Summer Times is the Journal of the Old Scarborians Association

the case for the defence in fine style. He
explained to both Herr Bon and me that we
were carrying out work of national impor‐
tance, helping the War effort by collecting
metal for use in the arms industry. Having
got over my surprise at that brilliant expo‐
sition, there was another one to come from
Herr Bon. He proceeded to reprimand us
in no uncertain way for not wearing our
caps when carrying out such a worthwhile
task. Our war work in this field came to an
abrupt end.
Hindsight provides a more realistic assess‐
ment of our schooldays through compari‐
son with today’s school systems and devel‐
opment of our youth. Having had three
daughters with experience of State school‐
ing, as pupils and teachers I have great
difficulty in reconciling our schooling with
that provided today. I have to accept that I
have a very real generation gap or two!
I record that the High School led by a great
headmaster in Mr Marsden gave my broth‐
ers and myself a very good grounding for
life. Geoff went on to lecture in metallurgy
at York College, Vernon became the County
Architect at Northallerton, and I served for
52 years in and with the RAF.
Thank you SBHS.
HOV’s WAR MEMOIR
The World War
II experiences
of an infantry
officer
by Major
George
Reginald
Hovington
Edited by Michael Rines
Continued from Volume 44
CHAPTER 8: SICILY 1943
The day eventually arrived when we
41
boarded a liner at Suez and sailed through
the Canal to Port Said, where, after a day’s
pause, we set out to sea. Within 24 hours,
the whole convoy was assembled with its
appropriate naval cover. Then came a
storm, with waves as high as we had en‐
countered rounding the Cape of Good
Hope. We were told that the invasion, be‐
cause of the weather, had been postponed
for a day, and we sailed round and round,
buffeted by the waves, the winds and the
rain.
For some years we had been friends with
artillery and sapper officers, particularly
those who were attached to us, and I
watched the flares and fires over Sicily
from the top deck with one of them, Oliver
Johnson, as we made our approach through
the night. We were due to land at dawn,
but there were so many soldiers in the sea
that dozens of times the liner hove to, and
the sailors took out boats to rescue them.
One soldier murmured to me as he drank
his hot rum that the American aeroplane
pilots had released the gliders far too soon.
As soon as the flak came up they were off!
Our landing point was a beach just south of
Augusta, and the liner anchored about two
miles off shore. Then began the hazardous
operation of sliding down netting placed on
its steep sides onto the decks of landing
craft. The sea was still rough and the liner
and the landing craft never seemed to rise
or fall together in the swell, nor was it pos‐
sible to keep the landing craft within a yard
of the side of the liner. Consequently, a few
men fell between the crafts and were lost.
I had been detailed to be the first in the
Battalion to go ashore from the landing
craft, which went aground about eighty
yards from the shore. Officers were armed,
just like the troops, with a rifle so that they
could not be picked out from the other
ranks. We also carried the same hand gre‐
nades, blankets and emergency rations, but
unlike the men, we also had a pistol, so the