So I yelled out: 'JD! come back and give me a hand, Bob Nimmo is badly wounded.' Without a second's hesitation 'J.D.' turned and ran back. We both raced over to Bob, grabbed an arm each and half-carried, half-dragged him hell for leather along the ground. We couldn't worry about dodging obstacles because by this time the Japs were right on our tail and firing at us. We dragged Bob over 4 to 5 feet high banks, landing on top of each other; and every time we crashed down a bank we kept losing the grenades we'd stuffed inside our shirts.
I can still hear Bob Nimmo saying: 'Don't worry about me strides—keep going!' You see we'd pulled his trousers off dragging him along the ground. He must have been in agony—most of the flesh of one of his buttocks had been shot off."
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
R.I.P Private Bob Nimmo (aka Granddad)