大象传媒

On the afternoon of June 5th, 1944, four High Speed Launches (HSLs) from No. 43 Air Sea Rescue base, RAF Mount Batten, Plymouth, slipped their moorings from opposite the Hoe and made their way across Plymouth Sound through massed warships of all descriptions, and into the English Channel, to play our part in the operation to liberate Europe. I was a Wrieless Operator Mechanic on one of these, serving under Flying Officer W. E. (Bill) Probert.

Apart from the Skippers, the crews had no exact details about their intended role, although a briefing had been given two days earlier by the Air Officer Commanding in a locked hanger, guarded by armed sentries. Only the Skippers, Wireless Operators and Wireless Operator Mechanics were present - the Skippers were given their orders and the Sparks told the call signs, radio frequencies and codes to be used. We already knew that we had a part to play in the invasion becasue the unit had been specially formed at Mount Batten the previous March.

Following the briefing, instructions were given to paint a five-pointed white star on the foredeck. This had to be done behind a canvas screen which prevented observation from the Hoe. In the reassuring company of Royal Navy MGBs and MLs from Devonport we left the safe haven of the Sound and before turning to port observed a number of Assault Landing craft tossing about at anchor in Cawsand Bay. Because of the bad weather the invasion had had to be postponed for a day but the soldiers had already embarked, and had to endure an extra uncomfortable 24 hours in these craft before crossing the Channel and storming the beaches. The phrase "poor bloody infantry" came readily to mind. We ploughed on through heavy seas towards Normandy; all but one of the RN launches had left us.

Our rescue launches were the slowest of all the different classes of RAF launch in service; they were large and chosen because they could carry more rescued men. Our speed was further reduced when the normal defensive armament - three 303 machine guns - was replaced by one 20mm Oerlikon cannon and two heavy 5 machine guns.

We approached the Normandy coast under cover of darkness and hove to. At 11:30 p.m., all the launches switched on their lights - and then we learned the exact nature of our mission. We were to act as floating light beacons for the airborne assaults which preceded the dawn landings on the beaches, some 7 hours and more later.

The engines were shut down and we wallowed in the rough sea, all the time expecting an attack from E-boats, or shelling from the shore. Being tide- and wind-borne we drifted, but because it was essential that we maintained position, we had to start up every 20 minutes and motor back 200 yards or so to maintain station. The racket must have been heard all along the Normandy shore, but no attack came either from there or from German surface craft.

Some time after midnight the silence was broken from another source - we had a grandstand view of the explosions when squadrons of RAF Bomber Command pounded away at the coastal defences at the back of the beaches. Eric Perkins, our Oerlikon gunner, tells me he still vividly remembers the Ack Ack fire directed at the bombers. At times it looked as though the coastline was aflame, but such was the thickness of the concrete that only 25% of the German coastal gun emplacements were destroyed.

Soon afterwards large formations of aircraft appeared and guided by us flew directly overhead. In just one period of 2 hours when I was on deck I counted 3 formations of tugs towing gliders and 14 further formations carrying paratroopers (of the USA 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions) who flew on to drop behind Omaha and Utah beaches. The aircraft were flying in quite tight formations of some 20 aircraft in each, with all navigation lights on. The sight of the aircraft, our admiration for the skill of the pilots, the bravery of the paras who would, a few minutes later, drop in the dark into enemy-held territory, and the bombing of the coast will always remain in my memory.

We remained on station until 5:30 a.m. the following morning - D-Day, June 6th - when we were directed to sweep for survivors from aircraft lost the previous day. There was no trace of the craft or their crews.

We finally got back to Plymouth in the evening. I had the greatest admiration for our deck crew, whose eyes were red and raw from manning the guns and peering through the constant spray for over 30 hours. Back at the base we weer told that we had not been expected to return from our mission - although they had made up our beds!

It was announced on the RAF Mount Batten station tannoy the next day that not a single aircraft had come down in the sea on June 6th in the western part of the Channel. It was not until years later that I learned that the regular nightly E-boat patrols along the Normandy coast had been cancelled the night we were there. It is on record that the German naval Commander at Cherbourg had said "it is too rough for the enemy to invade."

When the enemy finally realised that the invasion was taking place, because the Allies had both the ability and determination to operate in bad weather, the German E-boats came out of their pens in Cherbourg harbour, on the night of June 6th, and sank several units of the invasion fleets.

On that night, though, the Good Lord smiled upon us; but many thousands of good men were not so lucky as we were and I honour their memory as well as that of the crewmates with whom I had the privileghe of serving.

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