A WWII Train Ride
[The following was a memoir that my father sent to me last year, just a couple of months before he died.]
Following the end of the war with Germany in May, 1945 the Army Corps of Engineers unit of which I was a member was assigned to Army of Occupation duty. I was finally tagged for movement home in December, 1945. When I finally received orders for returning to the "States," the unit to which I was assigned for movement was given orders to proceed from Mannheim, Germany to Marseilles, France by train. This is roughly the same distance as from Kansas City to Denver.
At Marseilles we were to board a ship for home. As we moved from our garrison to the railroad yards to board our train, we were surprised and even a little dismayed to find that we were not going by way of passenger cars – not even the most rugged ones with hard wood seats – but by box car. Although almost 30 years had intervened between World War I and World War ll, these cars were not much different from the famous (or infamous) "40 and 8" cars so familiar to WWI veterans. Much shorter than box cars in the U.S., with four wheels (not eight) firmly fixed to the carriage.
If they had springs, I certainly couldn't tell it. One could feel every joint in the rails, every dip in the track, of which there were many due to incomplete repairs from the bombing of tracks by the Allies during hostilities. However, the Army didn't try to put 40 men in one box car. Instead, each car had about 10 or 12 men assigned to each car, the train had about 15 cars, so the train carried approximately 150 soldiers, our entire "made up" company. In a concession to our comfort, straw had been strewn on the floor of the cars to make our sleeping just a little more comfortable. However, this only added to our discomfort because this straw had not been fumigated and was host to many tiny little critters that just loved to chew on the human flesh.
Off we set upon our trek from Mannheim to Marseilles. We were probably traveling at a speed of about 20 to 25 mph although in the bouncing and weaving box cars, with the side doors open, it seemed like at least 50 mph. Even though it was winter, we kept the sliding doors open at least two feet or so just to give us some light. With the doors completely closed it was pitch dark, even in the day time.
Suddenly the engineer (or locomotive driver, or whatever they called them in Europe) gave five short and sharp blasts on the "peanut vendor" whistle of the locomotive and applied the brakes. My first thought was, "Oh my God, we're going to hit something or derail." I grabbed hold of the side of the car, but we came to a stop without event. I later realized that those unnerving whistle signals simply meant that the engineer was going to apply the brakes for a stop. However, it was still a little upsetting to hear them when one was asleep (if possible) to be wakened by those shrill sounds from the front that sounded like a banshee wailing.
After making some progress on our trip the first day, I noticed that each car had a little doghouse at one end that extended above the roof of the car. It was reached by rather steep steps. I asked one of the train men if I could ride up there. They couldn't care less even if you wanted to ride on the roof. So during the day for the remainder of the trip, I rode in the little "dome car" and enjoyed a bird's-eye view of the scenery.
Of course, there were no rest rooms on this train. For relief of the call of nature, the train would stop on the standard Army ten minutes after the first hour and ten minutes every two hours thereafter. The soldiers simply got off the train and did whatever Mother Nature directed them to do, regardless of our location. (We all had our own little individual packets of toilet paper, something that GI's faithfully carried with them in the inside of their steel helmets during the entire war.) Then, back on the train to continue our journey.
Neither was there any diner on this train. We had all been issued "C" rations for the noon meal. These were rations that included two small cans. One would have your entree, to use the term loosely. Usually spaghetti and meat, potatoes with ham, or "beanie weenies." The other can would have some hard crackers, a packet of hot chocolate powder or instant coffee (you had to furnish the hot water and where would you get that on this train?), a little package of Chicklets chewing gum, a smaller tin about half an inch deep with either peanut butter, grape jelly or cheese (dubbed "bowel binder" by the GIs) and the little packet of toilet paper as mentioned above, in the designer color of olive drab.
For the hot meals at breakfast and evening meals, the Army had set up field kitchens at strategic spots along the track, usually in some rail marshaling yard. We would get off the train with our mess kits and line up for the meal which most often was surprisingly good. Most of us were willing to get along on those two meals each day. There were many places along the track where the train had to slow to a crawl to cross over where only rudimentary repairs had been made to track that had been bombed by allied aircraft or blown up by the French underground. Because railroad yards had been frequent targets of such activity and had not been restored to any great extent, many times our train would have to sit outside of a yards waiting to get space to move into or through the yards.
There were numerous other stops along the way, some quiet lengthy, with no explanation as to why. Our journey, which today would take less than a day, took us about four and one-half days. We arrived in Marseilles and were quartered in a tent city to await the arrival of our Liberty Ship (which was smaller than the Victory Ship – in fact almost small enough to be called a boat). It took us 13 rough sea days – and that's a story in itself – to cross the Atlantic Ocean to Newport News, where we were given a steak dinner and placed on PULLMAN – I repeat – PULLMAN cars for our trip to our separation stations. What a contrast to our European railroad journey!
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on Tuesday, 6 May 2008 at 23.05
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This is amazing, thanks for sharing it. We can see where you get your writing talent from!
on Wednesday, 7 May 2008 at 15.58
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This fascinating recollection illustrates realities of military service well known to those who've served, yet little understood and appreciated by everyone else. When you're in, you're entirely dependent on whatever the service provides for life's mundane, non-battle-related needs.
Civilians understand war is hell, but don't appreciate realities like having to relieve yourself outdoors, maybe at night, in horrible weather or maybe even in an unsecured area with snipers active.
I recall a night while stationed in Northern Maine when the combined windchill made it -45 degrees F. It was far too cold to snow, but wind gusts blew clouds of frost that coated whatever it came in contact with.
Out on the flight line, a dozen or more security policemen stood guard on 10 alert-force B-52's. Each of those planes was armed with nuclear weapons and ready for takeoff within a few short minutes of orders being given. Those planes were the Strategic Air Command's raison d'etre, and nothing — nothing — was ever allowed to interfere with their readiness, 24/7, 365.
The alert force line was bounded by an eight-inch yellow stripe. In bad weather, a pickup drove around the line continuously and very slowly. At 15-minute intervals, the pickup would stop in front of a guard, to let him in and another guard who had just enjoyed a warm-up, out. In extreme weather, two pickups might circle the line.
Any unexpected guest who breached the alert-line boundary found himself, within seconds, face down on the pavement, with a guard's booted foot on the back of his neck and the muzzle of an M-16 pressed between his shoulder blades. A second guard, pistol in one hand, would frisk him and apply handcuffs. All other guards, weapons lowered, remained at their post, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of another intruder.
Within minutes, a pickup with a detail of SP's would arrive, show a badge and none too gently deposit the intruder, still prone, into the back of the vehicle. He would be taken to the SP office for questioning, and if found to have simply made a very bad mistake, be obliged to fill out a report. Then, eventually, he would be released to his first sergeant, with some explaining to do and probably some extra duty or other penalty to look forward to.
Several of the alert force guards had K-9's. On the -45-degree night of my recollection, a couple of us at the base hospital heard an unusual order on the police radio. They were putting four additional guards on the line and bringing the dogs in. It was deemed too cold to keep them out there.