The Liri Valley, 1944

The British Eighth Army broke through the German Hitler Line at Cassino and started its push up the Liri Valley to capture Rome. The advance was rapid; the first day we covered 40 miles.

At one point, there were three of us approaching a farm house which we thought may still be occupied by the enemy. There was a person lying half in and half out the front door, making a waving motion from time to time. We approached very cautiously from three directions.

I had just got to my end of the house when I heard Spr. Lightfoot call out "Alright you S.O.B, come out of there with your hands up!"

I stood to see what was about to happen. Then there was another call from Lightfoot. "You heard me, come out of there with your hands up!"

I took a quick look through a window and the house was a complete wreck. It had been hit several times by shellfire. Inside was a middle-aged man. His brain had been assaulted by concussion, and he was moaning, trying to scramble up a wall.

I called to Lightfoot, "This man is harmless, he's shell shocked."

We both went to the person lying in the doorway. It was a woman about the same age as the man. She was laying face down with her head on her left arm. What we had thought was a waving motion, was an attempt to rid the swarms of flies around her.

Bending down, I raised her up so we could see her face. What a shock! She had been hit squarely between the eyes by a piece of flying rock. It mad made an indentation about the size of a hen's egg. Both her eyes were swollen shut, and there were cuts on her cheeks, nose and chin. Gangrene had already set in from the dust, the dirt, and the flies.

I asked how long she had been laying there. Raising two fingers, she said two days. I thought it was remarkable she was still lucid. I wrapped some gauze around her head to keep the flies off.  There was nothing else we could do for her.

We carried her inside and placed her on a couch inside one of the rooms. She grasped our arms so tightly, it was a problem to make her let go. She did not want us to leave. Her husband was in severe shock from the shells. As we prepared to leave, he was trying to shave using an old razor and rusty can with water in it.

I notified the support group coming behind us about this couple. What ultimately happened to them, I don't know -- we had to go.

In one violent shattering explosion, the war had come to this couple. It smashed their home to rubble, and destroyed their quality of life; maybe their lives. They were innocent bystanders that got caught in the violence of war.

Scenes similar to this happened many times, over and over in all the countries of Europe. Mankind should learn something from all the suffering and destruction.

The  plight of this couple still haunts me to this day. I think it is because they were of the age of my parents and something horrible came along that was no fault of theirs. They had no choice. No say. It just consumed them completely.

Christmas Day 1943

Christmas Day 1943 was a cold wet day in southern Italy. We were on the south side of the Sangro River, and the Germans were on the north side. The river was very wide in our area, and we were clearing mines so other troops could move into position with us.

About 10:30 in the morning, Spr. Poole was badly injured by a German "S" mine explosion. An "S" mine is one that makes a distinct "click" sound as soon as its stepped on. It will explode 3 seconds after the click -- if you take your foot off before the three seconds, it springs up about three feet in the air and explodes at that level, doing terrible damage.

I did what I could for Spr. Poole, then we placed him on a stretcher and into a truck. I went with him to the hospital.

It was noon by the time I returned to camp. Our cook was set up in a shallow gully, and he had done his best to make our Christmas dinner a good one. We also got a bottle of Canadian beer with our dinner. Our feelings were subdued because of what had happened to Spr. Poole. We gathered in small groups, exchanged news, and talked of what it would be like if we could be home this Christmas day.

A steady drizzle started around 2:00 so everyone went for shelter. Most would end the day writing letters to dear ones back home.

We were sad to learn that Spr. Poole did not survive his injuries. He was born and raised in Saskatchewan. He had become a close friend of mine, and was well though of by his comrades.

Leaving England, 1943

Two years after arriving in England, we boarded a troop ship headed for the middle east as part of a mass convoy. The ship was American, and called the "John Ericsson". It wasn't as big as the "Andes" on which we had travelled from Canada to England, but I think it had just as many troops aboard. Every inch of space on that ship was used up. It seemed to have been designed with troop transport in mind, as there were no frills or luxuries, just whatever was needed to get the job done.

It was late fall, the same time of year we had sailed on the Andes, so we were expecting another rough ride. But we got a pleasant surprise. The sea was as calm as a mill pond during the entire trip.

Our convoy moved at the best speed of the slowest ship in the group, about 16 knots per hour. The ships employed a zig-zag course, changing direction about every two minutes. This was to make it more difficult for an enemy submarine to zero in on us as a target for one of their torpedoes.

Each time the ship changed direction, it was quite noticeable, and if you happened to be off balance at that moment, it could cause you to stumble a bit. The O.C. thought this was a good time to get all our inoculations up to date. IT would also help us pass the time. So there we were, lined up on the deck getting our needles as the ship snaked through bobbing sea. Just as the Medical Officer (M.O.) was thrusting the needle into my arm, the ship changed direction. The M.O. lost his balance and his needle hit me high on the shoulder bone and bent like a fish hook. When he pulled the needle out, it tore the flesh and skin, bleeding pretty good. He said "Whoops! I've never done that before!" They put on a bandage and gave me a shot in the other arm.

We put in more time attending lectures and sharing stories. Everyday we went through the abandon ship drill. Our quarters were at the front of the ship, down at about water level. It took us 3 or 4 minutes to get to deck from there through some very narrow passages. I'm sure a few of us had a few anxious moments the first few times we went through the drill.

The days passed by with beautiful sunny weather, and we passed through the Straight of Gibraltar (STROG) about 4:00 in the afternoon. We could see the activity in the Fort, Parson's Lodge, on the Spanish side as we went by.


Our second night in the Mediterranean Sea, the German Luftwaffe found us. They made a few bombing raids on the convoy. They hit and disabled on our our hospital ships, but an escort vessel got a line on her, and towed the ship into the Port of Algiers. Unfortunately, before it could be unloaded, it sank in the harbour, along with much needed medical supplies for troops in Italy.

When we departed from England, our destination was the Port of Algiers. But during our eight days at sea, the situation had changed. The Allies captured Naples, so we were directed there for our disembarkation. We marched through Naples to the outskirts of the city. From there, we boarded trucks that took us to a small village near the base of Mount Vesuvius. Still on the move, we bivouacked until we received the equipment needed to function as an engineer unit in action.

For shelter, we lived in pup-tents. The rainfall could be quite heavy at that time of year, so we were initiated immediately into the mud of Italy. It would be our nemesis, during the wet seasons, over our next 19 months in Italy.

We had our first casualty early in the morning on our first day. Everyone was just starting to stir about, when over came the Luftwaffe. They strafed our position pretty good, and "Smitty", from our troop, received a flesh wound in the buttocks. It was a month before he returned to us from the hospital. Smitty's only complaint was he would never be able to show the scar from the wound he had received in action, while serving his country during the war years in Italy.

Sailing the Andes to England, 1941

We sailed to England in 1941 on a British ship named the "Andes". Built in Belfast, she was 714 feet long. It was third in size to all British ships; only the Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth were longer. When we boarded, the ship had not made its civilian "maiden voyage" yet. It was used for troop transport service as soon as construction was completed. Andes was beautiful and luxourious. It had everything...two swimming pools, wonderful lounges, boutiques. I don't know how many troops were onboard during our crossing, but I would estimate more than 3,000 at that time. In addition, there was a large cargo of food and supplies on board for troops in England.

We left Halifax in a convoy of other ships heading to England. Part of my training in Canada included a three-week course in anti-aircraft tactics at Point Petre, Ontario. Those of us who took this course were detailed to man machine guns mounted on the ship's railings on each deck. We would do two hours on duty, four hours off. We did this for the eight days it took to cross the Atlantic. Once during each shift, we cleared our gun because of all the salty sea spray. to do this, we would fire at a 45 degree angle into the water. Every fifth shell was a tracer, and when these struck the water, they would glance off in all directions.

Three days out we were in the roughest weather imaginable. The waves were valleys and mountains. The convoy became widely scattered. The ocean tossed the ship around like a feather in a wind storm. It was difficult to move around on deck. The once good thing, was that we knew submarines couldn't operate in those seas.

On the ship, most of us slept in hammocks. It was quite a sight when I'd make my way to our quarters to see all those hammocks swinging in unison. It was quite a challenge to get into one with all the motion of the stormy sea. Even with the rough going, the abandon ship drill could be called at any time. This was to avert panic if we should be called upon to abandon the ship, and to be familiar with procedure if Andes was in distress and we had to abandon her.

Most of us didn't care for the boiled fish and hard boiled eggs served at meal times in the mess hall. We would buy things to eat from the stores on the ship and make do with that.

All who were on this voyage had an experience that would be in their memories as long as they would live.

Willie Worsefield, England 1942

Willie came from Sault St. Marie, Ontario. When he enlisted, he became part of the First Field Squadron, Royal Canadian Engineers (RCE), and was a dispatch rider working for Headquarter's Troop. Willie liked his job, but he loved to be out on that Norton motorcycle going wherever duty called for him to go. Willie was always cheerful.

On a morning in early May 1942, a bit before daylight, the whole of southern England was blanketed with heavy fog. Willie had just departed on a dispatch mission. It wasn't long after he left I got a call there was an accident. Our driver, Murray, and I arrived at the scene quickly. It was Willie. He had been rounding a curve and a British Army truck coming from the opposite direction collided with him. The motorcycle lay twisted in front of the truck, and Willie was the other twisted bundle at the side of the road.

He was conscious and as I checked him over, I spoke to him the whole time. Willie repeated "Don't leave me Doc". The flesh was scraped from the underside of both arms from wrists to elbows, and they were badly fractured. Both legs were fractured, and he must have had severe internal injuries.

I bandaged his arms, then applied splints to both arms and both legs. I got him a stretcher, covered him with blankets, and we carried him onto a truck headed for a British hospital. Because of Willie's terrible injuries, I did not expect him to survive. I never saw Willie again.

When I went back to look at the bike, the handlebars that are usually flat were twisted into a "V" shape. The gas tank that is usually round had a perfect impression of Willie's behind on it. This was evidence of the force with which he was hit.

About fourteen months later, we had been transfered out of England to Italy. I received a special letter. It was from Willie. He was home still recovering from his injuries. Willie thanked me, from his heart, for what I had done for him that foggy morning in May.

England 1941

After an eight day crossing of the North Atlantic in some of the roughest and stormiest weather imaginable, our ship, the "Andes" docked at Liverpool Harbour, England. The evening of our arrival, the German Air Force welcomed us with a brief air attack. Fortunately, the many barrage balloons high above the harbour kept them far enough away. Their raid was ineffectual.

After disembarking, we boarded a troop train that took us to the city of Swindon. From the train station, we marched twelve miles to a village called Ashton Keynes. We were to be billeted on a large estate; lodgings would be quonset huts for the next six weeks. Ashton Keynes is only about two feet above sea level, and after spending a night in those damp huts, I would wake up feeling as though someone sat on my chest all night.

One week after arrival, one of our cooks came down with spinal meningitis. Four days later, he was dead. This lead to the strict quarantine of the entire Squadron for 28 days. No one else got the disease and once the quarantine was lifted we got back to living a normal life again.

At the end of six weeks, we had received a lot of the equipment we needed to function as an effective unit in protecting against an invasion of England. We were moved to Salamanca Barracks in Aldershot, England. Here we put in many more hours of training. It was about this time our Commanding Officer, (C.O.), thought we should be better prepared to handle our own first aid needs. I was chosen to attend a special first aid course, so I could manage this position. It was to be my work for the rest of my Armed Service years.

Shortly after we settled in Aldershot, my brother Stanly Bert Dent and I got a 72-hour pass to visit London. Our plan was to visit our Aunt Em (our mother's sister) and Uncle Bill who lived in central North London in the borough of Stoke-Newington. There was bomb damage everywhere and getting around was very difficult because some streets were so badly damaged as to be impassable. We'd get on a bus and go a short way, then walk a bit, get back on a bus, then walk... Finally we arrived at their home at 19 Milton Grove.

We had an enjoyable visit. Aunt Em had not seen her sister since before World War I, so she had many questions to ask about the family. They showed us the public air raid shelters across the street from their home, and would always go there during air raid warnings. Aunt Em said they liked the company of other people around when the bombs started coming down. They had a small two-person shelter in their little backyard. It was quite good, and stocked with bunks, blankets, and canned food.

Behind my Aunt's home, one block over, was a large church. This was the target of the German Air Force, so there were many bombs dropped around the area. So far the church had only received light damage, and remained a major target.

It was quite late by the time we settled down for the night. It seemed as though I had just fallen asleep when suddenly the wail of the air raid warning jolted us awake. Aunt Em called to us, then she and Uncle Bill ran to the shelters across the road. Bert and I decided to stay out in the yard to watch.

First the search lights came on, then the anti-aircraft guns opened fire. With the planes overhead and the empty casings from their machine guns falling all around, Bert and I got into their small backyard bomb shelter and stayed there until the "all's clear" siren sounded. It all lasted about an hour. We didn't have anymore calls that night, but we could see how the constant worry put a lot of stress on the people of London.

We stayed another day at Stoke-Newington, and enjoyed a walking tour with Uncle Bill. We travelled down Milton Grove Street to High Street, the down to the borough of Hackney-Wick, returning to Stoke-Newington by a different route. Everywhere we went the damage from the bombing raids was unbelievable; there were craters in the streets, with traffic edging around carefully. Property damage was devastating and casualties must have been dreadful.

We stayed that night and there were no air raids. Early the next morning, we started on our return to Aldershot. Our plan was to be at Waterloo Railway Station by 4:00 to give us enough time to return to camp before our time was up. It also gave us time to see the famous parts of London.

Many places were protected with sandbags piled high, while others were severely damaged by bombs and blast. Londoners went about their daily business, regardless of all the danger and hardships being forced upon them. We saw that London was something else after dark because of the black-out. People tried to be at their destination before dark, or made sure to be with someone familiar with the city.

Bert and I got back to camp okay. It was the only time we visited London together. He became involved with other interests, and I was on my own after that. Each time I had a leave, I made it a point to visit with Aunt Em and Uncle Bill for at least one day. I became very fond of them during my two years in England.

Uncle Bill died from cancer the week we left England for the Middle East. I kept in touch with Aunt Em, writing several times each year until her death in 1970.

Joining the Army: Christmas Week 1940

I walked into the Armories on James St. North in Hamilton, Ontario, Christmas week of 1940. I volunteered for service in the Canadian Army. They got the ball rolling, and, on January 8, 1941, I was sworn in as a member of the First Field Squadron, Royal Canadian Engineers, Military Number B 92911.



We were sent to Camp Borden for six weeks basic infantry training, then moved on to Camp Petawawa for engineer training. We learned how to make Bangalore Torpedoes, how to blow up bridges, railway tracks, buildings, tanks and so forth. We learned how to make tank traps, how to take a machine gun apart in total darkness, and, re-assemble it.

We went through a gas chamber, and learned what we should do in case of a gas attack. After traveling to Northern Quebec, we learned how to build river crossings with material at hand; how to build bridges using folding boats, and how these could be used to support Bren-gun carriers, Jeeps, and other army equipment. We reviewed these procedures repeatedly until we could complete them in any conditions.

In October 1941, we sailed to England, and began a new program of engineer training. Building Bailey Bridges, obstacle courses, battle inoculations, and one scheme after another, we were constantly on the move. It was at this time that my army career took a new turn. We had no medical corp. attached to us since we were a small unit. Our Operating Commander thought it would be a good idea to have someone trained to take care of the Squadron's first aid needs. He chose me. I agreed. After taking a specialized course, I returned to the unit. The fellows, from that time on, called me "Doc".

My duties were to ensure that each troop was well equipped to handle any first aid emergency, and if I was available, I would look after whatever had to be done myself.

The stories shared in this blog are those which have stayed fresh in my mind after many decades. The First Field Squadron R.C.E. served in many hot action zones, and my memories include cases which were both on the front lines and away.

John B. Dent