Arnhem

It was a tortuous withdrawal back to the perimeter line around Oosterbeek. The sounds of battle were everywhere but the actual fighting must have been in small pockets, because large tracts of the countryside and even the roads were deserted. The atmosphere was eerie in the extreme as they walked in fear and expectation of a deadly burst of gunfire from every bush and around every corner. A jeep shot down the road, stopped, and a red-bereted officer pointed them in the direction of divisional headquarters. ‘We marched on, slowly and carefully towards Oosterbeek.’ Back behind his own lines, safe for the time being at least, Kent took stock as once more he dug into a new defensive position and placed his section’s Bren-gun, mortar and rifle men among some pine trees. ‘We had been on the move nearly sixty hours with little rest and only makeshift meals. We knew that some of the Division were holding the bridge at Arnhem, while we were now forming this defensive circle at Oosterbeek.’ At least he could see some military point to what was happening, some light in the confusion and chaos. ‘Being where we are is diverting the enemy from an all-out attack on the force holding the bridge,’ he told himself, and he was right. For all concerned, it was a case of hanging on.

6. ‘If You Knows a Better ’Ole’

Every British soldier knew who Old Bill was, and his wisecracks from 1914–18 could still raise a knowing smile among them. With his tin hat and walrus moustache, he was the quintessential cartoon Cockney squaddie, created and immortalized in ink by artist and First World War army captain Bruce Bairnsfather. His most famous drawing had the veteran sharing with a much younger infantryman the sort of filthy, rain-sodden Flanders trench that Bairnsfather had known only too well. The bedraggled youngster’s complaint about the conditions was met with Old Bill’s most memorable riposte, a catchphrase from 1915 that could have been invented for what was now happening in and around Arnhem – ‘If you knows a better ’ole, go to it.’¹ The strung-out men of the 1st Airborne, spread out in pockets of differing sizes from Oosterbeek to Arnhem itself, were finding themselves in some pretty fancy ’oles, as well as some downright awful ones.

In the defensive perimeter now forming piecemeal around Oosterbeek, Arthur Ayers gazed in admiration at the Sonnenberg, a grand house that could have passed for a little piece of gentrified old England. ‘It was a large building, very similar to a Victorian country mansion,’ he said. ‘There were several outbuildings, and a tall tower stood at one side. On one side was a covered veranda, with chairs placed here and there. The green lawns reached down to a wooded area, which nearly surrounded the building, apart from a gap where a driveway led out to the road.’ They were clearly not its first military occupiers. ‘It was obvious that it had been a billet for German soldiers, who, judging by the remnants, had left in a hurry.’ The question was how far they had gone – not very far, probably – and whether they would be back, which increasingly looked a certainty. Ayers took his place in the semicircle of slit trenches outside while others in his company climbed to the top floors as lookouts.

He was sent out in a jeep on a scouting mission to find out what was happening at another house not far away from which reports were coming of a mortar attack. He and an officer drove along a metalled road for half a mile, then turned into a narrow track between a wood and an open field. Suddenly, several paratroopers appeared among the trees, shouting and gesticulating. ‘We took this as a greeting and waved back.’ In fact, the paras in the distance were frantically calling out a warning: Germans! ‘A hail of bullets came flying from the field, pinging on the side of the jeep and throwing up clouds of dust as they hit the ground.’ Ayers and the officer had wandered into the middle of a fight and were in no-man’s land, something that was all too easy to do in such a fluid situation. It would be all too easy to die as well, and they would have done if they had not thrown themselves into cover. They didn’t hang around long. ‘With covering fire from our chaps, we then dived simultaneously back into the jeep. With the engine roaring, we shot off up the track, heads well down as the enemy opened up at us again. At a sharp bend, the vehicle skidded towards a large tree. I tensed myself for the pile-up, but the lieutenant swung the steering wheel and we missed the tree by inches.’ Here was another lesson that Old Bill would have relished. If the bullets didn’t get you, desperate driving to escape them might.