Tales of Bristol soldiers during Second World War

The war started badly for Herbert Haddrell, levelled off briefly in the middle, and then ended catastrophically.

The 84-year-old from Downend will be the first to admit that he wasn't a born soldier.

He wasn't in search of battlefield glory or medals for his chest. Herbert was more than happy with his quiet life, working at Packer's Chocolate Factory, and coming home each night to his family.

But when World War II came along, it wasn't just the chisel-jawed warriors who found themselves fighting. Everyone was drawn into the horrors of the conflict.

"I was the youngest of 12 – six boys and six girls – so although I wouldn't use the word mollycoddled, I was certainly well nurtured," he explains.

"I wasn't the sporty type. I was a more of a sensitive youngster. Certainly the idea of going into battle was the last thing I wanted to do. But in those days, when you were told to do something, you just did it without thinking twice."

More than 65 years on, the story of Herbert's war has been immortalised in print, with a book written by his son Ian.

A Bristol Soldier in the Second World War: Herbert Haddrell's 43 Days of Battle has just been published by The History Press.

I meet up with father and son for a coffee ahead of a joint book signing.

"I first had the idea of writing down my father's memories about five years ago, when I went on a coach trip around the Normandy battlefields," says 54-year-old Ian.

"The trouble was, my father's memories from the time were beginning to fade, and often he hadn't been privy even at the time to the bigger picture of what was happening.

"So I realised that I'd need to carry out a lot of further research about what my dad's unit was doing at any given time.

"I went back and scoured the War Diary of my dad's regiment, the Dorsets, and gradually began to build up a better idea of what had happened."

In fact, Herbert's war had been pretty rotten even before being called up to serve in the army at the age of 18 – the year before D-Day and the liberation of Europe.

His family home in Knowle fell victim to one of Hitler's bombs on the first Sunday blitz in November 1940.

"I remember the air raid starting, and we all ran down and hid beneath the stairs," he says. "Then there seemed to be a bit of a lull, so we decided to run down to the nearest big public air raid shelter.

"My dad was taking a bit of a long time lacing up his boots, so we were all grumbling, telling him to hurry up. But it was a good job he hadn't, because a moment later a bomb landed in the street outside the house. If we'd left a minute earlier, we would have all been killed.

"The blast blew out the windows and sent the front door flying into the house, where it landed on my mother, causing her minor injuries, incredibly enough.

"We had escaped with our lives, though the house was seriously damaged, and we never returned there, but ended up moving in with family."

It wouldn't be the last major blast that Herbert would experience during the war.

But it was as a soldier during the liberation of Normandy, that the Third Reich got its next opportunity to attack the unfortunate Packer's Chocolate Factory worker.

"I went over to Normandy a few weeks after D Day," he says. "It was a dreadful place to be, and we found ourselves moving from one battle to the next. But I'll always be grateful for the fact that I wasn't there on the beaches on D Day itself.

"I was only 19 at the time, and this was the first time I'd even been abroad. It was a terrifying experience."

But things were about to get worse for Herbert. It was during the infamous battle for Hill 112, when the SS Panzer division counter-attacked the Allied forces, that Herbert would receive the injury that would end his war, and very nearly end his life.

"I was company runner that day," he recalls, staring back through the murk of time as if that bleak day in 1944 is to be found in the swirls of his coffee cup – for a moment, it seems, Herbert is reliving the battlefield in his mind.

"The battle was raging all around," he says. "My commanding officer ordered me to gather together some of the soldiers who had been taking shelter in tiny trenches dotted across the hillside.

"But as I ran across the grass, I heard the distinctive sound of a Nebelwerfer – a German rocket bombardment, which would send fear into our hearts because of the screech they made before impact.

"The next thing I knew, I was waking up in great pain, and surrounded by the bodies of many of my comrades.

"A corporal was looking after me, laying across my body to try to protect me.

"The blast had ripped through much of my back, and damaged my lungs. But I was lucky once again to have survived."

Herbert would spend the next year in a Scottish hospital recovering from his wounds – he was unable to leave his bed for the first seven months.

But eventually, he was able to reintegrate himself back into civilian life – returning to his much-loved job at Packer's – where he would remain for almost half a century.

"I did my bit in the army, but everyone had to do their bit," he says. "My enduring memory is laying on that battlefield, feeling the pain, and praying, 'God, don't let me die in a foreign country'.

"On Remembrance Sunday, I'll be remembering my friends and comrades whose lives did end on the battlefields of Normandy, and who never had the chance to come home again."

*A Bristol Soldier in the Second World War : Herbert Haddrell's 43 Days of Battle, by Ian Haddrell, is published by The History Press, price £14.99.