Brian Guy 246 Field Co Royal Engineers - 3rd British Infantry Division Version Française

It is not only images and scenes that remain with one through the years, but also sounds, sounds that can remind one of times long past. To day, (Nearly 60 years ago) We were going to take Caen! We had now reached the high ground on the left hand rout into the City of Caen, this dusty road that looked down on the Colombelles industrial area on the outskirts of Caen, with the high building of the ironworks far below, all rusty and gaunt. From our vantage point it was possible to see for miles down below and the ground spread out all round in a wide panoramic view.

Blissfully unaware that the area was still in German hands and that he was watching our every move, (we had been told that the 51^st Highland Division had taken it) After having a long look at the ground down below we the carried on sweeping and clearing our way forward, to ensure that the way was free from the Enemy and from mines.

The Enemy soon put a stop to this, we had just entered and cleared a farm house when all hell was let loose, from the tall rusty looking steel works down below, came a tremendous barrage of shell fire. Point blank shell fire, where one does not hear the shells coming until the last split second, when the incoming fire sounds like an express train with the scream of shells, with violent explosions and tearing shrapnel, the farm house exploded in a great shower of splintered wood and then came down about my shoulders, the flying debris, the continuing scream and flashing fire, the rippling explosion of the shells, an intense barrage, the swirling smoke and pandemonium and ones whole being gripped with fear.

The moans and cries of mortally wounded men, my mouth dry and choked with dust. After the fire died down I started to extricate myself, covered in dirt and dust and splintered wood, the bitter stench of cordite. When in the distance, I heard the sound of the bagpipes, above all that noise, I could hear the skirl of the Scots pipes, when I got out of the rubble I looked down the dusty track and there he was, nonchalantly marching slowly towards us, this piper, khaki kilt swaying from side to side, as he made his way forward concentrating on his playing. Sounds of war! Whenever I hear the pipes I must admit to having a great big lump in my throat, I have been into battle with the sound of the pipes and I cannot hear them without being deeply moved.

Brian Guy     (July 05, 2003)