A Bridge Too Far

by Martin Bowman

  ‘Suddenly we saw a ridge of earth projecting from the sea like the spine of some extinct creature. This marked the coastline of Holland for there was extensive flooding in this area. We flew on and gradually the water gave way to ribbons of soil then whole fields as we flew further inland and we were not sorry as few of us had much faith in the issued life-jackets. We crowded at the windows to see the country below and saw that the RAF had marked the route to Arnhem for us with one blazing flak tower after another. One of the American crewmen came back to inform us that we were descending to 700 feet for the run in. We started to fasten our helmets and checked our parachutes just that once more. Then we heaved the cumbrous kit-bags onto our right boot and fastened the straps around the leg. These kit-bags contained 6 x 10lb Mortar bombs, a pick, rifle and small pack - nearly 80lbs of kit. On our person we carried 40 rounds of .303, bandolier fashion, 2 x 36 Grenades, a 75 A-Tank Grenade and a phosphorous bomb. We were sure of a quick descent with this lot on and it certainly dampened down the oscillation of the ’chute. ‘We stood up and closed up in single file behind the Lieutenant. Our right hand held the kit-bag grip and our left hand was on the shoulder of the man in front. This was to ensure a rapid exit and, therefore, a compact section on landing or, in the trade - a ‘tight stick.’ If one man hesitated in jumping at that speed it might mean him being separated from his section by a hundred yards or more on the deck.

  ‘Suddenly the aircraft throttled down almost like a bus changing gear and we seemed to slew around slightly to the right and the floor of the plane seemed to rise and fall much more than before. ‘The Red light winked on - ‘Action Stations.’ ‘It was strangely exhilarating now it was here and I felt fine and wanted to go. We all watched the Lieutenant as he stood framed in the open doorway, the slipstream plucking at the scrim camouflage on his helmet as though eager to drag him out.

  ‘The Green Light came on - GO!

  ‘The Lieutenant disappeared and we shuffled one after another along the heaving deck of the Dakota, 3. 4, 5. One of the Americans had a Cinecamera filming our exit, 8, 9, 10, through the open door I could see a huge familiar glider on fire, but going on regardless. 12, 13, the man in front of me hunched slightly as he went out. Almost before his helmet disappeared I jumped but the slipstream caught my right leg and spun me round. The sound of the aircraft engines was cut off abruptly and now one could distinguish other sounds.

  ‘Overhead Dakotas were still disgorging their loads of parachutists and canisters. Wave after wave of multi-coloured ’chutes in a blizzard of silk. It was a tremendous thrill and a never-to-be-forgotten experience. However, I was in trouble as my rigging lines were twisted and I had to let go of the kit-bag grip and quick release in order to try and stop the twisting getting worse.

  ‘My parachute had opened all right, but the twisting rigging lines made me sweat, luckily they didn’t twist all the way up and slowly I began to unwind but still couldn’t reach down to my kit-bag.

  ‘Down below figures like ants scurried about and the sound of shouts and shots came up punctuated by bursts of machine gun fire. The Americans had dropped us ‘spot-on’ and it was like looking down on the sand table back at HQ. Battalion rallying points were marked by coloured flares and I picked the yellow for the 2nd Battalion. Everywhere order was developing out of seeming chaos as the men hurried to their rendezvous. The ground which hitherto had seemed so distant suddenly started to spin towards me at an alarming rate for with the kit-bag still on my right leg I had descended more rapidly than was normal.

  ‘I grounded with quite a jar but was all right and got out of my para-harness and sliced through the cords of my kit-bag. I wrenched the rifle out, cocked it and looked around but there was only my own side still landing all around me. I heaved out the bombs and other gear and eventually staggered off towards the yellow flare like a walking Christmas tree. Luckily two of my mates appeared with a collapsible barrow and on went the bombs, picks, shovels, small packs, etc. We sweated and swore as we pulled and pushed the barrow over ploughed fields. A Dutch Resistance man ran up: ‘Hurry the SS are coming in armoured cars’ and indeed we could hear car engines in the distance. ‘At last we joined the rest of the Mortar Platoon amid ironic jeers and whistles. They already had some prisoners, nearly all in their Sunday best uniforms. For a moment we rested by the side of the road as Colonel Frost spoke to our Lieutenant. Well we had got to the outskirts of Arnhem with the help of the American and British Air Forces. Now it was up to us.

  ‘All right lads - on your feet’ came the voice of Sergeant Jackman the Platoon Sergeant.

  ‘The 2nd Battalion began to move off into history.’