Led Soldiers:
The Second World War Diaries of a Royal Hussar
Doug Mayman

‘Going down a road with open spaces and woods on either side, one is faced with the dilemma of either keeping one’s head out of the turret looking for enemy tanks, mines, guns or bazooka-men and risking the sniper, shells and machine gun fire or keeping well down in the turret out of the way and risk not seeing the bazooka-men. Personally, I go into action with my head out’ (Doug Mayman: March 31st 1945).

Led Soldiers reproduces the authentic diaries a member of the tank regiment, the 15th /19th King’s Royal Hussars. These diaries provide a day-by day contemporaneous account of the author’s conscription, induction and training, leading up to his experiences under fire as his regiment fought their way through France, Belgium, Holland and into Germany. The fact that it follows swiftly on the heels of the very popular blog of the First World War solider, Harry Lamin, is, as you will see, a pure co-incidence. Apart from the distinct focus on the Second World War, this blog differs in two other major respects from the Harry Lamie one. Firstly, while the Lamie entries are drawn from correspondence from the front, the Led Soldiers blog will consist of day-by-day entries taken directly from the diaries and span a period of eighteen months. Its second distinctive feature is that while we are entirely happy for people to follow this blog on a daily basis, for those of you who are less patient, the diaries are also available in book form from "Authors On-line" (see link at the top right of the page). If you have an older relative who also served in the Second World War and endured similar experiences, it may well be that the book version will have greater appeal to them. The choice is, of course, yours.

An introduction to the diaries

The last entry Douglas Mayman made in his war diary was on Saturday 21st April 1945. How is it then that this two-volume diary has re-surfaced over sixty-two years later? Over most of this period it has lain, neglected and forgotten, in his loft. Some two years ago, when engaged in a rummaging exercise, he rediscovered them, dusted the volumes down and presented them to his surprised daughters. The family perused them and decided that they should be published in some form.

Doug Mayman was conscripted into the Army on September 3rd 1942. He decided to keep a diary on November 5th 1943 and his daily entries began on November 6th 1943 and continued until his return home from Germany on leave on April 21st 1945. These daily entries are preceded by a brief retrospective account of the first fourteen months of his army service. The diaries consist of two substantial, hardbound volumes and, notwithstanding their sixty-odd years of neglect, they remain in excellent condition. On opening them, the first thing that strikes one is the handwriting. Done in pen and ink, the style is uniformly elegant and clear. No doubt, such consistency would deserve to pass without comment had these diaries been written in the comfort of a study, but given the varied and, at times, primitive conditions under which some of the entries were made, this quality is quite remarkable. If, having to contend with onerous physical circumstances were not enough, some of the entries were made in the immediate aftermath of his friends and colleagues being killed or being badly burnt or suffering shattered limbs. The level of self-discipline and control involved in keeping this account can best be illustrated by reproducing an extract from the second diary; one that was written in the aftermath of a particularly traumatic episode. See Figure 1.

Figure 1: An extract from the diaries that introduces a particularly bloody episode (for an extended account of this incident see Chapter 37:19th October 1944).

The diaries were written with a fountain pen and, therefore, once he had put pen to paper the entries were irrevocable. And yet, in the whole of the two volumes there is only the odd word crossed out and not one passage rewritten. The only retrospective elements that appear in the document are a few salutary notes in the margin that were made during the course of the war and were always dated. The fact that he has resisted the temptation to tamper with the text is not only admirable in itself, it also testifies to the fact that at no point did it undergo retrospective editing. At no point has he attempted to rewrite history. Apart from the opening months, his experiences are related on a daily basis in a matter-of-fact manner, while wrestling with what, at times, must have been a spectrum of emotions that ranged from the trauma of dealing with bloody battles and bereavements to interludes of boredom where the war almost passed him by, interspersed by fleeting visits to the cinema to relieve the tension. Over these events hangs the all-consuming wish to be done with it and return to the normality of home life; to pick-up the threads of his previous existence and pursue the personal and career aspirations that were so abruptly suspended by the onset of war and his conscription. As the war in Europe drew to a close, the heightened anxiety that the author experienced is something he undoubtedly shared with the vast majority of frontline troops. The imminent defeat of Germany only served to heighten their feelings of trepidation. Would they survive intact to enjoy the fruits of peace? It doesn’t take too much imagination to empathise with the mental turmoil experienced by men who were already battle-weary, when they are informed that leave is due in a few weeks, but in the meantime they must go back into action.

The survival of the first diary was secured by the author’s decision to take it home on his final leave before his embarkation to support the earlier D-day landings. The survival of the second diary is little short of miraculous. Firstly, it spent most of the time the author was on active service in the alcoves of a number of different tanks that suffered various degrees of damage. The risk of it being destroyed, along with the tank and the crew, was never far away. On one occasion, when the crew were forced to bale out, the author returned to the smouldering tank to rescue his diary. Clearly, what he may have begun as almost an academic exercise had come to assume considerable symbolic value to him. Even if he didn’t survive, he wanted to leave behind some kind of imprint. The second threat to the diary’s existence came from his own-side. While some of his fellow troopers were aware that he was keeping a diary, he felt the need to conceal this fact from his officers. Understandably, they might have had reservations about the existence of a contemporaneous document that contained information on troop movements, tactics and references to troop morale combined with the possibility that it might fall into German hands. He too recognised this risk, but the compulsion to leave some account of the fact that he had passed this way outweighed the risks and the dangers.

As editor, first and foremost, my responsibility has been to remain as non-interventionist as possible. However, this characterisation of my role should not lead the reader to assume that I have adopted a purely passive stance. On the contrary, I took it upon myself to assume the responsibility of guardian of the text. On occasions, protecting the integrity of the text meant that I had to be quite assertive. My commitment to defending it was particularly tested by the author’s opposition to the inclusion of the first diary on the grounds that it was ‘too mundane; too boring’ to impose upon the reader. The first diary covers his induction into the Army, his training and his assignment to the 15th /19th The Kings Royal Hussars. It also covers his leisure time, periods of leave and the kind of activities and concerns that tend to fill the daily lives of all of us. In a word, it deals with the period prior to his firing a shot in anger. It provides insights into life in the round at this time. The second diary covers his landing in France and records on a day-by-day basis the horrors encountered on the drive through France, Belgium and Holland and then deep into Germany. I argued strongly for the inclusion of the first diary precisely because of the contrast in the content between it and the second diary. This link is not something peripheral to the work as a whole. The author’s earlier experiences flow into and inform his responses to and interpretations of his active service. Together, the diaries tell the story of an ordinary man, coming from a loving family and secure community who was thrust into a situation that most of us cannot imagine in our wildest nightmares. I argued that an appreciation of the ‘normality’ of his previous existence and how ill-prepared he was, as were so many others like him, for the task that lay ahead and the experiences to which he would be exposed would add to the reading experience. The contrast between the relative tranquillity of life in a market town in the Yorkshire Dales and the sights, sounds and grotesque experiences of war that the author endured is, in my view, the most illuminating lens through which to read the diaries. The reader will, of course, form his/her own judgment.

As editor, I have seen my second task as being to place myself in the position of the reader. For the most part the original diaries take the form of a day-by-day unbroken text. For ease of reading and with the author’s cooperation, I have broken his account down into chapters that are based on relatively self-contained episodes, although, of course, many of them tend to merge into one another. Some are quite short, while others run to a dozen or so pages. With one exception of Figure 26, all the figures included in the book were collected during the course of the author’s military service and were attached to the associated page in the diaries. Given the circumstances under which some of this material was gathered, it is hardly surprising that the author has lost track of the sources of some of these data.
Also when providing insider accounts it is very difficult for authors to avoid conveying their thoughts in the argot of the insider culture. Terms, initials and expressions are used that tend to make unwarranted assumptions with regard to the knowledge of the reader. I have tried to read the diaries with a view to identifying the occasions when the author employs ‘short-hand’ or makes inappropriate assumptions. Where I have felt it necessary, I offer brief clarification. For example, the first time an organisation or a piece of weaponry is mentioned in the text I have included the abbreviation in brackets immediately afterwards. Thereafter, only the abbreviation is used. If the reader later encounters an abbreviation and cannot remember what the letters stand for, a list of abbreviations is provided in the Appendix. Again, when an expression or term can be clarified by a single word or short phrase I have done so in brackets in the text. Where I have felt that a little more elaboration might assist the reader’s understanding, I have provided it in the form of footnotes that appear at the bottom of the page. The aim of this clarifying exercise has been to try to be as unobtrusive as possible.

To help provide the reader with some initial orientation, it may be useful to offer a thumbnail biography of the author. Douglas (Doug) Mayman was born in Skipton, Yorkshire on 29th October 1923. His father, Albert, originally of farming stock, was a canal transport agent, His mother, Kerry, died of tuberculosis at the age of twenty-five, when Doug was only three. For the next eleven years his father and his father’s sister, Jessie, brought him up. In 1937 his father remarried and had two children with his new wife, Rose: Dennis in 1939 and Sylvia in 1941.
Notwithstanding straitened economic circumstances, at the age of eleven, he won a scholarship to Ermysted’s Grammar school. He was a diligent student and also enjoyed rugby and tennis. However, financial exigencies led him to leave school in July 1939, at the age of fifteen, in order to seek employment. Two months later, on September 3rd 1939, war was declared. His first job was as a wages clerk for Rycroft and Hartley Ltd, a local textiles company. However, his stay there was short-lived as he very quickly secured marginally more lucrative employment in a Royal Ordnance Factory in nearby Steeton. The factory manufactured aircraft shells. His boss there was Stanley Mason, an accountant and a man who was destined to have a considerable influence on his post-war career.
It was during this period in his life that he acquired a rudimentary drum kit and taught himself to play and he, together with some friends, formed a band that went under the name ‘The New Rhythmists’. They played at social functions in the Yorkshire Dales and the resulting remuneration made a substantial contribution to his income. While his family were not particularly religious, church attendance was still felt to be appropriate and so he went to Methodist Sunday School, followed by Sunday evening Methodist chapel. He met his future wife, Dorothy, at a Methodist Youth Club meeting when they were both seventeen years of age.
Soon after starting his job at the Royal Ordnance Factory it became clear that there was a decision to be made. One option open to him was to register as being in a reserved occupation in the armaments industry. Alternatively, he could volunteer and go straight into the forces. He did apply to join the RAF on two occasions in January 1942, but was rejected on grounds of weak eyesight. Thereafter, he decided to let things take their course and to simply wait until he received the call to arms. When it came it constituted a radical break with his past. Prior to his conscription, apart from a trip to Liverpool with his father and a school trip to London with his junior school, he had hardly ventured much beyond the market town of Skipton.

Returning to the diaries themselves, at all times it should be borne in mind that this book is the work of someone in his late teens, early twenties. Some of the views expressed are aired under great emotional pressure; other opinions are those of a young adult still finding his way in the world. How many of us would wish to be held to account for things we said at this phase in our own lives, let alone for views expressed under conditions that are barely imaginable to most of us.
Finally, the reader can perhaps appreciate the strength of the temptation experienced by the author to begin this publication with a prologue in which he would rehearse the contents and, in the process, perhaps try to engage in retrospective rationalisations. I was of the view that if the author was given free rein to express his thoughts at this stage it might serve to colour the reader’s interpretation of the text proper. A compromise was reached. He would write a Postscript, free of any editorial oversight, in which he would be able to express his thoughts and feelings on experiences that occurred almost a lifetime ago.

Presentation and timing of the blog version

This blog will reproduce the book, the only difference being that it will be presented in instalments. On October 17th we will begin by offering the first four chapters of the book. These chapters cover the first fourteen months of Doug Mayman’s military service. They are a retrospective account of his experiences up to the point at which he decided to keep a daily diary. While lacking the spontaneity of the daily summaries, they do provide a useful backdrop to the subsequent entries and offer a flavour of what is to come. At this stage we will also include the acknowledgements, the dedication and the appendix that contains a list of the abbreviations employed in the text. Since the first daily entry in the book is November 6th 1943 we felt that it would be appropriate to begin the daily blog on November 6th of this year, some sixty-five years after the event.

We are confident that these diaries will offer readers a fascinating insight into what it was like to be engaged in tank warfare in the Second World War.

By way of a postscript The Encyclopedia of Tanks and Armoured Fighting Vehicles contains the following revelation and here I paraphrase. A shot from a German Tiger tank’s 88mm gun could penetrate the front armour of a British Cruiser tank at a range of 2,000 metres. Conversely, a Cruiser’s 57mm gun could not penetrate the front armour of a Tiger tank from a distance of one metre. The author comments: while we were aware of a discrepancy in the respective firepower of these two tanks, we certainly didn’t think that it was of this magnitude. Had we been privy to this information at the time, we would have given the Tigers an even wider berth (The Encyclopedia of Tanks and Armoured Fighting Vehicles. General editor Christopher F. Foss, Amber Books, London: 2007, p228).

Patrick Murphy


Doug Mayman, aged 21, in Brussels 1944

Saturday, 27 December 2008

Monday 27th December

Cinema matinee, followed by tea at Aunty Jessie’s with my family and my Aunty Madge, Uncle Cecil and cousin Brian. Then, it’s off to the pictures again. I always did like film shows, but we often go for want of anything better to do. My father, a voluntary fireman, was on duty at the fire station, so Dorothy and I kept the home fires burning.

Friday, 26 December 2008

Sunday 26th December

Oblivion. What lovely sweet oblivion. Then I hear the gate click and casually look at my watch. It’s 11.00am. Good grief! I promised to meet Dorothy at 10:45am. I leap out of bed as if I had been stung in a very tender spot by a huge wasp. The occasion calls for a blitzkrieg wash and shave and I am downstairs within twenty minutes. Grandma is just getting up when we visit her at Burnside Avenue. A huge dinner at home puts us out of action for the afternoon. When Dorothy’s father and sister, Marian, arrive we turn the front room into a gambling den and feverishly play Newmarket for the huge stakes of a penny a time.

Thursday, 25 December 2008

Saturday 25th December

Christmas Day. Dennis and Sylvia came dashing into my bedroom to tell me what Santa had brought them. They are both thrilled about it all and Dennis describes all that he has got in minute detail, including an odd ginger biscuit that slipped in somewhere. I am forced to smile. We wouldn’t be without them for the world. Last night, or rather early this morning, Dorothy and I had the first slice out of the Christmas cake and Dennis is firmly convinced that it was Father Christmas who helped himself. So this is Christmas Day 1943: the anniversary of the birth of Christ, bringing peace on earth and goodwill to all men. How ironic that sounds now when man is fighting for his very existence. Following the news that several thousand men have been slaughtered by the Nazis and that many more thousands are giving their lives heroically for their country in Italy and Russia, in other words, being slaughtered, comes the grand, joyful, exhilarating news - according to the preacher - that Christ brought peace and goodwill to earth. I cannot see it, but perhaps some day we shall see that there is some higher motive behind it all. We sit feeding ourselves, thanking the Lord for giving us Christ and bringing friendship to mankind, whilst men are blowing one another to eternity. What madness war is. Yet, there comes into our minds the thought that we are fighting for something worthwhile: freedom of thought, decency and honesty. Let’s hope that we stick by these ideals when the battle has been won.
The question is on everyone’s lips: ‘Will this be our last war-time Christmas?’ God grant it. In spite of rationing, we have a terrific Christmas dinner of chicken, duck and pork. Boy, oh boy, was it good. So was the tea we had at Dorothy’s. Again, off we go to the inevitable pictures.

Wednesday, 24 December 2008

Friday 24th December

Feeling more civilized inside my blue suit, I called for Dorothy and we caught the 11:14am train to Leeds. It’s grand to have the good old ‘civvies’ on again, to walk down the street with one hand in a pocket, and turn your nose up at officers. They give a peculiar feeling of freedom and a devil-may-care attitude, after the drab solemnity of khaki uniforms. On the station, we met Eva and Betty (distant relatives) going down to Doncaster to spend Christmas with Betty’s husband, Bill, so we travelled with them. On calling at Lloyds, we were informed that the set had been sent for repair. I demanded a cash refund and it was agreed that it would be sent on. After the usual lunch at the Lonsdale, we spent most of the afternoon chasing gramophone records. I bought Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1: opus 23 by Arthur Sandford and Orchestra. I just had time to buy Dorothy a dress as a Christmas present, before we caught the return train. Finished off the day with supper chez moi. It is still difficult to realise that it’s Christmas.

Tuesday, 23 December 2008

Thursday 23rd December

I might as well make use of my uniform so I decided to wear it to hitchhike down to Steeton. This time I got into the ROF fairly easily and was led to Mr Mason’s office. He has been promoted and is to take up his position as Senior Accountant at an ROF near Liverpool. Most of the offices have been decorated and the factory has its usual lavish display. Until now, the festive spirit hadn’t been apparent, but only the Wages Department seems to be doing any work. Statistical records can wait a day of two, but hard-up workers can’t. After a canteen dinner, and a visit to the administration departments in which I was given a hearty welcome, I returned to Skipton on army transport, then once again, to the pictures.

Monday, 22 December 2008

Wednesday 22nd December

Today I was up before reveille. The man’s mad. No, he’s not because he’s going on leave today - ten whole days of it. Yes, actually going on leave and Christmas leave at that. I shall believe it when I get on the train. The fellows who are not going on leave dreamily tumble out for roll-call, while we dash hurriedly hither and thither, packing kit and getting ready to go home. To add to the confusion we have to leave the rest of our kit packed, ready to be moved to Whitby, as we have to report back there. The truck goes to Brandon Station at 7:30am. It is now 7:15am and I am completely disorganised. I tie up my kit bag, only to find that I have left my boots out, so in they go and I tie it up again, only this time, more securely. I turn the air blue when I notice I have left my denim overalls out and the knot has to be untied again. Eventually I get my kit miraculously packed, sling my respirator (gas mask) over one shoulder and put my pack on my back. It contains toys for Dennis and Sylvia and I rush out to catch the wagon.
The train is late at Brandon and we arrive in Peterborough at 10:20am. This is the last day that HM Forces are allowed to travel on Christmas leave and, consequently, the trains are absolutely packed with service men and women. Somehow, we boarded the 11:10am to Leeds. I spent my waiting time in Leeds at Lloyds, enquiring about my radio. I found out that it would be ready for collection this coming Friday.
It was grand to see good old Skipton again; feel the bracing home air as you step off the station, see dirty, but dear old, Dewhirst’s Mill saying: ‘Welcome Home’ and walking up familiar streets and seeing familiar faces. Then, the few quivering, exhilarating moments as you nervously turn the front door-knob and step inside, the only place in the world that you never get tired of coming back to: to behold all there you love and hold dear to you. This is what you are fighting for. You wonder if they have changed and if they think you have. These are joyous sensations that only those who have spent long periods away from home can fully appreciate. Everything was as I expected it would be and after a terrific tea, Dorothy and I adjourned to the pictures and then rushed back to an excellent supper.

Sunday, 21 December 2008

Tuesday 21st December

It’s Sahugun Day, declared in honour of the famous Battle of Sahugun won by the Regiment in Spain in 1808. [1] Normally, I don’t hold with tradition, but I am all for it when it gives me a day off. Sports were held at Regimental Headquarters (RHQ) in the morning, but the main event of the day was dinner in the NAAFI. We had roast turkey, goose, roast potatoes, stuffing etc., and beer at the Army’s expense. Cheers for the cavalrymen who won the Battle of Sahugun. Why didn’t they win a few more battles, so that we could celebrate them by having a day off and a feed more often? I took advantage of the afternoon off to ‘blanco’ my kit, ready for going home tomorrow. What a jubilant thought. Or perhaps it is me who is jubilant. If I had been ordered to blanco, I would have detested the job and said many rude things about it, but it’s different when you are doing it to go on leave. There was a Squadron jerger. [2] I didn’t go because they usually turn into organised drinking parties.

[1]. The Battle of Sahugun took place on 21st December 1808. It was fought between the 15th Hussars and two French regiments and was part of the Peninsular War.
[2]. A ‘jerger’ is a tribal gathering, but in the above context it came to mean a party.

List of Abbreviations

ABCA: Army Bureau of Current Affairs

AEC: Army Education Corps

AFV: Armoured Fighting Vehicle

AP: Armour piercing

ARV: Armoured Recovery Vehicle

ATEA: Amphibious Tank Escape Apparatus

BLA: British Liberation Army

ENSA: Entertainments National Service Association

FFI: French Forces of the Interior

FHQ: Forward Headquarters

HE: High Explosive

HF: High frequency

KRH: The Kings Royal Hussars

KRR: Kings Royal Rifles

KSLI: King’s Surrey Light Infantry

LAD: Light Aid Detachment

MI: Medical Inspection Room

MO: Medical officer

MP: Military policeman

NAAFI: National Army Air Force Institute

NFS: National Fire Service

NCO: Non-commissioned officer

OCTU: Officer Command Training Unit

RAC: Royal Armoured Corps

RAMC: Royal Army Medical Corps

RASC: Royal Army Service Corps

RE: Royal Engineers

REME: Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers

RHQ: Regimental Headquarters

ROF: Royal Ordnance Factory

RSM: Regimental Sergeant Major

RTO: Rail Transport Officer

R/T: Radio Telephone

SQMS: Squadron Quartermaster Sergeant

USAAF: United States Army Air Force

WAAF: Women's Auxiliary Air Force

WVS: Women’s Voluntary Services

YMCA: Young Men’s Christian Association


I must begin by thanking my editor and son-in-law, Patrick Murphy. When he volunteered to perform the duties of editor, I must confess that I had little idea about the amount of work this task would involve. Thank you Patrick. I would also like to thank my daughter, Joy, for typing the manuscript; my grandson, Thomas, for his assistance with the scanning of the maps and photographs, Lisa Heggs for her processing and formatting skills, Richard Linnett for his general advice and assistance and Carly Hughes for her cover design. My final vote of thanks goes to Stephen Phillips, the Military Librarian of Aldershot Museum, for his help in locating Major Courage’s book The History of the 15/19 The King’s Royal Hussars: 1939-1945.
Andrew, my other son-in-law, for sharing the proof-reading burden.


When Churchill said: ‘Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few’ he was referring to the efforts of Battle of Britain fighter pilots. However, this statement could, with equal applicability, have been used to characterise Britain’s other frontline forces, fighting on land and sea. While good leadership was essential, behind the leaders was a solid core of men that was willing and able to be led; hence the title Led Soldiers. All the names that appear in these diaries are those of real people, many of them friends and colleagues. Over the sixty odd years that have past since the end of the war we have lost touch and, in truth I don’t know how many of them have passed away, but to me they will always be unsung heroes or, if you will ‘led soldiers’.
Finally, I would also like to dedicate this book to my wife, Dorothy. While her war wasn’t at the frontline, she, like so many loved ones, had to live with the ever-present fear that her husband-to-be would be one of the next victims of the war, a different, but equally fraught experience.