William Edward Taylor

William Edward Taylor was born into a family of six brothers and two sisters; all volunteered to fight; all but one joined the army, he was in a reserved occupation.

Bill, my dad, carried out his basic training on Salisbury plain. On completion he went to guard wooden cutouts of field guns on the east coast; he always laughed about those times. l remember him telling me one night whilst protecting these important weapons from Hitler, he and his chums decided to see who could strip and then reassemble a bren gun in the dark. Well, it's just as well Hitler didn't invade that night, not one of them could work out where a certain annoying spring fitted, which made the gun inoperative.

l'm ashamed to say, l don't know enough about dad's time in the war. l think when he joined up he was in The Queens Royal Regiment, sadly like many ex soldiers he never talked much about his life during those awful days.

Dad was finally shipped overseas, the great adventure, so they all thought. Lucky they didn't know of the horrors to come.

The convoy dad was in started from Scapa Flow, heading for Durban, South Africa. The troops didn't know where they were headed but I remember dad saying the ships used to keep changing directions. He said that this was due to u boat activity.

Dad's ship then headed for India and then on to Burma. During this time he was transferred to The Royal Fusiliers. Again, l have to say I'm ashamed l have no knowledge of his time in Burma. l do know he was involved in some very bloody battles losing many of his friends. l remember him saying half the battle was fighting the jungle itself.  The conditions were awful to fight in: hot sultry, full of insects that wanted to eat you.

Dad's luck finally ran out. He was badly wounded from a mortar shell, shattering his leg. If that wasn't enough, a sniper then took pop shots at him, sustaining more injury. He found himself alone, he was left for dead.

His parents were sent a telegram reporting him missing, believed dead. l can only imagine how they felt. We don't know how long dad was alone but luckily he was found by natives who discovered him crawling towards enemy lines and, at great bravery, carried him back to the British. If they had been caught, the Japanese would certainly have dealt with them in a terrible way.

Back, behind British lines, dad was strapped to a mule and transported for three days to a field hospital. The doctor wanted to amputate dad's leg. He begged the doctor not to do so. The doctor said okay, we will toss for it. Dad won that day, but if only he knew the pain and misery that leg would cause him I'm sure he would have said take it off.

After treatment he was shipped to India; even there he was not quite safe. He told me that during the day, because of the heat, the nurses would wheel their beds on to the veranda where it was cooler. One evening he awoke to find he was alone in bed still on the veranda, he chuckled and said (it was okay until the wild dogs came out the jungle and started circling the bed).

Dad arrived back in England on D Day. He spent many months in hospital; people who knew him then will tell you what we know now. He always smiled and joked through life despite the awful pain he was in. His leg was finally amputated in 1984 but he still laughed and joked, sometimes hiding the terrible pain he suffered from his phantom leg. Like many old soldiers he did feel guilty that he had survived whilst many didn't come back.

Despite suffering the pain and hardship he went through, he lived a full life. He gave my sisters and me a good home and, along with our mum Beryl, we never wanted for anything. We are so proud of him. We just wish we were able to give him a new leg.

Dad died June 15th 2013, really from complications from his wound. He always said 'the Japs would get me in the end'.

I hope in some way this will help dad and thousands like him to always be remembered.