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I was a member of the Royal Marines Armoured Support Regiment, a unit specially formed to give close artillery support to the Commandos and other assault troops as they went up the beaches. We were to go ashore at the same time as them in waterproofed tanks — apparently in previous landings the only heavy guns to help keep the enemy’s heads down were from ships several miles away.
The tanks and their drivers had been seconded to the Marines from the Royal Armoured Corps, and the Marines formed the rest of the tank crews. We had spent months painting each nut, bolt and welding with special rubber paint to make the tanks waterproof, high extensions had been fitted to the exhausts so that the tanks could operate in water almost to the top of the turrets.
I was in the co-drivers position beside the driver, and when we entered the tank we drew a hatch to close us in. To make the hatches waterproof, long ‘candles’ of soft sealing asbestos wax were put round the edges by our ammunition squad and this worked well during underwater trials.
On June 4th 1944, the Sunday before D Day, we left camp A18 near Havant, Hampshire in open topped trucks to go aboard our landing craft at Stokes Bay. The roads were crowded with vehicles crawling along bumper to bumper. Once when we stopped, local people who guessed what was happening, greeted us with “Good Luck, God Bless” and gave us each a rose saying “Here’s a bit of England to take with you.” It was very emotional.
The tanks were already chained to the deck of the landing craft when we went aboard. There were only two tanks on the tiny, flat bottomed craft. We were told that they were made by a firm called KAISER, in America being shipped over in three parts and being joined together in Great Britain.
Discomfort and apprehension made sleep impossible and about 8 ‘o’clock on the morning of June 5th we set of for Normandy. What a journey it was too, there was a heavy swell and our flat bottomed craft went rhythmically up and down, up and down, but occasionally would catch the top of a wave and shudder as though it might break in two. We had all made our last will and testament two weeks earlier. Now between the bouts of nausea most of us wrote last letters to loved ones at home, JUST IN CASE.
There were about twenty four persons aboard; five in each tank crew, six ammunition squad marines, and eight seamen, and most of them were seasick at least once. All through the day and night we endured this queasiness and then at daybreak on Tuesday 6th June we saw and marvelled at the magnitude of the invasion forces. As far as we could see each side and behind us were craft of every size imaginable, whilst overhead, bombers, fighters and transport planes towing two or three gliders each, were all moving in the same direction.
About two miles from the beach we took posts in the tanks and started firing our ninety-five millimetre guns, applying range and direction adjustments as instructed over the radio. At about 7.30 our craft struck the beach, our tank was unchained and we entered the water. As soon as we did this, water poured in on me and the driver. In the excitement our ammunition squad had forgotten to apply the sealing wax to the hatches. The intercom was put out of action so we removed our head phones, and all instructions had to be shouted above the roar of the engine. All the air to feed this great engine was coming through the open turret and without headphones on it was almost sucking our eardrums out, also, each time the gun was fired it felt as though someone was clapping both hands over our ears at the same time, and acrid fumes from the shells stung our throats and eyes.
We moved forward until the water stopped coming in, someone in the turret shouted “Our crafts been hit, they’re wading ashore.” One of our ammunition squad came by and shouted “Eric’s been killed, Smithy Davies and some sailors have been wounded” I felt numb; we had left the craft only a few minutes earlier. Eric Youngman was my special friend and was just twenty three years old.
The other tank was still on the landing craft, marines and sailors had been sheltering behind it when a shell hit the superstructure behind it and shrapnel splattered down on them. We were now firing at gun emplacements and other selective targets, occasionally we could hear shrapnel pepper the tank as shells exploded nearby. There had been about thirty ninety-five millimetre shells at my feet when we entered the water but most of those had been passed through the ‘escape hatch’ as those in the turret were used up. After the gun emplacements were taken by the assault troops we moved out of the water. Each tank was towing two ammunition holders called ‘Porpoises’. These were like river punts with covers on. Medical corps personnel who were giving first aid to casualties placed several of them on our porpoises and we carried them higher up the beach.
Tanks with revolving flails in front were moving forwards and backwards and occasionally would explode a mine hidden in the sand, whilst other tanks were laying wooden tracks from great rolls so that wheeled vehicles could move on the beach without sticking in the sand. Other tanks of our unit came ashore, we got out of the tanks to stretch our legs and replace the used shells from the porpoises and we learned very quickly to throw ourselves to the ground every time an enemy shell screamed close to us, and never seemed to get bruised by doing so. We examined our tank, pieces of red hot shrapnel had welded themselves to it, great chunks of rubber had been gouged out of the track bogie wheels, and the storage compartments above the tracks were pitted like pepper pots. I looked around at the many casualties still being attended to on the beach, I thought of Eric and all the others who had died within the last few hours and mentally thanked God that I was not one of them.
We took posts in the tank again and moved off the beach to attack targets further inland. This time I was acting as gunner, doing direct and indirect fire at targets seen and unseen, in conjunction with other tanks. When it became dark we took our turns on guard duty with loaded Sten guns at the ready, keeping within the bounds of fluorescent yellow ribbons denoting the area cleared of mines. During this period pink tracer shells arc’d slowly across the sky, and occasionally a very-light shell would cause us to stop and stand like statues, until it burned itself out. At the end of our guard duties — which we did in pairs — we crawled under the tank to sleep for the first time in two days.

These are my memories of D-Day 60 years ago. I wasn’t a hero and I wasn’t a coward. But I was certainly scared most of the time. And I was lucky, very, very lucky.

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