In December 1943 I was serving in the European Theater of
Operations in the United Kingdom and had joined Battery B, 321st
Glider Field Artillery Battalion of the 101st Airborne Division in
November. On Christmas Day we had the usual turkey dinner with all the
trimmings and had as our guests children from the area surrounding Whatcombe
Farms.
Christmas fell on a
Saturday that year and we normally trained for one-half a day but training was
suspended. On the following evening, Sunday the 26th the battalion
sponsored a dance in Oxford, 25 miles away. Among the guests were members of
the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) of the British Army. My major recall of
that event is that it is where I met Pte. Kathleen Wells. Her unit was
stationed in a private home in Oxford where they performed administrative work
for the British Army. We enjoyed each other’s company and began dating. I was
able to get into Oxford on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and on Saturday
afternoon and evening and if she was not on duty we saw one another. It was
good to have Kay as a friend. Spending time with her was in stark contrast to
spending time with my comrades of the Detail Section with whom I spent day and
night. She and I were good company for each other inasmuch as we were both
soldiers away from home and often lonely. We saw each other until I left the UK
for Holland with a hiatus of six weeks while I was in France. Another hiatus
occurred when she threw me off the train for a short period. That ended when we
met soon after during mass at the Black Friars in Oxford and began seeing each
other again (the Catholic Church always offered great opportunities for me to
expand my social life). After I left for Holland we didn’t see each other again
but did write to each other. A few times she sent me a CARE type package of
goodies. Assembling a CARE package with the state of the UK economy in those
days took a great deal of energy and knowing where to look. We continued to
write to each other after the war until there was no point to it.
One year brought stark changes in my Christmas experience.
Christmas Day a year after I met Kay in Oxford I was in Bois Jacques just
outside of Foy, four miles north of Bastogne, Belgium. A railroad which ran
into Bastogne served as the boundary for the right flank of the 506th
Parachute Infantry and the left flank of the 501st Parachute
Infantry. Soldiers from each regiment manned a house in the wooded area just
southeast of Foy. During the afternoon the Germans attacked along the railroad
attempting to take the house. They got close enough to the house so that German
KIA were within 50 feet.
On this day our Forward Observer (FO) team was back at the
gun position of our unit, Battery B, 321st, Glider Field Artillery. The 321st
was in direct support of the 506th and as a result of the German
attack our FO team was ordered to the house at the boundary. This was not the
usual position for us because of the wooded area which restricted observation.
We preferred an unobstructed view of the enemy. Nevertheless we arrived at the
house just as it became dark, further restricting observation. We did not have
wire communications with the 321st Fire Direction Center (FDC) and
so I checked into the Fire Direction Net on the radio. Soon after we arrived, a
patrol from the Intelligence (S2) section of the 506th arrived. They
checked in with the NCOs in charge at the house before going on patrol. A
rifleman of the 506th was a friend of one of the soldiers going on patrol and asked him if he had
volunteered for the patrol. The latter responded, “Are you kidding, on
Christmas Day?”
The patrol moved out and soon met up with some Germans who
were moving to their rear. An inconclusive firefight ensued and the patrol soon
returned to the house and then to regimental headquarters. However, this
meeting between the patrol and the Germans stirred up the latter and they began
mortaring our position. While I was experienced there were times when I didn’t
demonstrate it. I was standing with my back to a window looking at a picture of
Saint Anthony on the wall. A mortar shell landed outside the window and a shell
fragment came zinging in. It barely broke the skin of my check and struck Saint
Anthony in the face. That graze felt like a serious wound and so I ran to the
basement door where a platoon sergeant from the 506th looked at it
and declared it to be “nothing.” That was probably my closest call because
another eighth of an inch and I might have lost my chin.
For reasons known only to them, the
Germans stopped their fire. With this we began to think of something to eat.
Because we were encircled by the Germans, supplies, to include food, were
short. We had no rations at the house and were hungry. I began foraging and
found the makings for basic pancakes, made some and served them. Basic as they
were, they were well received.
I don’t recall anything else of
this day except for the body of one of the Germans who had fallen while
attacking the house earlier in the day. We searched his body and found a photo
of an attractive young woman. She was dressed in black laying on the ground in
an evocative pose. Wow, I thought, he’s not going back to her. But then, this
was not unusual, there were many soldiers on both sides who, as a result of
actions on that day, were not going back to their women or to anything.
