Arnhem

The moment of crisis came. A German officer in a grey greatcoat and helmet stooped his head beneath the low ceiling and stepped into the semi-dark, fetid cellar that reeked with the blood and sweat of hundreds of men. He had an Iron Cross at his neck and an automatic carbine in his right hand. Sims thought the German looked ‘tired and drawn’ rather than triumphant. Clearly, he was taken aback by the sight before him, and he stared in disbelief. Then he acted. ‘He rapped out orders, which were instantly obeyed. More Germans appeared and picked up the wounded with great care as they began to clear the cellar. Fortunately, we had fallen into the hands of regular soldiers of the Wehrmacht, and not, thank God, into the clutches of the SS.’

Sims was carried up the stairs and, as he reached the top, he saw how close they had all come to a trapped and fiery death. The ground floor was ablaze and the building on its last legs. Flaming timbers were falling from what was left of the roof. Bricks and concrete showered down on heads. They had surrendered and were being evacuated only just in time. Outside at last in the fresh air – fresh compared with the cellar, despite the smoke and fumes of battle – a smashed and burnt-out airborne anti-tank gun lay in the courtyard, surrounded by empty cartridge cases. The scene reminded Sims of ‘one of those oil paintings you see in regimental museums entitled “The Last Stand”’.

Laid on a grass bank, he cast his eyes around the now shattered landscape they had battled over for the past seventy-two hours. ‘All the houses and warehouses we had held were completely destroyed.’ Behind him, two German machine-gunners were dug in with a clear line of fire in case anything kicked off. The Germans were clearly still nervous – and rightly so. From the ruins of a nearby building came the chatter of a Bren gun, and the guards scattered. ‘Stop! Cease fire!’ the prisoners shouted out anxiously, ‘British wounded!’; and the firing stopped. ‘But we wondered what lone gunner was still fighting on.’

The Germans, even more nervous than before, marshalled their prisoners. Some of the victorious enemy soldiers were amenable, handing out coffee and food. One gave Sims sausage and biscuits from his own rations. Then another thrust his bayonet into the top of a tin of British condensed milk – purloined without doubt from one of those many British supply panniers that had dropped into the wrong lines – and, as he drank, Sims asked for a swig. ‘He was a most surly-looking individual but he wiped the tin clean with his sleeve and handed it to me.’ There was a discussion going on about the war, military matters, veterans swapping stories. A German soldier covered in campaign ribbons said he had been in Normandy, and there was nodded agreement, almost admiration, from both sides about how stubborn the German resistance had been at Caen before the French town fell to the Allies. The man smiled a broad smile, ‘pleased as Punch,’ Sims thought, ‘to be on the winning side again so late in the war’.

Amid this bonhomie between enemies, British anxieties eased. But they were not totally allayed and, as the prisoners were escorted away from the bridge, Sims was offered a stretcher. ‘I could see that all the stretcher cases were being carried down a road leading to the river, so I declined the offer. I was afraid I might be dumped in the Rhine. I don’t know if the Germans disposed of any of our wounded in this way, but I was not taking any chances.’ He made up a threesome with two other wounded paras and, his arms round their necks and teeth gritted against the pain, they struggled slowly along the road, through an arch under the much fought over bridge and up towards the centre of town. This took them for the first time into what had been enemy-held territory. ‘We were amazed at the large number of German dead in the street. It was a shocking sight but also grimly gratifying to see the punishment we had meted out.’ It was a delight to have it confirmed that ‘we gave them as good as they gave us.’ Some German soldiers they passed shook their fists angrily, but others offered, surprisingly, congratulations. From dozens of tanks parked nose to tail – which had been on stand-by to go in and obliterate them if they had not surrendered – voices called out, ‘Well fought, Tommy. Good fight, eh?’