´óÏó´«Ã½

I found this letter in my father's things after he died, it was written to him by Monty Banks....

Judging by articles and stories both by chaps serving over here and correspondents, I think I am quite in order in giving you a little of the many and varying experiences it has been our lot to undergo during the war.

This censorship — rightly too — calls for a high degree of security, and therefore at this stage one finds so little material into which a letter of interest can be produced as to bring a feeling that it would be a waste of time writing of bygone days and memories of happy peacetime.Therefore, after our recent adventures as it were, there is definitely something to write of and a story to tell.

I think first before unfolding the sequence of events it would be as well to say that even after a week or so on French soil the experience of our journey in all it’s strange and intriguing forms, the thrills and anticipations it brought, produce such a confliction of thoughts as to still form a kind of detached dreamland.

However, to get on with the story, we had to pass through London en-route to the stage prior to embarking on the greatest military mission ever accomplished. This trip in convoy was really unique in that almost every heart experienced a new emotional thrill — England was indeed a grand homeland.

The crowds, which had gathered at various points - workers, shoppers, old and young - all were eager in their heartfelt wishes of Godspeed and Good luck. Involuntarily one's heart rose as we were showered with all kinds of gifts, cigarettes, sweets, and cakes. Our vehicle was brought almost to a stop as the people surged forward. Tin hats were held out to receive the gifts, an old woman with a tearful face endeavouring to grasp a hand involuntarily silently wiping tear-stained eyes. Throughout the journey along these streets of a seething population, waving hands, smiles and cheers greeted us. Hard indeed must the heart be of a man who failed to experience that indescribable and inward feeling of pride as we drove along.

As the sun began to sink we finally arrived at our destination - a camp. We were given a hot dinner, plenty of it too! A few routine jobs to be done and then a general stampede to wash and shave. Sleep was next on the programme. We were confined in this area for 48 hours, completely out of touch with the civilian population. Under canvas and in such splendid weather there was no discomfort, and the entertainment and amenities the camp provided, kept alive an interest.

Film shows were free to all and shown twice daily, an ENSA concert for those partial to variety, NAAFI canteens were open all day long, and the meals we had more than sufficed our needs.

The first night here brought us our first glimpse of the Pilotless plane. However, on the eve of such an adventure we cared no more for robot planes as for flying cows.

At last the time for departure came, a last check on kit, water bottles filled, equipment tried for comfort and the call to ‘Fall-In’ was answered. A short journey and we saw for the first time the ship in which we were destined to spend quite a time. Before embarking hot tea was provided, the roll call followed, and with somewhat mixed feelings we went aboard.

For a majority this must have been their first step aboard a ship, whilst to others happy memories of peaceful days must have flooded their minds. Very soon we were under way — France our final destination.

The decks were crowded, well-known places were pointed out as we made our way to join the convoy. It was dark as we took our position among the many dark forms riding at anchor, and not until daybreak did we see the countless number of ships accompanying us. A full day we spent on the deck, eating, dozing, reading and watching closely the progress of such a large collection of ships. Night came and found us sleeping on the decks, in vehicles and beneath the deck. Such thoughts of the ever-increasing nearness of France or the possibilities of attack couldn’t prevent that swift drift into slumber.

Morning came with a brilliant sun and choppy sea. We were still forging steadily along, but instead of gazing at other ships, all eyes were on the dim and misty outline of the country we were bound for. As the hours went by we were able to see clearly contours of a land in which our fathers before us had fought so gallantly, and as it seemed to me, so uselessly, for after only some 25 years were we not once again facing the same enemy?

Our ship eventually dropped anchor, and as the tide swung us gently round we saw the first, and probably the last time in our lives, such a mighty armada as to hold us breathless. It was to real to be a dream, and as we rubbed our eyes we began to absorb the vision. Vessels of all shapes and sizes, from small amphibious craft to rock-like Man-o-war. Flags fluttering from almost every mast, a balloon swaying above each ship, lamps flickering out messages in code. For a time all seemed beyond the comprehension of such apparently puny human beings, thoughts were far to mixed to understand such a panorama.

Everyone except the few who had found the sea too much for them, crowded the decks, everyone chattering like exited schoolboys on holiday, certain ships recognised by their peacetime status were eagerly and quickly pointed out.

As we gradually achieved some kind of staid thought we began to take note of our position. A couple of cruisers were at anchor a little to our port, everything aboard spick and span and ready for any eventuality - a clean-cut destroyer could be seen gliding along; minesweepers attracted attention as they quietly and efficiently carried out their all important work of sweeping the sea; a warship at anchor was duly and thoroughly inspected, and for a while suggestions as to its identity were put forward, argued over, and finely forgotten as something fresh hove in sight.

As far as the eye could see ships and boats swung at anchor or slowly moved to a different position. Only once in a lifetime could such an impressive sight be experienced. Long after this beastly business is over, the massing of men and material off this coast will always be alive in one's mind.

For most of the day we remained at the rail, and when our ship gently swung round with the change of the tide, we had our first-close up view of the land we were shortly to set foot upon. Fields of green and brown, woodland and moorland, cottages and the spires of churches, smoke and dust clouding the faraway hills as they swept away back into the haze. The beach, dotted with ant-like figures and vehicles, had a cover of balloons, silver blobs invisibly suspended against a green and brown background. During the whole time planes were sweeping the skies in a never-ending vigil. Bombers, quickly identified, roared overhead to be met inland by countless small dark clouds of ack-ack fire; the crump of their bombs could be heard, and a few moments later back these planes came - bound for England more ‘cookies’.

As the sun began to sink away in a dull red orb, we were rocked by the detonation the guns of the warship produced as shells were sent speeding inland. Night once more found us still onboard, and except for the gentle rocking of the ship all was quite and peaceful. An ack-ack barrage on shore, however soon broke this state of calm, and from our blankets we emerged to view the fireworks; after another spasmodic display we crept silently back and became dead to the world for a few hours.

It seemed unbelievable that everything should be so peacefully quiet and such an ordinary sort of night. As one chap said, except for the absence of lights it was almost like a regatta at anchor’. Ironically though it may seem, these words summed the atmosphere up completely.

During the few remaining days only intermittent laughter and the shuffling of playing cards disturbed the peace onboard. At night we were either rocked to sleep or prevented from sleeping by the creaking and rolling of a swelling sea. Saturday morning came with heat and expectation, and to everyone’s joy we began ‘off-loading’, to be taken ashore by landing craft.

Before leaving the ship I took a last and final look round. On one side the might, majestic and colourful hand of nature — on the other, the might and culmination of the plans of man. Such a contrast was undeniably overshadowing, and as the more one thought of it all the more infinite did one feel.

Slowly our landing craft forged towards the beach. Little was said as we drew near, each far to occupied with his own, particular thoughts. After four long years of waiting the moment for us was at hand. As I studied the faces of the chaps about me I found it impossible to discern eagerness from anticipation, excitement from expectancy. One or two had certainly a look of troubled anxiety, whilst another saw nothing of the approaching shore — his thoughts were elsewhere, most probably of home, his sweetheart, wife or mother.

We finally ran into a foot or so of water, the front of our craft was lowered, and one by one we drove through the receding sea on to smooth sands. Our journey from the beach inland proved anything but uninteresting. It was hard even after so much waiting and viewing to realise that we were finally on French soil, and there for a purpose. Except for the fact that we were confirming to the continental laws and driving on the right side of the road, we might, for all the world, have been in England.

Cottages were passed with folk standing at open doors, peering from windows, some gathered in groups, whilst occasionally men and women could be seen working in the fields. As we passed through the more populated centres we were greeted by the smiles of the waving folk. They did indeed seem happy, whilst the kiddies were having the time of their young lives. Chattering, laughing, waving and scrambling about as we threw sweets and chocolate, depicted true childhood the wide world over.

There could be no shadow of doubt as to their joy. Little faces full of excitement and laughter, comical bewilderment and interest in our passing. All this brought in a flash the real reason for our journey to their war-scarred land.

The further we travelled the more I saw of England — green overtures, cottage gardens of vegetables and flowers, roses, hedgerows of hawthorns and hazel all in their summer splendour, cows browsing in the field, not the least interested in us. As one of the fellows stated, had we suddenly been transferred to France without knowledge, after the first look around we should have most likely asked for the nearest main road to London or some other home city.

Reaching our destination at last, supper the ever appearing ‘bully and biscuits’, a wash and shave and we were ready to try the French soil for a comfortable night's sleep. Alas, like fields the world over there were bumps and hollows where our bodies were most delicately made.

However, tired chiefly through excitement, after a few moments thought of home and loved ones, we were sound asleep. The close of a perfect day in that we were safely in France, tired but yet contented, not yearning too much for home, but eagerly awaiting the hour when we could display our metal. Well, my letter, or story if you like, must come to a close, so ‘Goodnight’ all, and here’s wishing you all the very best from France. Sgt M Banks 1st July 1944 © B Hallett

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.