seesul
Senior Master Sergeant
I got a soldiers story by e-mail from a friend of mine, Perry Giles, from Waxahachie,TX. Thought this is something to post...think Thorlifter lives very close to Waxahachie...
My name is Marvin Hubert Allen. My friends call me Hubert, and I prefer to be called that. I grew up at Boyce, but moved to Waxahachie after the 9th grade where I played football for the Indians.
After our country got into the war, I volunteered to be a paratrooper. We trained at Camp Toccoa, which was located in northern Georgia. Our days were filled with physical training, "PT" they call it. At night we went on forced marches, and then there was the obstacle course that must have been laid out by some very sadistic officer. As our C.O. expanded it to us, "My purpose here is to acquaint you with a well of energy which you have never tapped before in your life."
I was in the 507th Parachute Infantry Regiment, and there was this mountain there called Currahee. It was the most prominent landmark on the base and we ran it up and down, three miles up, three miles down. Our regiment trained so hard that the mountain run became relatively easy for us.
We went to jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia, learning the Army way to jump from a perfectly good airplane. I really enjoyed the jumping for the most part. There was much time spent on the 34 foot tower. It was fun in the daylight but a little hairy up there at night.
I had to learn how to pack my own parachute, and learn all the correct terminology. There were risers, static lines, suspension lines and other things. Using the wrong terms would get you ten pushups for every instructor within earshot. If you couldn't learn to talk the talk, your pushup muscle would build up real fast.
Later we moved to an Army air base at Alliance, Nebraska and became part of the 1st Airborne Brigade. We trained there for another six months, taking many flights over the countryside in those C-47 transport planes. Nice country here in western Nebraska, lots of ranches and farmland. These folks here sure know how to bring in a good crop.
That summer our regiment made a practice jump and mock-attacked the Municipal Airport at Denver, with thousands of civilians looking on. That was an interesting experience, kind of fun actually.
In September of '43 we bivouacked on a lake at the Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota. It was really nice there, although a little cold. I could see myself coming back to this place some day. This was to be our last fling before we were going to be deployed overseas.
I sat there under the starry skies of South Dakota and thought about a lot of things. I have just been through months of intense training, and among other things I was now skilled in the ways of killing my fellow man. I wondered about what it would really be like to be in actual combat, man-to-man combat. There were doubts in my mind if I would really be able to pull the trigger on someone when the time came… Right now I sure feel a long way from home.
That November we boarded a train and headed for New York. After a few days at Camp Shanks near Orangeburg, New York, we marched four miles to Piermont Pier. Everyone was in good spirits; there was a lot of chatter in the ranks. I guess every group has its bigmouths. We loaded onto a ferry headed for the port of New York. We were on our way now, and this whole business was getting very real now.
We boarded a passenger liner at the port of New York and steamed out into the Atlantic past the Statue of Liberty. That was really quite a moment for us all. It was some sight, as I had had never seen such a thing before. It was December 5th, 1943.
On the North Atlantic crossing there was a lot of talk of the possibility of U-boats. Lots of times the fellows kept busy with card games and such, but I liked going topside and watching the sunsets. Several days later we arrived at Liverpool, and I for one was glad to be back on solid ground.
We took a train north to Greenock, Scotland. Beautiful country here, a little strange in a way, looks nothing at all like back home. Didn't get settled down good before we took another boat ride on the liberty ship 'SS Suzan B. Anthony' across to Belfast, Ireland. And from there another train ride to Portrush in central Ireland. I took in as much of the scenery as possible. If not for being in the Army, this would really be a trip to brag about back home.
In January of '44 our regiment was made part of the 82nd Airborne Division. For many weeks we continued our training with a lot of night field maneuvers and night compass courses. There was more weapons training, judo, wrestling and hand-to-hand fighting. The weather was just rotten here. I don't see how these people can make a good crop around these parts.
In April we moved back to England, this time to Nottingham. We spent a lot of time cleaning our guns and sharpening knifes. You could tell that the invasion wasn't too far away. Things were getting awful serious around here now. They asked us all to make out a will and be sure to take out a life insurance policy for our folks, just in case. I had never thought much about dying up until that. I wasn't old enough to think of such a thing.
On the 28th of May our regiment was moved by bus to airfields in central England. This was all done very secretly as they wanted nobody to notice. I suppose this thing is about to happen any day now. Everybody is getting pretty keyed up; some of the loudmouth fellows aren't talking so much now.
June the 4th, the order came down. Tonight we go! Everyone spread out all their gear and carefully repacked. Some of the fellows were sporting a new Mohawk haircut. With all our face paint on, I must admit, we were a fierce looking bunch.
I may have looked fierce but inside my stomach was all tied in knots. That afternoon they called us all together. I figured this was going to be a pep talk, but no, we were to stand down. The drop was cancelled due to bad weather over the channel. Man, what a letdown! I've never felt wound up as tight as this.
It was a long night. I didn't get much sleep, as I was going over everything again and again in my mind. I wish we had gone ahead with this invasion already.
The next morning there was a fine breakfast laid out for us and we were given a letter from General Eisenhower. He wished us luck and said how the eyes of the world were on us. We were on for tonight I was fairly certain. Slowly and silently we all got geared up.
Later that afternoon we headed over to the airfield, marching along in single file with all our heavy gear, face paint and all. The mood was somber and quiet, no talking much at all. Up ahead there were some anti-aircraft gun emplacements off to one side. The British soldiers manning those guns were just standing and watching in silence as the troopers walked by. Just as I got up to them, one of the Brits put out his hand to me. We shook hands, he looked me in the eye and said, "Good Luck Yank!" ...
My name is Marvin Hubert Allen. My friends call me Hubert, and I prefer to be called that. I grew up at Boyce, but moved to Waxahachie after the 9th grade where I played football for the Indians.
After our country got into the war, I volunteered to be a paratrooper. We trained at Camp Toccoa, which was located in northern Georgia. Our days were filled with physical training, "PT" they call it. At night we went on forced marches, and then there was the obstacle course that must have been laid out by some very sadistic officer. As our C.O. expanded it to us, "My purpose here is to acquaint you with a well of energy which you have never tapped before in your life."
I was in the 507th Parachute Infantry Regiment, and there was this mountain there called Currahee. It was the most prominent landmark on the base and we ran it up and down, three miles up, three miles down. Our regiment trained so hard that the mountain run became relatively easy for us.
We went to jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia, learning the Army way to jump from a perfectly good airplane. I really enjoyed the jumping for the most part. There was much time spent on the 34 foot tower. It was fun in the daylight but a little hairy up there at night.
I had to learn how to pack my own parachute, and learn all the correct terminology. There were risers, static lines, suspension lines and other things. Using the wrong terms would get you ten pushups for every instructor within earshot. If you couldn't learn to talk the talk, your pushup muscle would build up real fast.
Later we moved to an Army air base at Alliance, Nebraska and became part of the 1st Airborne Brigade. We trained there for another six months, taking many flights over the countryside in those C-47 transport planes. Nice country here in western Nebraska, lots of ranches and farmland. These folks here sure know how to bring in a good crop.
That summer our regiment made a practice jump and mock-attacked the Municipal Airport at Denver, with thousands of civilians looking on. That was an interesting experience, kind of fun actually.
In September of '43 we bivouacked on a lake at the Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota. It was really nice there, although a little cold. I could see myself coming back to this place some day. This was to be our last fling before we were going to be deployed overseas.
I sat there under the starry skies of South Dakota and thought about a lot of things. I have just been through months of intense training, and among other things I was now skilled in the ways of killing my fellow man. I wondered about what it would really be like to be in actual combat, man-to-man combat. There were doubts in my mind if I would really be able to pull the trigger on someone when the time came… Right now I sure feel a long way from home.
That November we boarded a train and headed for New York. After a few days at Camp Shanks near Orangeburg, New York, we marched four miles to Piermont Pier. Everyone was in good spirits; there was a lot of chatter in the ranks. I guess every group has its bigmouths. We loaded onto a ferry headed for the port of New York. We were on our way now, and this whole business was getting very real now.
We boarded a passenger liner at the port of New York and steamed out into the Atlantic past the Statue of Liberty. That was really quite a moment for us all. It was some sight, as I had had never seen such a thing before. It was December 5th, 1943.
On the North Atlantic crossing there was a lot of talk of the possibility of U-boats. Lots of times the fellows kept busy with card games and such, but I liked going topside and watching the sunsets. Several days later we arrived at Liverpool, and I for one was glad to be back on solid ground.
We took a train north to Greenock, Scotland. Beautiful country here, a little strange in a way, looks nothing at all like back home. Didn't get settled down good before we took another boat ride on the liberty ship 'SS Suzan B. Anthony' across to Belfast, Ireland. And from there another train ride to Portrush in central Ireland. I took in as much of the scenery as possible. If not for being in the Army, this would really be a trip to brag about back home.
In January of '44 our regiment was made part of the 82nd Airborne Division. For many weeks we continued our training with a lot of night field maneuvers and night compass courses. There was more weapons training, judo, wrestling and hand-to-hand fighting. The weather was just rotten here. I don't see how these people can make a good crop around these parts.
In April we moved back to England, this time to Nottingham. We spent a lot of time cleaning our guns and sharpening knifes. You could tell that the invasion wasn't too far away. Things were getting awful serious around here now. They asked us all to make out a will and be sure to take out a life insurance policy for our folks, just in case. I had never thought much about dying up until that. I wasn't old enough to think of such a thing.
On the 28th of May our regiment was moved by bus to airfields in central England. This was all done very secretly as they wanted nobody to notice. I suppose this thing is about to happen any day now. Everybody is getting pretty keyed up; some of the loudmouth fellows aren't talking so much now.
June the 4th, the order came down. Tonight we go! Everyone spread out all their gear and carefully repacked. Some of the fellows were sporting a new Mohawk haircut. With all our face paint on, I must admit, we were a fierce looking bunch.
I may have looked fierce but inside my stomach was all tied in knots. That afternoon they called us all together. I figured this was going to be a pep talk, but no, we were to stand down. The drop was cancelled due to bad weather over the channel. Man, what a letdown! I've never felt wound up as tight as this.
It was a long night. I didn't get much sleep, as I was going over everything again and again in my mind. I wish we had gone ahead with this invasion already.
The next morning there was a fine breakfast laid out for us and we were given a letter from General Eisenhower. He wished us luck and said how the eyes of the world were on us. We were on for tonight I was fairly certain. Slowly and silently we all got geared up.
Later that afternoon we headed over to the airfield, marching along in single file with all our heavy gear, face paint and all. The mood was somber and quiet, no talking much at all. Up ahead there were some anti-aircraft gun emplacements off to one side. The British soldiers manning those guns were just standing and watching in silence as the troopers walked by. Just as I got up to them, one of the Brits put out his hand to me. We shook hands, he looked me in the eye and said, "Good Luck Yank!" ...
Great post, Roman.
