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, 28 February 2009

Tuesday 29th February

Earlier in this diary, I described my first meeting with death when a motorcyclist crashed into one of our lorries. Today I heard about another death, but this one had fifteen times the effect on me. Today, I received a letter from Dorothy informing me that the Air Ministry have reported that our dear friend, John, has been killed in action. I cannot adequately express my feelings and thoughts. They are so difficult to marshal when my mind has been so numbed by such a shock. My thoughts are so numerous, yet incoherent. I do not think I fully realise yet that it is true. Something inside of me says: ‘He cannot be’. Then the stark reality sets in, bringing with it a mood of morbid depression. Life has become such an established fact that death seems impossible. This room is full of boisterous men singing, full of life, and death seems so far away. Yet I have to face the fact that I shall never see John again: that we will never be able to finish our series of nocturnal discussions at the bottom of Bunker’s Hill. And how much harder it must be for Marian who has known him so much more intimately.
The suspense of his being reported ‘missing’ is over now, but so is the faint ray of hope that went with it. Rather than bear the suspense, one tries to find out something definite and then when one does, one would rather have had the suspense with its tiny glimmer of hope. It is surprising what the human mind clings onto under these circumstances. None of us really gave up hope and it will take a long time to make us give it up even now. By ‘we’, I mean Marian, Dorothy, their father, John’s aunt and all his friends. I find that one’s reaction to the death of a friend is entirely opposite to what one sees on the films or reads in cheap novels. One doesn’t sit down and say: ‘It had to be’ or go into a fit of weeping or feel like going out and getting drunk. Instead, one has to face a stark reality that numbs the mind because of its bluntness. True, one does not feel like eating, but the worst feeling is that of utter helplessness. Everything seems so useless, pointless and without reason. One’s sense of values is changed entirely. One realises the eternal truth that life is the most valuable of all worldly possessions. Money, position, career and home: nothing else matters; these things become worthless. When I first joined the Army, I thought that I couldn’t bring myself to kill any Germans, but now I am convinced that I could murder every German or Jap that I can lay my hands on. Perhaps someday, I shall get a chance to even the score with Jerry. I hope so. I would like to think of some fitting words of tribute for John, but I can’t. His life is the greatest tribute. Figure 11 reproduces an extract of a letter I received from Dorothy writing of the situation at home in the wake of John’s reported death.

Monday 28th February

Not a very exciting day. We receive the war news as usual. Fierce fighting is still going on in Italy. The Russian Army has advanced another two miles. More Japanese atrocities; these include the murder of doctors and patients in a hospital. More RAF raids on German industrial towns. I don’t think that the raids on London will become any heavier. Jerry has too many planes occupied on the Russian Front.

Friday, 27 February 2009

Sunday 27th February

Thank goodness there is no work today. We need a full day to recuperate after the scheme. Boogie’s pick-up (gramophone) is now working through my wireless and is blaring away. Today is the first information we have had on the new BBC General Forces programme. News at odd hours of the day, read at dictation speed is one of it peculiarities. Too much time seems to be taken up by messages to and from overseas. After all, these are only really of interest to the very lucky few who send or receive them. They are an excellent idea, but I don’t see why an entirely new programme - the Forces Overseas programme - couldn’t be created for such items and leave the Home Forces programme free for entertainment only. This could easily be done, in spite of the shortage of staff, by having more recorded programmes. After all, a record of a top-line artist would be appreciated more than the personal appearance of a second rate one.

Thursday, 26 February 2009

Saturday 26th February

We were up at 6.00am. Cooked the inevitable bully beef in the dark. Move off at 7:40am. Near Newcastle we ran into a terrific snow blizzard. I closed the turret flaps down and got settled under a couple of blankets. It must have been hell in front for the driver. Because of the inclement weather, we had no halts at all and arrived in Swarland at 12.00-noon. What a welcome sight it was, in spite of the thick covering of snow. Even the stone-paved, cheerless Nissen huts are heaven after sleeping out for so long. We soon got our beds made and were quite content to enjoy the simple pleasures of life: heat, food and sleep.

Wednesday, 25 February 2009

Friday 25th February

It’s Dennis’ birthday. It’s hard to realise that it’s five years since he was born. So many things have happened since then. This bloody war is one of them. Dennis is five now and has seen six months of peace. He cannot be fully conscious of the fact that we are at war, yet he will know in his subconscious mind that things are not as they should be. Child psychology is a very complex subject. Their minds are so simple, yet so hard to understand. I should say that Dennis’ five years have been happy ones.
After dinner we set out on the first half of our return journey. We made good time and harboured just north of Sedgefield for the night. As there was no room by the side of the tank, we made our bed by the side of a nearby haystack.

Tuesday, 24 February 2009

Thursday 24th February

Today reveille was not until 7:30am. Thank goodness. What is that round bright thing appearing in the sky that actually gives out heat? Crikey! It’s the sun. Had we seen more of it during the last few days the scheme would not have been quite so cheesing. We remained by the side of the road all day, doing maintenance in preparation for the return journey to Swarland tomorrow. At 4.00pm we caught a truck into Scarborough and made the most of the occasion by having chops and fried potatoes in a cafĂ©. It’s Dennis’ birthday tomorrow and I sent him some saving stamps. ‘French without Tears’ was very amusing. I like these English films about typically English people. And now back to home: a bed on the roadside by the side of a tank.

Monday, 23 February 2009

Wednesday 23rd February

It was still raining and dark when we got up at 4:45am. We carried on with the second part of our journey. A few miles along the route we met the petrol lorry and halted to fill up. We had to walk about two hundred yards to the road, through almost a foot of wet slushy mud. If you stopped to get a fresh grip on the petrol cans, you were almost sucked under. Wading through mud in the rain on an empty stomach at 6.00am is not my idea of a picnic. When we eventually did arrive at our position, we did little actual fighting. We just sat behind hedges waiting for the enemy to appear. At 5.00pm we were issued with a rum ration. Needless to say, this went down with great gusto, in spite of having to drink it out of a pint pot. At 6.00pm we banged our heads on the roof of the tank jumping for joy when we heard that, as far as our Regiment was concerned, Exercise Eagle was over. We then proceeded to a regimental harbour on the side of the Helmsley-Scarborough road, about three miles from Scarborough.

Sunday, 22 February 2009

Tuesday 22nd February

Up at 3.00am to do the last relief on guard, which was, as all guards are in this country, immensely boring. Using our great friend the darkness again, the Regiment took up fighting positions and awaited dawn and the enemy. The former came, but the latter didn’t, so we cooked breakfast. About 11:30am we had our first skirmish with the enemy. It was like a game of ‘chase me’. A-Squadron sat behind a ridge, while B Squadron went into full view of the enemy, tapped them on the shoulder and beat a hasty retreat over the ridge. By all logical rules of battle, the enemy should have come dashing over the ridge and we would have shot them up, before they had chance to do anything. The only snag was that they didn’t. So C Squadron was sent to tap them on the shoulder again and it too did a gilty (quick) move back over the ridge. But the enemy still refused to play. So B Squadron was sent out again. This time the enemy got really mad and charged over the ridge at full force. For ten glorious minutes there was a veritable chaos of Centaurs and Shermans. At which point the umpires called a halt and dashed hither and thither, wildly gesticulating. Goodness knows what the umpires’ decision was, but I would guess it was in our favour, with several tanks being theoretically lost on both sides. The reader will have to excuse the dirty state of the diary while on this scheme, but considering that I haven’t washed or shaved for three days, it isn’t bad. Also, I am writing this inside the tank, as we sit waiting for the enemy to appear.
The enemy did appear later and we made another strategic withdrawal under cover of darkness to a position about ten miles away on the east flank of the enemy. At 10.00pm, on a very steep hill, two of our tanks broke down and blocked the road. Consequently, we had to halt there for the night. It was pitch black and raining, we were already soaked and hadn’t eaten since breakfast. On top of this, we somehow had to make a bed in the rain and darkness, keeping the blankets as dry as possible. It is not an easy job and we all thought that we would get something new without coupons - (new) monia. Somehow we folded the blankets into the shape of a bed, erected the bivouacs over them and draped in misery we crawled into them.

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.