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The Trooper

by Arthur Yates

85 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0066; ISBN 1-55212-665-X; US$13.99, C$19.99, EUR13.00, £9.10

A young soldier is flown to England at the end of World War Two to mount a political campaign against Winston Churchill's government.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book The Trooper is the story of a young soldier flown to Britain to oppose Winston Churchill in the 1945 election. Too late home to be nominated, he mounts a national campaign that is heard around the world. The book also contains first-person accounts of important historical events, such as how the American First Army fled under heavy attack from Rommel but regrouped to become an important unit in later battles of the War.

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About the Author Arthur Yates, of Canadian nationality, was born in Manchester, England, the fifth of seven children. In his late teens Arthur addressed ever-larger crowds in market square settings. "A market square orator of no mean ability" as the Derby Telegraph later reported. He fought World War Two from the beginning, as a front-line soldier most of the time. The Trooper tells of his adventures in and aroun this last major war. At the end of World War Two Yates managed to get the army and the world to take him seriously as an opponent to Winston Churchill, the great British leader. In Canada, he fought four elections as a Liberal, but in Alberta (where Liberals are rarely elected), so he never had a chance to become an M.P. He did, however, become a close friend of Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, with whom he bonded at the time of their first meeting. Arthur could have perhaps become a senator or anything else, had he followed the frequent advice he received from Trudeau. Trudeau told him over and over again to see Senator Hastings, who would channel him into important position. Arthur Yates never did go to see Senator Hastings about this. He was perhaps too independent. Also by Arthur Yates: The Red Tide Stemmed

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Excerpts

from Chapter One: A Trooper Flies Home to England

    Prime Minister Winston Spencer Churchill was the acknowledged leader of the western world throughout the war. He was almost worshipped in Britain and throughout the free world for his inspiring leadership in the darkest days of the war. When the war with Germany ended, and although the second world war continued in the far east, a General Election was called in Britain. Naturally Winston Churchill, head of the Conservative party, sought to win the election, and continue on as head of government. Nontheless I, Arthur Yates, then aged 26, a soldier without any high rank, in fact a trooper, was issued with V.I.P. travel documents to travel home to England from Klagenfurt, Austria, to oppose Winston Churchill in his home constituency of Woodford. Possibly, I had good reasons, which will become apparent as my story unfolds.
    A private soldier to oppose Churchill. None other than I, Arthur Yates. I was that Trooper. The army brass had at first ignored my application to be flown home for this electoral battle, and the time remaining had become a critical factor. The honourable William Douglas Home who had intended to oppose Churchill, instead called a press conference to announce that he was standing down, and was supporting Trooper Arthur Yates.
    The British press took up the cry, and wanted to know why the War department had not brought Trooper Yates home for the election. The news went all around the world, overnight, and my name was in the newspapers in every major city everywhere. The British Daily Mail called me "an earnest, hardened, and freckled young fellow." It seemed that the young man from Manchester had hit the big time.

from Chapter Five: The First American Army Flees From German General Erwin Rommel

     Avid Movie Viewers might be forgiven if they thought that the Americans had won World War Two single-handed. Through most of the war American forces were brave and effective. This is an account when they certainly were not. What happeed when they got their first taste of Blitzkrieg Warfare. When they fled in panic from the enemy. I will be the first to admit that we could never have won the war without their help, but should the truth not be told, by myself, an eyewitness, and at that time a British warrior at the scene.

from Chapter Three: A Lion on the Eastern Dorsal Mountains Decides to Devour Me

    I had warded off the first attack, and I readied two more matches, anticipating another one. It was not long in coming. I heard the scratching of its claws upon the ground, from behind me, and the thing was again rushing at me. I spun around, struck the matches, gazed into its eyes again and let out my roar once more as loudly as I could. Lo and behold, the lion skirted around me again, returning once more to lurk behind me ready to pounce upon my rear. Thank God, there was no wind or rain to extinguish my matches when I struck them. I had 'roared,' or at least made a noise, the lion did not. It was incredibly silent, the only sound it made was the terrifying scratching of its claws on the gravel each time it made a rush at me. This whole drama was repeated several times, before I saw a truck coming. I was ice cold with fear throughout my body, a condition I had never known nor dreamed of, but thank heaven I did not crack. I stood in the path of the truck, and held the matches so that the driver could see my face and my hat badge. The truck stopped. I opened the truck door, and said,"Have you a gun?" He responded that he had one in the back, and naturally questioned me why? When I told him, he said,
    "Get in, and shut that bloody door." As he drove on, he told me that I looked as if I had seen the devil, and perhaps I really had . Then we scarcely spoke on the way to Guardimau. He let me out, with one block to walk to where the tank train stood, awaiting our attention in just a few hours time. As he drove away, an African vulture, a huge carrion bird, called a 'shite-hawk' by the soldiers, circled above me, and it swept down to attack me. I beat up at it with my fists and yelled at it. It left.
    These carrion birds don't normally do anything like that, but this one must have smelled the fear of imminent death upon me and subsequently expected me to drop. I had a few hours rest on my bed, before starting out with the tanks. I did not tell anyone of my experience, for by this time I had formed a pattern of keeping my business and that of the army quite separate.

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Catalogue Information

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