Arnhem

The voice of his sergeant ended the suspense: ‘Let ’em have it, lads’ – and the troops let loose with everything they had. ‘“How can we have failed to hit them,” I thought, “with that withering field of fire?” But apparently we had, because they were soon returning fire. Bullets streaked by, thudding into the tree trunks and branches just above our trench.’ A man nearby screamed in pain, and a gutsy medic dived through a hail of bullets to get to him. The firing stopped, to be followed by an unearthly silence, the sound of men waiting to know if they were about to die or not. But there was no fresh attack. The enemy had gone, leaving two dead bodies behind. ‘We conjectured it had been a small patrol scouting the area.’ But conjecture was all it was. The bigger picture eluded them, as it did many similar parties of men caught up in skirmishes like this all over the western approaches to Arnhem as the master battle-plan disintegrated in the face of tougher than expected enemy opposition. Over the radio came news confirming that Frost’s battalion was at the bridge but under constant attack and fighting to hold on. The second lift had come to reinforce them, but now there was little chance of getting anywhere near them. ‘It was becoming a grave possibility that they would soon be cut off from the rest of the division,’ Ayers solemnly noted. ‘This was disheartening.’

He and his men continued in the direction of Arnhem. What else could they do? The battlefield had descended into confusion. Some units were retreating, others were holding defensive positions, but the bridge still needed reinforcing and, in the absence of any other orders, Ayers and his men went on. ‘We marched along a dusty road in files of twelve men on alternating sides, keeping on the alert for any signs of the enemy. The road seemed to stretch for miles.’ There were more brushes with the enemy, with more bloody outcomes. Ayers passed lines of the dead – ‘some dressed in para-smocks and others in field-grey uniforms. British and German alike, they lay there together, pitiful bundles of rag and blood. Pitiful reminders of the waste and uselessness of war.’ At a crossroads, they encountered a British patrol with new instructions. There was still no way ahead and they were to make for a large country mansion on the edge of Oosterbeek and take up defensive positions. It was around this, the Hartenstein Hotel, that the 1st Airborne was re-forming.

Despite this order to pull back, ‘we were still in good spirits. There was no thought that it might all end in disaster. We still thought the Second Army would be here in two or three days to relieve us.’ But not everyone was so upbeat. A para major who came in on the second lift was appalled by what he saw as a disastrous lack of leadership on the ground. The further he progressed from the drop zone, the more frustrated he became. ‘We could hear the sound of heavy fighting not far ahead but no one seemed to know what was going on or why. There was a good deal of speculation among those from whom I tried to obtain information, most of it somewhat defeatist. No one seemed to be in overall command, and the men appeared to have lost confidence in their officers. The euphoria had evaporated and morale had sunk to a dangerously low level.’⁷

Gliders dropped in, too, on that second lift, and for those in the back and in the cockpit the ride was not just bumpier than the first lift had experienced but downright dangerous. Captain Harry Roberts, a REME (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers) officer, hated being in a Horsa – ‘such a flimsy plywood contraption’ – and would much rather have been on the end of a parachute.⁸ He was caught short on the trip – too many cups of tea before take-off – and, somewhere past the Dutch coastline, was standing to urinate into the rubber tube that served as the on-board ‘facility’ when the plane bucked violently. A gaping hole in the fuselage opened up between his legs. Shrapnel from ack-ack shells had raked the plane and nearly robbed him of his manhood. It was only the start of his troubles. The glider pilot slipped the tow rope and nosed downwards, spotted his landing zone, lined up to cruise in … but was forced to bank away as the plane in front disintegrated in mid-air and another spun sideways out of control.