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This story was submitted to the Peopleā€™s War site by Tracy Yates, Centre Manager at Mayfield UKonline Centre on behalf of Arthur Lunn and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the siteā€™s terms and conditions.

We can do no better than to begin with those few basic instructions that are impressed upon every serviceman when facing or in danger of capture by an enemy: ā€œYou need to give no more than your name, rank and numberā€, so here goes. My rank is that of Sapper, my name is Arthur Lunn, I was given the number 1578821 and that I can assure you is all anyone needs to know.

Itā€™s not even a story of battles and heroism. In fact it all takes place near Luneburg Heath within a few miles of, and a few weeks after, Field Marshal Montgomery had accepted the unconditional surrender of all German land, sea and air forces in north-western Germany, Holland and the islands upon the 3rd of May in 1945.

Towards the end of April 1945 one of the Royal Engineer Assault Squadrons of the 79th Armoured Division (proud bearers of the Bullā€™s Head shoulder badge) had pushed ā€˜Skid Baileyā€™ over a cratered culvert, an action intended to eliminate a favourite enemy delaying tactic especially if in open country and covered by a wide field of fire. This temporary wooden decked bridge had withstood several weeks of heavy traffic so a working party of REā€™s were sent back to do a patching-up job.

Before getting deeper into my story it might be advisable to explain some of the ins and outs of military equipment and in particular that great British wartime invention, the Bailey Bridge. If any intricate assembly of steel ever deserved to share the battle honour of the Royal Engineers ā€˜Ubiqueā€™, meaning ā€˜everywhereā€™, it is this bridge. They were erected all over the world and hundreds are still in use. You rarely see a TV news programme from faraway trouble spots whether it be flood, war or disaster that does not feature a newly built Bailey Bridge in the background

The bridge, talking its name from the designer, Mr DC Bailey (later Sir Donald Bailey) was developed and first built in 1941 at the Experimental Bridging Establishment, Christchurch, Hampshire.

This giant ā€˜Meccano setā€™ of 10ft long x 5ft high 600lb criss-cross steel panels, each joined by high-tensile steel pins top and bottom, could be assembled to take almost any load from 40 ton tanks to 100 ton railway engines. Before the war ended nearly 3000 were to be constructed under all kinds of conditions and in all climates.

Having come so far with this side of my story I might as well add a few examples of the versatile uses and combinations this bridge could be put to in wartime.

Near Gennep in Holland the centre span of a high-level railway viaduct had been destroyed, leaving a yawning gap some 100ft above the River Maas. Restoring this vital line of communication showed the true value of this wartime bridge, for once a single span of panels were in place another could be added alongside or above until the whole gap was filled by a lattice-work of steel. When strong enough, lines were re-laid along the top surface to take the weight of crossing trains.

Nearby and crossing the same river a road bridge stretched almost 1000 yards spanning from flood ####, over the Maas to the far side until reaching another flood defence embankment. As the flood waters receded this once ā€˜floatingā€™ Bailey gradually dried out, as the pontoons grounded still bearing the roadway and finishing up with a long line of steel panels and pontoons across grassy fields, over the River Maas, continuing up and across the opposite bank.

Even the challenge of one of Europeā€™s greatest rivers, the Rhine, proved no match for the versatile Bailey, although there were a few minor hiccups. The strong current threatened to drag the usual type of anchor, so again the 600lb bridging panel was put to another use with three stout angle iron ā€˜flukesā€™ welded to each side. It was strong and heavy enough to hold against the mighty Rhineā€™s 3-4 knot current.

Military engineering is often a matter of adapt and innovate, taking advantage of good ideas no matter which branch of the service they may come. So when the standard lorry mounted winch proved too slow to pull a ā€˜Tilburyā€™ Bailey sectioned raft back and forth the Rhineā€™s 1000ft plus width, the Engineers were not adverse to borrowing from the Royal Air Force a dozen ā€˜Wild Catā€™ winches of the sort used to rapidly wind up and down their barrage balloons, making a really speedy back and forth ferry service until such time as the floating Bailey could be completed.

This story has rather wandered from that so-called ā€˜skid baileyā€™ and the small party of sappers sent back to maintain it. So let us concentrate, first to explain how this bridge gained the prefix ā€˜skidā€™. Faced with a gap under constant and heavy cross-fire someone came up with the brilliant and life-saving idea of assembling a 60ft long double/single Bailey Bridge well back from the exposed gap and bolting on beneath it lengths of chamfered-off wooden railway sleepers so that the whole assembly could be pushed forward by an AVRE (Armoured Vehicle Royal Engineers), a specially modified 40 ton Churchill tank. A typical example of adapting and inventing - itā€™s amazing how fertile the human brain becomes when faced by imminent danger.

Sappers were sent back to patch up and repair this well used ā€˜skid baileyā€™; this job was not without its ā€˜perksā€™. For the wooden ramp onto and off the short bridge gave the traffic quite a bump, especially if approached at speed. This in turn could shed useful ā€˜goodiesā€™ for us, the attendant maintenance staff. A few tins of ā€˜maconochie (a brand of Army stew) or plum-duff never went amiss, being put to one side and if not claimed before the next meal-time, was added to our growing stock of emergency rations.

Some of our favourite ā€˜victimsā€™ were jeeps, especially any carrying Staff Officers or War Correspondents, for they had all sorts of handy bits and pieces slung precariously on hooks all over the outside of the vehicle. They were liable to shed not only useless items like portable typewriters but often more welcome gifts as whole cartons of ā€˜Sweet Caporalā€™, a brand of Canadian cigarette.

By now you must be wondering what this corner of a foreign field has to do with far off Cove, but had you been there you would have seen approaching down the long straight road a RAF ā€˜long loaderā€™, these were called the ā€˜Queen Maryā€™sā€™. There was plenty of time to take a good look, for the lorry and its load must slow to a walking pace to negotiate the ramps onto the narrow bridge. The trailer was carrying a bright blue German V2 Rocket, chalked on the side of which its intended destination ā€˜RAF Farnboroughā€™. What a reminder this was to a local lad some hundreds of miles and many months away from home.

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