on – another winter and still no action. However, in the early part of 1944 we sensed things were hotting up as the units we were supplying gradually moved southwards. We, ourselves, moved from Norfolk to Walton-on-Thames in May 1944 and it was there that we learned that when the invasion took place, our unit would be landing on D+7, ie the 7th day after D-day, and we breathed a sigh of relief. D-day was a Tuesday² but it was not until breakfast time that day that we learned on the radio that the invasion had started – it was a very well-kept secret. We then knew that our landing would be on Tuesday, the 13th, but had no idea how we would get there. On Saturday 10th June we were transported - by train, I think - to London and spent the night in the greyhound racing stadium at East Ham, near the docks. On Sunday, 11th June our unit, along with hundreds of other men, marched to the docks behind a band playing marching music. Although it was fairly early, there were crowds of civilians watching and they were cheering us on our way and giving us cigarettes and chocolate, even though it was rationed.

Our ship was an American cargo boat called the Fort Fork – hardly a cruise liner! What the last cargo had been was a matter of some concern – the smell from the hold was breath–taking! It was packed with troops and conditions aboard were primitive, to say the least. However, it was a fine day and so we were able to get on deck and watch the scenery go by. We sailed all the way down the Thames and anchored overnight just off Southend where, oddly enough, I was to live many years later. On Monday, 12th June, we set off again along the north Kent coast and through the Straits of Dover, being one ship among a very large convoy, shepherded by Navy destroyers. As we went past Dover, the Germans on the French coast opened up with their long range guns but, as far as I know, none of our ships was hit and we were soon out of range. We sailed past Folkestone and it seemed strange seeing it from the sea and in such circumstances. We had a nice cruise down the Channel without incident and anchored again close to the Isle of Wight. Sometime during the night of 12th/13th we started off, travelling in the hold of the ship not on deck. It was pitch dark and not a pleasant experience.

We woke up in a few hours time to the incredible noise of war! We were allowed on deck in due course and found ourselves about a mile from the shore, surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of boats of all description, on a beautiful June morning. The noise was coming from our battleships firing shells at German positions inland, and from bombs being dropped by German planes at the ships, with our aircraft engaged in aerial combat – plus anti-aircraft guns on the shore, which by then was free of the enemy. To say that I wasn't scared would be far from the truth – the thoughts of our ship being blown to smithereens was in everybody's mind and it looked far safer on the shore. Our Commanding Officer was of the same opinion but had had no orders as to when, or how, we were to leave our ship. After a nerve-wracking hour he became impatient and, leaning over the side of the ship, he called to a small landing craft that was passing by, empty, just as if it were a London taxi looking for passengers! This craft had only one crew and agreed to take all our 36 unit ashore, provided nobody remembered how they got ashore! I think quite a quantity of cigarettes changed hands, but it was worth it. The only way off the ship was over the side by rope ladder, a tricky operation at the best of times, made worse by the fact that each of us was carrying all our possessions and a rifle which on no account was to get wet. I am pleased to say that we all made it safely downwards, but it took a long while, remembering that the time to get off the ladder is when the landing craft is coming up on the swell and not going down! Of course, the landing craft could not take us right on to the beach, or it would not have got off again, but we were thankful that all we had to do was wade ashore in about 4’ of water and all went well.

So at last we were afoot in Normandy and we discovered that we had landed at Lion-sur-Mer, on a beach code-named Sword. Of course coming ashore without orders wasn't without risk and it turned out we were some way from our authorised landing spot. We got this information from the Beach Master who told our Commandin Officer in no uncertain manner. However a walk of about a mile of so put us in the right place and also enabled us to dry out as we walked – heavy, soaking wet, Army clothing is not recommended as hiking gear! But at least our rifles were dry!

Our walk along the coast road revealed the results of the invasion – many shattered, or uninhabitable houses, abandoned vehicles both military and civilian, burnt-out tanks of both sides and what I thought was a very sad sight, the bodies of farm animals killed by bombs or bullets, laying with four legs pointed skywards, all grossly inflated. But these sights were to become commonplace in the next few weeks and we became hardened to them quite quickly. We saw a few civilians, mostly old men and women, younger women and children (who walked with us), but a noticeable absence of younger men who had been whisked away by the Germans to work in Germany or elsewhere. Our first night was spent in our allotted field, with just a blanket and the stars for company. Our sleeping tents and other essential equipment were on our unit's lorry, together with two drivers, somewhere on a ship, or so we hoped. It did eventually arrive, after being unloaded at the artificial harbour, named Mulberry, at Arromanches, quite a few days later, having had much difficulty in tracing us.

Normandy 1944. Some of 146 DID RASC (Ted Inge 3rd from left back row

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