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War and the forces

TARESS

Stalingrad changed the pattern of events for us in Persia. The unit was split up and our section was for the South East Asia Command. News came that we were having a new RSM who would be a tyrant, named Joe Huggins.

When he joined at Mosul he was indeed like the ones you read about in books.

A regular solider, 18 stone of him, with a voice like thunder and very aggressive looking.

His first words as he went up the gangway at the dockside were: "Let's get out of this stinking country to a proper place, India." We all shouted: "Cast off."

When we reached Calcutta he said: "My boys have enough of sleeping on sand, they will have beds."

The beds were charpoys. A wooden frame with coif fibre stretched over it.

The first night there caused much consternation. Everyone was scratching and complaining of being bitten. Yes, it was bed bugs. Some chaps had never seen one but I had, during my childhood.

The DDT came to the rescue. In the old days men used tins of paraffin to stand the legs of the bed in. However, we did not have long of this because we were off again in a couple of weeks to where it was a steamy heat.

Continual wet and many creepy crawlies and with many dangerous situations in which Joe was a rock of comfort to us all. He knew how to survive.

After two years we were back in Calcutta. Joe smartened us up and life became much better, the war was almost over.

One evening, at guard mounting, the officer in charge was inspecting us when we heard Joe bellowing out curses.

"Clear off you b.....!," he shouted. The Lieutenant said: "If one of you turns round I will put him on a charge."

There was a crash and cries from Joe. We all turned to see him being pushed into a slit ditch by a bullock.

A job it was to get him out. We did and he was no worse for wear. He went back to his quarters, swearing and vowing murder on the "bloody Indian" who owned the bullock.

We were all looking forward to repatriation and then demob, the war was ending.

Joe had done his full time service and was ready for home. He had an Anglo Indian wife and a young son in India. He was looking forward to taking them home to his native East Anglia.

The sergeants gave him a send off party. It was on the Calcutta racecourse, in a building with an upstairs room. We all wished him well and said we would miss him.

Next morning we were told an the evening party booze up Joe was standing with his back to an open window with a very low sill. Joe raised his glass for a toast, stepped back and fell backwards out of the window on to a dispatch rider's motor bike. He died instantly.

After dodging German, Italian and Japanese bullets, to die like that seemed all wrong.

Six sergeants carried his coffin, we all went to the service. The Padre said: "He was loved by all and was like a mother to them." Which was true.

Many hard-bitten men who had seen much death cried - and I was one of them.

by Les Beagen, Latimer Road, Eastbourne