Tuesday, January 2, 1945: Near Turnhout, Belgium

Near Turnhout, Belgium

During the evening of Jan 2nd. was when we had our next bit of excitement.

I had got on watch at five o'clock and was sitting in our receiver van when a little while later there came a terrific crash, the van lifted, the trap doors came up and all the power went off. I switched on the ancillary lights to see if there was damage in the van but there didn't seem to be any except that the bench that the radios were on had come adrift. I then opened the door and jumped outside. As it was dark I couldn't see very much at first but I could hear a lot of kids screaming in a house next to us. A couple of the boys went around there and I went down the field towards another vehicle where I could hear someone shouting. By this time my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and I could see a little way. I soon began clambering over large lumps of earth anything up to 2ft across and I had to made a detour to avoid falling over. I eventually reached our transmitter van and found one of the mechanics crawling from under the van. When all the facts were known it transpired that a V2 [1/2] had landed in the field between the two vans, leaving a crater 15 ft deep and 30 ft across.

As the ground was soft the blast rose up from the crater at a high

And there the diary ends, mid sentence. Spoiler alert: he lived to tell the tale and bring back the diary, of course, but I suppose that "sh*t just got real" and finally, heeded the ban on writing a diary.

1. V-2 rocket
2. Jan. 02, (17:34 hours) - Batt. 3./485, (Site 131), V-2 rocket fired, impacted near Turnhout a few km from the Belgium-Netherlands border

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Christmas 1944

"Pheasant as usual, I suppose cook?"

Very soon we started getting ready for Christmas, the decorations were put up in our two rooms in the school and plenty of beer was laid in. On Christmas day, I passed the morning getting cleaned up and changed into my blue battle-dress. We called in the Café on the way to dinner and sampled a few Cognacs. Then we went into the school sat down at the tables and waited to be served by the officers and N.C.O.s. First of all every man got twenty cigarettes and a block of chocolate, and then the beer was brought round, one bottle per man. Tomatoe (sic) soup was served first and then came the chicken, roast beef, roast potatoes and all the rest of the good stuff. It was a very good dinner and so was Christmas pudding with rum sauce that followed. 

When everybody had finished, cigars were handed round and the usual few speeches were made. All through the meal everyone was kept well supplied with beer. Then we all cleared out and went into the next room where our bar was now open. First of all we finished off a lot of free beer and then the rest we had to buy. There was plenty of chocolate and sweets about, so I proceeded to tuck into everything. Soon it was tea time and trifles, blancmange, cakes and a lot of other things were brought in. The tea lasted all through the evening. I went to another of our film shows during the evening. I didn't feel like going on guard that night but it had to be done.

The next afternoon, Boxing Day, I was playing football for the unit against a civilian team from the surrounding villages. It was a very good game and we won 3-2 although we should have got more.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Tuesday, December 12, 1944: Ravels, Belgium

Belgium - Turnhout. Around Grote Markt (Main Market)
http://www.microtoerisme.nl, CC BY-SA 3.0

On the 12th. of December we had packed up again and the advance party moved off. The next day the main party went and on the 14th. I left with the rear party. We had had to stay behind to clear up a couple of houses and load another waggon. There were only six of us in the rear party so one lorry was sufficient. We left just before dinner-time and headed for Antwerp. We passed through there without being hit by any V-1's that were continually falling in the town. Next we came to Turnout (sic) and about five miles further on we arrived at our destination in Ravels.

This time all the billets had been organised before the move so it was an easy matter to get my kit into the right house. We were using a school as a cookhouse and everybody was billeted with the civilians all through the village. I was in the Miller's house but although he seemed quite well off we didn't have such as good time as some of the boys.

I only went to Turnout (sic) a few times and then only for a bath. I didn't bother to go to look at the shops as I had heard it wasn't much good. Our sole means of entertainment here was our own film shows and quite often we managed two a week. The one and only Café in the village wasn't much good and I only went in a couple of times.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Moving into the big house

A big house in Oostacker (not necessarily the one mentioned). Vlaamse Gemeenschap, CC BY 4.0

When we had been at Oostacker four weeks those of us not in billets moved into a big house and occupied the first floor. The Belgian family lived downstairs but we didn't see very much of them. The six of us managed to get into a room together. It was nice to be able to look out of the windows and see the rain pouring down without hearing it on the roof. Very soon we found that there would be scrubbing of floors and stairs to do but as it only came around once a week it wasn't too bad. The cookhouse was put in a house across the road.

"Dead 'ot on fluff under beds . . ."

I had a dose of constipation so I wasn't able to go out for a couple of weeks but after that I went to town again. I wandered around the shops for a while and then went to the E.N.S.A. [1] Cinema to see Tommy Trinder in "Champagne Charlie". After this came tea in the Canadian Legion, and then we saw and E.N.S.A. show called Jack Radcliffe "Revels of 1944". This was a very good show. While we were at Oostacker two Army chaps used to come along with a small truck and give is a film show each Tuesday afternoon. Even with this portable equipment it was always a very good show, which usually lasted over two hours. Some of the films shown were "Higher and Higher", "On Approval", "Meet the People", "Going My Way", and "Heavenly Body". 

We managed to fix up a football game here with 15071 who were situated only the other side of Ghent. As this unit had nearly all of the old 103 Maru [?] team we didn't think much of our chances. As it was we did better than we thought and only lost 3-1. I played goalkeeper and was kept very busy.

My third trip into Ghent came after we had been here nearly seven weeks. I went in on my own and did the same thing as I had done before. A walk around the shops, a visit to the Cinema to see "Up in Mabel's Room", then tea in the Canadian Legion and this time straight back to camp. I had one more similar visit to Ghent before leaving there.

1. Entertainments National Service Association

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

To Ghent by Tram

Modern tram in Ghent, Belgium

After about ten days I took a trip to Ghent on the tram. All the trams here are single-deckers and are usually divided into two compartments. I don't think much notice is taken of it now but apparently there used to be first and third class travelling. One part of the trams has soft seats and curtains in the windows and the other part has hard seats. Usually these trams pull another carriage behind them for passengers and in rush hours I have seen as many as six hitched on the back. 

There appears to be no queueing for trams here. When one comes along everybody tries to get on at once but everybody does get on. The shout "full-up" is never heard. People just pile on anywhere even on the platform with the driver or on the rear bumper. The only time anyone could miss getting on a tram is when there not an inch of space left. Steam trains also run on the tram lines. It is peculiar to see a train go by whilst waiting for a train.

I got into Ghent after a ride on two trams and then had a walk around the shops. Most of the streets were very narrow but there were a few large open squares. There were three large shops and they were well stocked with everything. The toys were very plentiful and cheap. All sorts of wooden toys and dolls were on show and most shops had ice-cream or grapes. These were very cheap. We had tea in the Canadian Legion Club, where civilian women were serving. They could speak English and some of them very well. They always had some tasty rolls here and also fancy cakes with cream on them. 

After tea we went to a Theatre called the "Ancienne Belgie" and saw a variety show. All the speech was in Flemish but there was not much talking in the show. All the seats were wooden chairs and everyone sat at tables in line back from the stage, so we had to look sideways at the stage. Drinks were served by the waiters while the show was on. After this we went back to camp.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Friday, October 20, 1944: Oostacker, Belgium

Sint Amanduskerk, Oostacker Michielverbeek, CC BY-SA 3.0

I drove second from the last in front of the M.T. [1] workshop waggon in case anything happened. My second driver sat with an extinguisher in his lap all the way. This was the 20th. October. We got onto the road and I found the engine would not pull and kept giving up but by juggling with the choke we got on fairly well and managed to keep up with the convoy. We went through Lille and then crossing the French-Belgian border we headed for Ghent. We passed through Ghent and after taking the Antwerp road for about three or four miles we arrived at our site at Oostakker.

This time we did not have to put the tents up as the advance party who had arrived twenty four hours before had already done it. We had dinner when it was ready and then set up the technical equipment. The signals cabin where I work was put just outside my tent so I didn't grumble. We soon got settled in and started watches as usual. [2] I did not bother to leave camp for quite a few days as I could find plenty of odd jobs to do. After a couple of days billets were found for a third of the unit with civilians and empty houses for the rest of us. Those who had got the civvy billets moved in but the rest of us did not want to move as the empty houses were in a filthy state and unhealthy. Some of the chaps found civvy billets for themselves and were allowed to move in. Soon there were only about thirty of us left in tents including the officers. All our watch decided to stay in the one tent, six of us, and we made it waterproof by piling the earth up around it and fixing an extra fly-sheet out over the door. All our meals were still taken in the mess tent so I only had about twenty yards to walk for that. On the end of the large mess tent we had another large square tent and used it as a reading and writing room. It was fairly comfortable with a couple of Valor stoves working. Our radio-gram was also put in here. I quite often passed an evening away by playing all the records I liked. The radio-gram was made by certain members of the unit when we were in England.

While we were here we were allowed to use the shower baths in the local gas-works any time we liked. The water was always hot too.

1. MT - Mechanical Transport
2. He doesn't mention it in the diary, but what my father told me he was doing in Belgium was spotting the V-1 flying bombs so that they could be intercepted.

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"Personally, Herr Schmidt, I don't think these Belgians here
will support the British like the French have done."

Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Café-Concert, the Fun Fair and the Café Moderne

La Brasserie Moderne (The Modern Brewery) in Carvin Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

The Café Theatre was quite and attraction on Sunday evenings in Carvin. They had what they called a Swing Concert. I went once and I found a fair-sized hall that would have been better as a dance hall filled with tables and the band at one end. In the odd moments when the band could be heard above everyone's voices, I could hear that it was playing pretty rotten music. The main attraction seemed to be the drink.

For the last five days of our stay here a Fair came to Carvin and was set up in the square. It consisted of two ordinary round-abouts, one chair-a'plane, small swing-boats for the kids and the Dodge-Ems. I spent quite a lot of money on the Dodge-Ems, but it was good fun and quite a change. Nobody bothered about the blackout here so the Fair stayed open until midnight each night and lights were shining all over the place.

I used to go to the Café Moderne quite a lot and the people there got to know me. The[y] were a very nice and jolly crowd there. It was a very clean place and recognised to be the best in town. There was the man who owned the place, his wife and two girls of about twenty-two who served behind the bar. One of their best customers was a friend of ours, a man called Garston ______. I can't remember his long surname. It was he who had arranged the football match with Carvin for us and he seemed to have a finger in every pie in the town. He was only a small man but he was very jolly and even if he could only speak a little English he kept us laughing all the while. He had been a prisoner in Germany for three years.

Taken in Carvin, Oct 1944

One night when I was in the Café with a couple of my pals we were asked to stay for supper. Well, we didn't need asking twice. We had quite a good feed of fish, chips and gherkins with various drinks afterwards. 

The best time we had there was the night before we moved from Camphin. We had packed up all the tents early that morning and loaded them in a truck and they were driven off with another two trucks to form the advance party. All the rest of the packing and clearing up was done during the day and finished about four o'clock in the afternoon. We were then allowed to go out. I had to stay around for bit longer to help the fitter M.T. [1] as some unknown person had put a couple of gallons of water in the petrol tank of the truck I was to drive next day. No it wasn't me. I went down to Carvin after tea with two of my pals and visited the Fair again. Later we went into the Café Moderne and they asked us to stay for supper so we did. We soon found that it was going to be a fairly large gathering. Garston brought his wife, daughter and two sons. There was the owner and his wife, Lisa. She always told me to call her Lisa and not Madame. Madelaine and Germaine, the two girls who worked there were also called in and there there were four of us and one of our officers. We first of all polished off the grub then then sat back and started a sing-song. This was interrupted occasionally by somebody jumping off their chair. The old man had been sticking corks under some chairs and setting light to them. It got a little warm to the seat. Somehow the time passed and after a few of the old party games it was a quarter past three. We decided to go then and the officer who was with us drove us back to camp. We arrived there and after a talk I got into bed about a quarter to four. All the vehicles were lined up ready to move off the next morning and my bed was in the back of one of the signals vans on top of some petrol cans. 

Next morning we were up again at 7.30 and after breakfast we took down the last couple of tents and got everything packed. The mechanic had some more trouble starting my truck and eventually it caught fire. It was soon put out with the Pyrene extinguishers. In a little time the engine did start and the convoy moved off.

1. MT - Mechanical Transport

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

RAF 5 - Seclin 2

Former Psychiatric Hôpital Marguerite de Flandre, Seclin

Our next football match was a couple of weeks later when we played Seclin, a town about the same distance from us as Carvin but in the opposite direction. I was picked this time to play in goal. We started off in good style and this time the game wasn't quite so one-sided. I had to play this time with a cotton-wool and sticking plaster pad on my thigh about an inch and a half thick. Seclin took the lead about half way through the first half when their inside right put in a shot that I had to jump sideways for. I stopped the ball but couldn't control it and their centre forward was able to put it in the net before I could get to it again. Five minutes later we equalised and just before half-time Seclin made the score 2-1. They took a corner kick and one of the forwards headed it in, just inside the post. I was just a fraction of a second too late in getting to it. After the change over our boys seemed to have new life in them. Although French teams have the reputation of being tricky and fast players our long passes and open play beat them. The game ended with a 5-2 win for us. I had to save a couple of shots and intercept a couple of centres but apart from that I had little to do.

There was one night while we were in Camphin that I shan't forget in a hurry. I was on the evening watch and having done my share of the duties, I was back in my tent. About nine-o'clock one of the chaps poked his head in the tent and asked if I would help him get a couple of Bren guns from one of the trucks. I went out and he explained to me that it had been reported that fifty Germans were supposed to have damaged some sort of works near Lens and were coming our way in three lorries. Where the Germans were supposed to have come from I don't know. Everybody on the camp was called out and a patrolling guard put all around the field and up and down between the tents. I took my Bren gun and lay in a ditch at the side of the road facing the main road which was about a hundred yards away. 

An hour later all the chaps who had been been out for the evening began to roll in and they were very surprised when halted by the guard. Everybody coming in was told to get his Sten or rifle and report back to the gate. About eleven o'clock we heard two shots from the other end of the field and some of the lads went up to investigate. I heard all about it before long. Two of our chaps had been coming in the back way by cutting across a couple of fields and didn't halt when the guard shouted. As they were not recognised the guard fired his revolver twice, hitting one man along the side of his head near his eye and the other through his right hand. The ambulance came before long and they were taken to hospital. 

It began to get a bit cold and biscuits and tea were brought round. At four o'clock in the morning I was relieved. I could go to bed but keep my clothes on. The C.O. came round the tents with a flask of tea for us before I was asleep. I wrote a letter before getting into bed. Next morning after breakfast I got into bed again and slept until dinner time when I was on watch again. The panic was over then and I never found out what happened to the 'enemy'.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Barter and Ballgames in France

"Have you boys seen the bad news?"

Barter was a big item on the programme for some people here. A lot of kids came along at first and then even a few older people with all kinds of fruit to trade for cigarettes. Later the men began coming round and we could always get 4/- for twenty cigarettes. As at that time we were getting over a hundred cigarettes a week one could soon get quite a bit of cash. I did not bother for some unknown reason. The only thing I did get one day was a bottle of Champagne for 120 cigarettes. This was cheap to me as the cigarettes had only cost me a total of 4/- in the N.A.A.F.I. A cheap bottle of Champagne I thought. One could also get 2/6 for an ordinary tablet of toilet soap. One slab of chocolate would fetch 2/-. This may seem a bit rotten on the French but we found out that the stuff was being resold at a higher price than we got for it.

I made one visit to the cinema in Carvin when there was an old Tarzan picture on. The sound track was in English and the French translation was shown on the bottom of the screen. I have found out that the continental cinemas do not allow smoking. I suppose it is because of their inferior ventilation and lack of fire precautions.

Not long after we got to Camphin we were able to organise a game of football with Carvin. I was picked to play left back. When we got to the ground we found that the stand was full and there must have been quite a few hundred spectators. We got changed and ran out on the field in single file and turned to one of the goals for some practice shots. When the home team came running out a few minutes later we found that the French had a different way of doing things. They ran out in single file, formed a line facing the stand and bowed to the spectators. Then they ran to the opposite end of the field. The game started and although we tried hard we decided the result was a foregone conclusion. We lost the game 9-1. I got an injured thigh for my trouble. We found out later that there were only three of the usual Carvin team playing against us. The other players had been brought in from other town teams over a wide area, including an international goalkeeper. 

That's the French way. One other thing we didn't expect was for our captain to be handed a bouquet of flowers by the opposing captain while tossing the coin at the beginning of the game. We did hit on the right thing to do at the end of the game however, when we decided to drive to the town war memorial and put the flowers there. After that we all went to a café and the Champagne was brought out. Toasts were proposed from both sides and then the party broke up. All of us went back to camp for tea.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Thursday, September 14, 1944: Camphin

Camphin-en-Carembault

On the 14th Sept. we were once again on the move, without a home, but after covering only about ten miles we arrived at Camphin [Camphin-en-Carembault] and set to work putting up camp in a field next to the mill. 

Our stay here turned out to be quite a long one. Actually, a day over five weeks. Camphin was not very big but Carvin, a mining town, was only about one and a half miles down the road in the opposite direction to Lille.

Carvin had one long main street and a square half way through. All the road surfaces around here were cobbled, but were fairly smooth. We soon found that the people here were very friendly and anxious to show their hospitality. My first trip into Carvin took place not long after we had camped there. I went for a walk right through the town with a pal and when we nearly reached the other end somebody called us as we were passing a doorway. It turned out to be a café and the proprietor treated us to a drink out of a dusty bottle. It looked as if he had kept it for a long time and when we saw what it was we were surprised. It was Whisky, the real stuff. We had to sample a couple more of those. After that we went out and started walking back through the town. Before long we came to another café, the place was full of them. We went in and began to sample their cognac and beer. The beer was rather weak but cheap at approximately 2d per pint. Before long out came a bottle of Bénédictine and we were treated again. This also was supposed to have been hidden until we got there. The Jerries, by the way, had only left there ten days before. We had quite an interesting conversation at the place with a couple of fellows of about twenty-one years of age, who could speak English and had been in the F.F.I. [1] When we left this place we decided to get back to camp but we called in the last café before leaving town to relieve our thirst. Here we found a man of about twenty-six and his three sisters running the place. We found out that this this chap was quite a big noise in the F.F.I. for that neighbourhood, and here again we had a very interesting talk. All that was left after that place was to walk back along the open road to camp.

I did not see much of Lille during our stay here except on bath runs on the lorry. The streets seemed very wide and it was a clean looking city.

1. F.F.I. French Forces of the Interior (French Resistance)

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Tuesday, September 12, 1944: Beaucamp

Church and town of Beaucamps-Ligny Pymouss, CC BY-SA 3.0

On the 12th. of Sept. we packed up again and moved off. What a gypsy's life! This time it was a drive of approximately fifty miles. We passed through St. Pol [Saint-Pol-sur-Ternoise], Béthune and headed towards Lille. We reached our destination at Beaucamp [Beaucamps-Ligny]. The 'highlight' in this trip was the tremendous enthusiasm of the civilians. Each town we went through was packed along each pavement with people waving and cheering. As usual the hundreds of flags were prevalent and of course we had the usual shouts for cigarettes. All through France we were greeted by anyone from the smallest boy or girl to the old men with the magic word 'cigarette'. We couldn't ignore it for unfortunately in this case, the word is similar in French and English. All the kids would shout "Cigarette for Papa" but it was obvious that the majority of cigarettes they got were smoked by themselves.

Having got our waggons into a field at Beaucamp we once more got down to the job of erecting tents and so forth. Two days covered our stay here. I was on guard one night and found a plum tree and a pear tree that had some good fruit on them. I had a good feed next day.

MOVEMENT OF CONVOY
This time aiming for 84 G.C.C. (Group Control Centre)

All these route instructions were stuck into the diary and I'll just draw attention to the obvious here: somebody was typing them up while on the move with this band of non-flying RAF nomads. I don't know who typed them, but I do know that at some point the RAF had taught my father touch typing.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Saturday, September 9, 1944: Back to the Farm

Rural landscape in Normandy

Next morning, 9th September we were off again, but this time back the way we came. In the absense of the C.O. we were to return to the farm that we had left the day previous. When we got there the cooks cooked the dinner at the side of the road and after that we waited for a couple of soldiers to check parts of a field for mines. When it was clear we moved in and pitched our tents. We stayed here for three days. The guards here were to be particularly vigilant and it was suspected that there were small bands of SS troops [1] still at large in the woods. I did not leave camp for our stay here.

1. SS (Schutzstaffel, or Protection Squads)

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Friday, September 8, 1944: St. Pol-Brias

Saint-Pol-sur-Ternoise Alcide, CC BY 3.0

Next morning we were off again, this time heading for Audenarde. No mail, in or out, of course, in all this time. We covered about 15 miles passing through St. Pol [1] when the C.O. [2] decided to stop for a rest. Just past the head of the convoy there was a large brick building and a smaller wooden one next to it. I was walking up the road towards it when, just as I was fifty yards away, there came a loud explosion and the roof of the wooden building blew off. I saw the flash shoot about six feet above the building. 

When I got to it, I saw three men being brought out. By stroke of luck they were still conscious and able to stand. They were our C.O., a F/Sgt [3] and a Sgt [4]. The F/Sgt was the worst as he was black from head to foot. Some of his clothes had been blown off, skin as well and a lot of his hair was missing. The three of them were rushed off to a hospital and that was the last we saw of the two N.C.O.'s [5] It was a booby-trap that had caused the damage. I think that type of trap is aptly named as our people had no business in the building at all. Perhaps they wouldn't have called it looting. The C.O. did return to the unit for a couple of days but then it was discovered that he had broken a bone in his spine so then he disappeared.

From then on the adjutant assumed command.

After this accident we couldn't carry on with our pre-arranged plan so it was decided to move on to the next village and camp there for the night.

We had only travelled a couple of miles when we came to Brias and there we stopped to set up camp. We had the main part of the camp, that is, cookhouse, on the village green and all the other trucks parked around. Once again we were to sleep where we could find a place. As I was on guard for a period during the night I was able to lay my bed on some straw in a barn. Some of the boys went out that evening to see a flying bomb site that was just down the road. We found that apart from the Sappers [6] who had gone through the village checking for mines we were the first British troops the people had seen since the invasion.

1. Saint-Pol-sur-Ternoise
2. Commanding officer
3. Flight sergeant
4. Sergeant
5. Non-commissioned officer
6. Sapper, also called pioneer or combat engineer, is a combatant or soldier who performs a variety of military engineering duties.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Thursday, September 7, 1944: To Abbeville

Place-Max-Lejeune-a-Abbeville. Pline, CC BY-SA 3.0

Next day, the 7th. of Sept, we were on the road again. This time for a long run and it was to be done as quickly as possible. Our objective was St. Omer and it was a run of about 130 miles. St. Omer was at this time only just in Allied hands. After 44 miles we reached Rouen and crossed the Seine, on we went and after another 62 miles we crossed the Somme at Abbeville. 

As it was getting late in the day by now it was decided to stop the night in a farm yard and barn. We could put our beds in the stables, barn or anywhere we could find to get some sleep. As we had had everything packed the night before at Lieurey I had made a rough shelter of a tarpaulin over a fence and slept under that. Unfortunately, it had rained very hard during the night and I had somehow got wet. This time I decided to try and get some sleep in the cab of my truck. I managed it but it was a little cramped.

MOVEMENT ORDER
1. Lieurey - Rouen (44 miles). 2. Rouen - Abbeville (62 miles). 3. Abbeville - St. Omer.

When dad was on the ship, he referred to helping the driver, indicating that he was not the driver himself. But he did become a driver whilst serving in the RAF at some point and here he refers to the truck as "my truck", which might infer that he now had control of it. Dad had told me that one day a driver was needed and he was asked if he could drive, told to drive maybe a hundred yards down a straight road to prove it and that was that. This suggests this was in France. He never did take any other driving test. 

Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Sunday, September 3, 1944: Lieurey

Mairie de Lieurey (Town Hall) on the Place de la Mairie. Jean-Michel Gobet (Jmgobet), CC BY 2.5

On the 3rd. of Sept. we had packed up and were on the move again. We arrived at Lieurey in time for dinner. Tents were pitched but our stay was only to be short as it was for the purpose of the Servicing Unit to inspect and modify our equipment. There was no work for us except a little cookhouse fatigues [1] and guard.

The next afternoon I walked about a mile into Lieurey with one of the boys and we just had a look around. While we were standing in the square three lorry loads of Jerry prisoners came up and unloaded. There were very few young men amongst them. As they marched past us I noticed a rather peculiar look in their eyes. Suggesting a feeling of "I'm sorry, but I don't care" attitude.

ROUTE - CONVOY MOVEMENT
Caen - Troarn - Dozulé - Pont-l'Évêque - Cormeilles - Lieurey
(sharp right at X roads) 100 yards, fork right, then 1/4 mile to 308 M.S.S.U. [2] [3]
(Yes, this is what passed for a Sat Nav in 1944!)

The next day at dinner-time a liberty run was organised to Trouville [4] but I couldn't go as I was on guard that night.

Next day I was lucky however and we arrived in Trouville about 2.30 p.m. This place and Deauville across the bridge had been a favourite place for British tourists before the war so quite a number of people there spoke English. The Casino [5], which had been a big gambling place, was now the ENSA [6] Cinema. I saw Betty Grable in "Pin Up Girl" that evening. We were told the Germans used to bring their families here for a holiday. Scores of shops had quite a good stock of lip-stick, powder and scent of good quality and most of the boys bought something. I had a good dinner in an English speaking hotel, and spent the rest of the time chewing pears and plums.

That evening, just after tea-time and while it was still light, I saw for the first time an R.A.F. bomber raid in progress. Lancasters were bombing Le Havre and everything that happened in the air could be seen very plainly. Each 'plane seemed to be working independently and dropping its bombs at leisure. There was slight AA [7] fire. When it got dark the flames from a huge fire could be seen across the water.

1. Kitchen duties often involving potato peeling
2. Presuming this was for No. 308 Polish Fighter Squadron
3. Mobile Signals Servicing Unit (MSSU)
4. A trip to the seaside at Trouville-sur-Mer
5. Casino de Trouville-sur-Mer
6. Entertainments National Service Association
7. Anti-aircraft warfare

Potato peeling was also often given as a punishment, as my father admitted he'd received on one particular occasion. Never did admit, at least not to me anyway, what he did to deserve it, mind you.

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Saturday, August 12, 1944: La Folie

Église Saint-Pierre de La Folie (St Peter's Church, La Folie.) S. Plaine, CC BY-SA 4.0

On the 12th of August the convoy once more got under way. We travelled again amid clouds of dust, passing through numerous small villages that had been destroyed by the battles. A larger place, Creully was not too bad. We ended up at St. Contest and set up the technical equipment. Our domestic site was set up in an orchard about a mile away at La Folie. It looked quite comfortable.

"Just as I expected - no hot water."

It was on that day that I saw my third Allied 'plane crash. The crew had bailed out of a Marauder [1] fairly high up and it came down in circles with both engines roaring. Near the ground it straightened out and looked to be coming straight for us. Luckily for us it turned away and hit the ground less than a mile away. The next few nights we saw a repetition of the performance we had at Le Manoir. Jerry came over again and it was just like another November 5th. Once I saw a 'plane cross the moon but couldn't recognise it.

Our main trouble at this place was the mosquitos, fly's and wasps. No matter how many were killed, they still came along in thousands. At night the mosquitos kept us awake with their biting and buzzing in our ears. Dive-bombing we called it. Those insects could bite and they left quite a mark. I had one bite me above the left eyebrow and when I was washing next day I rubbed the top off it with the towel. It started bleeding and I couldn't stop it. It was an artery. A good job it didn't bleed so much in the night. I held the spot until the blood congealed and left it alone.

At this time Jerry was only four or five miles away from us to the east. In fact, as we were situated on top of a hill we could see where they were supposed to be on the next hill. Too close! Caen was only two or three miles from us. A couple of shells landed in the next field one night but don't know where they came from. In both St. Contest and La Folie I did not see one house intact, some, in fact most, had been reduced to rubble. There were three or four families still living in La Folie in their patched up houses. The one thing that will always be associated with these places is the smell. It was very easily noticeable and made one think of dead bodies. This same smell, only ten times more was noticed in Caen later.

Meals were quite an ordeal here while the hot weather persisted. Swarms of fly's and wasps would settle on the food and if there was jam, we almost had to dig through a pile of wasps to get at it. I was stung once on the back of the neck but Milton soon made it disappear. Nearly every man in the camp caught a dose of Dysentery. I had stomach ache for a couple of days but soon got over it.

Pass to enter Caen dated 20 Aug 1944 to 3 Sep 1944

Most evenings here I spent in camp or else exploring the village. Actually there wasn't much to see. I went into Caen about three or four times on the bath run. I can quite easily believe that the damage here was worse than any other town (Perhaps outside Germany.) For miles there was only piles of rubble, in places even main streets had been obliterated. New tracks had to be cut through the debris with bull-dozers. [2] The Cathedral, luckily was comparatively untouched. Just outside the main part of the city there was a Race Course and at the other side ran the river. What had been a large Café had been taken over by the N.A.A.F.I. and next door the Cinema was showing fairly new British and American pictures. After Falaise-Gap battle [3] and our troops advanced towards the Seine, the civilians trickled back into the city.

1. Martin B-26 Marauder 
2. Canadian bulldozer in Caen
3. Falaise pocket (12–21 August 1944)

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Wednesday, August 9, 1944: Le Manoir

Manoir à Le Manoir (The Manor at The Manor) Pimprenel, CC BY-SA 3.0

The next day, the 9th., we hadn't much to do and in the afternoon a gang of us went down through the village called Le Manoir [1], to the Mobile Bath unit that was down there near the stream. [2] There were quite a few Army fellows waiting to have a shower so we decided to dive into the stream. It was very cold so we only stopped in the water for a few minutes. It was deep anyway. Then at the Army place we were able to get our dirty towel, shirt and socks changed for clean. That evening nearly everyone went out for a walk around armed with their rifle or Sten as per our orders. I went down to the village with a couple of the boys and had my first taste of Cognac. Not bad! [3] I did not see many civilians, although the houses here were intact. All houses and walls were built in the same grey stone.

We had a few exciting nights here as Jerry came over to bomb the shipping on the coast. The opposition put up made a wonderful sight. At times the whole sky seemed filled with slow moving strings of red balls. The ground shook with the continuous explosions. One day here, at about mid-day I saw two planes crash. A Mustang, that must have been in trouble, was shot down by a Lightening. [4] Not long after, a Liberator [5] crashed after performing a series of acrobatics that even a fighter would be proud of. The crew were already floating down on their parachutes.

1. The village of Le Manoir is a small village located in the department of Calvados of the French region Basse-Normandie.
2. Probably the river Seulles.
3. Was it? This is the Calvados region!
4. An American "own goal", it would seem.
5. The B-24 Liberator Bomber

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)

Tuesday, August 8, 1944: France

Arromanches-les-Bains with the remains of the Mulberry harbour in its bay

I woke up the next morning to hear the throbbing of the engines and to feel the slight pitch and toss of the ship. We had been under way since about midnight. After breakfast I went up on deck and had a look around. There was a rather heavy mist that cut down visibility considerably. I could just see two more L.S.T.'s in line astern of us. 

It was nearly mid-day on 8th August, as we approached France.

The fog cleared and soon we could pick out the coast and see the "prefabricated harbour" [1] at Arromanches. [2] We heard that the captain of our ship was a go-ahead type and afraid of nothing and now we saw evidence of it. He was bawling through the microphone for everybody to get out of our way and we went straight for the narrow entrance. A Yankee ship that nearly got in our way got in our way was told what to do in no uncertain manner. We drew into a pier-head and proceeded to [dis]embark. This time the trucks on the top deck were able to drive off the side, one at a time onto a platform and down a ramp. Those trucks below drove out through the bow in the usual manner. We drove along the pier for about 200 yards and reached a bridge that put us on top of the low cliff.

A drive of a quarter of a mile brought us to a field where we waited until all the convoy had arrived. After a few minutes had passed the signal to move was given and off we went, seeing our first sights in France. The first indication we had that we were really in France was a sign in English saying "You are now in FRANCE. Remember to drive on the right-hand side of the road." Some drivers had forgotten that and so needed the reminder. The roads which originally were narrow had been widened by our lads but were not very smooth. In fact they were very rough with numerous pot-holes, and then we encountered the dust. It came up in huge clouds as each vehicle went along and soon we found we were chewing on dust whether we liked it or not.

It was not very long before we came to our site and the trucks were rapidly driven across the field onto the hedge and the nets were thrown over them. Next thing was a meal. After that we were warned about mines in the fields around and told to watch our step. I got my bed out of a truck, laid it out underneath and got some "shut-eye". I needed it.

1. Mulberry harbour
2. Arromanches-les-Bains (a.k.a. Gold Beach)

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Leading aircraftman (LAC) Charles Francis (Frank) Stone (1923-2001), my father, wrote this Forbidden Diary (i.e. they'd been told NOT to keep diaries and the fact that it exists tells you all you need to know), as a 21 year old in 1944. (Entries are transcribed exactly as written, mistakes included. Attitudes are very much 'of their time'.)