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15 October 2014
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Return to Normandy (Part 1)

by jhrgardner

Contributed by听
jhrgardner
People in story:听
jhrgardner
Background to story:听
Army
Article ID:听
A2052721
Contributed on:听
17 November 2003

Reprinted from THE UNIFORM page 1/2
RETURN TO NORMANDY
AND THE D DAY BEACHES
by Jack Nicholls
Having landed on Gold Beach on D Day in Normandy in 1944,
I have for many years cherished a nostalgic wish that one day I
would return and once again see the beach where I and many others
landed. Also I wished to see the surrounding countryside, where,
after dumping our invasion load of steel mesh tracking for making
the runway of the first airstrip, we worked setting up dumps of
supplies, running from Arromanches to various map references
with loads of ammunition, petrol, rations etc. I should have
mentioned earlier, of course, that my Unit was a General Transport
Co.,of the RASC.
Since I retired, the idea of making this trip has been increasingly
in my thoughts, and this year, seeing that I had now reached my
70th year, I thought this must he the year otherwise I might not
make it at all.
I was just a little hesitant at the thought of taking the car to Francc
with all that it entails, but I made tentative enquiries about booking
a Ferry crossing, Green Card Insurance etc. However, at the time
I was making these enquiries, my wife spotted a notice in the Press,
advertising a five-day trip, leaving Hull, to Bayeux, Mont St. Michcl
and the D-Day Beaches. We talked it over, decided this fitttcd the
bill perfectly and next morning booked for the tour.
The coach left Hull on the Thursday at 7.00 a.m., so it was an
early reveille for us. There were others there already waiting for
the coach and much to my delight, I found that the Hull Branch
of the Normandy Veterans had in fact organised the trip, and as
all the seats in the coach had not been taken by them, the trip had
been advertised to the general public. All in all there was a party
of about 25 of us, not a very large coach load, but I was amongst
kindred spirits and there was much joking and reminiscing. The
coach was extremely comfortable and we had a good run down to
Dover, arriving well in time for the 3.15 p.m. crossing. At Dover,
our driver for the French part of the tour, Dave by name, took over
and off we set for the ferry and were soon on board, the coach
running straight on to the car deck with us still inside.
The crossing was very calm and we were through Customs and
on our way from Calais in just over an hour and a half after leaving
Dover. It was a glorious evening, and we sped along the N.78,
stretching in long straights as far as the eye could see through the
Picardy farming countryside, beautifully cultivated, and under the
blue sky, it looked most impressive.
Our first stop was at Rouen, which, at 10 o'clock at night was
packed jammed with parked cars, so much so that our driver had
difficulty in finding a parking spot. We managed to find a cafe
nearby and all crammed in for liquid refreshment. After a short
stay we were off again, into the Bocage country of Normandy. After
an hour or so, I could see we were nearing Bayeux, and shortly
afterwards pulled into the forecourt of Hotel Pacardy, Bayeux, our
centre for the holiday. By now it was turned midnight, but much
to our surprise the manager and staff were waiting to greet us and
served a very nice hot meal immediately.
The following morning was warm and sunny and as there was
no coach trip arranged for the morning, we were free to roam
around Bayeux almost 42 years ago to the day from when I first
entered the town. We visited the British Cemetery and the Memorial
Museum of the Battle of Normandy. The cemetery was beautifully
cared for and was so peaceful and tranquil but with an indefinable
atmosphere of sadness, one could almost feel the presence of the
4,655 men buried there. Yet there was pride, pride that these men
gave their lives in the cause of freedom and that their sacrifice had
not been in vain.
The gravestones stood in neat rows and had the name and age
of the soldier, also his Regimental crest carved upon them and to
see their names and ages, some as young as 19, together with the
familiar names of their Regiments and Units and other gravestones
with the inscription "Known only unto God'' brought a great lump
into my throat. The feeling was so strong that I could not stay there
any longer, so with a murmured "God Rest their Souls", I left the
cemetery.
Quietly, each with our own thoughts, we went across the road
to the Museum of the Battle of Normandy. This too brought back
nostalgic memories, as the part we saw consisted mainly of British
equipment and uniforms with some equivalent German equipment
and uniforms close by. It was most interesting and I saw once again
many odds and ends of equipment that I had forgotten about over
the years. I could have stayed much longer, but time was pressing,
so on we went to see the Bayeux Tapestry.
I had had a quick glimpse of the Bayeux Tapestry in June 1944,
in the Bayeux Cathedral, where it was hung at that time, but now
it is housed behind glass in a special Museum and is most interesting,
one of the most surprising features being its length, 231 ft. After
viewing the tapestry, we went to a film show in the Museum, where
all the scenes depicted in the Tapestry were explained, together
with a French version of the events leading up to the Battle of
Hastings. Their version was that Harold got his "come-uppance"
because he had broken his sacred oath to hand England over to
William of Normandy on the death of the previous King of England.
Instead, Harold had seized the Kingdom for himself. They may
be right, history is not a strong point with me, but I always thought
Harold was defending England from the invading Normans.
After lunch, off in the coach again to Caen. This by no means
resembled the Caen I saw in 1944. Then it was in ruins after the
1000 bomber raid: now it is mostly rebuilt and is a very busy city.
The sight of that raid will live forever in my memory.
We were a mile or two outside Caen at that time, harboured up
under camouflage, in an orchard, when we heard a droning and
saw planes in the distance coming towards us. The droning turned
into a roar and as far as the eye could see the sky was full of a great
column of British bombers. They went overhead and by this time,
the noise was indescribable, the German Ack-Ack went into action
but the planes came steadily on, completely disregarding the shells
bursting around them. Then the bombs began to fall. We could see
the bombs actually leaving the 'planes, we were so near. There
were no signs of German 'planes around, but the German Ack-Ack
was taking its toll and 'planes were being hit and falling but others
still came relentlessly on, and finally the Ack-Ack ceased, knocked
out of existence by the sheer weight of the attack.
We had climbed on to the top of the cabs of our wagons to get
a better view of the attack, regardless of the danger, excitedly
cheering our bombers on. This was because on the previous
evening, acting as troop carriers, we had taken the South Staffs,
mostly young lads, to the start point for the attack on Caen.
Unfortunately, they ran into very heavy enemy fire from machine
guns sited behind the embankments dividing the fields in the Bocage
country around Caen and suffered a great many casualties. It was
their first time in action and some of the survivors, who came back
through our lines, were very badly shocked. We regarded this as
revenge for the losses the South Staffs had suffered.
These were the thoughts that came to me in Caen, also the
memories of the road through, hastily made of rubble, bulldozed
into a very rough road which lead on through to the subsequent
breakthrough area.
Saturday, and another beautiful day and after breakfast off to
Mont St. Michel. Our first sight of the Abbey was from the road,
which threaded its way over a flat plain. The Abbey is erected on
a huge mound of rock at the head of an estuary and completely
dominates the surrounding plain. We first saw it from several miles
away and it was a most impressive sight, being built on the top of
the only hill in the whole of the surrounding fiat countryside. A
conducted tour with an English speaking guide was just about to
leave so we joined the crowd. The guide, a young French lady,
gave us a most informative and chatty tour. Apparently there is

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