Gunner Rupert C Kift

Rupert Kift was born on the 27 December 1923 and was called up for Military Service in 1942 and was sent to the Royal Artillery. He had before his call up been an Army Cadet and had some extensive gunnery training from the 1st Canadian Infantry Division that arrived in the area where he lived in early 1940.

He was trained as a signaller with the 38th Signal Training Regiment, RA and also learnt to drive heavy gun towing vehicles. He was then posted to his operational Regiment.

“With regard to training, I found myself abysmally ignorant as far as the infantry were concerned. I had received six weeks basic training on being called-up in 1942, but I knew absolutely nothing about support companies and the weapons that they carried. I don’t suppose that I would ever have made a good shot, but that did not matter too much as a Gunner. With the 61st Medium Regiment I had been with 8 th AGRA [Army Group Royal Artillery] and, at the time, most of our training was with 8th Corps which, at the time, included 11th Armoured and the Guards Armoured Divisions. This meant that I was more at home supporting armour than I was working with infantry.” [1]

He goes on to elaborate about some of his training.

“At my Signal Training Regiment I was trained as a driver and mechanic and as a Motorcyclist. At the end of the 12 weeks allotted wholly to signal training I was told that I had achieved a result equivalent to that of a peace time ‘A’ Class Signaller (although such distinctions had been shelved at the outbreak of War) in less than half the time that the peacetime soldier would have been allowed. As a signaller, I was trained to operate and carry out routine repairs and maintenance on several of
the contemporary sets, I was trained as a line signaller with telephone, Fullerphone and ten line exchanges, I was trained to use the signal lamp and flags and in the use of the Artillery and other signal codes. Most of our speed tests in the Morse Code on Wireless, Line, Flag and Lamp were conducted in numerals and code which eliminated chance results. Also, at that time, the Americans were in Europe and the whole of our phonetic alphabet and signal procedures were altered to bring them into line with those used by the US Forces. Once with a Regiment, I had a lot to learn about the use of and working with Artillery Air Reconnaissance and Arty working with Mustangs. As an additional role, I was taught to drive and handle an AEC Gun Tractor.” [2]

By the Summer of 1944 Gunner Rupert Kift was serving with the 1st Forward Observer Unit, Royal Artillery, which was attached to the 1st Airborne Division in Lincolnshire.

“We placed one forward observed with each of the nine infantry battalions. The two signallers with each observed carried a No 68 set. A further officer with two signallers was placed with each Brigade; these were known as FOO controls and were equipped with a No 68 set with which to communicate to and with the Battalion Observers and a No 22 set to communicate to the rear. Initially, it was intended that, through the CRA., we could call on the Light Regiment and later (and this was the principal objective) we could call on the guns of the relieving troops. I was a wireless operator with the FOO control allotted to the 4th [Parachute] Brigade. It was visualised that, from the start the 10th,11th and 156 Battalion’s would advance to the Brigade’s objective to the North of the Town and that I would be with 4th Brigade HQ., passing back details of targets selected by the observers.” [3]

What follows is his extensive account of what happened to him on ‘Operation Market-Garden’.

“My journey to Arnhem began around midday on Monday, 18 th September 1944, when our Horsa glider took off from RAF Broadwell in Oxfordshire, towed by a Dakota of RAF Transport Command. On the morning of Sunday, 17 September, we had awoken at our transit camp at Down Ampney to find that, apart from us, the place was practically deserted, the 7th Battalion, KOSB having left during the night to join their gliders on the neighbouring airfield. After breakfast, we left Down
Ampney for Broadwell, passing close to Fairford and Brize Norton from which the gliders and tugs of the first lift were taking off. We arrived at Broadwell as the last of the gliders were taking to the air. On entering the airfield we were directed to our glider and we began the task of loading. Apart from the jeep, we had a heavily loaded trailer and an AJS Motorcycle. We were led by Acting Captain Gilman, RA My task was to operate the 22 set which was mounted in the vehicle, another signaller (Horace) had a 68 set and the party was completed by our driver and motorcyclist. Although I was the youngest member of the party, Captain Gilman could not have been many years my senior. Neither he nor I had been in action previously. Horace was an old sweat and had been with the 4th Indian Division. The driver and motorcyclist had both been at Dunkirk and I would think that they had most probably been Territorial’s. We had all joined the Division from various Regiments of Medium Artillery. The trailer was loaded with some 75mm shells for the use of the Light Regiment, several boxes of grenades and fuses, a number of cans of petrol including some so-called high octane fuel for my 'Chorehorse' which was used to recharge the Dagenite Batteries, a half dozen of spare batteries, our artillery board, scales and rules and some camouflage netting. Seeing that there was some spare space Horace disappeared and eventually returned with a large round cheese, a box of tea and other supplies, although we all knew better than to ask him where they had come from.

The jeep had no windscreen or seats and the spare wheel had to be carried inside the vehicle and, for the purpose of loading, the steering wheel was removed. These modifications were necessary in order to allow the vehicle to pass under the main spar of the glider where it crossed inside the fuselage. The spare wheel and petrol jerry cans were used at a later stage, to provide seating in the vehicle. It should be noted that, at this stage, we were isolated in the sense that we were not near or in touch with any other members of our unit. Those Officers and Signallers who were to drop with the six Parachute Battalions had gone directly from our base at Harlaxton, near Grantham, to the various airfields around Lincolnshire and Rutland from where those Battalions were to fly while those who were to land with the Airlanding Battalions and those who, like us, were to land with the Brigade Headquarters, had gone directly to the glider bases in and around Oxfordshire. All work around the airfield came to a halt when the Dakota’s began to return to base, having released the gliders of the first lift at Arnhem. Understandably, it seemed sufficient for the RAF personnel that their planes had returned but, as each one touched down, we were busy studying them for signs of damage in order to assess how rough the ride had been. Fortunately, very little damage was apparent and we felt reassured. In the afternoon we were visited by the pilots who were to take our glider to Arnhem and together, we checked over the loading. Our driver had a sheet setting out the weights of the jeep, trailer and motorcycle and the pilots attempted to assess their effect on the trim. We five had intended to fly together at the front of the glider, but the pilots suggested that in case we had casualties in the air, we
should attempt to spread ourselves around. As I was a Driver/Operator, it was decided that I should go at the front and our driver and Horace (the other operator) should travel in the rear. The Motorcyclist and Captain Gilman would join me at the front.

Later, I was visited by two members of the Royal Signals who checked the tuning of the sets with the aid of wave meters and then we had a caller from HQ, RA, who checked over my list of frequencies and alternative frequencies for the next and the following day and gave me the data to set up my Slidex Code. He then talked over the contents of his security satchel with Captain Gilman. Everything completed, we could relax. We waited for 6pm when I tuned the radio so that we could
obtain news of how the landings had gone from the BBC. Based on what we heard, we all settled down to a quiet evening followed by a good night’s sleep, confident that it was all going to be a complete doddle.

[Monday, 18 September 1944]
Our take-off on the following day was twice delayed until we got away eventually, at around midday. During the take-off and climb, there was a great deal of noise and the glider was buffeted and subjected to enormous vibrations so that it seemed as though there was not the slightest possibility of the thing remaining intact for the next two hours or whatever the journey might take. However, once we had gained height and the glider settled down above the slipstream of the tug, everything became a lot calmer and we began to enjoy what was, indeed, a most beautiful flight. Following the news from the BBC, we were entirely relaxed. We discussed how, by comparison, those on the first lift must have felt, being that they were bound for the unknown. No one I believe, felt totally taken in by the briefing that the opposition we were likely to meet would be minimal, a daylight landing so far behind enemy lines seemed terribly risky but now, it seemed, they were right after all and we were going to be alright.

After we crossed the Dutch coast and had cleared the flooded polders, we saw a long line of American Waco gliders steaming off to our right. I think that, in fact, we had turned away North and were heading for Arnhem while they were going towards Nijmegen. We had just seen the river and our landing zones ahead when we became aware of small arms fire and tracer all around us and we began to fly into clouds of smoke from ack-ack bursts. However, we had, in a moment cast off and
were heading directly, so it seemed, for the ground. Then we levelled out and bounced along some pretty rough ground and came to rest, more or less in one piece.
We leapt out and prepared to unload. A wooden trestle was placed under the fuselage, just forward of the tail section. The pilots cut the control wires and we set about the quick release bolts in the specified order. However, the tail did not fall off and we were obliged to hack the thing off with the axe that was thoughtfully provided. Unloading was further hampered by the fact that we had not settled at all evenly and we had to juggle the load in order to bring the rear part of the fuselage down to a point where it rested on the trestle.

We had worked and sweated so hard that we had been completely unaware that there was quite a battle going on across the landing zone. Fortunately we were not in the direct line of fire, but all the same, bullets and tracer was flying all around and some of it, uncomfortably close. Furthermore, gliders in increasing numbers were landing and crashing all around us. Two huge Hamilcars appeared to miss us by feet rather than yards and each of them, as soon as they touched down, dug their noses into the soft earth and somersaulted. We rushed over but were met by an ominous silence. A Red Cross jeep approached and Captain Gilman decided that we should get to the rendezvous as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, we had noticed that 4th Parachute Brigade was dropping away to our north, beyond the railway line. We expected to join them shortly. We were aiming for a track which ran beside the railway line which we would follow until we reached the halt at Wolfheze. There we
should be given our directions. Meanwhile we had opened up our wireless sets, but neither Horace nor I were able to receive anything but intense ‘mush’. I felt very sorry for our pilots who had hitched a lift and were riding on the bonnet of our jeep across the most uneven ground, but somehow, they managed to stay on. The track, when we reached it, was little better and was extremely loose and sandy. Progress was painfully slow, a long line of vehicles making its way towards the halt and we were accompanied by a good deal of hostile small arms fire which fortunately, did not seem frightfully accurate. When we complained of this to a party of Airlanding troops, who were among those whose task was to hold the landing zone, we were told that we were extremely fortunate in that had we arrived at the appointed time and our take-off had not been delayed, we would have been faced with a strafing ME 109 and FW 190 which had appeared on the scene as were due to land. Up to that point, we had no idea that the Germans had any air force left.

Eventually, we arrived at Wolfheze station, where two members of the Corps of Signals checked our frequencies with a wave meter, I told them that we were experiencing difficulty with the radio’s which brought forth an ironic laugh. In polite terms, they told us that the whole f****** Division were
having difficulties and, as far as they knew, no-body’s set was working. Captain Gilman who had slipped away for instructions returned pretty glum. As far as we could gather, things were not quite right and, instead of joining with 4th Parachute Brigade, we were to get to Divisional Headquarters as quickly as possible. At this point, we bid farewell to our pilots who joined the contingent of their colleagues who were gathering nearby. We set off along Wolfhezerweg to join the Utrecht-Arnhem Road. We were part of a long line of slow moving vehicles. Among the general cacophony of sound, there was a sudden burst of firing from some woodland to our left. Almost immediately a group of Germans rushed out and into the road behind us. As one, Horace and I were on the floor of our jeep with our Sten guns pointed over the back at the group of Germans. Whether it was our action that caused it or not, I shall never know, but their hands shot straight up into the air. Horace looked astonished, but before we could either of us say anything, a group of our own troops came rushing out of the woods and surrounded the captives as their own. It was obvious that it was they who had unearthed this little group and they were fully justified in claiming their success. However, we were given the task of taking two of the POW’s with us in order to hand them over to the MP’s at Divisional Headquarters. Before long, we came abreast of the wreckage of General Kussin’s car with the bodies of its occupants hanging out of its doors. We then came upon the Military Police who relieved us of the two POW’s. We were then on the Arnhem road and, after a short distance we reached Divisional Headquarters which had been established at the Hartenstein Hotel. We entered the driveway, drove across the front of the Hotel and on to the grass beyond where we stopped beneath some tall trees. A little distance off was a bunker constructed of large boards of a straw-like nature, which led quite deeply into the earth. It was here that the CRA, [Lieutenant-Colonel] Loder-Symonds, had his HQ, his batman and other HQ personnel were busying around a picturesque dove-cote from which came cooking smells. We scrounged some tea, our first drink for a number of hours.

Captain Gilman went to see the CRA and we had a few moments to take stock of our surroundings. At this stage, the Hotel and its grounds were quite immaculate. There was a great deal of activity going on, but all the vehicles were neatly parked, it was a lovely Autumn afternoon and, apart from the sickly smell of cordite, it was hard to imagine that the events of the previous hours had really occurred. I got in touch with the Divisional Signals to see what could be done about the wireless sets.
It seemed that, in fact, they were meeting with no more success than me. We were told, after stand-to that we were to get into West Arnhem to try to establish a link with the troops fighting there. We were to accompany a small group of 2nd Battalion, The South Staffords who had landed with the 2nd lift. As we set off on the Arnhem road, I called control and made good contact. A mile or so further on, I tried again with no success. As we passed through the built up area of Oosterbeek, we were subjected to a great deal of small arms fire from the upper windows of a number of houses on the North side of the road. This was bearable because, in the darkness, the firing was not very accurate. Indeed, the only light to be seen was that from the flames from the buildings around the bridge in Arnhem.

However, as we cleared the houses on our approach to the railway bridge on the Nijmegen-Arnhem line, firing erupted along the whole length of the embankment and we were subjected to some mortaring. Everyone dived for the side of the road, but because it took me a little time to get myself clear from the gear in the back of the jeep, I merely dropped down beside the vehicle towards the middle of the road. I picked up some mortar splinters towards the bottom of my right leg. The firing so
intense that there seemed no possibility of our getting through to the bridge and it was decided to withdraw to the garden of the last house. After a while, the firing slackened and we were able to recover our jeep, trailer and motorcycle by manhandling them as silently as possible. I was still unable to make any contact over the radio and, as there seemed little chance of our making any further progress towards Arnhem by this route, it was decided that we should return to Divisional HQ. We drove back at full speed under a hail of fire from the houses. It was suggested that I might seek some attention for my leg, but I had no doubt that the 2nd Army would arrive by the evening of the following day, at the latest, so I merely covered the thing up with a field dressing. Realising for the first time, just how close the Germans were and the amount of firepower that they had available, we each dug ourselves a small slit trench and settled down for some rest. [4]

[Tuesday, 19 September 1944]
Following stand-to the following morning we set off to 4 th Brigade H.Q. which we joined near Wolfheze Station. My sets (both 22 and 68) had been tuned by wave meter so, on arrival, I immediately made an attempt to report to HQ, RA. but, even having tried the counterpoise earth, I was unsuccessful. I pointed out to Capt. Gilman, our FOO Controller that, at 4th Brigade HQ. we were somewhat screened and he obtained agreement to our moving to the North where we joined the rear units of the 10th Battalion. It appeared that they were planning to join the Ede-Arnhem Road to the North of Johanna Hoeve and, from the map, I thought it unlikely that we could have hoped to find a better position from which to contact HQ, RA. It was relatively high and open. When we arrived, we encountered heavy mortar fire and it appeared that these had already been ranged on the junction between the track and the main road. We brought the jeep up short of the junction, I laid out my counterpoise earth and tried to make contact. I realised immediately, that we were being jammed – there was no sound, but the frequency was occupied by a powerful set which, it seemed, was merely set to transmit with the result that it was impossible to transmit or receive. We had been given no alternative frequency and so, on the ‘flick channel’, I had tuned to the 68 set frequency and I used it to try to contact the Forward Observers. There was no response. My colleague and Capt. Gilman went forward with the 68 set to see if they could make contact with our Observer with the forward elements of the 10th Battalion but, after about half an hour, they returned having failed to contact anyone. While they were away, I made several attempts to reach HQ, RA. but, even when the frequency was clear of jamming, I met with no success.

We decided to re-join [4th ] Brigade HQ. There was a conference being held at Johanna Hoeve and Capt. Gilman went in. He re-joined us and, on the basis of the advice that he had received, we set off due East, into the woods short of the Lichtenbeek. We found an opening in the trees behind 156 Battalion. The fighting just ahead of us was pretty intense and we came under some heavy fire from enemy aircraft. Almost immediately, the enemy fire rose to a deafening crescendo and I became aware of the fact that the sky was filled with aircraft. These were the planes bringing the Polish gliders and the re-supply. The intense enemy fire was directed at them. We then realised that the forward troops were retiring and were already passing through our position. The contents of our jeep and trailer were somewhat scattered as I had taken the opportunity to put some batteries on charge and my colleague was making some tea. By the time we had reloaded we seemed to be surrounded by German voices so we leapt aboard and drove swiftly towards Johanna Hoeve. As we emerged from the woods, the sight that we encountered beggars description. We were close to the Polish gliders all of which seemed to be in flames and the battling Poles who fired on us and everyone else. There were tanks or SP Guns firing from our right and infantry, (presumably from 156) were lining the hedge along the road leading to Johanna Hoeve. We drove towards the railway line and, on the track below the embankment, we found guns and vehicles bogged down in the sand. As Artillerymen we felt our duty was to help with the guns which we managed to get towards the subway to the west. The problem was that each time a gun was freed it’s crew drove off and before long we found ourselves with our jeep and trailer and no help available to free them. We were surrounded by fires and smoke from the scrub that had been set alight by phosphorous, but above the din, the only distinguishable sounds were shouts in German and the sound of armour. Flame from a flame thrower hit the embankment between the position that we were in and the subway and, as one, we climbed the embankment, dropped some grenades on the jeep and trailer and fell
down the other side. We seemed to be alone so we wended our way back to HQ, RA. What had become of the 4th Brigade, we could only imagine, but it was obvious that it must have taken enormous casualties. [5]

It was strangely peaceful for the whole of the journey, but I soon realised that my leg was hurting quite badly. The CRA was furious when he learned that we had abandoned our jeep and was all for sending us back to retrieve it. Fortunately, he soon learned from other sources what had occurred to the North of the railway line and he became far more sympathetic. The position we had occupied at Divisional HQ had been taken over by the RASC, so we found ourselves a new spot close to the CRA’s bunker and dug ourselves in.

[Wednesday, 20 September 1944]
At first light, there was an intense mortar stonk which carried on relentlessly for what seemed an eternity. As it lessened we could see stretcher parties hurrying to and fro and it was obvious that we had suffered many casualties. I was called over by the CRA and. A few moments later, I was joined by Captain Whimster. He and his two signallers had dropped with the 10th battalion and he had lost his signallers on the previous afternoon. A jeep was summoned up, driven by a member of one of the anti- tank units. A 22 set was produced and mounted in the jeep. Led by an Officer of the Recce [Squadron] and by Captain Whimster, we set off to join a Recce unit that was setting up a position on what was to become the perimeter, a little to the North of Divisional HQ. It appeared that the road leading directly to the Recce position was covered by Spandau fire, so we went by a circuitous route that led us to the Eastern extremity of Paul Krugerstraat, which was the far end of the road from which the Recce unit was established. As we left the Hartenstein, the mortar stonk was resumed and we immediately came under fire from snipers. We moved forwards in small leaps as we were given the signal to proceed by the Recce Officer. Coming to a road junction, we were fired on by mortars and were forced to stop. The driver and I dropped down beside the vehicle and a near miss sent pieces into the cooling system and we were covered in anti-freeze. As soon as the
firing ceased, we leapt back into the vehicle which, fortunately was still running, and drove clear of the junction. At this point, I noticed that the casing of the wireless set had been damaged but, on checking, I was able to contact Divisional HQ. When we entered Paul Krugerstraat, it was littered with wreckage and, as we drove past each break in the housing on our left, we came under heavy fire. However, we reached the Recce unit, which was occupying a bakery on the Northern side of the road.

The bakery itself was on a street corner and the Recce had a Bren gun and a PIAT covering this road, which led towards the railway line. A lot of fire was coming down this road and there was the clear sound of armour. Captain Whimster asked if I was in touch with Divisional HQ. Logically, I should have been as we were now at a shorter range than I had been at the time that I made contact following the mortar attack. I called HQ and felt that I could sense HQ responding, but it was
impossible to make anything of their signal. I took the set and aerial from the vehicle and tried to find a higher position for the aerial, although the Recce people made it clear that they did not want me to raise the top of the aerial above the roof line. Things were no better. Captain Whimster was clearly agitated and I have no doubt that he would have liked to get some support from the Light Regiment. There were a number of infantry attacks along the line of the side road, during the day and one particularly heavy attack at stand-to. Shortly afterwards, we were joined by members of 156

Parachute Battalion, which had suffered enormous casualties during the previous day’s fighting to the north of the railway. It was decided that we were somewhat vulnerable on the northern side of the road, we were moved to the south (nearer to divisional HQ) and the troops began preparing a row of houses for defence. We managed to get the jeep along a passageway beside the house we were occupying and again, I took out the set which I moved into the house with its aerial on an upper floor. Throughout the night I tried to make contact with Divisional HQ but, as is usual at night, there was a great deal of interference and background ‘mush’ which made communications quite impossible.

[Thursday, 21 September 1944]
The next day was similarly disappointing although I tried the aerial in various positions around the house. Throughout the day, the house came under attack and from time to time, self-propelled guns and tanks joined the battle. That evening there was an ‘O’ Group and, as well as Captain Whimster, I was pleased to see Captain Stevens who, like Whimster, had dropped with the 156 Battalion and who like him, had lost his two signallers during Tuesday’s battle to the North of the railway. These two had taken the role of infantry officers and were in charge of a couple of the houses on our side of the street.

[Friday, 22 September 1944]
As, by now, my batteries were quite low and I had no means of charging them, I went to Divisional HQ on foot, crawling across the bottom of the gardens in the side street and coming to the Arnhem-Utrecht Road, through a break in the houses opposite Divisional HQ. I had been told that this road was more or less a no go area during the day as it was swept by enemy fire from beyond the cross roads. Entering the grounds of the Hartenstein, I realised that neither of us knew the password for, what is now, Friday. However, as we approached the first challenge, the driver who had insisted on coming with me, tripped and fell, letting out a long line of expletives that could only have come from someone in the British Army. It probably saved our lives. At Divisional HQ I obtained two charged batteries and was told that, on occasions, my signals had got through although they realised that I was not getting their response. With the aid of the fresh batteries, we hoped for better results. Throughout Friday, I had no success, but, during the day, it became clear that we were getting some support from 2nd Army Artillery.

[Saturday, 23 September 1944]
On Saturday morning, Captain Whimster suggested that I should get back to Divisional HQ to see whether I could help with the signals from there. It would be impossible to take the jeep out onto the road and so the driver and I divided the load; set, batteries, etc and set out through the gardens to the dreaded crossing of the Arnhem-Utrecht Road. The driver dashed across safely. My leg began to throb and hurt like mad. I took a deep breath and dived for a crater on the far side of the road. Suddenly I was in it, but there were several dead people besides me. I climbed out and in comparative calm, crossed the Hotel grounds to HQ, RA. In a trench adjacent to the one I had left, I found Captain O’Grady and two Bombardier Specialists, known as OP Acks. Alongside in our trench I found our driver, alone. Captain Gilman and the others had been sent off on some other task. Although I was feeling quite sick having had little or nothing to eat or drink for some days, I remembered that I had picked up some cigars in the bakery or one of the other houses near there. I went over to the dove cote and the CRA’s batman produced a couple of matches. I went back to the trench with a few snipers bullets flying by, sat down and lit a cigar. It was simply awful. After a fairly quiet morning, Saturday afternoon produced one mortar stonk after another with a fair amount of 88mm shell-fire thrown in. At one stage, I saw one of the OP Acks pull himself over the edge of his trench and take a mortar more or less into his arms [probably 856134. Bdr. William J Mahy, reported killed on the 22nd . No known grave]. An 88mm shell demolished a number of nearby trenches and ours was partly filled by loose sandy earth.

[Sunday, 24 and Monday, 25 September 1944]
Sunday and Monday passed in much the same way. The bombardment was more or less constant, the noise was almost unbearable, the stench was appalling and snipers were everywhere. It was then that I tried to visualise how the Hartenstein and its grounds had appeared as a haven on the previous Monday evening when we had first arrived here. Late on Monday we were told that we were to withdraw. Our driver was put with the CRA’s party and I was put with the signallers under the charge of the signals officer. After the CRA and his party had left, we continued to operate the sets until our time of departure arrived. By this time we knew that if things were going according to plan the troops on the Northern part of the perimeter would have gone. We opened the sets and smashed the valves and as much other equipment as we could and set off. We passed the side of the tennis courts where the German prisoners were held and headed towards the tracer shells that were being fired as a guide by 2nd Army. The night was extremely dark and wet. We saw no signs of the tapes or glider pilots which were there to indicate the route, according to our briefing. We had not gone very far when we were fired on by a Spandau around 30 yards to our left. The pathway was slightly sunken and we dropped down. Exactly what happened to those of our party who were ahead at the time, I have no idea. The Signals Corporal immediately in front of me turned and said that we were alone. As we could not go forward because of the Spandau, we diverted and, after floundering for some time, we came down into a glade beyond which, we could see a row of helmets. It took us some time to establish that they were airborne helmets and, when we did so, we went forward and joined them.
The line did not move for some time and then we edged forward slowly, emerging on the lower road somewhere near the Church. After crossing the road, we turned along a path across the polder. There was a good deal of mortaring and small arms fire sweeping the polder and we had to keep low. I drank from a large puddle as we slowly moved forward. It seemed to take hours before we reached the far side and were at the top of the river bank.

[Tuesday, 26 th September 1944]
To our right, there was a great deal of firing from the far side of the river and the Germans appeared to be covering the whole river with Spandau firing on fixed lines. When our turn came to go down the embankment, we had to pass beneath a line of tracer which was coming from a Spandau which was positioned a little up-stream. We arrived on a wide foreshore and worked our way towards the river on the down-stream side of one of the large groynes. There did not seem to be a very good boat service and, when the next one did arrive, it beached on the up-stream side of the groyne so that we had to go back up the beach and re-join the queue some way back from the starting point. In this manoeuvre, I became separated from the rest of the party. Already, there were light streaks in the sky to the East and a glider pilot among the group that I was now with, told us that when he had been on the bank a few days before, he thought he had seen 2 boathouses, just a little further up-stream. We could not go along the bank because that was where the Spandau’s were so we went off along the foreshore. We came across what we thought was an RAF rubber dinghy by the water. One of the party decided to swim, but after he had leapt in, he seemed to disappear down-stream at a tremendous rate. We looked at the dinghy again, but as we did so, there was a shout from the bank and we turned round to face a German with a Schmeisser and what looked like the barrel of a Spandau, pointing at us from a bunker. It was already almost daylight and we had been spotted. We were hustled off hurriedly to a factory building, close to the railway bridge, which had been blown up. From the factory we looked down stream to where the rest of the troops were waiting on the foreshore. As
daylight came, firing broke out from all along the river. We could distinguish a boat mid-stream and tracer and shot was poured into it until it sank. The firing turned to the 300 or so on the foreshore and they were left with no option but to surrender. As they were brought along the river bank, we were taken out to join them and I found there were a number of signallers from the Light Regiment there and quite a few Gunners besides. As we were marched into Arnhem, we felt, despite the exhaustion and everything else, something like relief that we were still alive and, of course, we had little doubt that 2nd Army was no more than delayed and we should be free again quite soon. Accordingly, we broke into song which was the usual thing to do on a march. I was most surprised that in various accounts that I have read since about the Battle, this fact was picked up and remarked upon. On page 185 of his book, General Urquhart remarked that the sound of the singing was uplifting to those of our wounded in St. Elizabeth Hospital. [6]

Rupert was initially sent to Stalag XIIA at Limburg. This was a Transit POW Camp, and he was then sent to Stalag IVB, POW number 92049. The wound he had sustained on the first night of the battle, Monday, 18 September, that had not had any proper treatment, troubled him a lot more in the POW Camp.

“On the first night, I was injured in the leg by some mortar splinters. I bandaged the wound myself, but apparently as a result of this, I contracted septicaemia while in prison camp which, in turn, led to complications. As a result, I did not re-join my unit, but after the best part of a year in hospital, I was discharged from the Army.” [7]

After the war Rupert married and had a daughter, Penny and a son, Martin. They travelled back to Arnhem in 1969 to re-visit the landmarks, the Hartenstein hotel and the Cemetery (the hotel only became a museum in 1978). Rupert retold his Arnhem sniper story during this visit. 
Rupert Kift died on the 27 December 1995, at the age of 72.

NOTES:
[1], [3], [5] & [7] Letter from Rupert to Major D Bennest. 11 November 1987.
[2] Letter from Rupert to Major D Bennest. 22 January 1988.
[4] & [6] Correspondence between Bob Hilton and Martin R Kift, son of Rupert. 1990s.