224503 Gnr. Norman Maclaren "Monty" Lamont British Army 91 Field Regiment Royal Artillery from:69 Brocks Drive, North Cheam, Surrey Norman Lamont (my father) was 29 years old at the outbreak of WW2. He was a bus conductor with London Transport, married with at that time with one son, my elder brother Roger. My father told me he was offered the trams, but volunteered for service instead.
He trained in the Orkneys for about two years to become a radio operator RA.
Some guys were so frightened of the Pentland Firth that they never took leave. Dad endured the sea sickness on the flat bottomed ferry and always took the Jericho Express, that he recalled "went like the clappers". At one time he was training in Harrogate, was taught to ride a motorcycle one morning, and to his alarm he performed in a public showing of motorcycle skills that same afternoon. At a sharp bend he could see that he wouldn't avoid the crowds who'd come out to watch. He jumped off and managed to cling onto the machine. This brought rapturous applause from the admirers who believed this had been a stunt.
In 1943 dad sailed from Liverpool. They wore arctic gear on boarding but were then re-clothed for the North African desert. His memories recalled of North Africa were non-combat. He had a recruited Arab boy to watch over the mule that carried the wireless. This mule was stubborn but the boy would whisper something in the beast's ears. The words would always work. He also told me that he was re-baptised in the River Jordan. Another tale was reading a newspaper whilst lying on top of the saline Dead Sea.
Near the end of his North African time Dad caught dysentery from eating a water melon, and overheard the medic "don't worry about this one, he'll be dead in 24 hours". " I'm sure I'm not going to bloody die" was dad's thought. However, the illness prevented him leaving with his regiment. To catch up he crossed a desert in a railway train with some Yanks. It was so cold the "mad" Yanks built a fire in the truck. The truck caught fire, the Yanks unhooked the blazing inferno and all ran to catch up with the front of the train. Luckily the speed was only 10 mph.
As part of 5th Division reserve he sailed for Naples. But it wasn't long before he saw serious action. The 56th Division had been wiped out at Anzio, and the 5th were to replace it. Vesuvius erupted as the troop carrier sailed forth. It was a terrible portent of what would become hell on Earth in the following 3 months.
On arrival at Anzio, dad and his pal John Panton (famous Scots golfer) ripped up tram lines to reinforce their bunker near to the beach at the front line. It was well to prepare. There would be days and nights of enemy bombardment. One Dunkirk veteran was "bomb crazy" and the lads had to take turns to sit on him. Up top the surrounds were a wilderness, although, strangely, skylarks would sing when there was a lull.
Every day was greeted with "I'm still alive". But for some it was too much. Dad noticed those who would stop shaving and abandon their personal hygiene. They would soon pass away.
Dad had a few tales about action here.
They drove behind enemy lines to get a range on enemy targets. One day one of the trucks failed to re-start. Stuka dive bombers came to visit. It made getting the truck re-started a little urgent!
Another story was reporting enemy 4th paras swimming in the sea. The OC instructed the battery to fire 200 yards over their heads, then a 100 yards. The Tommies had a good laugh at all the naked Germans fleeing for their lives.
One time dad was told to get "his head down for four hours". He was awoken an hour and a half later with the order "destroy the equipment and run for the sea". With some little pleasure (the set was new but was difficult to tune) dad put his foot through it. Unable to extricate himself he had to run with the set dangling around his boot.
Dad recalled that "the infantry (Wiltshires, Northern Irish Inniskillings and the Scots Cameronians) had a "rough time of it". The wadis (I found out after he died in 1991 that these were three deep in un-recovered dead) he would merely describe with an "ugh!"
In late May came the breakthrough. He and his buddies of the 13th infantry brigade quickly came to a halt at the gates of Rome, having been ordered to let the Yanks in first.
From Italy it was up through France then onto Belgium, Holland and Germany in Monty's charge. One riverbank was bombarded heavily (the Elbe?). But the enemy had already fled. Dad found himself in the forefront, relieving captured allied soldiers who had been force-marched to Lubeck. He recalled "I don't care what has been said, but we were the first ceremonial parade at the end of the war. The Irish and Scottish pipers rattled off such a quick march that it was hardly possible to keep up. The German townspeople came out in their thousands to cheer us." Oddly, of all the nationalities, dad trusted the Germans more than any other. He had had to accept surrender from German officers fleeing from the Russians. He also became a "parlez" picking up the language quickly. As a reward he had many a pleasant evening, dining with officers and Germans in country houses, and was even offered a farm in Lower Saxony. Cigarettes were the currency and dad had a good supply!
The biggest danger at the end was drunken Russians at the border between 30 Corps 5th Division and the Russian sector. The Ruskies would let off their weapons indiscriminately.
Norman Lamont was given release leave 14th January 1946, Velpke, Helmstedt. His military conduct was recorded as "Exemplary". The citation reads:
"This soldier is one of the best wireless operators in his battery and has performed efficiently and cheerfully under bad conditions and for long spells. He has been a popular and valuable member of his unit football team. Extremely honest and trustworthy."
And this is one of the downsides of military service. Once home, his son (my brother) didn't have clue who dad was.
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