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Originally posted by EternalOptimist View Post
Sixty odd years ago, me and a few friends decided to go to Normandy for the D-Day landings.
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dont mention the warOriginally posted by Ruprect View PostAny chance of a one line summary?
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Ziggy Zig Heil
A late edition due to camping over the weekend (near Salisbury). Warning this story contains scenes of violence and nuts.
Twenty odd years ago, me and a few friends decided to go to Normandy for the fortieth anniversary of the D-Day landings. We were all poor dole-ites except for an old army mate who had a proper job, and he owned a camper van. We would all live rough out of the back of the camper.
We saved up as much as we could and got all psyched up for the trip but the Froggies started putting obstacles in the way, the reason being that they had organised a big event and didnt want any other side shows. IIRC a lot of people were jerked about by all this. So we metamorphosed our trip into a September Arnhem trip instead, taking in Normandy en-route.
We arrived in Cherbourg in september and it was a very stormy day. We made our way to the beaches and spent the night in some beach huts which were brilliant for an overnight sleeping bag stay. Except that my end of the hut leaked and my bag got soaked. The guys still laugh like maniacs about what happened the next day.
I was trying to ask the proprieter of a pastisserie in Pont Herbert if I could bring my bag in to dry it out. But Languages are not my strong suit. 'Err like, is it Bon if moi brings me Dormez Sac en here, and ouvres it out. Last night like, it plooied it down and I got well aquaed like. You know'. Of course I used all the grand arm gestures, because I know the French can be a bit thick.
Anyway, the next day(after sleeping in a wet bag) we went to visit a WWI trench system that had been restored in Belgium with an ajoining museum, cant remember exactly where it was now. There were five of us on the trip, three medium sized guys, and two of us who were a bit bigger and a bit more beefy. The only other people who were around were six German lads who were all skin heads, doc martins , tatts, swastikas, you get the idea.
They kept looking over as we went around the site, then the banter started. 'Englander shwein hund', 'Bobby Charlton eat sh1t' It wasnt a suprise and we were not concerned, but when they started to do heil hitler salutes and throw bricks over, we decided to beat a hasty. There were six of them and they were mostly big guys.
In the car park, me and John decided we would go for food, and leave the other three to guard the van from any Nazi invasion. There were some shops near by, we got some food which I remember as a sort of Belgian sausage and chips and gravy dinner, straight off the stove it was too hot to eat. As we returned to the car park , we could hear some racket, something was kicking off, I looked at John, why was he so slow ?, the git was opening the food trying to wiggle some chips out. But we knew what we had to do, get round that corner quick, shoulder to shoulder and wade in to what ever we found.
I got round the corner to the car park, the back of the van was a couple of meters to my right, four Germans going round the front, two right in front of me, John should have been there next to me, he wasn't, I was on my own. I went for the guy on the left, shot past his mate who was now behind me, the guy facing me was big, but he had been taken by suprise. He swung at me, missed, I barged into him, pushing high, he lunged back at me, we were equally matched. He tried to nut me on the nose, no chance square head, he was now committed, I had the perfect target, his right eyebrow was inches in front. I nutted him as hard as I could, this would lay him out.missed. He had swayed back perfectly. Gulp, this was going to be a tough one.
All this had taken less than two seconds, I was totally peed off that my mate had not been there to back me up. There was no excuse. It was a crime, we would have to strip his buttons off later and demote him to 'wooly-back'.
Then there was a scream behind me. It was the most blood curdling scream I have ever heard. It was a German scream and it was ear-shattering. I could not imagine what John had done to the guy. We didnt carry weapons, but judging by the sound, John must have stabbed the bugger in the eye or something.
The guy ran past me to be back with his mates, and I could see the blood squirting from his face and dripping through his fingers. I almost felt sorry for the git. Then I noticed that his blood was a weird colour, very dark. Almost brown. He screamed again , and the Germans disappeared round the back of the museum, never to be seen again.
What had happened ? John had been trying to get a sneak preview of the grub, he was walking slowly so he didn't spill anything, he said the gravy was boiling hot. Then he heard the rucus and saw me disappear around the corner, he was looking for somewhere to put the food down when a big German lad came running around the corner, eyeball to eyeball. He didnt have a choice, the Kraut got a 300 degree centigrade Belgian sausage dinner right in the face.
The next day we were in Arnhem, drinking Kwak, and we met some old soldiers. One had the red beret of the parachute regiment and we bought him a few ales. He said to us, 'you know why we did so well against Gerry ? Because we were prepared to get in close, eyeball to eyeball, using anything as a weapon. Bayonets, shovels, chains anything. and I mean anything.'
Its good to know we were maintaining the old traditions
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