Difference between revisions of "Reeve Ronald H. Pte 14418040"

Latest revision as of 10:00, 29 May 2025

Personnel Entry

Private Ron Reeve at 18 years of age.

Name Reeve Ronald Hubert
Army number 14418040
Rank Pte
Decorations
Date of birth Born 21/2/1925 - registered at Headington, Oxfordshire. Mother's maiden surname Ridge.
Age 80 at the time of his death.
Unit Served in the Local Defence Volunteers from the age of 14. Enlisted - volunteered - into the General Service Corps 18/1/1943 - just prior to his 18th birthday. Underwent Basic training at No. 59 Primary Training Centre. Transferred to the Highland Regiment 15/4/1943, possibly for advanced Infantry Training. Transferred to the Gordon Highlanders 16/6/1943. Transferred to the Black Watch 16/4/1944. Posted to the 1st Tyneside Scottish 16/4/1944 (but see note below). Served Normandy. Posted to the 5th Battalion Black Watch on the disbandment of 70th Brigade. Served North Western Europe. Left the Black Watch 30/9/1947. Relegated to the Class Z Army Reserve 30/9/47, authority IRO/Rels/158/47. Demobilised.
Company/Battery Not yet known.
Platoon or other sub-unit Not yet known.
Task or role Infantryman. PIAT gunner. For details of this weapon please click [1] here.
Joined Brigade 16/4/1944.
Promotions Corporal.
Wounded Not so far as is known.
Prisoner of War Not so far as is known.
Died/Killed in action Death registered July 2005, Aylesbury Vale, Buckinghamshire.
Home address At the time of the 1939 General Register he lived with his family at 66, Ridgefield Rd. Cowley Rd. Oxford, and worked as a Cabinet Maker's Clerk. In October 1949 he married Ruth L. Ponting at Ploughley, Oxfordshire.
Source table 1TS

A further photograph of Corporal Reeve, post-war, is set out below:-

Corporal Reeve post-war.

An article in the Regimental Journal - "The Red Hackle" by Dr Tom Renouf [[2]] concerning Private Reeve is set out below.

A REUNION TOO LATE

In April 2009 I received a phone call from a Bob Reeve asking me if I knew anything about his father who had served in the 5th Battalion. I have received several such enquiries in the past, but seldom was I able to help. The 5th Battalion suffered massive casualties in action and had been reinforced many times over. The chance of knowing any one comrade personally is very slim.

In this case I responded without hesitation saying that there was a Reeve in our company but I thought that he had been killed during the War. Bob assured me his father had survived the war but had died some years ago. When I described our Reeves to him he said that I was describing his father, so he offered to send me a photograph.

After 65 years the name Reeves was still on my mind. My great friend Dave Reid of 5BW and I had discussed the matter several times before Dave died a few years ago. Dave had a superb memory and was seldom wrong. He was sure that Reeves had been killed, but I was not convinced and although I do not remember seeing him in Steyerberg after the war, I do not remember any talk of him having been killed. To add to the confusion, there was a Reeve on the Roll of Honor in the Spirit of Angus with an army number that could well have matched our man and he was killed three weeks before the war ended.

When the photograph, taken a few years after the war arrived, all doubt was removed, this was our Private Reeves of “A” company. The photograph also showed his name to be Ronald H Reeve and not Reeves as we always called him. His date of birth identified him in the 19 to 20 age group during the European Campaign, similar to that of the Private Reeves killed in action.

I was able to tell Bob quite a bit about his father. He was quiet, friendly, never said much, but was always there. He was the PIAT man in “A” company, tall, strong, and self reliant. After three nights in the Ardennes in 20 degrees of frost we made an attack on the crossroads at Hubermont village about four miles beyond La Roche. We thought we would die from the cold and were saved by the rum ration in the early hours. At daybreak we had just taken our objective when we heard an enemy tank approaching and, with morale at its lowest and caught in the open with no cover, there was a bit of panic. We were severely trounced by Major Mathews, our Company Commander, and ordered into defensive positions. On his own initiative Reeve lay down at the side of the road out in front on his own, facing the enemy. As the vehicle approached, we saw it was a half track with six or eight German paratroopers on board, all armed with automatics. Reeve lying by the roadside with his piat was an obvious threat to them and a priority target – his chances of survival were going to be very slim. He never flinched, remained at the ready, and as the enemy passed all guns blazing Reeves heroically fired his PIAT at close range and damaged the vehicle badly but it sped on at speed to the crossroads where it came under small arms fire and one of the Paras fell to the ground, fatally wounded. It then passed No. 8 Platoon caught in the open, devoid of cover and raked the area with machinegun fire. Several comrades were injured and one died on the way back to the Aid Post. The half track sped off at speed back to the German lines, taking with it a kind of admiration for the audacity, drive, and resolve of the crew. Reeve somehow survived unscathed and was regarded as quite a hero in “A” company as word of his brave action spread around.

Bob was most proud to learn about his father’s bravery. Like many others, Dad had told him very little about the war though he had written poetry about it. Bob did, however, suspect that his Dad had been affected by bottling up his feelings. I could only comment that as I remembered him he appeared to be calmer and more cool in action than most and that he dealt with the stress of battle very well. I could only assume that he was later wounded; possibly in the ferocious battles for Gennep or Goch for I cannot remember seeing much of him after that.

In a later conversation, Bob told me more about his father. Ronald Reeve joined the Army straight from school and had landed on D-Day with “A” company of 5 BW. He had been right through the Normandy campaign. For a nineteen year old to experience the carnage of the attack on Breville and the butchery that occurred at Chateau St. Côme with comrades all around being killed and suffering the agonies of battle, plunged the innocence of youth into a nightmare of slaughter.

This nightmare went on for an eternity of 12 weeks during which the bloodbath of Colombelles demolished the Battalion and left the straggling Jocks comatose. Bob thought that the Normandy experience left his father permanently scarred.

Reeve soldiered on through the North Brabant offensive and the Ardennes ordeal to “Operation Veritable,” the grandstand battle for the Rhineland. This involved the battalion in fighting almost as intense as Normandy. The resistance of the German Paras in Gennep caused the Battalion heavy losses and served as a timely foretaste for what was to follow. The inferno of Goch, a strongpoint in the Siegfried Line, was never to be forgotten. 5 BW somehow penetrated to the centre of the town undetected and then all hell broke loose. The Germans defending their homeland fought fanatically, the battle lasted 12 days and involved 3 Divisions before the town was cleared.

Ronald Reeve survived all this as he did the Rhine crossing and the battles that followed. He went on leave at the very end of the war but never came back to the Battalion. He was transferred to a transport unit as he was returning from leave. Bob was sure that not getting back to 5 BW was a bitter blow to him. Of all the comrades in “A” company who landed with Ron on D-Day only one other survived to the end.

It is always a joy to make contact with an old comrade and a reunion with our Reeve after all these years would have been rather special, but it was not to be. In this instance the contact was with the family, nevertheless it was most rewarding to learn that a comrade, thought to have perished had, in fact, survived. From experience I know that families derive a great sense of fulfilment and pride when they learn things that they did not know about Dad’s War. For the Reeve family it must have been a wonderful revelation to learn that their Father was regarded by his comrades as a hero – what greater praise could there be.

Bob Reeve made contact with me through the 51st Highland Division website. A full report of the battle for Hubermont is given there.

Dr. Tom Renouf MM

We are most grateful to Bob Reeve for the additional information about, and photographs of, his late father. According to the information, Corporal Reeve landed with 5th Black Watch on, or just after, D-Day and we do not yet have details of the point at which he was posted to the Tyneside Scottish, returning to the 5th Battalion on the disbandment of the Brigade. Hopefully this will be explained in his Service Record.

Subsequently, Bob Reeve has kindly sent us a file of poems written by his late father after the War.

The text is set out below.

The words and poems of Ron Reeve, 1TS and later 5BW written after the war. Page 1 of 5

“My Dearest Friend” Poem

Ron: “The subject of the poem was a “Private JOHN LEWIS1 was a very popular member of our Platoon by virtue of his friendliness and helpfulness to us all and, more important still, his absolute reliability. His death was felt very keenly. There was a very strong bond of comradeship between us all. On the day that JOHN was killed we were attacking across about 600 yards of 'No Man’ s Land' and he was the first man to go down. We were in the leading Platoon and I saw him fall only a few feet in front of me. He was killed at just turned midday on the 28th June 1944.“

Autumn leaves come tumbling down To give the earth a mantle brown The drooping stems of summer rose Heralds coming winter snows Which clothe, like blushing bride, in white The resting earth and hides from sight It's cloak of brown. Then winter passes, springtime comes And Mother Nature beats her drums To tell the warming sun and rain To caress the earth and soil again And give to them the kiss of life To free them both from wintry strife And frosted gown. New—born fledglings in their nest Sing welcome to an earth new—dressed In sweet red roses, cornflowers blue And butterflies of gentle hue Romping foals, babes in prams Playful kittens, bleating Iambs In a wakening world. Lowing cattle in the fields Of shining grass the good earth yields Winding lanes through countryside Which hedgerows tall try hard to hide The sighing hymn of evening breeze

Send leaves a—flutter in the trees Like flags unfurled. Placid streams, fast—running brooks Sunny banks and shady nooks Fisher—birds that dip and rise Among the hovering dragon—flies Where willows cast their speckled shade On life which caring Nature made no willing blend Straw—thatched cottage, painted white Flowered garden shining bright And framed in gold as sunset pales A quaint old mill with age-stilled sails These lovely things, both old and new Remind me, every day, of you My dearest Friend.

Private ARTHUR GEORGE LEWIS, 14428021, Black Watch (Royal Highlanders) 1st Bn. The Tyneside Scottish. Died 28 June 1944 Age 19 years old. Buried at HOTTOT-LES-BAGUES WAR CEMETERY IV. F. 2. Son of James and Grace Lewis, of Elm Park, Romford, Essex.

“Juvigny” Poem2

Ron: “this poem was prompted by my memories of a place called JUGVINY where we held the line for about a fortnight and where Jerry used to shell us every afternoon. In it I've tried to convey to the reader the destruction of the countryside, the waste of lives and the callous attitude that a soldier is forced to adopt towards his comrades’ bodies and memory. As soon as a soldier is killed, he ceases to exist in every sense of the word. If anyone enquires after him after a battle, even if it is a very close relative as sometimes happens, he is simply told - ‘he has gone for a ‘----‘3 (to the toilet in other words) and he is never spoken of again. I can quite clearly recall the faces of many of my mates who were killed but, for this reason, I cannot remember their names with the exception of two of them and then only because they died particularly horrible deaths.

Re ‘clop of hooves’ (verse 4) the Germans used to bring up their supplies to the front line by horse and cart. As soon as we heard them our artillery would open fire on them and their artillery would fire back on us!”

How fair your land proud Normandy With dusty roads and apple tree And sleepy village on valley floor Beside the Seine. But gone the farmer, gone the plough Garden flowers all gone now Foreign soldiers bent on war Are here again. 2 Probably Juvigny sur Seulles. 3 “Shit” No happy laughter heard from child Only soldiers screaming wild As, to death, they bravely go In honour bound. Come harvest time and every field A goodly crop of death will yield From seeds the guns of war now sow With every round. Your leafy lanes now churned to dust And Frenchmen's homes to rot and rust Their once-proud owners now so sad And far away. Now lines of trenches parallel Pave a road that leads to Hell For luckless soldiers, Khaki clad or dressed in Grey. A clop of hooves on dusty road* A creak of cart with heavy load Heralds a coming thunderous duel And screaming shell. Muted thumps, then many more Glints of light on shells that soar Across sunny skies to add more fuel To this fiery Hell. Stand to! Stand to! The word is passed Who knows now long this duel will last Nor who, forever, will lie and stare With sightless eyes. At the havoc wrought by Satan's hand Across this blood-soaked Norman land Where brave men fight in cold despair 'Neath summer skies. And there across the parapet Lies one who has, his Maker, met But does God know that this shattered heap Was but a boy. This bloody mess once lived and breathed It's beating heart, with pride, once seethed But discarded now to endless sleep Like a broken toy. Though now you're dead, my bonny lad And has left, to cry, a Mother sad You are but one of a score times seven Who, today, did fall. You are not alone, there are thousands more Who, like you, gave their lives in war To march forever in a soldier's Heaven Good comrades all. But silent now those hungry guns They've had their fill of mothers sons And from parapet your useless corpse Is kicked aside. Though etched, your name, in Glory be Your comrades have no memory You risked your life in proud disports You lost and died. And who will remember in years to come The lad who answered the martial Drum And followed it, where only the brave Dared to tread None I fear will recall your name Just another pawn in another game A forgotten hero in a forgotten grave Just one of the dead.

Private Reeve then added the following notes on his experiences.

“The photograph at bottom right is one I brought home from the war. In July 1944 we were ‘holding the line’ at a place called JUVIGNY4 in FRANCE. It was a ‘quiet sector’ of the line. Jerry used to shell us every afternoon from 4.00pm till 4.30pm exactly and also during the night but at all other times he left us completely alone so that we could wander about in complete safety. Indeed, we could see him wandering about his lines during the day so he must have been able to see us. People who have never fought an Infantryman’s war will never be able to comprehend how strange war can be at times. Anyway, off to the right of our line was a ruined farmhouse and my mate, STAN SUSKINS and I got permission to wander over there to see if we could find any vegetables etc with which to make a stew. The ‘front line' is the most unhygienic place in the world but the food we used to 'organise t for ourselves was the tastiest and most enjoyable possible. But first the photograph. When we arrived at the farmhouse, we found it to be a total ruin and I cannot emphasize the damage done to it enough. It had been a one-storey building but every single stone in every wall was completely flattened and yet, another strangeness of war, in the midst of the rubble stood a bedroom dressing-table almost undamaged with two framed photographs on top with the glass on both of them intact. One was of an oldish man and the other was this photograph of a little girl. I’ve always been fond of children and this little girl was so pretty I couldn’t resist the temptation and so took it. If the people who had lived there had moved out before their home was destroyed, they would have taken it with them and, since they hadn’t, it was obvious that they were dead. Their bodies were probably buried under the rubble we were walking about on including that of the dear little girl. This may sound rather callous to the reader but death and dreadful wounds was as much a part of our lives, and as natural, as eating and sleeping is to you and if we had allowed our minds to dwell upon it, it would have driven us insane within a week.

I would like to say more on this subject but I can’t find the words to describe the horror of it all and, in any case, I find it too upsetting to think about it even now, nearly 50 years afterwards. I have often thought about writing to the French Embassy in London to see if they could find relatives of this little girl who might want her photograph back but I never seem to get round to it”.

A Bacon ‘Clanger’

“I must now go back a bit to our lines. Immediately behind us was an anti-tank ditch which was about half a mile long, about 15 feet deep and about the same in width. The idea was that when tanks advanced, they would drop into the ditch and not be able to get out again. We didn’t dig it; it was already there when we got there. However, it was an ideal place in which to light a fire when we wanted to do any cooking.

When I was at home my mother used to make a BACON CLANGER5 which was delicious, and I couldn’t get enough of it. Now when searching around this farmhouse we came across a large tub of plain flour and guess what the first thing I thought of was. We looked around and found a tin tub like the one we used to bath in when I was a child. We then found a reasonably clean bedsheet amongst the rubble and loaded ourselves up with as much firewood as we could carry. Some of the other chaps fetched more as we needed it. We put an army groundsheet on the ground and, with water from a nearby stream, mixed up a large piece of dough. We didn't have a rolling pin so we patted it flat with our (unwashed) hands. Amongst our rations was some tinned food known as MACCHONICHIES (I’m not sure if that is the correct spelling so I’ve written it phonetically) which included some tinned rashers of bacon. (It was all tinned food and very nice too. The AMBROSIA CREAMED RICE which you buy today was originally the same make as the tinned bacon which the Ambrosia Company has copied).

We spread the rashers over the dough, liberally mixed with onions (an essential part of a ‘clanger’ ) then rolled it all up ‘roly-poly' fashion and then wrapped it up in a piece of the sheet with the ends tied (like the ends of a sausage) and stitched the edge of the cloth along its length to prevent it from coming undone (just like mother used to do) and then popped it into the bath which, by that time , was already half filled with boiling water (from the stream again of course) and then sat back waiting for it to cook. It was rather larger than the ones mother used to make but with so many mouths to feed it had to be. To get enough rashers we had to scrounge round the whole PLATOON which consisted of 36 men, a Lieutenant, a Sergeant, a Radio Operator and 3 Sections of 11 men each i.e., a Corporal, a Lance Corporal, a Bren-gunner (a light machine-gun firing 30 rounds a minute) and 8 Riflemen. It was 3 feet long and about 9 inches in diameter. I didn’t know how long to cook it but mother used to say about 2 hours (as near as I can remember) and so, because of its large size, I cooked it for 3 hours and it came out perfect. We had the feed of our lives. The Platoon Officer (Mr MURRAY) was particularly pleased with it and asked me to make another but before I could do so he was carted away on a stretcher with both his feet blown off. Probably by a ‘Schu-mine’. An anti -personnel mine used by the Germans and which caused many casualties. A great shame because he was a good Officer”.