D-hour, debarkation onto English soil November 20, was thoroughly typical of the Army. After sitting at the docks for two lovely, sunlit days in plain sight of the world, we stumbled down the gangplank in Stygian darkness into a shed where English trains waited to carry us to our new quarters in England.

The European trains are smaller than those of America. The whistles of the miniature engines were a never-failing source of amusement. Their shrill sounds resemble nothing so much as the anxious, strained steam whistles on a peanut vendor's carriage. They fail utterly to compare with the full throated, melancholy whistle so familiar to Americans. The coaches look like small boxcars with smokestacks and windows. They are divided into a number of more or less private compartments each with two doors: one door opens onto the outside (railroad stations have cement landings that run parallel with this side of the coach), and the opposite door opens into a narrow aisle running the length of the car on that side. The compartments are numbered either first or third class (the second class seems to have vanished), the main difference between first and third being in the number of passengers squeezed into each compartment.

Leaving Southampton we soon arrived at our "home" in England, namely, Tidworth Barracks. If anything, the darkness had increased and of a certainty it was colder. The ground was muddy; the air, damp; and we were a dejected, miserable lot as we finally bedded down for the night -- at two o'clock in the morning.

Tidworth Barracks had been an old cavalry post we were told; but our informant did not say for which war. It was our firm conviction that during the Revolutionary War and during the first part of the War of 1812, Tidworth Barracks had been an admirable, even a first rate billet for horses. But time has the peculiar habit of deteriorating man-made objects and by the appearance of our barracks. it looked as if Father Time had put in a lot of overtime here abouts.

Equal to the occasion, the dauntless engineers went to work. After sadly depleting the broom, mop, brush and soap stocks of Great Britain and developing several cases of acute housemaid's knee, we settled down to the task of decosmolining the million and two articles that we had packed in the States for shipment overseas. What a job! What a mess! That cosmoline had the tenacity of glue, the consistency of molasses and the duplicity of the devil. Machine guns, cradles, spare parts, engineering tools and new half-tracks were afflicted with this plague.

Shortly after our arrival in England, a series of lectures were given to acquaint us with the customs and traditions of this alien but allied country, to enable us to get along smoothly with the aborigines and to help us to cause as few international incidents as possible. Like most Army lectures these were too wordy but unlike most Army lectures these were interesting. Though the English_and Americans use the same vocabulary and syntax, some words and phrases through constant usage have come to have quite different connotations, even to the point of being startling. For example, if some English lass asks you to knock her up, she simply means that she wants you to visit her. In urging you to keep your spirits up, the Britain might tell you to keep your pecker up. Or if one is curious as to how much you earn, he will probably ask you how much you screw a week.

Habit often forges invisible bands of steel around its victims. To us provincial Americans any amount of money was thought of in terms of dollars and cents, the easy, familiar decimal system. Though aware of the old cliche, "When in Home, do as the Romans," some of us reuse it extremely difficult to accustom ourselves to the English monetary system. Hence, most of us for a long time when pur chasing something in England held out a handful of Shillings, half-crowns, half-pennies, three-pence, six-pence, etc., and let the clerk take what was needed. We seldom knew whether the transaction was right. Others of us laboriously mentally translated English prices into dollars and cents in the attempt to get a proper perspective and then back into English "coin of the realm when purchasing items. To further complicate matters the English have two or three names for each coin, thus, not only did one have to learn the value of various coins but both their proper and popular names.

During our stay in Europe, we were paid variously in pounds and shillings, French francs, Dutch gulden, German marks, Czechoslovakian kronen and Belgian francs. The lack of spending facilities plus the bewildering changes and appearances of all this money led most soldiers to look upon foreign currency with a disdain amounting almost to disinterest. Too, the proximity of death undermined considerably the proud god, the omnipotent dollar.

England was a land of shortages. In fact, the only thing she was not short of was shortages. The English had far less to eat and were poorer dressed than the Germans we ran across in our travels through Germany, Hence, food was at a premium not only to the civilians but to the soldiers. Almost every ounce of food had to be imported and to conserve space some genius had invented the process of dehydration.

Our breakfast consisted of dehydrated eggs which, when cooked in quantities large enough to feed a division, tempted only the most callous of appetites. For a while it was believed that somehow certain shipments had been mixed up and that this supposed egg mixture was really a new secret formula for synthetic rubber. The milk we were served was powdered and had a marked antipathy for water, refusing to mix with it. The noon meal was of some dehydrated meat and vegetable as was supper. Dehydrated potatoes never became palatable even after many months when one had become accustomed to all the other dehydrated foodstuffs. What with all this dehydration some wag even suggested that the water was dehydrated.

Not only was there a shortage of food but there was a dearth of souvenirs, so dear to the American heart. And to cap the whole situation the beer was non-alcoholic and foul tasting, other liquors were near non-existent and a serious cigarette shortage developed.

But nothing is completely bad and England was not without its compensations. There were passes to London and other points of interest and ... there were the English girls. The latter seemed starved for male companionship since most of the eligible manhood of Britain were off somewhere hunting and fishing -- Germans and Japs. And the peculiar hot air artistry of American fighting men displeased the British female not at all, as witness the prolific marriage rate. And more than this, an Englishman arriving in America after the British elections at the end of the war declared "that the American soldier had as much to do with the result as any single factor. The American Army camped a long time on British soil, and left a deep and disquieting impression. The lavish habits and easy manners of the GI attracted the girls, the girls wanted to marry America, and in the drab, hard years of the war young people in general became discontented with a life that offered them so much less than the United States seemed to provide for its citizens. They voted for automobiles, better clothes, mass-production factories, more spending power, modern conveniences. They voted socialist, in other words, in order to enjoy some of the fruits of American capitalism." This interpretation may be far-fetched, but nobody who has observed the effect of the well-fed, well-equipped, opulent doughboy on the populations of France, Belgium, Germany and Czechoslovakia, wherever he has appeared, can doubt that he has sowed in his wake the fertile seeds of envy and rebellion.

The trip to London was an experience. A two hour ride through the green English country side, detraining at famous Waterloo Station and then the blissful losing of one's self in the huge metropolitan area that is second in population to none (according to the World Almanac). For our delectation and convenience the American Red Cross had taken over several large hotels where, for a nominal fee, American soldiers could find lodging and food.

The freedom of the city hampered only by M.P.s, Bobbies and similar trivia was ours. With a sliding scale of motives we started out to see what we could see. Some there were at the top of the scale (or vice versa) who set about to visit all the famous and historical points of interest. By chartering cabs we were soon steeped in tradition and ancient history. Trafalgar Square, St. Paul's Cathedral, No. 10 Downing Street, quaint old London Bridge, Buckingham Palace, The Little Old Curiosity Shop and many others marched in parade before our vulgar view.

Then there was a spot that covered quite a range on the sliding scale of motives. This was Piccadilly Circus. Here was the center of the city, the congregating point, the rendezvous of age and youth. Here gathered the eligible girls and some not so eligible either by law or public opinion. This bid fair to be the all time bcy-meets-girl center of the universe. At night, enveloped by a blackout darker than the back of a combat soldier's neck, romance blossomed with all the speed and passion of a tropical flower.

In or around Piccadilly Circus were gathered the theaters, cinemas, some of the better restaurants, the night clubs and-plenty of pubs. And in the very heart of Piccadilly was Rainbow Corner, the serviceman's clubroom, a large hotel where one might rest, read, sleep, eat, write, bathe, dance, etc. While in London the tremendous scars left by the Nazi bombs were seen and felt. And we noticed the calmness, the almost studied indifference of the British as robombs rocketed through the darkling sky trailing their horror behind them and filling the night with raucous explosions.

It was in England that the racial prejudice of the States flared up among the troops. The first American troops to land on English soil were Negroes. They were advance units of the Quartermaster Corps sent out to build barracks, set up supply bases and lines and in general to facilitate and expedite the arrival of the rest of the troops. England before the war had a very small colored population and this confined to three small areas. Thus the average Britain had never come into contact with them. The colored quartermaster soldiers landed when England's need was most urgent, her hour the darkest. So, it was with open arms and hearts that Britain received this help from America. She cared neither for pedigree nor the density of skin pigments, All she thought was that at long last help had arrived. These troops were invited into English homes and treated as equals. Soon they were dating English girls.

When the white troops arrived and beheld white girls escorted by colored soldiers, friction quickly developed resulting in riots and frequent murders. It became necessary to allow only one or the other, white or colored, into a town at any given time. I wonder if when we all get to Heaven, we shall find a railroad track and on one side Negro Angels and on the other side White Angels?

It seemed that Liverpool was the port at which most vehicles were landed from America. And, since an armored division is completely mechanized, the road between Liverpool and Tidworth took a steady pounding. It was this way that a great many boys became acquainted with the English highway system - if such it can be called. Tradition carries a great deal of weight in England. The trails marked by countless hoofs of wandering and grazing animals were adopted as the stage routes when that modern conveyance arrived on the historical scene. With the idea of what was good enough for pa and ma is good enough for me, these old ruts were used with the advent of the horseless carriage._ Finally these were paved resulting in highways that out meander the rambling streams. Narrow and tortuous, these roads cross, intersect and re-cross numerous brother highways whose similarity is little short of miraculous. Moreover, to confuse any Nazi parachutists, stray or otherwise, all road signs had been removed. To a driver new to the district, a stranger to the road system itself and unused to driving on the left side of the road, it all became maddeningly confusing.

To ask directions from an Englishman was to court disaster. Not that they were not anxious to help, but their habit of talking interminably of left and right forks at unnamed villages and invariably ending up with "You cawn't miss it!" left the questioner more bewildered than ever and gave rise to the popular answer, "The hell you cawn't." Driving at night was even worse because everything was absolutely blacked out.

There was never a better equipped Army than that of the United States; but regardless of the amount of material possessed by an outfit it always felt that it needed more. This felt need resulted in a complete loss of conscience. So began a period of banditry of which Robin Hood would have been proud. Whole squads were sent out on the prowl to pick up what they could. The term, "moonlight requisition", became a regular part of the vocabulary. Vehicles rated highest on the priority list and weapons second.

The stealing or "borrowing" of vehicles, known commonly as jeep jumping, fell into two categories: (A) the borrowing of a vehicle for use to keep a date or go visiting; (B) the "requisition" of a vehicle to augment the T/E allotment. At first, drivers, to forestall their vehicles being stolen when left unguarded, would remove the rotor, but the "borrowers" soon learned this trick and carrier spare rotors in their pockets.

After every man had visited London, excursions to other points of interest were arranged. Oxford, full of tradition, composed of buildings many of which predate the American Revolution was a Mecca for the more or less erudite. Bath, so named because of the fixtures left there by the Roman conquerors; Bournemouth, a world famous watering site, and other cities were on the itinerary.

Not only were trips planned but special services got on the ball and secured a movie projector and film. This film became thoroughly familiar to C Company for it followed us all over Europe. In England, France, Holland, Germany and Czechoslovakia it was exhibited for our pleasure. It almost became a habit. Whenever the announcement would be made (about once a month) that special service was unveiling a brand new grade A film for us, the company would divide into two camps: those betting that it would be our faithful friend, "The Song of the Open Road', and those betting that it would be impossible to show that movie again. The latter group usually lost. In fact, throughout the first eight months of our stay in Europe, not one grade A movie ever reached our battalion.

At Tidworth, Lt. Donald Oliver joined the company bringing it up to strength in commissioned officers. He took over the third platoon. Peter Raymond was the platoon sergeant and had been since the company moved to Camp Polk. One morning Raymond, having a cold, fell out for calisthenics wearing a field jacket. Oliver had ordered that no jackets be worn. Peter was busted. Charles "Wabbit" Moore stepped into the vacancy.

Herschell Varney, h.q. platoon sergeant was sent to battalion H.Q. as the S-3 N.C.O., replacing John Wojtowicz who came to C Company to take over Varney's duties. Varney's job at S-3 called for a tech-sergeant rating, but Herschel had to wait months before he got the rating because an officer's favorite somewhere along the line was holding the rating. Thus, our Army!

The last days of December found us with a full complement of vehicles, arms and engineering equipment. Early New Year's day we departed Tidworth Barracks by truck convoy and arrived at Sub-port CD-l4-Weymouth, Dorsets, in mid-afternoon. In Nissen huts (called by Bob Hope cement mixers with cross ventilation) and stone barracks we bivouacked on the edge of the ocean maintaining the roads and buildings while about half the 8th Armored Division passed through on its way to France.

The early fog of January 6, 1945, found us embarking on a US-LST and by 0930 we were en-route to Le Havre, France. A very rough crossing was expected since the reputation of the channel is known the world over; and here was the enemy's last chance to get us while on water. So it was with some nervousness that we settled down to sweat out the trip. Moreover, many remembered their harrowing experience with seasickness and anxiety crossing the Atlantic.

But the vaunted channel was as smooth as a bowling green, and "nary" a German showed his face.