Arnhem

The column halted to prepare for the final assault and Sims was not alone in suddenly feeling overcome with exhaustion. ‘It was growing dark and we had been in action for several hours. When joining the Parachute Regiment we were told that one parachute jump was equal to eight hours’ manual labour; by now I could believe it.’ Out on the river, a small German patrol boat was sighted, its crew seemingly unaware that anything unusual was happening in Arnhem that Sunday. ‘A soldier was leaning over the stern smoking a pipe, at peace with the world. Commands rang out and our machine-gun platoon pulverized the boat. The pipe-smoker toppled over the guard rail into the Rhine. I don’t suppose he knew what hit him. The boat heeled over and sank in seconds.’ The machine-gunners were exultant, though Sims noted rather sarcastically that, ‘from the fuss they were making you would have thought they had sunk the battleship Scharnhorst.’ But the real task was to get to the bridge in time. ‘We knew the Germans must be working feverishly to set charges to blow it up. We set off on the last lap.’ Sims ducked and dived from one piece of cover to the next. ‘We pressed on, flitting from door to door. All of a sudden I got the fleeting impression of grey behind me, and I stiffened, expecting either a bayonet or a burst of Schmeisser fire. Nothing happened and I spun round, lunged with my bayonet and narrowly missed a young Dutch girl, no more than sixteen and wearing a grey jumper. My relief turned to anger at the fright she had given me and I bundled her back inside her front door.’

As they neared the bridge, its size and extent became apparent. It was massive, lifted high above the surface of the water on huge piers and accessed on its northern side by a long and high road ramp that loomed over the surrounding buildings. Sims’s platoon veered away from the river and headed into the town to find a way up. ‘People looked down on us from their windows and waved, but without huge enthusiasm. Perhaps they could foresee that their beautiful town would be laid in ruins before long. Even so, some of these Dutch civilians took quite extraordinary risks to warn us of enemy activity or snipers.’ A burst of fire as Sims was crossing a road sent him dashing for cover, until help arrived in the shape of a Bren-gun carrier. ‘An officer jumped aboard and ordered the driver to head straight for the enemy machine-gun nest. When he got there he fired straight down their throats while we dodged past the back of the carrier to gain the shelter of the houses beyond.’

A last effort was needed. From up ahead came jubilant shouts of ‘Whoa Mahomet!’² the battle cry the paras had picked up and adopted as their own when fighting in North Africa. They were coming from Frost’s men, already on the approach to the bridge. Inspired, Sims’s patrol raced forward, throwing caution to the wind. ‘We ran on past an SS police barracks, which was now on fire. Several of Hitler’s black-uniformed thugs lay dead on the path outside. In the gutter lay two more dead in Luftwaffe blue. They were a boy and a girl of about my own age. The boy was slumped across a light machine-gun with the girl beside him, the ammunition belt threaded through her fingers. The girl’s blonde hair was stained with blood; they had died quickly and violently.’ He could only guess at who they were and what they were doing there. ‘Brother and sister? Lovers? It was just another of those wartime incidents that make a mockery of fiction.’ The bridge was now just a hundred yards ahead and he could see that the riflemen in the front of the column were swarming over its northern end and engaged in a fierce fight with German defenders holed up in pill boxes. Flame-throwers were sent forward to deal with them and, suddenly, with German soldiers on the retreat, running for their lives, it was over. The northern end of the bridge was captured and, though the other end was still in enemy hands and attempts to storm it repulsed, the German sappers laying explosive charges underneath had been chased off.

The Arnhem bridge was intact. Stage one of Market Garden was nearly complete. Wearily, the British troops moved into the buildings around the end of the bridge and to either side of the road ramp, set up their positions and settled down to wait for stage two: the arrival of reinforcements, firstly from the other airborne columns on their way from the drop zone and then, in a day or so – tomorrow even if things went really well – from the heavy armour of XXX Corps racing to Arnhem from their start point on the Dutch–Belgian border.