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Did I Ever Tell You the One About . . .? Memoirs of Life Behind the Lines of WWII In the 6834th Rearmament Regiment

by Betty Bentley DeLoach

227 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-1435; ISBN 1-4120-3607-0; US$21.00, C$23.95, EUR17.50, £12.00

What was everyday life like behind the combat lines of WWII? Lonely, homesick, exploding outhouses, neighborhood bordellos.

Beach invasion and paratrooper jumping weren't the only action that was going on.

Read more!

About the Book      About the Author      Excerpts      Catalogue Information

About the Book

These are stories taken from the personal diaries, letters and newspaper clippings, and word of mouth accounts of my father's life just behind the combat lines of North Africa, France, and Germany. This is not a "I jumped out of a B-29, then stormed the beaches" type of book. These are the more day-to-day accounts of the personal lives, backgrounds, and feelings of a group of men. For example:

How do you stay "seated" on a toilet on a ship in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean when the ship is riding 30- to 40-foot waves?

• You take your pants belt, loop it under the back of the toilet, then across your lap (If you happen to be seasick at the time, then you really have a problem).

How do you bathe approximately 2000 men who have just spent 30 days on a ship with rationed fresh water?

• You run them through a human "car wash".

What do you do when you're sick to death of eating dried, powdered, canned and reprocessed food?

• You go out and shoot a couple of wild boars (and save a guy's life in the process even after he did something real stupid.).

How do you put out a fire in a wooden boxcar on a train in North Africa and you have no water at your disposal?

• You pee in it.

What do you do with a dead Frenchman in the middle of Paris?

• You drop him off at the nearest police station.

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About the Author

Betty DeLoach was born in Macon, Georgia. She has lived in Thailand and Germany. As a young girl she traveled with her parents to all through Southeast Asia because of her father's civil service job. She is married to a retired Air Force Senior Master Sergeant. They live in Central Florida and have four children.

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Excerpts

They saw images that would melt even the hardest of hearts, to sending the rest of us screaming for cover. They heard sounds of hysterical laughter, and terrified cries of children hunting for their mothers. Shouts of encouragement, elation and gratitude to screams of agony of their brothers in arms, sometimes begging to be shot by their comrade just to end the pain caused by war. And there aren't enough words in the English language to describe the range of feelings experienced by the World War II soldier.

Sixty-year-old memories can immediately trigger tears from an eighty-year-old veteran just as fast as if it happened yesterday. The images are still that fresh, and the feelings are still that raw.

One the other side of that coin, a veteran can see a picture, hear a sound, or taste an exotic food. A broad grin will come across their face, sometimes accompanied by a chuckle or deep down belly laugh. When questioned as to the reason, they will always start off with the generic:

"Well, you know, during World War II, this old buddy of mine and I . . ."

This dissertation could last for a few minutes or it could last into the wee small hours of the morning.

If you ask any World War II veteran if he or she had any pleasant times or humorous experiences, they will probably tell you to sit down and put your feet up. They would much rather tell you about those than the bad times, understandably. They all had them; from the Generals, if any are left, to the one stripe private. Even the Supreme Allied Commander General Dwight D. Eisenhower and General Omar Bradley wrote stories of their lighthearted experiences in their memoirs.

From 1941 to 1945 there were 12,364,000 World War II soldiers. 38.8% or 6,332,000 of these people volunteered for service. 61.2% or 11,535,000 were draftees. Of all of these people, 73% of all military personnel served overseas for an average of sixteen and a half months. 38.8 percent, which was a little over a third of the enlisted personnel, had rear echelon assignments but the victory depended just as much on them as the infantry, paratroopers, or tank drivers. These were the men and women who kept communications going, fed the troops, supplied them with everything from gum to ammunition, and gasoline and kept them moving over land, sea and air. In most instances, it was because of the non-combat soldier that the combat soldier was able to do his job, and most of them will be the first to tell you this. These were the support units. My father, one of the six million volunteers, served in one of these support units. He was part of the 6834th Rearmament Regiment.

I have been listening to his war stories all of my life, and spent many happy hours sitting and listening to his experiences that have run the gamut from wild boar hunting in North Africa to working on General Eisenhower's staff car in France. Every time I heard one, I would think to myself, "I should be writing these down."

*****

The Colin P. Kelly was one of the victory ships that were being cranked out in Virginia at the rate of one every thirty six days. As they went down the metal stairs, they were going into the cargo hold of the ship. James focused his eyes to the lighting in the hold; he almost gasped at what he saw. At far as he could see, metal bunks stacked eight and ten high with metal ladders running from top to bottom for access. They were bolted to the ceiling on the top bunk and to the floor on the bottom bunk. The aisles between the racks, as the Navy called them, were only about four feet wide and James didn't even to stop to count how many aisles there were. The only unoccupied place in the hold was the space directly below the hatch opening on the deck above them. From each side of the hatch hung a huge rope cargo net. They had already been told this was a safety measure in the event the ship was hit with a German torpedo, this would be the fastest way out. This was not something he really wanted to think about right now, so like any good bull; he just kept walking, following the bull in front of him.

"Keep moving. . . all the way to the end . . all the way down the aisle. . Keep moving. . all the way to the end. . all the way down the aisle . . Keep moving . . all the way to the end . . all the way down the aisle . . " Another one of those mechanical sailors was giving directions.

"What about here close to the hatch? Fresh air all the time and at night you would have a fantastic view of the stars." Private Orville Jackson Pickett suggested in his squeaky voice. Several of the other guys had discussed among themselves on which side Pickett buttered his bread, but so far no one had asked.

"If I were you, I would go on back farther in the hold, preferably as close to the wall as possible, and settle in those racks," a sailor told them. "It would be a lot warmer and dryer being as the hatches are going to be open the entire crossing, day and night, rain or shine. Also, if and when we hit rough seas you only have one side of the rack to fall out of."

The guys looked at each other, and then looked at Pickett.

"MOVE IT, Nature Boy. If you want to commune that's fine. But I'm keeping my butt as dry as possible," one of the larger men said as he pushed passed him.

"OH! Well, excuse me! I made a mistake! Am I going to be shot for that?" Orville said sarcastically as he moved on back with the line.

"Don't tempt me!" the man yelled back.

*****

On top of the hill was a fifty-foot long covered canvas wall. James would later write Top that it looked like a long tube with the front cut off. Twenty to twenty five men would strip down to nature's own, enter the tube, and stand in front of the canvas wall. A corporal, yielding a hose that resembled those used by firefighters, wet down the entire line in a couple of sweeps, thoroughly soaking everybody. A private would then come down the line and with a large sweep of his arm, throw a large scoop full of soap flakes, giving each man enough to soap up. They were then given about five minutes to wash away as much of the past thirty days as possible. The corporal would then come down the line again and wash off the soap. That clean batch would move off and the next filthy group would come in. Luther made the comment that was the way cattle were cleaned back home. James warned Luther one last time about comparing him to livestock.

When Burt and Vic saw the hose, they were certain that the sergeant had lied to them. They just knew the water was going to be ice cold and that the family jewels were about to be drawn up into the inner most regions of the body cavity. Luther started to get a little nervous listening to this as he had experienced this reaction several times in creeks back home. The most recent he could recall when he and Dottie Sue fell off the limb the first time he kissed her and she threw them both in the water. That time it had been worth it, but he wasn't sure whether or not dirt and sweat were. James was watching the reactions of the guys being hosed down and he didn't see anybody shrieking or screaming so it must not be that bad. When it came their time, all of the guys were very relieved when they discovered that the water was not cold but pleasantly warm.

When many of the men came out of the shower, they didn't even bother toweling off, but rather just stood in the delicious warmth of the sun. It felt fantastic to be wet and clean and they wanted to enjoy it as long as possible. Orville was one of the few who made a beeline to dry off and cover up his naked little body. Being nude in public had always made him uncomfortable. A couple of days before the ship docked, a general announcement had been made that each man was to have a clean uniform once they made port. This uniform was now used and the dirties were belted to the outside of the duffel.

*****

"That little lady needs to have another hole dug and move that outhouse. Growing up on a farm, I have smelled some pretty bad stuff in my life, but that is sick! Why can't they lift up the roof like we do back home?" Luther asked.

"For one thing, this is Europe. There is very little that is the same as back home. Twothat little outhouse has probably had more traffic in the last month than it has ever had in its whole existence. That thing was not dug for just to accommodate as many people that have been using it in such a short amount of time. Also, you don't have the harsh winters that they do. If you have to sit there for a while, you don't want to freeze your butt off, so the outhouse is as closed up as much as possible, but still ventilated so you won't pass out from the methane gas," Burt told him. 1 "Won't pass out from the WHAT?" Luther asked.

"Methane gas. That's what smells so bad in there. Luther, didn't you take any kind of science in school? Methane gas is a colorless gas that comes from decaying matter. Don't you know how bad a rotting dead animal or compost pile smells? Well it the same smell as a damn outhouse. It is also extremely flammable. One thing you never want to do is strike a match around that stuff. It's just as bad as setting a match to gasoline, except you can't pour it and you can't see it." Burt said.

If Luther had any serious flaws, it was that he always had a comeback or answer for any argument put before him.

"Oh come on! My granddaddy would spend hours in his outhouse with his corn cob pipe and a Sears & Roebuck catalog," Luther smiled as he remembered, "He couldn't read worth a damn, but he sure liked looking at the pictures. Anyway, nothing ever happened to him."

Burt was starting to get frustrated with Luther.

"I told you Luther, that is the reason for the ventilation! The roofs on American outhouses have that big open space at the top or that big stove pipe coming out of the roof, otherwise you can...."

KA-BOOM!!!!

The explosion knocked James and Vic out of their chairs, Luther and Burt and the man down at the other end dove under the table. Orville, who was standing close to the door, was slammed to the floor. The other men who were standing in the room were knocked down.

"WHAT IN THE HELL WAS THAT ! - I didn't hear any incoming!" Vic yelled.

Everybody laid low for a few moments just in case they were under attack or some artillery flunky had messed up his coordinates and sent some shells flying about the country side. When it became apparent that the explosion was a single incident, everyone started to move again.

"Is everybody OK? Is anybody down?" Burt shouted out as he and James crawled out from under the table.

"EVERYBODY UP HERE IS OK!" someone shouted from the upper floor.

"NOBODY DOWN AT THIS END!" another man called out from the other end of the house. Several men were edging up to the front windows to see if anyone was there, lest they be caught off guard and became targets for any stray German soldiers in the area. A couple of the guys had noticed the back windows.

"Why is that mud sticking to the windows?" James asked as he was getting up from under the table. Then, all of them were looking at the windows in the back of the house to see they had been splattered. "And what is that smell!?" Everyone was suddenly aware of the sickening stench that had flooded in the house.

One of the men who had been outside staggered to the doorway and leaned against the door seal.

"It wasn't a mortar and that IS NOT mud!" he said. The man was still stunned from the explosion. Every man in the room turned again to look at the windows. The dark matter was now starting to separate and slide down the glass.

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Catalogue Information

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