|
|
Page 4
|
REG OLIVER 1916 – 1997
Reg was born in Station Road Madeley, later living in Court St and Ironbridge Road. He was the 9th child in a family of 14.
He was very involved in the local Scout Movement and while at camp in Conway he met his future wife Sally. They married in 1942. Shortly after this he was called up and joined the K.S.L.I.
After his war service, (although suffering badly with his back), he allowed himself to be demobbed as A1. One of his main reasons was to have no further delay in seeing his son Michael for the first time (he was two and a half years old by this time). Because he was demobbed A1 he was never able to obtain a war pension, although he always suffered badly with the shrapnel fragments which were still in his back. He worked as a core-maker at Court Works, Madeley, and although quiet was a good workmate. He lived in Prince Street and finally in Coronation Crescent.
The letter you are about to read was written (on a cramped air letter) to his brother Syd (who later became a well known Madeley postman). Fortunately Syd kept the letter and returned it to Reg in later years.
Our photo (right) shows Reg’s wife Sally with their young son Michael, who he didn’t see until he was two and a half years old.
|
|
|
Extracts from a letter written to Syd Oliver by his brother Reg during WW2
14642728 L/C Reg Oliver, 29.11.44
Dear Syd,
Many thanks for your letter of the last day of last month, I got it today, been following me around see. You’d like to know what it’s like in action. And also what it was like when we struck those mines, well I’ll tell you on one condition and that is that you don’t let Mother or Sal read this letter.
I’ve been in action again since I got back, up in the mountains again and Syd, it’s bloody awful, that’s the only way to describe it. I joined the lads up there a week last Sunday night and they had already been in a week then. We came out last Saturday night the 25th. In a couple of days time we shall be up there again. I went up there with the mule train, it’s all mules now Syd, impossible to get vehicles up there, the roads and tracks are just a sea of mud. As luck would have it Jerry was quiet so I got up without any mishap and joined C Coy (Company) in a battered old house. The line where we where Syd is shaped almost like a horseshoe, and we right forward, what they call the spearhead, so you can see Jerry practically all around us and boy did he sling some shit at us. It’s what they call static warfare now up there, neither side budging an inch, so all you do is just sentries at night, man forward positions, then in the morning just before dawn skip back into the houses and try and get a bit of sleep during the daytime, that is of course if you happen to be situated near any houses.
If not then it’s dug outs day and night, if it rains well it’s just too bad. This last time A Coy were forward, B on the left, and C in reserve, which isn’t half as cushy as you’d think, they want Ration Parties to carry the grub from mule head to Coy’s, they want Contact Patrols to get up to A and B and see that they are OK, they want listening patrols to go forward and try and get information. Ambush patrols to try and grab a Jerry, and it all drops on to the Reserve Company. I’d only been up a couple of hours when they sent me to make contact with A.
|
 |
I had to travel across a track and Jerry had it taped, Spando Joe had a fixed line on it and occasionally he mortared it like hell. They told me all this and boy did I burn that road up, reported to A then fled back. A couple of hours after this I had to go again and this time I wasn’t so lucky, I’d just got out of the dip when Spando Joe opened up – whistling them around my ears, I promptly dived back, then he quietened down so I decided to try again, the distance to A was about 400 yards, I got half way when he started again. Syd, don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say a couple of bullets bored a hole in the ground six inches from my feet, I dived, well I should say we dived, (I had one fellow with me see) into the side of the track.
I don’t mind admitting I said my prayers, anyway we got there OK and nearly got back when phut …. that’s the only warning you get from mortars, another dive into the mud and shit, surry I was trembling like a leaf when I got back.
My nerves ain't as good as they might be Syd. I felt sick too because all up that track there’s the awful smell of death, mules, sheep, cattle and what once were men. God it’s awful, it’s bloody awful. In a couple of days time we’ve got to go back to it, one of these times I’ll crack up, I can feel it coming, and everybody else is the same. We had to send some lads back last time, bomb happy as they call it. One fellow went on this contact patrol (this was before I joined them), they had to dive and he dropped right on a rotten Jerry, imagine it Syd, it’s more than a human being can stand. I don’t think I’ll write any more about it Syd except to say that I went on four patrols altogether, and had to act as guide to the fellows who relieved us, then we marched for four hours sometimes up to our knees almost, in water before we reached the trucks. Nine o’clock Sunday morning we got here.
In the next edition of Madeley Matters we will publish Reg's account of the effects of land mines.
|
|
