John
F. Mickey was American, he was 35 in 1944 and lived in Michigan.
He did enlisted in september 1943, he thought he could do
some "job" in this war. When he enlisted he was
not expected for that kind of life : the long separation from
loved one, the horror of war, and even hunger and thirst.
All along the fightings he took notes, and many years later
he decided to write about sixty pages. John F. Mickey passed
away in 1989. With his son's permission, his memories are
told there. It is the experience of a "common" man
who believed in some human valours, and who fight for them
from the beaches of Normandy to the Hurtgen forest, in Germany,
where he had been wounded.
(John
F. Mickey's memories - 1944/1945) |
A
pass to London
There was no place to go Sundays. A mile down the road was
a sort of USO, two old women would serve a doughnut and a
cup of sugarless tea. A few tables where we could write a
letter that they would mail for us. No music, nothing for
entertainment. My name and another was pulled from a hat in
a weekly drawing for a pass to London. Early next morning
we went to get the pass and we where told that the trip to
London was cancelled. We are given instead a 24 hour pass
to a near by city. We were given an allowance and we boarded
the bus to Swindon a nice size city. Arriving there we first
made reservation at a hotel and then went out to take in the
town. It is an unusual experience seeing the city with its
narrow cobble stone streets in the shopping area. The “five
and ten cents” stores was much like what I remembered
them 25 years ago in the States, mostly necessities, but there
was a candy case. The candy was in trays in a glass counter.
We asked for jelly beans, the lady asked if we had coupons,
no coupons, no candy. We did not asked how much or little
they were able to buy and there were no other customers in
line. We could buy post cards at three cents or a “trupence”,
a newspaper was also a “trupence”. The shops close
early and nothing is open in the evening. We wonder what it
is like after dark. I talked with people in the streets just
to hear that british accent. I asked a man who was a machinist
how much he earned and he proudly told me $ 18 a week of fifty
hours. I don’t have the heart to tell him that it is
how much we were paid in one day. Night falls and it is a
dark night. With everything blacked out it is very quiet but
there are people moving about and we can hear the laughter
of women and black men of the engineers company who are stationed
there. Suddenly the sirens sound off warning of enemy aircraft.
Everyone rushes for the shelters. We in uniform are not allowed
in; we try to assist others to take cover. A lone german V2
Buz bomb hits several blocks from us. It is amazing how quickly
the fire engines and ambulances respond. It is amazing how
they get there driving with dim lights. An entire city block
is destroyed by this one bomb. The British were trained for
any disaster and seemed to know exactly what to do, where
to go and move fast. This was our first experien-ce with the
V2, it was scary. Late that night we got back to the hotel.
A very attractive young lady came in to bring us towels. She
asked : “what time shall I knock you up?”. Pete
asked me if I heard that, I said : “yes, she was only
asking us what time we want our dounught and tea, don’t
get any other ideas”. The room rate was $ 4, or one
pound. We were very generous and left her a dollar tip. Was
the trip worth it? Well, it was a break to get out of camp
for a day to mingle with people who also have problems.
The british camp
In the last days of May, our evening show time was an hour
earlier than usual. It was the best ever served in Camp Hidden
where we had been almost three months. The first sergeant
called off twenty names , mine was one. We were told to pack
and get ready to move out at six o’clock. We were moving
to another camp to be re-assigned. On the bus we asked where
we were going, and we were told it was a british camp. Arriving
there some fifteen miles away we were met by an officer who
called out our names off the list. After the roll call we
were asked if we had eaten, of course we said : « no,
sir ! ». We were told to go to the mess hall, led there
by another sergeant. It was about nine, the mess hall was
already scrubbed down and we were given the first table near
the kitchen. Told to take a tray and ustensils the sergeant
introduced himself and told us he was the mess sergeant. He
said : « take all you want but be damned sure you eat
it all ». The cook had a laddle the biggest I have ever
seen. He filled it and bloped it on our trays. « That’s
it » he said, we were looking for a bun or bread, some
meat balls or hash and a drink of coffee or tea. We looked
at each other. No one complained and seeing the mess sergeant
standing by, we all ate the red cabbage. After finishing all
of it we were nicely assigned to our bunks. Of course the
officer knew we were fed. We did not put one over on him.
We were all lucky that the mess hall was already mopped. We
could have been nicely asked to scrub it again. I should have
said I was not hungry, but I choose to lie with the others.
My new assignment
We find this new camp much like the one we left but very large.
We are in large tents as in Camp Hidden, the large mess halls
are wood structures. On the second day there we are fall in
and walk to a large open area where there are thousands lined
up. The officers on the center platform using a bull horn
calls our attention to several areas, where other officers
are standing. We are told that each officer standing there
is designated by a letter A, B, C, D, E and F. Our names and
serial numbers are called off, and we are given the letter
A to F where we are told to move to. There, the officer checks
our name on his list. I find myself in a strange group of
fellows, there is no one I recognize from the last camp. I
am in the First infantry division, 26th regiment, company
B, that is my permanent assignment. During the stay there
we make several dry runs. We are called out any hour of the
Day or night with full gear and a duffle bag and we walk to
waiting trucks that move us to the Southampton port where
we turn around and return to camp. We know that one day it
will not be a dry run but the real thing, but no one knows
when that will be.
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