“MEDIC! …MEDIC!” In every war movie you’ve ever seen, there was always someone, usually an infantry soldier, who had just been shot up, or sprayed with shrapnel, that needed immediate medical attention. And the call was always answered by another soldier, dressed in fatigues, with a red cross sleeve band, armed with a bag of bandages and a vial of something to ease the pain. That was Roger Livermore’s job – a field medic in the European theater during WWII, whose job it was to patch up his buddies so they could be evacuated to the rear where they could receive more comprehensive care.

Like many veterans, and for reasons only they know, Livermore rarely spoke of his experiences during the war. Then, some 15 or so years ago, an author named Ruby Gwin reached out to him and asked him to contribute a story to the book she was writing about his outfit. It was called “The 250th Field Artillery Men Remember World War II.” The following is the essay he provided for the book:

I was just eighteen when I was inducted into the Army in May 1943. I was sent to Ft. Devens, MA, and then to Camp Picket, VA, for my basic training. Camp Picket was in the middle of nowhere. From Camp Picket, I transferred to Fort Benjamin Harrison General Hospital in Indianapolis, IN. I left from Indiana to Camp Reynolds, PA, which was another hell hole. I didn’t like it – it was cold and rainy. We were at the northwest part. While there I received rifle training and qualified as a marksman even though I was still a medic. We had to take the rifle apart and put it back together blindfolded so if we were in a dark-out, we would know what to do.

Next, I was bound for New York for embarkation but was taken out and put in the hospital for a minor operation. That was when I joined the 250th Battalion as a replacement. We shipped out from the New York harbor on the Dominion Monarch. I remember it took about two weeks for the crossing. We were in a convoy with other ships; there were still German subs in the Atlantic. We landed in Liverpool, England, and were taken to Camp Merevale at Atherstone, Warwick, England. Some of us were taken to the estate of Warwick Castle. While in Warwickshire, England, on the grounds of Warwick Castle, we were told not to bother the lord because he was nice enough to let us use the grounds. While in England I got to visit Stratford-Upon-Avon, the birthplace of Shakespeare, Sherwood Forest, and the flattened town of Coventry. We did not have any air raids as we were not near any industrial targets. I did hear the German planes going over to bomb Birmingham.

The equipment had been waterproofed for the invasion, but at the last minute, we were pulled out and sent to the border of Scotland and England to take charge of the POW camp for German prisoners captured in the invasion. (Author’s Note: It is assumed here that he is referring to the D-Day landing in Normandy on June 6, 1944.) The 250th left from France in July of 1944, and I spent my twentieth birthday on the boat in the English Channel waiting for the room to be taken ashore. I celebrated by eating a C ration when we were supposed to eat only K rations. The K rations were not too good.

I remember we were with General Patton when we had to stay in position for a week because the supplies were not keeping up with us. There is a remembrance of our being assigned to the Second French Armored Division as they were made up of mostly Moroccans with the red “fezes” hats.

While in France, we slept on the ground most of the time. We dug foxholes in case of enemy attack. In some positions, the foxholes filled with water as soon as they were dug. I remember one scare where a fellow jumped in the filled-up foxhole. It was a false alarm, and everybody had a good laugh afterward when he came up dripping water. I put empty shell casings in the bottom of mine and dug a drain to prevent the water from coming in.

My tent partner took ill, and I sent him to a hospital with appendicitis. He never returned so I had his rifle during the rest of the war even though I was a medic and was not supposed to carry a gun. While riding on top of a six-by-six at night through the French towns, I would have returned fire if fired upon.

There were orders to keep blackouts. Men would go into town, light a bonfire, and dare the Germans to do anything about it. During the War of the Bulge, I was in Strasbourg. We were strung out so thin the Germans could have walked through our positions at any time. I vaguely remember when some of the battalion were hit by German aircraft in the Bitche area and the bridge across the Rhine. The battalion was southeast of the Bulge. I don’t think I would be here today if I had been there.

When the war ended, we were in Munich, close to where the Dachau concentration camp was located and liberated. I get so mad now when I hear some young people say that this never happened. I was there and I saw it, so I know it indeed did happen.

I was transferred out of Salzburg, Austria, for training to go to the South Pacific, which never happened. Many of the 250th had points to go home, but I was a replacement, so I did not. I was changed from medic to the job of company clerk, which was my position when I came home. They were retraining on an eight-inch gun, which was a change from the 105’s.

While in Austria after the war, we took several trips: a couple of weekends in Paris and Brussels, a week on a lake in Austria, and a week or so on the French Riviera after crossing the French Alps by truck. I went skiing in the Austrian Alps on Labor Day weekend. I also saw Hitler’s retreat in the Alps.

I had been transferred to the Twenty-Sixth Yankee Division for discharge. We had a horrible trip back as we hit a storm after leaving Gibraltar, and I was seasick for seven days. The trip was so rough. I would have died if my buddies had not brought me apples and crackers from the mess hall, which is the only thing I could eat.

The Dominion Monarch that we went overseas on was a nice ship compared to the ship we came home on. There were two, the Liberty and the Victory. I do not remember which one I came home on, but I do know it was the bigger of the two. We passed smaller ones on our way home.

Another buddy and I played cribbage on the way back while everyone else played poker or craps. When we landed in Norfolk, Virginia, the money was in the hands of a few people. We had been given our pay before leaving Marseilles.

I landed in Norfolk and immediately noticed the difference between Germany and the United States. In Germany, you saw a nice house with no cars, and in the United States, you saw two nice cars and a run-down house. Finally, in the Norfolk area, we took a train back to Fort Devens where I was discharged at the beginning of January 1946.

My medic training came in useful several times in civilian life. I went to Boston University on the GI Bill and got my degree. I am now retired, but work for “Meals on Wheels” and sell real estate when I feel like it.

Livermore earned his degree in Business Administration from BU graduating in 1950. His father worked in the Nashua mills. When the mills closed, he turned to selling insurance. Livermore took over the insurance business from his father in 1953 and was married in 1955. They lived on Granite St. in Nashua until 1963 when they moved to Broad St.

A post-script of interesting anecdotes:

Livermore worked his “Meals on Wheels” job until he was 94. That’s dedication!
His daughter noted: “The first we all heard he was at Dachau was when we read his essay. He never talked about liberating Dachau except to say he was there. Can only imagine the things he saw.:
Livermore claimed he never wore a red cross on an armband or his helmet. He figured it would just serve as a target for the enemy.

Corporal Roger Livermore passed away in 2020. He would have been 100 years old this past July. He is buried at the NH Veterans Cemetery in Boscawen, NH

A sincere Thank You to Roger Livermore’s daughter, Susan Beals, for this information.