Remembrances: Darrel Carnell

My most memorable affair of that period with a member of the opposite sex occurred on New Year's Day of 1946 in Paris. It was bitterly cold and I was returning to Ostermeithing from Christmas leave in the UK. My leave had expired several days earlier but severe storms had precluded Channel steamers from leaving port. As a consequence I had spent several days in transient barracks at Southampton, during which time I had expended all my money and barter items. When we finally left the wharf in Southampton I had only a few shillings of British currency and a couple of packs of cigarettes.

Arriving in Le Havre in the wee small hours of the morning we were herded onto a railway car that was riddled with bullet holes. To compensate for the bitter cold and the frigid wind that swept though those holes we were issued a couple of GI blankets with instructions to turn them in at the supply depot when we reached Paris. Dawn was just breaking when we got to Paris and as I was walking down the icy boulevard in search of a mess hall or a Red Cross canteen I chanced upon a happy, well dressed young woman who was apparently on her way home from an all night New Year's Eve party. We struck up a conversation and she was bright and talkative and completely unlike the pseudo sultry whores who regularly patrolled Place Pigalle. After a bit I asked her "voulez vous coucher up avec moi"? I explained that I had no money to which she replied that really didn't matter because she would be happy to while away the hours with me and she knew just the place where we could do it. She took me by the hand to a nearby hotel and after a brief conversation with the desk clerk and the exchange of my remaining shillings she was given a couple of towels and a room key. I had the distinct feeling that she and the desk clerk were acquainted with each other. Her name was Lucille. I didn't catch his.

The room layout was rather odd. The room was about three times as long as it was wide with a large double bed at the far left end of the room and its head against the far long wall. Near the foot of the bed on the far short wall was a large window overlooking the boulevard, which let in a generous amount of sunlight. The entry door was on the near long wall and upon entering eighty per cent of the room was to the left with a bidet, washbasin and toilet to the right. The entire long wall from the doorway to the left end of the room was covered with mirrors that reached from about three feet above the floor to a foot or so below the ceiling. The room was so narrow that there was barely enough room to navigate between the foot of the bed and the mirrored wall. Despite the freezing cold outside, the room was warm and cozy and we wasted no time in shedding our clothing and getting down to business. I remember her laughing and teasing me about my long john underwear. My stay in the British Isles had been rather monk-like, I had not yet met Mimi and I needed, in the words of my late brother-in-law, to have my ashes hauled. And haul them Lucille did. Frequently and with great enthusiasm. She introduced me to erogenous places where I didn't know places even existed. Her repertoire was boundless and she taught me things and positions that remained with me the rest of my life. We tossed and turned and tumbled and coupled for hours, resting only for my twenty-one year old body to rejuvenate itself.

During our intermissions we talked. She professed great affection for me and implored me to come live with her. I told her that I had no money, that I was overdue at my unit and that I didn't want to be AWOL or a deserter. She assured me that she could hide me, feed me, get me civilian clothes and generally keep me in high style. She insisted that ours would be a good life and that I'd never want for anything. When I declined she countered by asking me to spend just a few days with her so that she could instruct me further in the ways of l'amour, which she then proceeded to demonstrate. I kept wondering "why me?" because I had no illusions about my looks or wealth or sexual prowess or high rank (I was wearing a single PFC stripe at the time). She renewed her pleas each time we took a break and although her invitation was almost irresistible, resist I did and I finally (and reluctantly) took my leave of her late that afternoon. As we parted I gave her my GI blanket, the only thing I had of value other than the clothes on my back.

The train back to Austria was also bullet riddled; ice formed on the inside of the windows and I began to have second thoughts about surrendering my blanket. But I already knew that a blanket was a small price to pay for the pleasures to which Lucille had introduced me. I often though of Lucille and wondered what ever happened to her. She was attractive, intelligent, witty, vivacious, an excellent conversationalist and an all around charming woman. I wish her well. But I kept wondering, "Why me?" Years passed away and while my memory of Lucille's appearance dimmed, my memory of the room in which we were so intimate remained clear and sharp. Even today I can close my eyes and see in my mind's eye every panel, every knob, every door and window as well as those really huge mirrors. They are all as clear as to me now as they were over a half-century ago. I don't know what it was that triggered my realization of Lucille's reason for befriending me. But when it hit me a few years ago like a ton of bricks I erupted with laughter. Sweet, charming, exciting and passionate Lucille had set me up as the co-star of an all day sex show! The layout of the room would accommodate front row seats for nearly a dozen wealthy spectators on the other side of those mirrors. Her attire as well as her style suggested that she had just come from a party attended by well to do people and maybe she did it on a dare. The sunlight streaming through the window in "our" bedroom would prevent me from seeing the spectators on the other side of the mirrors. For all I know cameras were grinding away in the other room and perhaps my performance is still shown on late, late Parisian TV. Smile! You're on candid camera! Maybe I'm being too suspicious of Lucille and maybe I really am a handsome, wealthy, charming and exciting lover! Yeah, sure! Good night, Lucille, wherever you are!

Shortly after my return to Ostermeithing the whole battery was transferred to Braunau, where we were billeted in the office building of some sort of factory. I never knew what was produced at that factory but it must have had military significance because it was fenced, there was a sentry box at the gate and at least one reinforced pillbox was on the premises. Personnel were being shipped out on a regular basis and after the motor sergeant departed I was the only truck driver left. It was therefore logical, in the minds of those in command, that I be designated the battery motor sergeant. Of course I don't know a distributor cap from a water pump, but the job carried with it Tec 5 stripes so I didn't complain. After a few weeks I even became adept at minor tune-ups and the finer points of chassis lubrication so nobody else complained either although I'm sure that "Tracks" Weightman would cringe at the very thought of me being in charge of the batteryÕs motor transport! In due course word was received that the entire battery was going home and preparations were undertaken for our move en masse. Passenger rail cars were at a premium, so several boxcars were shunted to our rail siding and local carpenters were employed to make them suitable for human transport. Their job was to install sleeping platforms on either side of the center door and to make provision for a stove in the middle. The lower sleeping platform was a foot or so off the floor, while the upper platform was about half way between the floor and the roof of the car. The stove was placed on a four foot by four foot by six-inch open box filled with sand and the chimney was run through the roof. Their tools were, to my eye, quite primitive and I didn't think they could ever get the job done with them. None of them possessed the type of hand saw with which I was familiar Ñ a stiff piece of metal with teeth on one edge and a wooden hand grip at one end. Instead, their saws were narrow strips of metal stretched between two vertical pieces of wood with a wire and turn screw arrangement on the side opposite the blade that was tightened to keep the blade in place. Their brace and bit looked like nothing I had ever seen, while their chisels appeared to have been salvaged from automotive leaf springs. Although the boxcars were to be used for only two or three or maybe four days, those carpenters went about their task as though their work was to be on permanent display at the Museum of Modern Cabinetry. They measured and cut and fitted and trimmed and chiseled and sanded with meticulous care until those box cars looked like art treasures! I don't remember much about the trip back to Le Havre, but it took us several days to get there after which I guess those boxcars were stripped of their furnishings and placed back in normal service.

We were not very long in the Le Havre area (was it Camp Lucky Strike?) before we were loaded onto the S. S. Meteor. It was a victory ship and for some reason or other, I got the topmost bunk immediately next to the ship's hull on one side, the ship's galley at my head and the overhead six inches from my face. It was very cold and with the galley's exhaust fan blowing on that cold hull, condensate formed on the overhead and it rained on me during the entire voyage. I was violently sea sick for the first couple of days, after which I crawled into my bunk, pulled my raincoat over my head and didn't get up to eat or to drink or to pee or anything else for about a week.

I must have been pretty weak and out of it because the first thing of which I was aware was the first sergeant carrying me in his arms to the sick bay. I was hoping that the medics would just let me die, but instead they infused me with a glucose IV that miraculously brought me back to life. My recovery was both immediate and dramatic! I even had something to eat and was ready to be up and at 'em but the medics kept me in the sick bay until just before we docked in New York. We landed in New York and were then ferried across the Hudson where a train was waiting to take us to Camp Kilmer. I had with me the Mauser 98 I had picked up when we crossed the Moselle, as well as another Mauser 98 training rifle in .22 caliber. I have no recollection of where I picked up that .22 although I would guess that its value today would far exceed that of the 8MMm. 98. I was struggling down the ties of the railroad track under the load of my barracks bag and two rifles, with first one rifle and then the other slipping from my shoulder. I'd have to stop each time to hitch the wayward rifle back up on my shoulder and then the .22 slipped once too often. In my exasperation I grasped it by the barrel and slammed it down on the cross ties, breaking the stock in the process. I threw it away in disgust but a happy civilian scrambled to pick it up, much as the European kids had scrambled to pick up the chewing gum we tossed to them. Just as I don't remember much about our trip from Braunau to Le Havre, I don't remember much about my trips to Camp Kilmer and then to Fort Bragg. But I must have got there somehow because it was at Fort Bragg that I received my honorable discharge. About the only aspect of my discharge that I do remember is that minutes after receiving it and having the ruptured duck stitched above the breast pocket of my jacket I chanced upon a full colonel striding down the street. As we passed I grinned, gave him a wave of my hand and said, "Hi, Colonel." I guess he was accustomed to it because he grinned, waved back and said, "Hi, Civilian!" Civilian! What a wonderful title! Little then I did dream that more than a half century later I would look back on my days with Battery B as some of the happiest of my life! Guys, you are the greatest! We lived The Great Adventure together! I am honored to have known and served with you.

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