Evelyn Swift

A Soldier’s Memoir by Stanley Swift and Evelyn A. Luscher

World War II — September 1939

The British Seventh Armoured Division, also known as the Desert Rats, fought in north Africa under the command of Field Marshal Montgomery. They also landed in Italy and fought there, until they were called back to England for Operation Overlord. In 1944 they successfully fought through Normandy, Belgium and Holland and finally to Berlin in 1945.

Experience the personal thoughts and feelings of Private Stanley Swift, a soldier who would experience war on many fronts. Oh, What a Lovely War! A Soldier’s Memoir is the intensely moving personal document of a British soldier in the field — sometimes humorous, sometimes tragic. Once you have read this poignant account of one man’s experience of war, you will not forget it!
Click book cover for larger image | Read excerpt below

Oh, What a Lovely War! A Soldier’s Memoir
by Stanley Swift and Evelyn A. Luscher
10″ × 7.5″ trade paperback, 82 pages
Publisher: Hellgate Press
ISBN 978-1-55571-502-1
$10.95 Buy now

Excerpt from Oh, What a Lovely War!

WORLD WAR II — THE NORTH AFRICAN CAMPAIGN

Start of the Great Battle for el Alamein
October 23rd, 1942

The time of our attack drew nearer, and we were moved up. The barrage was due to start at ten o’clock that night. Thousands of vehicles were on the move with one thousand guns lined the full length of the front. This was the number stated. By nightfall we had our ammunition, hundreds and hundreds of shells piled up. It was pitch-black with no moon, and we had to follow prearranged signs to our required position.

We were in columns, and these signs were lit-from-within inverted petrol cans cut out with various signs, such as a circle, new moon or triangle. With so many men on the move, they had to be kept in the right channels; otherwise they would have merged and there would have been complete chaos. By following your designated sign, you knew you were in the right lane.

The sand was ground into fine powder, the air full of this dust churned up by heavy vehicles. We were coated with it, our faces, eyes, ears and noses, and the sweat congealed it almost like concrete. The air was filled with petrol and exhaust fumes, and tanks bellowed out huge plumes of smoke. We tried covering our faces, without much success.

Then it became strangely quiet. Dust hung in the air like fog. All watches were synchronized. Promptly at ten o’clock the order was given. The sergeants screamed fire! and we all fired in unison, one thousand big guns. The night exploded in fury. All hell was let loose. The din, the smoke, the belching flames from the guns — huge flames erupting from the end of the gun nozzle — it was Dante’s inferno writ large.

The enemy was all ready for this assault. Heavy forces of German aircraft were coming over and dropping bombs, and the din from the guns and bombs was incessant. We worked as automatons. As gun layer, I was the person who fired the gun, and my right ear was no more than twelve inches from the barrel. I laid the gun on its parallel line and pulled the firing bar. The gun reared up like a wild stallion, with every shell fired.

We fired all night. I became dizzy, almost like a drunken man. I wasn’t even aware that the enemy was firing back at us. I wasn’t aware of anything. If you could imagine hell, this was it. I went through the motions (of firing the artillery gun) like a robot. All the training determined that I would, even though I was in the midst of all this terrible distraction and noise and flame. It was simply manipulating, automatically, without thinking what harm I might be doing. I think my brain had ceased to function as I was going through the motion of firing again and again, hour after hour.

This terrible night went on, the smoke, the big guns barking away, flames illuminating the darkness all along the twenty-to-thirty-mile front.

When dawn came, smoky and grey, we had to rest. It was more than we could humanly stand. For ten days this terrible battle went on and the great punch had to go through the middle of the enemy’s line.