From England to Dunquerke, Ludvik Netopil, 1939 - 1945 by CzechoSlovakia Postal History

From England to Dunquerke Ludvik Netopil 1939 - 1945

1. Agde 2. Gibraltar 3. Viceroy of India 4. Cholmondeley 5. Oath to the King 6. Strange Alliance 7. Finally to Europe! 8. Dunkerque

Agde The number of regular soldiers was increasing. With the arrival of those new soldiers the formation of the first units of the Czechoslovak foreign army in France began in Agde creating a 1st and 2nd Infantry Regiment and 1st Artillery Regiment consisting of three sections, each with Batteries and auxiliary engineering units. Colonel Satorie took over command of the lst Infantry Regiment whilst Colonel Liska, later to be appointed general and commander of the brigade, became the Commander of the Artillery Regiment.

Thanks to my artillery experience obtained during my time with the Majek's Battery in Spain I was immediately kept on in Agde as a gunner and assigned to the newly created Artillery Regiment.

I was posted to the 9th battery of the 3rd section, commanded by Major Sladecek, whilst lieutenant Kaleta was appointed as the battery commander. My other friends from Spain - Holdos, Franta Janda, Tonda Svoboda, Pepik Müller, Geza Kršák and many others, were also posted to the artillery.

Although the Artillery Regiment existed on paper, in reality what did not exist were the guns. Except for the two wooden dummy guns, there was not even a screw from a gun, not to say a real gun in Agde. And so the order of the day was drill. We spent a good half day on the training ground and because there was so much drill, slowly but surely we came to dread it.

We expected to receive the guns, but the days fled by and still the guns did not appear.

Instead of guns however, in the first half of February 1940 the order to leave came. Our Artillery Regiment left by train for La Nouvelle, something over fifty kilometres from Agde.

A friendly likeable town with narrow streets and lots of small cafés on the sidewalks awaited us. Unfortunately we could not sample its hospitality as we only saw it from the trucks that drove us from the station to the ultimate destination of our journey.

Only the first command section stayed in La Nouvelle, while another headed to Sigean and our 3 rd moved to Portelle – a village about the distance of twenty kilometres from Beziers.

Whilst the trucks trundled along roads that were neither too good nor too bad, we acquainted ourselves with the region, which was to be our temporary new home. It was a region of wave-like dunes, small fields, sparsely covered in low-lying areas together with countless hills covered with vast vineyards on the south side.

After less than an hour’s drive we reached a wine area, poor as a dock labourer in Marseille or a winemaker from Portelle. In front of our very eyes appeared a village with narrow streets and numerous balconies and galleries wonderfully glued to each house. At that moment one could think that "Ultima Retirada" and everything which had followed was just a bad dream. We had the impression as if we were getting off the truck somewhere in Spain, ready to aim our weapons at Franco's fascists, as in fact, Portelle resembled so many Spanish villages.

But the Spanish influence was not confined to buildings. When the first local chap in a beret spoke, dressed in knee- length, neck button closed black shirt, his French bore an all too familiar echo of numerous indications of Spanish. Perhaps that is why we instantly felt sympathy for Portelle and its inhabitants, who did not abandon us throughout our stay.

Apart from that, there was nothing remarkable in Portelle. It was a village with about a thousand inhabitants, one pub and a school, in which our 3rd section HQ settled on the first floor. Everyone else (the remainder of us) were accommodated in various drying rooms, granaries and attics above the wine cellars. As a result we made friends with the locals in the very first hours. Where language skills fell short, hands came to help and before the first week was over, we felt as if Portelle was our home.

Our satisfaction increased at the prospect of extra earnings - Portelliers offered us work assisting in the vineyards. We were delighted with this offer and we looked forward to earning some extra francs to augment our lean pay. We were not worried about the spare time – the Battery still had no guns and we had already undergone drill in Agde.

Unfortunately, our joy was short-lived. To everyone's horror, the very next morning we marched out of Portelle, where the spectre of Agde welcomed us back – to basic training. We tried again to respond to the never ending – “about turn - right turn – to the ground – march on” - but in many cases our efforts were to no avail. They failed due to the clogs we wore instead of shoes.

Their prodigious size and the wet ground were a constant source of difficulty which made us hate the basic training more and more. The clogs were naturally not custom made and despite countless exchanges, many of us failed in our attempts to get the needed size. Some wore clogs which were several centimetres too small, while others had their feet sunk in clogs several sizes too large. 5

With every quick movement the conniving clogs abandoned the foot and remained victoriously standing while their owners trotted the next few steps barefoot. One squelched through soggy mud while the commanding officer sent a flood of vitriolic language on his head.

In this case, however, the afflicted could still feel lucky. Usually the officers punished similar incidents more harshly - such as in case of the French-Slovak Martinec. At the command “about turn and march” Martinec instantly performed the order and marched - without clogs. They stuck fast as usual and stayed - tip to the east, while their owner headed westwards. In panic, Martinec jumped back, but before he could slip into the clogs, lieutenant Kaleta launched his usual thunder, followed by an invitation to report. Poor Martinec got a week in prison - allegedly for insubordination on the parade ground.

We escaped from the captivity of Portelle's training ground about two weeks later – at the end of February 1940. The liberation came in the form of guns that we went to take over at the station in La Nouvelle.

We had awaited the guns with joy like children and most of us imagined modern guns - something like the Soviet made "Zenit" that we had admired so much during the time on the Spanish front at “Gottwald” battery.

But even at this point in time France failed our expectations. The field guns "Soixante - Quinze" 75mm, which awaited us at La Nouvelle, had nothing in common with modern technology.

Nevertheless the French were immensely proud of them and claimed that these were the guns France won WW1 with.

I do not know how truthful their claim was, but it was obvious that with these guns WW2 could only be lost.

The guns and wagons were towed by a team of six-horses. Considering that each battery consisted of three guns, thirty-six horses were needed for the battery. In addition three more horses for officers, three horses for scouts and two horses for observers were needed – all together not a small requirement: forty-four horses for direct combat, besides the kitchen wagon! Thanks to this the battery was immobile, impractical and from the first moment it was very clear that they could not in any case successfully stand up against Hitler's motorized and therefore mobile army.

This was also borne out in training, when we drove into the countryside to learn to take up a firing position. At the command "tanks left, tanks right" the Batteries response confirmed our expectations. They disappointed us greatly.

Because of the large number of horses needed to move the battery, it would have taken so much time to reposition the guns, that even the slowest enemy tanks would have literally smashed them to pieces. Nevertheless, these guns were the biggest contribution provided by France to our army.

With the arrival of the guns the spectre of the training ground disappeared, but at the same time a new nuisance appeared – the horses.

Many of us had no experience with horses, did not know at all how to saddle or treat them, and, moreover, some of us were even afraid of them, as in the case of a friend Trubka - from the famous Dompteur family. He would have calmly put his head into a lion's mouth, but backed off when it came to handling horses.

Even some officers were not much better off at handling horses and they often requested a private lesson from soldiers who had experience with horses from home or from the army.

In May Lieutenant Hlasny arrived at our battery. He took over command from Lieutenant Kaleta, who became the first officer. However, even after the arrival of the new Commander the situation for the crew did not change much. Lieutenant Hlasny was opposed to our working in the vineyard just as his predecessor had been. Obviously, he was convinced that to have twelve francs per month would be enough for us.

At that time I served as horse team sergeant, a rank for which the French army used the glorious title "Maréchal des Logis". Less glorious were the duties of this function. To take care of one hundred and twenty six horses, most of them being in poor condition, was certainly not a small thing.

Even with the greatest possible care, there were always some of the animals moving into the “deserved rest of eternal pastures”. The horse was in peace, but for us a huge rush in the form of filling out endless applications and reports began. My direct supervisor, Bohuslav Brslica, a longer serving sergeant from Moravian Slovakia was sympathetic. He acted towards everyone in a friendly way and helped with everything. Equally, sergeant Jiri Dolezal, who participated in everything with the crew, treated us well. Both, Brslica and Dolezal later became officers and left our battery. Nevertheless, we have long and pleasant memories of them.

Reports coming from the front were getting more ominous by the day. The Germans had penetrated mile after mile deeper into French territory and each of us awaited the departure of our Battery to the front within the next few hours.

We were excited to finally open an account against the fascists, not only for us, but for all the people over whom the fascist's whip cracked.

But the expected order did not come - our Battery was not in fact able to fight. For each gun, we had only four shots!

"Give us ammunition!" was the cry which echoed more and more frequently from our ranks, but all in vain. Officers shrugged silently and advised us not to worry about things that are not our business.

However, instead of assigning ammunition and departure for the front, a totally unexpected and unbelievable command came.

"Prepare the equipment and weaponry to pass over to the French authorities! The Czechoslovak artillery will not be going to the front!"

This order was like a sledgehammer blow to the head for us.

The only place reachable at that time where we could fight against Hitler was England. Therefore, all the volunteers from Spain began to demand departure to England.

Most gunners decided on departure. Only the naturalised French and a few individuals, who were to hand over the equipment and weaponry to the French, remained with the Battery.

We drove by truck on the familiar route to La Nouvelle and further on to Agde, where we were supposed to prepare for departure to England.

But preparation was not at all easy, due to the critical situation on the French front. The responsibility for the hopelessness of fighting against Hitler was largely due to traitors, sitting in the French headquarters,

trying to help the Germans as much as they could. For example, in many cases the French soldiers fought with out of date, unsuitable weapons, while new, excellent weapons were lying in warehouses and did not leave those hiding places even in the most dramatic stages of the struggle with the Nazis. The French traitors probably kept them as a gift for Hitler's army.

The treacherous officers from the French headquarter had not hesitated to do the dirtiest of deeds. They were responsible for the German raid into the rear of fighting units and the unexpectedly quick progress of the enemy brought confusion and chaos to the French army. The command acted in a contradictory way and the commanders and officers were abandoning their posts haphazardly.

Part of the army advanced along roads used by the civilian population, whilst on the other hand some units disobeyed orders to retreat and fought on their own, isolated from others.

The disorientation in the French army was also detrimental for the Czechoslovak Infantry units. Some of them retreated together with the French to Bordeaux, the others, however, were not able to retreat, because the Germans gradually isolated the entire coast. Hundreds of Czechs and Slovaks along with French comrades found their final resting place in mass graves on different parts of the front. For them there was no way home anymore...

Defilee after Oath in Portelle 1940.

Portelle 1940

Agde 1940.

Czechoslovaks - South of France 1940.

South of France 1940.

Locations of Czechoslovak Forces in Southern France 1940.

Gibraltar The ruling class of France was truly a master in the preparation of betrayal and through panic and cloudy work in the Headquarters disrupted resistance and defence so that the end was inevitable. Not even Republican Spain had experienced such a panic and it had only one retreat route.

The fall of France was inevitable. The only way to get out of the humiliated France was through the Mediterranean Sea. It was not a safe route because enemy submarines and planes were patrolling everywhere, but we did not have any other choice.

And so one sunny summer afternoon we finally departed from Agde and quite smoothly reached the port of Sete, where the coal collier "Nordmoor" awaited us. Coincidentally it belonged to the man who had played such an infamous role in the events of 1938 in Czechoslovakia - Lord Runciman. At that time his lordship certainly did not surmise that two years later - in July 1940 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; instead of coal, his ship would be carrying nearly two thousand Czechoslovak volunteers from France.

Along with us, one hundred and seventy Spanish Republicans also boarded in Sete, naturally without the knowledge of our officers. In the chaos of the rapid preparation for departure, we lent them our coats and caps in the harbour and because there was no time for detailed checks, our Spanish friends got on board of "Nordmoor" without difficulty. Crammed under the deck, we all left France together and sailed in the direction of Gibraltar with an unpleasant feeling as to how an encounter with an enemy submarine would turn out for us. But luck was ours and after a leisurely cruise, and sooner than expected, the rock of Gibraltar appeared before us.

Before we said goodbye to the Nordmoor to continue our journey to England, we avoided the mandatory ten day quarantine period. But life on the Nordmoor was also diverse.

Married and engaged couples tried to seek out quiet corners that did not exist, but the commander as well as the sailors were very forgiving. On one occasion, our friend Gross fell to the second lower floor from the second deck. It was quite a drop, but luckily he only broke a hand. On hearing his cry a ships officer came running and when he saw what had happened he shouted: "Any doctor here?". Someone pointed to Friedman, saying that he was a doctor. Friedman, who understood English passably replied that although he was a doctor, he was a doctor of law. This did not bother the officer, who immediately replied: "Never mind, go on". So whether he wanted to or not, Friedman had to go with a few friends to treat Gross, before a real doctor, but this time of medicine, was found.

Quarantine time was also used for trade, with the small boats of the Spaniards from Gibraltar drawing alongside and the goods to trade being pulled up by rope while the money went down the same way. The problem was that the French money was increasingly accepted by few and fewer traders while we slowly ran out of any money at all.

At first glance I was disappointed by Gibraltar. I had imagined a fort, full of military life and in fact all I had seen from the shipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s deck was a bare rock, towering menacingly high above the sea. It seemed to be completely deserted and it seemed incredible that it was in fact an operational military arsenal, occupied by English Guards units. And perhaps because of the harshness and seeming abandonment I felt a deep antipathy towards Gibraltar. The sight of the barren and mined territory extending between Gibraltar and Spain also contributed to that antipathy.

I also felt irritated about all of these by the local law protecting monkeys, whose killing was prohibited under penalty of death. They had been brought to Gibraltar a long time ago by some English lord, as a symbol of British sovereignty and he had said that as long as the monkeys were in Gibraltar, then Gibraltar would remain British.

Apart from a few narrow streets where there was literally one shop next to other, there was almost nothing to see in Gibraltar, just wire fences leading to the Spanish interior. All quarters, warehouses and arsenals were hidden deep in the rocks.

One evening, as we were watching the remote African coast, battleships began to form up in Gibraltar for departure. Leading them was a ship whose presence took our breath away â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the battlecruiser HMS Hood, at that time the largest ship in the world, a huge proud colossus, compared to which other battleships looked like a miniature pinscher next to a Mastiff or St. Bernards. Its equipment fully reflected its giant maritime size: over a thousand crew, guns of all calibres, more than could be found in an Artillery Regiment, machine guns, armour, all in all the latest achievement of military equipment. The majestic battlecruiser shuffled slowly forward, watched by our approving views - personified ruler of the sea, invincible. But still the cruiser "Hood" found its last port on the seabed.

During the war years it was sunk and from its enormous crew only a few men escaped. The day of destruction of the proud battlecruiser was a day of national mourning in England.

Port in South of France 1940.

Viceroy of India We stayed in Gibraltar for about ten days. On the last day the order to leave for England came. This time the “old lady of the sea” - the Barcelona - and the coal ship Nordmoor were replaced by an incomparably grander ship. We were to sail on the sumptuous ViceRoy of India, luxuriously furnished, with first and second class cabins. A large part of the passengers was formed of families of colonial officers and officials, leaving Singapore, where Japan had got a taste of this pearl of the British Empire. Although the English wanted to defend Singapore, they eventually had to leave and as the capacity needed to be fully used, the decision was made to use the ViceRoy of India for our transportation to England.

Under the command of officers we were taken in exemplary formations below the deck of the sumptuous ship and took note of orders to move only where it was permitted for us to go. Yet for us the cruise was a complete fairy tale. The ship provided a perfectly comfortable environment with a sumptuous dining room - all the things that we had not only given up after the month 's spent on the front and in the concentration camp, but for most of us things totally unknown to us. We had recently been through tough times with a wide variety of situations and therefore the replacement of food bowls by expensive porcelain left us unfazed. Only the liveried Indians serving in the dining room elicited an uneasy feeling in us. Under no circumstances were they willing to put aside the impenetrable mask on their faces, which hid all their feelings. We tried to make friends with them, but in vain. Any such attempt was nipped in the bud.

The sailors, with whom we became friends in the first few hours of sailing were quite different in this direction.

The second day on "ViceRoy of India" brought an unexpectedly good deal for me. After lunch I was leaving the dining room and thoughtlessly swung the horsewhip, a reminder of my recent military function in Portelle. After a few steps however, an Englishman stopped me and eloquently pointed at my horsewhip, decorated with Spanish and French coins, and even a Czech crown and twenty Heller coins which glistened on it. I thought he wanted to examine the horsewhip and wordlessly handed it to him. The Englishman smiled, took the horsewhip, examined it, but instead of giving it back to me, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a pound and handed it to me.

The deal was done wordlessly. The Englishman happily took the "Souvenir" – the horsewhip and I, with the pound in my hand, stepped for the first time into the ship’s restaurant. It belonged to the areas to which we were not permitted access, but once does not mean always. In addition, the entry prohibition was altogether unnecessary because even without it we would not go to a restaurant - we had no money to spend.

I walked into the restaurant and quite naturally I ordered cigarettes for one pound. I did not know that on the ship they were tax-free and, therefore I looked at all the cigarette packets which I was given with great surprise. There were a lot more than I had anticipated. In order to have some money left for later, I returned half of the cigarettes and got 10 Shillings back. The boys in our group enthusiastically welcomed an unexpected feast and in a moment we were all veiled in clouds of blue smoke. We smoked English cigarettes for the first time.

Covered in cigarette smoke we discussed the situation when someone loudly questioned whether the ViceRoy of India would reach the English shore unscathed. This was the question that lay at the heart of all the passengers and crew on the ship. Soon after exiting Gibraltar a report flew around the ship that the fascists knew of our departure. Mostly we believed these reports because Francoists could comfortably observe life in Gibraltar from their coast and nothing was easier than to submit a report of the observation to Italy and Germany. Therefore we expected that malicious attacks could occur at any second, and we constantly wore cork life jackets over our uniforms and hoped, however, that the undesirable meeting with the enemy would not take place.

But our fear of attack, however, was not fulfilled. We were convinced of this before we left the Mediterranean sea. An Italian submarine had detected Vice Roy of India. If the firing of a torpedo at us was intended I do not know. But in the wake of it we heard the roar of a "Catalina" seaplane, which probably, had been summoned by radio, and had rushed to help the ship against the submarine.

We could not watch the fight from below decks. We were only informed of its existence by shots and explosions. The important thing was that our ship came out of the match unscathed and began to move away from the fighting area with full speed. Even today we do not know if we were moving in a convoy, or separately, nobody informed us.

We then continued our way through the Atlantic and, in order to avoid enemy submarines and mines, detoured through the Irish Sea, as we headed to the English shores. On the surface in different locations along the way we viewed varied boxes, bales and other remains of a sunken ship. Unfortunately, it was impossible to determine whether they were the remains of our or hostile vessels.

Since the journey took much longer than the usual sea route between Gibraltar and the UK, we shortened the duration of the journey by playing chess or cards and sometimes even our officers provided some amusement for us. They sweetened our stay at sea with gusty inspections of equipment and opportunities to talk together and fraternise. It is possible however, that in this way they were paying us back for the â&#x20AC;&#x153;spurious Spaniardsâ&#x20AC;?, who with help of our overcoats and caps got on the ship. But we were on an English ship and the Spaniards got the same food from the English just as we did. Later in England separate Spanish battalions PC were formed.

We lined up in a predetermined fifteen metre area in a lower deck, where we stood on top of each other like sardines in a tin and at the command "attention" some of us rocked unintentionally to the rhythm of the ship. The result inevitably looked more comical than military.

After about six days the ViceRoy of India ended its voyage in the English harbour of Plymouth.

After tying up the ship at the pier a military band began to play on the quayside, according to an ancient custom of welcoming the return of a ship from overseas. Whether the band welcomed us or the gentlemen from Singapore was a matter of opinion. Apart from the main bridge reserved for civilians, a wooden bridge, designed only for us, was put in place. Our officers were about to take command of disembarkation and were well on their way to "organised panic" as we called their altogether abortive organizational efforts.

But the English officers and soldiers proved to be very good organizers when they wordlessly placed our officers into the goose march to the bridge. Some of our officers protested resolutely against this order, but the Englishman responded to their outlets with a brief "Shut up!".

At the gangway each of us received one pack of sandwiches and tea and, without stopping, we proceeded to the train which was standing in the dock. The carriages were of an old type, each compartment having its own separate entrance from the platform, but all seats were upholstered and perfectly clean. Disembarkation as well as boarding of trains ran at record speed and we did not even have time to explore the port where England welcomed us.

But despite the speed of our disembarkation, we noted with astonishment the insufficient and outdated military equipment of the "Home Guard" serving in the harbour. Their equipment gave us the impression that all the modern weapons had been left behind in unhappy Dunkirk.

Cholmondeley Mutiny

After several long hours of driving we reached Crewe, a town and railway crossroad in Cheshire near Manchester, from where we continued our journey by trucks to the home of Lord Cholmondeley – to the place of the same name. There, in a conspicuous park with centuries-old oaks, a newly emerging tented camp awaited us. The construction of the camp continued incredibly fast and thanks to British sappers the camp was finished almost the same day. There was even a canteen and currency exchange. Under the camp rules we received permits for outings from time to time, the most frequently destinations being the surrounding towns and villages.

During one of our outings in Crewe we visited a local dance. Our chances for getting to know the English women were negligible, mostly because we only knew how to say "yes" and " thank you very much" in English, but this little thing did not deter us.

We boldly stepped into the hall, and after a while most of us sailed around the dance floor with a pretty or less pretty English girl in his arms. The lack of words were replaced with smiles and eloquent gestures and soon English women were chatting as well as we did. Shortly after our arrival a "Ladies Choice" was announced, a bit like our ladies choice, but lasting much longer. And that was fatal for Josef “Pepik” Miller. He and a pretty English woman named Beryl had developed “love at first sight”, naturally without words, because except for smiles and gesture they did not understand each other. Whilst dancing the eloquent muteness was sufficient, but it was not enough to set up a date for which Pepik longed so immensely. So he turned to me with his problem.

"Listen Ludvik, you must help me! I would like to ask Beryl for a date - this is in fact the girl with whom I danced all evening. But the trouble is I am unable to communicate with her. You must help me, you do know how to speak English".

I looked in horror at Pepik, because at that time the totality of my English consisted of about twenty words. This was about nineteen words more than Pepik's knowledge of English, apart from the fact he knew his chosen was named Beryl. But before I could say something, Joe continued his request: "Please, Ludvik, tell her that the day after tomorrow, on Friday I will come to Crewe and I will wait for her here at six in the evening”. "Oh, dear!” - I blurted desperately - “This I won't be able to do". But Pepik did not give up: "How are you not able to do it. Why, I heard you speaking English, just go ahead and try to explain it to her! Do something for a friend!".

And so in attempt to help a friend, I laboriously put together a marvellous sentence. I did not know how to say “Friday” nor “the day after tomorrow”, so I started: “You see Pepik, tomorrow no, tomorrow no, tomorrow yes!". This way I wanted to explain to Beryl that she would be seeing Pepik the day after tomorrow, a third day from today.

Although Beryl did not understand, she smiled at me and encouraged me to try again. I repeated my strange sentence again and this time I pointed with three fingers. The result was equal to zero. Beryl smiled sweetly, but the proposed meeting was still a mystery to her. I felt helpless as a child and cold sweat was beginning to form on my forehead. But at that moment an idea dawned on me: diary. “You diary?". But she said, “No, I am Beryl". I wanted to ask if she had a diary with her. So I opened her purse, took the diary out of it and I pointed to Friday with the expressive comment "You see Pepik!". Then I added from my modest vocabulary "Six" and pointed to the watch. This Beryl understood and confirmed satisfied "Oh yes, Friday, six o'clock, I see!". A friendly wag of the finger at Pepik, indicated that she had agreed with his proposal.

Right after this, we parted from Beryl, because our truck was about to leave. As soon as we started off, however, Pepik leaned toward me and said approvingly: "Damn, Ludvik, if I could only speak English as well as you do, that would be wonderful!"

As a reply to his compliment I only nodded my head, as if to say it was all pretty obvious. In my mind, however, I was glad to have escaped this sudden interpreting function unharmed. It is true that in the concentration camp I had attended English courses, led by Jan Rosa, but there I did not learn enough and then in the army in France I forgot it again. Even later I experienced a similar anguish with interpretation, both for me and for friends, but after all, one learns everything if one must. And so I dare to say that staying in the English army taught us to speak far better English than for example the soldiers – Czech immigrants - who came from Canada. They used such phrases as "Where were you Paul? "- Paul: "Shopoval jsem v tom storiku na corneru" (I was shopping at the store on the corner). "Co jsi shopoval?" (What were you shopping?) - Paul : "Blejdy a bras" (Blades and Brash). Such truncations were not used among us. The reason was that the immigrants in Canada did not pay much attention to the words, so that the second generation had already begun to forget their native language.

Meanwhile the number of tents in our camp increased quickly, residential tents, large dining tents, hospital tents and warehouses. For easy orientation plenty of Information boards with English and Czech inscriptions were set up. Immediately after settling into our accommodation we went to inspect the other tents, looking for friends from earlier combat actions. However, many boys were missing - some remained in France and participated in the Maquis or in the underground movement, whilst others could not be evacuated because of their unhealed injuries from the front and many remained in concentration camps.

At that time, the entire camp was preparing for the visit of our President Benes, who, with the assistance of British politicians, was to attend the first military parade of the units in our camp. Our officers were intent on preparing for the show, while on this occasion the progressive part of the camp, represented by Communists, prepared to discuss the question of removal of the reactionary elements of the interim London Government. Our intention spread incredibly fast throughout the camp and in the following days the camp became known as “the camp behind the wire”. Many of our boys in fact voluntarily moved over into an isolated part of the camp

The fact that the "Spaniards", as we were called in general, were good friends to all and were able to stand for justice, was supported by many others who began to stream from all units to us, so that soon in this isolation camp there were 3 times more non-”Spaniards”, and only the intervention of the Czechoslovak Military Police under the command of Captain Divoky, who ordered our camp to be closed hermetically, could the movement of half the camp to us be prevented.

Therefore the majority of the men were dissatisfied and mainly sympathized with each solidarity action of the communists, but did not know how to decide. Also, intimidation and promises by the officers showed some effect. This began to seriously trouble our officers. Also the fact that there were far too many officers in comparison to the number of soldiers was insufficient.

The number of comrades coming to the isolated part of the camp did not end, every day and especially at night other friends came, so that it seemed that with time the whole of the Czechoslovak army would move to our camp. The officers therefore ordered reinforcement of the guards around the isolation camp with strict commands not to let anyone in or out. In this tense situation the day of parade approached.

Since Benes wanted to underline a neutral stance as the head of state, we were given permission to take part in the parade, at its end, as a separate unit. The command of our unit fell to Lieutenant Karel Cerny, the highest ranked Czechoslovak army officer in the isolation unit staff.

And so in the last hours before the parade a feverish rush also reigned in our isolation camp. Not because we wanted to please Benes or the British leaders, but because with our participation in the parade we wanted to show and document the strength, determination and unity of the Communists.

We had to search for the same three pieces of uniform, because apart from the officers, only a few of us had uniforms, whose individual parts formed a coherent whole. And so finally, despite the bad equipment provided in France, we managed to put together three or four units for marching in rows of three and dressed in identical uniforms.

During the parade we marched past the main stand in complete silence as a perfectly disciplined, ordered and unified Garde unit. Our efforts to give the impression of a real revolutionary Garde section was a complete victory. Dignitaries, observing the parade from the stands, agreed our group was the best unit and Benes finally was forced to admit that this elite unit was actually the "Red Danger" of the camp.

At the end of the parade our delegation came to Benes and handed over a list of traitors and fascists among the Czechoslovak emigrants in London, with a request to remove these people from leading positions. However, our requests were opposed by the officer clique. Benes took the view of our officers and so the solution to our demands remained unfulfilled.

The position of the head of the emigree government gave new courage to our officers. The Guards around the Isolation camp were increased and officers took all steps to ensure that we were removed from the camp as soon as possible.

Their efforts to get rid of the "Red danger" were crowned with success in August 1940. English guards appeared in the camp and more than five hundred occupants of the isolation camp lined up to leave the camp in Cholmondeley.

Almost all the inhabitants of the camp came to say goodbye, a large crowd, lining the road to the main gate, directly radiated friendship and sympathy. But the influence of the officers was still so great that many of the boys did not dare to express their beliefs publicly and loudly.

At the station a special train was already waiting for us, which took us to York and a region full of meadows. There armed guards surrounded us, and escorted us as we marched on a road through the town.

Our march through York brought the inhabitants out of their famous British calmness. They could not understand why soldiers of allied France were being led under bayonets. They assumed, by our uniforms, we were French.

Along the way we debated about where we would be staying this time and we mostly expected a place similar to Cholmondeley camp again. Instead, a racehorse track appeared before us. In the minutes that followed, we filled the administration offices, bookmakers offices and the waiting rooms. Space, previously filled with the excitement of the race, bets and the hope of winning, was again filled with excited people. There was only one difference. Instead of horse racing, the war against fascism was taking place, the stakes were human lives and the winning prize was victory, not only the victory over fascism, but also the victory of socialism. 23

The accommodation was better than we had expected, but the quality and quantity of the food exceeded all expectations. We received English rations, meaning "breakfast" - porridge, sausage and toast with marmalade and, of course, the essential tea. Sometimes, our Czech dumplings also appeared on the menu, which reminded the English of their English dumplings. Credit for the Czech part of the menu had to go to our cooks who had taken over in the improvised camp kitchen.

In the very first days of our stay, a camp committee was formed, naturally under English control.

The only thing to remind us of our internment was the reduced mobility; none of us was allowed to move away from the area of the racecourse. It was obviously unpleasant, because we had wanted to visit the city and learn more about the locals. But this only handicap was fully offset by other advantages. All in all, we lived incomparably better in York than under the command of Osusky's officer corps.

The improvised cultural and entertainment scene also made our stay in York's Racecourse agreeable. Especially the Hitler impersonator, Franta Nasch, who impressed both the English guards and us.

Singing and recitals also worked well and thanks to the contribution of comrades who already knew English, we were also as far as possible informed of all the war and political events.

The highlight of the celebratory party was the organizing of "Corrida", where the Andalusian bull was faithfully performed by ing. Rozaveldy whilst the Toreadores were represented by Netopil and Weber.

Czechoslovaks in England (Netopil 4th from left).

Czechoslovaks in England (Netopil left).

Netopil in Camp â&#x20AC;&#x201C; England 1941

Czechoslovak Interbrigadists in H.M. Forces â&#x20AC;&#x153;Pioneer Corpsâ&#x20AC;? November 1941, Woodbury Hall. Ostrovsky, Pribyl, Netopil, Vavra, Sevcik, Ruzicka and Jurasek.

Interbrigadists in Czechoslovak Army in England: Richter, Falbr, Chvala, Sturma, Obert.

Oath to the King One day we said goodbye to the agreeable environment of the racecourse so that we got to know other regions of England on the way to the Midlands. There again a tented camp awaited us, provided with all the necessary facilities such as the watchtowers at the corners and a barbed wire fence.

It is true that "Sutton Coalfield", which was the name of the camp, had barbed wire and watchtowers because it had served initially as a camp for Italian prisoners of war, but it is also possible that this was the reason why it became one of our countless temporary homes. After all it was a pleasant feeling to everyone to see the â&#x20AC;&#x153;dangerous threatâ&#x20AC;? behind bars. At that time it was probably the members of the Czechoslovak Provisional Government in London and their henchmen who had this pleasant feeling.

Apart from the tents, there were also wooden huts in the camp, some serving as guard houses and others as washrooms. The tents served exclusively as accommodation for the camp inmates, with mostly four people to each tent. Therefore we expanded our inseparable trio, consisting of Janda-Faust, Pista and me to include Jarda Hanel and together we occupied one tent.

It was not that bad a place to live; the food we received was excellent and the strict camp order did not bother us. When we compared this with the experiences that the French Guardia Mobile had prepared for us in the concentration camps at Argeles and Gurs after our retreat from Spain, the strict regulation of the camp seemed to us a lovely caress.

As in Gurs, we also had a lot of free time in "Sutton Coalfieldâ&#x20AC;? and so we began to use it on our own. We gathered for talks and political debates and discussed our situation as well as current international affairs. Many of the comrades had a perfect overview of the political situation and shared their knowledge willingly with others. But there were also some that stayed away and were not willing to take part in our discussions.

One day ominous rumblings of aerial bombardment excited the camp. Fascist airmen had chosen Birmingham as their target, located only a few kilometres away from our camp. However the first air raid was not the only one. Fascist pilots apparently found pleasure in their specialized mainly night raids on the two million people in the city. The raids on the city increased steadily and its consequences grew to frightening dimensions.

We therefore offered to help the City of Birmingham with the removal of debris and extinguishing the omnipresent fires. At that time we had little to do anyway, and, how could a real man just sit and take things easy when near him women with children in their arms were dying ?

Our offer was met with a little bargaining, but finally we got permission to participate in rescue operations in the affected city. From then on, every morning a coach arrived at our camp to transport us to Birmingham under the supervision of armed guards.

The escort of armed guards worked as a tragicomic paradox. One of the first fighters against fascism helped to clear away the destruction caused by fascists, under the supervision of armed guards !

Birmingham's citizens were evidently well aware of this. Our actions had a positive response, and so after a few days our guards escorted us unarmed.

After some time a Czech-speaking English officer appeared in "Sutton Coalfield" and during the camp meeting came with an offer for us to join the British Army. He supplemented his offer with a commentary on the current political and military situation and gave us time to think. His offer naturally induced enormous and lively discussion, especially after the meeting. Some of the comrades were willing to accept the offer, but others held view that it was not acceptable to support the imperialist war â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the Soviet Union had at that time not entered the war.

As a regulating element in the debate, the opinion of the camp administration led by the Communists, intervened. Its leaders recommended to us, in agreement with the comrades from the outside, to accept the offer of the English army.

A large majority of the camp adopted the recommendation, but part of the camp - albeit small - opposed the communist proposal. Among the opponents was Vlado Klementis.

Shortly thereafter, an English officer returned and announced that he welcomed our decision to actively help. At the same time he also underlined that racial or political issues do not play a role in the situation, because the main objective was the defeat of fascism, which our experience from the battles in Spain could be a great help with.

The fact that the majority of the camp's staff chose to sign for the British Army caused the almost immediate removal of the English guards and the transfer of the leadership and supervision of the camp into our hands.

Josef Chmela who earned the respect of all Englishmen for his military demeanour was appointed Commander in overall charge.

After about ten days we were called for a medical examination which was to decide which one of us was eligible to enter the English army.

It was an understandable and necessary requirement, but still it caused a lot of serious trouble to many of our friends. Some of the boys had been wounded in the previous battles or had a serious illness which had left dire consequences. But whether the consequences were temporary or permanent, the fact remained that they were currently not eligible for military service.

The rejection of many of our friends naturally brought unpleasantness, but with the promise of the British Government to take care of those comrades in any way, we finally calmed down.

After a few days those who were handicapped were sent to Scotland and along with them the group of men who did not want to re- enlist in the army. Their future prospects were quite clear: work in war industries waited for the healthy, whereas the wounded and sick were to join them, gradually, according to their health condition. It was interesting that our leaders were not called for the medical examination, as were for example Chmela, Raz, Vavrin, Hajdu and nine other comrades. Only later did we learn that this happened on request of the Czechoslovak office in London which had marked all thirteen comrades as mutiny leaders and therefore requested that they should not be included in the army.

Upon successful completion of the medical examination, which confirmed that we were medically fit for military service, we went in groups into a large dining tent to swear the military oath. This was a ceremony which took place according to the old English tradition â&#x20AC;&#x201C; consisting of swearing an oath on the Bible in the hands of the military priests.

So we became "soldiers of the British Army". On this occasion we also got paid for our enlistment, according to custom, which had been preserved since the time of the old "mercenary" period sometime in the 14th century. The pay was Half a Crown (two and a half shillings).

Conservative England did not abandon its old habits and traditions even in the 20th century.

Completion of the oath in the English army threw the camp gates wide open for us. The interned "red danger" became free soldiers of the British Empire.

At the first opportunity we took advantage of the freedom and prepared an unusual spectacle for the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s inhabitants. In the streets of Birmingham men in Maroccan cloaks appeared, together with Chasseur Alpiniste infantrymen from Sedan, lots of khaki uniforms and remnants of Spanish uniforms in addition to the boldest clothing combinations, composed of military and civilian suits. On the whole it gave the impression of a big carnival performed in Birmingham on a bright afternoon in the middle of the war. In reality, however, instead of masquerades, fledgling soldiers from "Sutton Coalfield", dressed in uniforms with the smell of French naphthalene complemented by relics of memories on fighting in Spain, went out into the streets of Birmingham.

But neither the prodigious clothing nor minimal language skills could stand in the way of the first days of our freedom. We entertained excellently and the affection that flashed on that day between some Englishwomen and Czechoslovaks even later led to marriages.

Our first free afternoon in Birmingham ended only shortly before ten o'clock in the evening - the order was to return to camp by 10 p.m.

In the following days, our concerns centred around what the next days would bring and when and where we might go.

We assumed that first the group of patients and non-soldiers would leave for Scotland but the reality was different.

We were ordered to leave first â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the new members of the British Army.

This time our move came under the banner of furthering our exposure to the England â&#x20AC;&#x201C; awaiting us, a pretty long way from Birmingham was the seaside town of Ilfracombe, our new temporary home.

Instead of the expected camp, however, a charming seaside resort with beaches and numerous guest houses appeared before us, with the promise from the outside of comfortable and pleasant accommodation.

At first glance, it seemed to us as if we had all come on holiday to the seaside - in the middle of profound peace. Just the strange silence and depopulated areas suggested that with peace and normal life for all was not well. Upon closer observation, however, mine fields on the beach and lines of â&#x20AC;&#x153;Cheval de friseâ&#x20AC;? barbed-wire barriers - appeared before our eyes and the illusion of a peaceful environment vanished as quickly as it had come.

Upon arrival in Infracombe we parted with our antique French uniforms and instead we donned new English "battledress". As a result we became members of the British Army not only by the oath, but also by the clothing. Too bad we could not at the same time as receiving battledresses also receive as good a knowledge of English. Each of us spoke only a few words in English and hence the first days of army drill training were held in rough English.

Our instructors were mainly Irish and Scottish NCOs who, like us, spoke only their native language and used English only to give commands.

After several attempts during training days we had just about managed to remember that "right turn" means to turn to the right side and "left turn " to the left, but at the same time we had also grasped the nature of individual sergeants. Some of them in fact softened - at the expense of our linguistic ignorance â&#x20AC;&#x201C; their hardness and so we started to reward them for it as well. So it happened that Sergeant Campbell, one of the sharpest NCOs, commanded "right turn", but half of the men turned to the left and the other way round. The more the commanding sergeant fumed and cursed, the worse were the training results.

Some of the non-commissioned officers such as Sergeant Gromby, however, were born tacticians in the way they behaved towards us. He treated us very warmly and in a friendly way and he tried to explain everything thoroughly to us, so that the result under his command was that we trained as old hands. Gromby achieved excellent performance, was immensely popular with the men and his fellow instructors were envious of his achievements.

Training was held regularly in the morning and after an hour's rest after lunch a military chaplain took care of us. His primary task was to teach us English.

He decided on the ABC method and taught us pronunciation, writing of words and using illustrated examples to understand their meaning. We were also given an auxiliary Czech-English textbook with basic conversation examples.

Our familiarisation with the English language naturally also contained songs. Several simple songs, probably intended for English first-graders, complemented the ABC method. Our field chaplain wrote the words on the blackboard, pointed with the wand to a particular word and smiled happily when we sang so-so in accordance with his wand. We achieved the best result with the song “Three blind mice”.

In addition to English songs we were also singing Czech songs, however not to our chaplain, but when returning from the training ground. Our favourite was the national song “Cervená ruzicko, proc se nerozvijis" (Red rose, why aren't you blooming) or the quirky "Tocte se pardálove" (Swing around, panthers). We usually sang them two-voiced, with all the energy, so that our instructors were strutting with us happily, proud of their brisk military crew. Sergeant Gromby especially liked our singing and when it happened that we had omitted to sing, he demanded: “Sing! Toc and proc!”. These were the only words he had memorized and - translated to understandable language - it meant he wanted us to sing "Cervena ruzicko, proc..." or "Tocte se pardálove!".

Apart from us, two companies of Austrian emigrees were also accommodated in Infracombe, and who, prior to our arrival, had already completed a two month stay and therefore also training. However, despite their head start, we achieved much better training results – the benefit of our Spanish military experience.

In the midst of the daily monotony of our days unpleasant news came from Cholmondeley like a bolt out of the blue. Rudolf Mikurcik was no longer among the living! As he was getting into a military car he was hit by an oncoming vehicle and killed on the spot.

Mikurcik's death seemed absolutely incredible to us. We could not understand that our smiling friend and brave warrior, leader of Majek's battery’s combat actions in the mountains of Spanish Sierra Morena, would not fight forever. Where countless bullets and shrapnel grenades at the front had failed, a vehicle accident on the English road had managed. British soil claimed the first victim of the former member of the Interbrigade.

High and low tide on the beach in Infracombe alternated regularly just as our days were filled with training and learning English. And so the day came when serial training was over and our English began to look reasonably respectable – the way to further military tasks was open.

We were given the rank of private, probably something like a rookie of His King's Majesty. Within the Pioneer Corps we were divided into two companies - “Company two two six” and “Company two two seven”.

On the caps of our uniform were the two great insignia of a British army sapper company – crossed shovel and rifle. Later, however, we became more and more to believe that the perfect characteristics should have been two crossed shovels, although we enjoyed them much more than rifles.

Commanding officers were assigned to both companies and under their command we got underway with the new responsibilities.

I was assigned to 226 Company, whose commander was Major Cockerhan, an old gentleman, who had originally retired as a captain, but on recall had been given the rank of temporary major with a major’s salary. Captain Newton was first officer and had originally been an active colonial NCO, who during the war, although relatively young, had attained the rank of Captain. Our next officer was Lieutenant Weston, whom we universally called “Tutankhamun”. The reason for his nickname was his wrinkled parchment face, which suggested to the casual observer an age much higher than his actual age which was a little over sixty. Even so his age was not really up to the demands of military service and so lieutenant Newton had to take the less intensive duties at PC. Of our officers he was the lowest ranked and therefore had the least authority, but even so we gave him much more sympathy than both of his superiors. He deserved it for his warmth and the way he treated people.

With this command structure 226 company moved to Woodbery Hall. Our workplace was a wonderful park, where we built tin huts, stored convertible cottages and assisted in various military construction works.

After a few days stay in Woodbery Hall we were asked to identify our former officer or enlisted ranks, but the call remained nearly unanswered.

Therefore we were surprised when during the week a few friends appeared with ranks. Zima and Löwy became First Sergeants in our company and several other comrades were given the rank of Corporal and Lance Corporal.

In addition to common duties at Woodbery Hall we also trained with rifles, so called “rifle drill” which included a lot of “parade frills" but looked nice and brisk. In any case practising rifle drill was much more pleasant than the endless order drill, which was required in France by our officers. On the whole, we could not complain about being in the Pioneer Corps. 34

In London and England in general not just emigrants from Czechoslovakia were arriving. Members of other nations came from countries that Hitler threatened or had enlisted with the help of various traitors. And so besides Czechoslovaks and Poles, Norwegians, Dutch, Belgians and French also appeared in the councils of emigration.

The French headquarters reported the eventual unconditional surrender... within six weeks France had fallen into the Hitler's lap. The proverbial "impenetrable" Maginot Line remained intact. On 10 May 1940 Hitlerites cheered over the successful "Blitzkrieg" against Holland and Belgium, which helped them to cut the Allies. The result came at Dunkirk, where the English paid a high price for their defeat. In the sea and on the beaches all the arms and around seventy thousand people remained.

At that time our airmen also participated in the fight against Hitler. The Czechoslovak army, after being evacuated to England, had about 600 pilots, mechanics and navigators who were involved in combat actions in the very first days of the Battle of Britain. For their high morale and accomplishments our boys gained the full recognition of all allies, but at the same time also paid the highest price - their lives.

And so the slowly thinning number of Czechoslovak air kings started to be supplemented from aviation training centres in Merignac on the Atlantic Ocean and in Port Vendre.

But even the acquisition of new candidates for aerial combat art was not exactly easy - not for lack of candidates, but due to the relatively small number of crew.

It was mainly France which had caused this situation, when their army leaders lost their heads under the influence of a rapid Nazi annex of their country. French officers, in fear of encirclement, issued the orders to retreat prematurely and it often happened that the Germans came to certain places as many as several days after the French retreat.

Unnecessarily hasty retreat also brought panic and disorientation, for which the 1st and 2nd Czechoslovak Regiment paid a price. Only part of both regiments made the retreat via the roads to Agde, Sete or Bordeaux and a lot of our boys remained cut off. They stayed hiding in France and waited for an opportunity to continue with the fight against fascism.

The Czechoslovak army strength was reduced, due to the fact that many of our soldiers had to take extremely circuitous routes through Africa, Egypt and Palestine to get to England. They arrived in England over time in small or large groups and therefore the number of our foreign army increased only slowly.

But it was not only France to blame – the Czechoslovak government was also responsible, so lenient towards the fascists and défaitists, as far as the decision to deny the offer of help from the east.

The exile government in London did not differ much from the old one - neither personally nor its policies. This was confirmed by the fact that some of the Czechoslovak officers participated voluntarily in Mannerheim's hostilities in Finland against the Soviet Union, of course with the knowledge and silent acquiescence of the government.

Such was the upbringing of our officers clique and also it appeared the whole old establishment.

Life in Woodbery Hall continued. Every day passed in a familiar daily routine, divided between exercises, building of "huts” and other works, and tasks received from time to time.

Our English was also improving substantially and all in all it did not cause much trouble anymore. Actually, sometimes the language even became our friend, especially in situations where things were to our disadvantage. Suddenly, in such cases, none of us understood the given command. With covered maliciousness we observed, for example, Major Cockerhan, erupting with rage, because he had failed in questioning some of us just because of the soldier's inability to understand. "No, nerozumim!” - “Yes, you do understand - I know!" the major angrily screamed, resigned himself and began with his English monologue again.

But even repeating questions did not produced the desired result - when we did not want to understand, we simply did not understand. Sometimes, the distraught major Cockerhan gave up further questioning, but other times he called interpreter Polacek and then of course he celebrated a big victory because it was impossible to make excuses for poor English skills.

Woodbery Hall, however, was not the final stop of our travels around the British Isles. During different moves we travelled through England, Scotland and Wales, from the East coast to the Midlands and Essex, and on all of those travels the dominating green remained in our eyes. Parks and endless green meadows outnumbered fields. It was finally quite understandable - Canadian fertile fields could easily supply several states of Great Britain size and even cheaper. So why should the English deny their love and passion for "green meadows".

One of the tasks we were entrusted with in the period before June 1941 was to dig tank traps on the east coast. Quite uninteresting work, but still it brought us some valuable experience. Not perhaps for the work itself, but more in learning the life of English workers. We had the chance at that time to talk to a number 36

of workers and thus obtained a lot of information during the sugar beet harvest, when we were ordered to transport beet by car into the city of Kings Lynn.

There, after long and frequent conversations with British workers, we came to realise quite clearly for the first time the fact that our English working-class friends had not yet actually had a chance for revolutionary acts. Not that England did not have unemployment, but only because the British government followed populist policies. Native Englishmen were provided with incomparably better support for the unemployed than Indians, blacks or Malaysians and this support was much higher than support for unemployed in our own country during the era of the First Republic.

Yet the English workers treated us like best friends and each of us has to this day only the best of memories.

On June 22 1941 at 4 o'clock in the morning Hitler's troops crossed the borders of Russia.

A brief comment on the radio announced to us though unspoken that a moment of historical reversal in the war had arrived. And though by that time the Nazis were victorious at every step, we were all convinced that exactly this experiment would wring the neck of the fascist dreamers.

At that time we worked together with a special English Company, which actually consisted of devotees of some religious sect that even at the expense of capital punishment refused to take a weapon in their hands. First, they were imprisoned or otherwise punished, but in the end they formed a special Company where they laboured to exhaustion. And here the consciencious objectors did not resist a bit and toiled until dusk without grumbling.

They were retiring and did not associate much with us. Otherwise they were good boys but kind of odd.

During the construction of the barracks at Luton airport we also visited the local Austrian centre, where there were a lot of Austrians like before in Kathering. It has been on my conscience that I was instrumental in the wedding of Jozka Piacek. But this time it was in the German language. Trudi spoke only German and Jozka only Slovak. Since they did not understand each other, I had to invent and â&#x20AC;&#x153;translateâ&#x20AC;? the amourous phrases (expressions of love), which she was supposed to say to him and vice versa, with the result they got engaged on the first evening and two weeks later I along with the small friend Rott stood in the City Hall as witnesses to their marriage.

Strange Alliance I think that England has always been open to different extremes, but one of the biggest is its "traditionalism". The City bowler hat is and will be for a long time the privilege of bankers, lawyers and similar. Wigs are commonplace for judges and mayors. Hands in pockets of trousers is the privilege of the higher classes and Hyde Park serves as a rehearsal platform for all kinds of prophets and rascals.

Likewise, in time of war on European battlefields, many foreigners and foreign forces experienced the hospitality which has been traditional here since the Dutch and later the French found refuge here.

Some of them were tolerant towards other emigrees, but sometimes it was hardly possible, thanks to the leadership of this or that emigrant movement. What surprised me most was the attitude of Sikorski's and Ander's Poles toward us. They slandered us a lot and appeared hostile towards us, and especially against the Soviet Union. Even after the entry of the USSR into the war, their position did not change and as I discovered, they still aimed to establish a strong Poland, which had a hold on Germans on one side and the Soviets on the other.

Even the English were laughing at them for this attitude, but the Poles, led by the spirit of Pilsudski, continued to behave in the same way. There are always exceptions to the rules and there were many Polish soldiers who took a different view, but they were not allowed to put forward their points of view in front of their officers.

In the end, after the war, the army of Anders became a mercenary brigade which offered its services wherever a war existed. They cruelly persecuted those who wished to return to Poland.

Also, as a result of the over one million allied soldiers located in England, waiting for the invasion "when the Soviets are exhausted" did not work out. Permanent brawls between English and American soldiers and Poles were rampant.

The biggest contribution to that came from the Americans, whose arrogant behaviour and the fact that their pay was much greater than that of an English soldier, and therefore their belief that every pub, every dance hall or girl belonged to them.

And of course, an old English resentment towards the Americans, that had historical roots, caused fights to erupt as soon as the Yankees began to provoke.

Once, when I was in Bedford, a fight between US and English infantry men went so far that even marines and airmen joined in, and six jeeps full of MPs could not do anything to stop it. There was also a shooting and only after the arrival of large reinforcements of British and American MPs, was the fight terminated. The result was three men dead and dozens wounded on both sides

The offensive inscriptions in US Camp "for whites only" insulted us and the British.

Later in Calais I saw the French categorically demand the removal of the inscription "FOR WHITES ONLY". This time the Americans had to capitulate.

It was a small sample of what I was seeing. They were allowed to die for whites, but access to enter rooms was denied to black and coloured soldiers. Gradually throughout France they met up with the fact that the French forced the removal of these inscriptions, but in their own US camps this ban was maintained. What a great democracy in the USA !

Around the end of August 1941 I went on holiday to London. I stayed in the Charing Cross area in one of the guesthouses there. During the day, I took in the sights of London and in the evening I visited our boys who worked during the day. I also often went to the Tatler Cinema.

I visited a lot of places including, on a Saturday, Hyde Park, near Mable Arch and listened to the random and constant speakers at this well known venue.

Here, except for the king and his family, you could insult and challenge anyone. The speaker would bring a folding box or chair, climb up on it and speak. All around there were speakers next to each other. One announced the end of the world within a week, believe it or not! Another proclaimed that Americans are heathens, even bigger than the Russians are, etc.

About ten o'clock in the evening I returned to my room, which was on the sixth floor. In the room next to me were girls from the military ATS, who listened to music from a record player and sang. About half an hour later a siren alarm announcing an air raid on London could be heard. These raids were repeated daily and despite large anti-aircraft artillery and balloon barrage defences, the effects were to be seen every morning. The explosions shook the house and bombs fell closer and closer. 39

I stood dressed at the door and was about to rush down to a basement for cover, but the record player in my neighbour's room was still playing music, so I felt ashamed to be afraid and to flee first. Finally, one bomb shook the completely house completely and the windows rattled. Then finally I heard my neighbours run quickly to the bomb shelter.

I did not dally any longer and ran down the stairs quickly. I caught them up at the entrance to the subway, to which they had also hurried. During the war and during the night time raids, London's "Underground" resembled an underground hospital and clinic, hotel, dormitory and waiting room, for whoever needed it. Certain places were declared as facilities for children's accommodation for the night where there were always triple bunk beds. Otherwise, people carried their own featherbeds, blankets, air mattresses and so they slept every night on the platforms whilst the trains passed at regular intervals. After the bombing the firefighters had the most work, clearing the debris every day to the point of exhaustion.

After the raid, when I emerged the first thing I saw was the part of our house – a piece of roof and the rooms on the 5 and 6 floor lay in the rubble. The neighbouring house was half demolished and the third house completely destroyed. Fortunately, nobody was killed. These raids inflicted great damage every day and even the loss of human lives. London was similarly terrorised by the V1 flying bomb, because no one knew where it would land. Watching it in the sky at night, it was like a lit up plane, and as long as it's buzz was heard it continued to fly. As soon as the engine died, destruction was near. It was not accurate and therefore it could fall into the sea or a field or a garden, but the next time it could hit a hospital or a museum. Occasionally, however, they could be brought down by aircraft or artillery. But the later V2 rocket flew much faster, and it proved to be a real terror for civilians because in London there was no heavy industry or military units. Again, Czechoslovak airmen proved themselves by intervening effectively even against this weapon.

I also visited Honza Těšík in Winsdor. The royal castle lent majestic austerity to this city.

I once saw a school in Eaton. It would have been strange for anyone to see boys between the ages of 10-14 years walking in striped trousers, jackets and top hats and the necessary white gloves, acting like adult men. This school educated privileged boys from an early age for the colonial and diplomatic services.

In London and England in general there is so much peculiarity in comparison to Europe that it amazed one and drew a smile. In the City everyone wore a bowler hat or a top hat, if they were a higher dignitary. In Soho every street was another nation, with its own restaurants, culture and language. In Whitechapel they only spoke Yiddish or Hebrew.

The working class people, however, were cheerful and happy with just having fun. "Public Houses" opened at noon for 2 hours and at dinner from 6-10 pm. In every pub people played "Darts". Arrows were thrown onto a numbered rubber wheel hanging on the wall, the scores were counted and the winner was the player with the highest score. Guests and serving staff dodged the flying darts, but the game continued. At ten o'clock, you heard "closing time, gentlemen" and without a murmur everyone left.

The “upper classes” however had their clubs and there time did not matter. For poor people, however, strictness and order had to exist.

My holiday was over so we got ready to return. At that time we were posted to Kimbolton, near Cambridge, where we were digging trenches for pipelines to supply fuel to the port. In English it's called a "petrol pipe" but we called it "Dig for Victory". Each platoon had its section and in the evening the yards were measured. We always worked 2 + 2. One was digging, the other threw away the clay and then we changed over. Working like this we slowly moved toward the sea.

We were not subjected to any air raids, but we saw large bomber formations in the sky, assembling for the night raids over Germany. They were four-engined Allied bombers and took a great deal of credit for breaking Germany, but also our Skoda steel manufacturing works in Pilsen.

Later, when the Soviet Union entered the war, there were fewer air raids on England, but the V1 and V2 were still “visiting” Albion.

During my second visit to London my friend Faust and I visited our British-Czech club especially to see our civilian friends Raz, Chmela, Dufek and others. We also travelled occasionally to Birmingham, which was our original location, and where Jan Rosa met another Czech, Minarik, who was the chief brewer at a Birmingham brewery. Minarik had worked in England for many years and during our holiday he organized temporary jobs at the brewery for us, so we could earn some extra money.

On one occasion our section was sent to Luton to build new barracks on the airport for staff and offices.

Before the first barrack, in which we were supposed to move to, was finished, we were temporarily accommodated in a Royal Engineers camp, which was also a camp for prisoners of war. It was cruel how they had been treated. According to British Army regulations, prisoners had to perform every act at the trot and even to trot on the spot. They even washed themselves whilst on the trot, except when they were shaving. This was also the case during meal breaks, although they were allowed to stop trotting whilst eating. At night we heard how the prisoners were beaten for having smoked a cigarette and when the MPs smelt the 41

smoke, they would beat a prisoner until he bled. This is not to say that the soldiers were treated badly, but woe if it has been imprisoned.

On one occasion, when we were working on the beet harvest in Kings Lyn, news came through that whoever wanted to, could join the Czechoslovak army again. By that time the Soviet Union was already at war with Germany, and even our London government had to take notice of that fact. However, all this came out of the blue so it was a bit surprising for us.

Even "Tutankhamun" who was our commanding officer there, tried to persuade us to stay, because in his case it was his job which was at stake. The majority, however, decided to go, and so one day we arrived at the recruitment centre of the Czechoslovak army in Leamington. We had parted reluctantly from our English and Scottish friends, who had become well used to us and often, just for curiosity and fun, impersonated we Czechs.

Once, after an incident â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a brawl with our sergeant Wort - our major forbad us going off camp until the offender confessed voluntarily. On Tuesday, however, our band had to go to perform in Bedford, and since I was also a member of the band, I suggested not to go to Bedford unless the ban was called off. However, L/cpl KĂźsty went to the Major and told him everything. Cockerham rounded up the musicians and because they did not want to give in, he confiscated the instruments.

In the evening we held a "lantern procession" through the camp, accompanied by an infernal noise made by hammering on pots, iron and plates. Since we were in the right and good workers, this demonstration passed by peacefully.

Later, we organized a programme for our friends in Newmarket. Here the highlight of the evening was the Spanish flamenco, praising Major Cockerham, who made the most of it whenever he could. Since Cockerham did not understand Spanish and only heard his name sung in the song, when it came to the applause, he clapped furiously, thinking the song was a tribute to him.

Nevertheless, in spite of the drill and drudgery in the British Army, we took fond memories away with us. After arriving in Leamington we were posted from our reception Company to various units. One group, among them Hruza, Skarda, Franta Heindl and others, moved to the RAF, to the Czechoslovak section. Others moved to the infantry and the artillery.

In the Artillery, to which I was posted, there were a few "Spaniards" who had not been with us in the Pioneer Corps. Josef Miler, for example, had already attained the rank of sergeant, but on the whole, not many 42

things had really changed during the last two years, because there still were too many officers for too few soldiers. For example, up until the time of our arrival there was even an officer's battery, where the staff consisted only of officers. I was in the British Army, from October 1940 to January 1942.

Finally, it was obvious that the invasion must occur soon. On one side England was crowded with US, Australian, Canadian and other allied troops from Europe and on the other the Red Army was pushing back Hitler's armies on all fronts. Therefore it was also necessary to intervene from here, so that the cake could be eaten together.

Deployment to the coast had started and so one night we embarked on ships and the long-awaited day of reckoning with the Germans had arrived. The concern of us all was to get into the real battle and to stop just playing soldiers.