A True Family Story

This is a true story told to me by my Mum about her Dad, my Grandad; the late Great, Richard Dick Fennah. A lovely man who didn't spend a night apart from my beautiful Grandma Audrey Ridge after getting back from the war in 1945. They were married on his return and this is a photo of them at that time.

The Entertainer

I remember Grandad very fondly as an elegant and gentle fact mine with a wicked sense of humour who played beautiful piano music. A classically trained pianist, he was also a jazz / boogie-woogie fan and would play fantastic rolling arrangements of The Entertainer by Scott Joplin for us kids and a haunting rendition of the intricate and awe inspiring Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy for my Grandma. (That was their song and a formative musical influence for me.) here's a link to a piano piece I wrote based on my Grandad's musical tutelage.

He taught me a lot about what it means to have music as a constant in life. He also told me some funny stories about life in combat, like organising a party in a stately home they were staying in near Athens, inviting a group of WRAF (Women Royal Air Force) personnel over for a party where they of course, organised a Jazz band and subsequently got re-assigned to tented accommodation after a certain Royal Neighbour complained about the hubbub they had caused and I think in. However we would never talk about the dark experiences. My mum told me some of those stories but this story perhaps eclipses all of those because I wouldn't be here to tell you about it had it not happened exactly as it did.

Corporal Fennah

If you've seen the harrowing film Fury about an American tank commander sent to Nazi Germany in the final days of World War 2 my Grandad was the equivalent of Shia Labouff's character; the Tank's Gunner. Corporal Fennah spent pretty much the whole time in the relative security of their tank, washed their clothes in it's fuel, ran a radio off it's batteries and even cooked eggs on it's bonnet in the desert. It was their home, their transport and shelter. Like the characters in Fury they also depended on each other for everything, remaining friends who met up annually for the rest of their lives. They were lucky to be in a tank. The Infantry divisions didn't have luxury of the the protection their (under armoured & under equipped) vehicles offered.

Near Misses

How many near misses he must have scraped through I can't imagine. One morning, having a shave in a makeshift field bathroom and chatting with his friend standing next to him, he heard a whooshing sound, ducked and arose to find that his friend was clean gone. A shell had gone straight through him and carried on into the distance leaving only the poor man's feet still in his boots where he had been standing and my Grandad in a state of shock. These are the things I can't imagine ever being able to forget.

Active Duty

He saw active duty in Egpyt, Sicily, Greece and Cyprus and after a couple of years had some shrapnel in his hand which was threatening to become infected. He was sent for treatment to a hospital ship which was moored up nearby to where he was stationed at the time. Staffed with a large contingent of army surgeons and medics it had about 2,000 people onboard and was due to sail soon, taking many injured troops home. Similar to this 800 bed US Navy ship pictured below

image source

The Hospital Ship

Dick was sent with a colleague of his to a triage camp where the wounded were assessed before sending them on to the ship. He arrived early in the evening and found himself among a throng of soldiers from all four corners of the conflict with various levels of injuries, many on stretchers or with heads bandaged after taking a hit to the face.

A Chance Meeting with the Neighbourhood Bully

When he arrived at the camp he immediately bumped into the camp Commandant, which was a total surprise to him. He was a young man only a couple of years older than the 22 year old Gunner, who had apparently risen through the ranks quickly and he was someone who my Grandad immediately recognised as a kid from back home from his neighbourhood in Liverpool. Dick remembered this kid had a reputation as a tough guy and had been a bit of a bully growing up. They knew each other quite well as local neighbourhood kids generally do and but they hadn't exactly been best friends, but in the desperately hard times of war, even a not so friendly face from back home suddenly becomes a welcome sight and alliances along neighbourhood lines become strengthened in the face of adversity.

He had a quick look at Dick's papers which detailed where he had come from, who he was, which regiment he was with, etc. "What are you doing here Dick ?" "I've got shrapnel in my hand and I've been sent to the ship for treatment before it goes bad". The camp commandant took a look at his shrapnel wound. The metal fragment had been embedded for some time and was starting to get inflamed. He just said "you and your friend meet me here at 0600 hours, tomorrow morning." And that was that. Dick and his friend were allocated tented accommodation for the night, a hot meal and they retired to get up early.

Rising at 5 am and packing up his kit bag, Dick and his friend returned to where the Commandant had asked to meet him at 0600 sharp. The camp commandant arrived promptly as arranged. "You're not getting on that ship, Dick" he said, see that truck about to leave over there, you and your friend join those soldiers, they're going over land to a field hospital and if anyone raises an objection, tell them I sent you." So Dick and his friend hopped onto the back of the truck full of soldiers and headed off on a road trip back to receive treatment.

The End of the War

Dick eventually got the shrapnel seen to. It was successfully removed and he rejoined his regiment later, continuing his service until the end of the war when he was stationed on top of the Troodos Mountains in Cyprus, which is poignant because that's where my Dad's family are originally from and my Greek Grandad who had emigrated to England years before didn't see active service because he had suffered with Malarial attacks and had been discharged before seeing duty. Another lucky intervention for me. Here's my other Grandad (Bapou), Christos Senior below at the Shooting Gallery in the Pleasure Beach, Blackpool 1940's.

The Greek Cypriots welcomed the soldiers as valued protectors and although they were under curfew from drinking in the town, the Island erupted into great celebrations when it was announced the war was over. Dick remembers it as perhaps the best party he ever went to, then as the regiments were disbanded he quickly returned home and with his tank expertise became a boiler engineer at Bibby's Oils in Liverpool where his Dad had worked. Grandad worked there until his retirement some 40 years later and I remember when he came home early in the morning from the night shift, we had to be quiet as he slept through the morning hours.

He wasted no time in marrying the beautiful young Audrey Ridge who had so pined for him during the years he had been away, settled down had my uncle Ken then my mum who each had 3 boys themselves. My Grandad & and Grandma were very proud of their six Grandsons, of which I am number 5 and the rest as they say, is history. Here's Grandma below.

Oh yeah, the hospital ship. It had been due to sail at 0800 hours that fateful morning. It left port on time and at 08:12 before it had left the harbour, it was attacked and sunk by submarine missiles with literally a handful of survivors recovered from the water out of the 2,000 onboard. Had my Grandad been on that ship this story would not almost definitely not exist. Here's to fate, synchronicity & lady luck. I believe that some things are meant to be and others are not. I can't fully explain why I feel that is the case but this story is one example. The camp Commandant probably knew something Dick, his friend and the other soldiers in that camp did not. As a Senior officer, maybe he had received a intelligence reports that there were u-boats patrolling the waters.

Generation Fortune

Bearing in mind Dick's Dad, Army boxing champion Edward Ted Fennah (above left) had fought int World War 1 and was also one of the lucky ones to come home from the untold millions who died in combat, from cholera, trench foot, or who simply froze or starved to death, were cut to ribbons; machine gunned and mortared to pieces in the muddy fields of Europe, it's quite an amazing coincidence that they both survived respectively to tell their tales. I am always mindful that although I believe warfare to be an anachronistic relic of our human past, that generation's sacrifice meant that we have lived a life of untold peace and bounty. A generation in history has never experienced such abundance and improvement in the quality of their lives such as ours and I try to remember that.

some of the details about locations, etc in this story may not be exact, but it is to the best of my knowledge, a faithful account of a true and quite incredible story. All original photos, copyright Christos Hatjoullis except where image source is included.