大象传媒

This is the second part of the memoir of Trooper John Raymond Wilson 558713 of Matlock in Derbyshire. It is an account of his time as a wireless operator in a Sherman tank serving in the Royal Tank Regiment 4th Armoured brigade. It was written in May 1994 for his seven year old grandson, Jonathan Pearson.

The D-Day landing: Sword Beach
The very next day at about 11 o鈥檆lock in the morning, the words we had been expecting, but never thought to hear were spoken. 鈥橳AQ HQ鈥� to be ready to move off at 1300 hours, hot meal laid on at the cookhouse for 1200 hours鈥�. I felt a thrill of excitement and along with everyone else in the TAC HQ party set about getting loaded up. Dinner over we all drifted back to our vehicles and waited for the word to mount and start up. It came just after 1 o鈥檆lock, 鈥楻ight lads, start up and get ready to form up鈥�. Five Sherman Tanks, two bridge layer tanks and three armoured scout cars roared into life and pulled out onto the main road where other components of TAC HQ were also forming up. There was the Brigadier鈥檚 control tank and scout car, two large ACV鈥檚 (armoured communications vehicles) and two three-ton supply lorries. One of these was packed almost to overflowing with 4 gallon jerrycans of petrol and other drums of oil, lubricants, grease and a thousand and one items which might be needed to keep the section going until normal supply dumps and organisation could be established. As the column moved off there was a lot of waving and shouts of 鈥楪ood Luck鈥� with thumbs up signs and two fingers 鈥榁鈥� signs much in evidence. I have to admit it felt pretty good to be the object of so much adulation. It was definitely a big boost to morale, and I felt a bit of a fraud for feeling like a hero before I鈥檇 actually it done anything to deserve it. But I waved back and enjoyed the moment while it lasted.
The column moved out of town at the speed of the slowest vehicle. Fortunately there were no breakdowns and about 8 pm we pulled up for the final time that day. The column parked on the roadside and it wasn鈥檛 long before word spread around (it was inevitable that someone would recognise where we鈥檇 got to) we were in the countryside on the outskirts of Portsmouth. Either side of the road was a thickly wooded area and everywhere was teeming with troops and activity. It was a first stage concentration area. Other armoured columns had pulled up behind us, and all the time columns of marching infantry were marching past with their steady crunching sound and carrying what seemed to be an amazing amount of weaponry. It looked like utter chaos but was nothing of the sort. The incredible organisation behind D-Day had got things worked out to the tiniest detail ensuring that everything and everyone was in the right palace at the right time. The woods and the fields beyond were cities of tents and marquees where we spent the nights of the 2nd and 3rd of June. Taking our bedrolls and small packs with us we left all vehicles on the road with a guard patrolling them. Of course everyone had to take their share of guard duty or 鈥�2 on and 4 off鈥�, as it was known throughout the army.
On the 4th June we left this staging area and moved to a final one just outside Gosport. One little incident, which happened that day, has always stayed in my memory. On the move, we had halted by the roadside about midday and a ration truck arrived with a hot meal of stew and potatoes (that D-day organisation again). Having scoffed it we needed to wash out our mess tins and to save dipping into our jerrycan of fresh water we spotted a cattle trough full of water in the field we had stopped beside. Several of us walked over to it intending to rinse them off a bit. A voice shouted 鈥� Hang on a minute, and I鈥檒l bring you some water鈥�. It was the farmer and he brought us two pails full of hot soapy water. 鈥業鈥檓 sorry to stop you lads鈥� he said 鈥業 know how difficult things are for you on exercises, but if the water in the trough gets greasy the cattle and horses won鈥檛 drink it鈥�. He was so pleasant and helpful I have often wondered if he guessed that it wasn鈥檛 鈥榚xercises鈥� we were on, but something very different.
We kept moving all day by fits and starts until we reached the outskirts of Gosport, which is near Portsmouth, the big naval base. Our column was parked in a wide town street and having filled up with petrol, done the usual bit of maintenance required on the tanks, (mainly greasing bogey and idler wheels and checking track tension) we were ordered to make our way to a school building a shot distance away, which had been taken over by the army. It was there in one of the classrooms that we learned at last where we were going. The desks and little chairs had been cleared out of course, and replaced by lots of standard army issue wooden forms, but a large blackboard and easel remained. Major Davies, the squadron commander, had pinned a large map to it and explained that it was (he hoped 鈥� ha 鈥� ha 鈥� ha) a map of part of the French coast- Normandy to be precise. Very quickly he 鈥榩ut us in the picture鈥�. We discovered subsequently thanks to Monty, great importance was attached to officers putting their men 鈥榠n the picture鈥� before going into action. It was very much the buzzword in those days. So there in that classroom with children鈥檚 project drawings still pinned to the walls we learned that the liberation of Europe was going to start by British, Canadian, and American armies landing in Normandy. He told us the code word for the day of the invasion would be known as D-Day and explained whatever date D-Day was everything was programmed from then by being called D +1, D+ 2 and so on. The 4th Armoured Brigade would be landing on D +1 in support of the 51st Highland Division, a much respected and famous division. We would be landing in the vicinity of La Rivi猫re and that would be in the section of Normandy coast code-named 鈥楽word Beach鈥�. By the time we landed it was anticipated that the airborne landing and sea borne landings of D-Day would have established a bridgehead at least ten miles deep so if everything went to plan the brigade would consolidate in the area of a town called Cruelly. I was just thanking my lucky stars to learn that we would be coming ashore with all the guns blazing when Major Davies brought us down to earth. He told us that in the event of the beach head being under heavy shellfire from German Artillery inland and our column being somewhat dispersed we were each being given a label bearing a code number and map reference. This label was to be tied to a shoulder strap on our battle dress blouse. It would, if needed, identify the wearer to the Beach Master, a high-ranking officer in charge of landing operations. Inevitably one or two jokers wanted to know what to do in the event of the Beach Master getting his head shot off first. That question never got answered.
But next day we arrived at a place called Stokes Bay in Gosport Hampshire. It was an amazing site that met my eyes. The whole Bay as far as the eye could see right across to Portsmouth Naval base was a teeming mass of shipping of al shapes and sizes, but mainly landing craft and transporters. A huge concrete ramp had been built sloping down into the water and drawn up, side by side with their flat front-loading doors let down onto the ramp. There were three very large LST鈥檚 (Landing Ship Tanks). They had to be loaded n the principle of what needed to be first off had to be loaded last, and of course that had been worked out by the planners. I can鈥檛 even remember at what stage our tank was called to embark on board one of the LTS鈥檚 but I know we waited patiently for quite a long time watching he activity on all sides and the phrase 鈥榦rganised chaos鈥� springs to mind. I think it was just after midday when the five OP Tanks were ordered to embark on the centre LST. One after another we reversed slowly down the concrete ramp. The Count who was driving, had his eyes glued on the man on the dock giving him the hand signals as he guided us backwards into the bowels of the ship, while we sat on the top of the turret and relaxed. Our tanks and the big armoured communications vehicles had been reversed right back into the cavernous main container deck and once shackled down, we were free to find ourselves bunks in the very cramped accommodation sections. These ran mostly round the sides of the ship and it was a case of first come first served. As a crew of course we tended to stick together and eventually found five bunks together. I was relieved to find I hadn鈥檛 got to wrestle with a hammock.
There was little to do after dinner that so most of us let down our bunks and lay down smoking and nattering. Suddenly we heard a loud rumbling noise and I realised the loading ramp was being hauled up. Moments later a big increase in the vibration of the ships engines told its own story 鈥� we under way. Almost everyone made their way up to the top deck and lined the rails. We were reversing very slowly away from the dockside, as were the two LTS鈥檚, which had been on either side of us. It was my first experience of being on board a ship and I remember being taken by surprise how quickly the dockside 鈥� still a hive of activity- seemed to recede into the distance, and yet the ship hardly appeared to be moving. As we moved out into the Solent and took up position with countless other vessels we could see other landing craft moving up into the berth we had just vacated. Already the movement of the sea was felt under my feet. I had been told that landing craft, having flat bottoms, are notorious for heaving, pitching and rolling on the waves and I wondered rather ruefully if I would be seasick. In the event I wasn鈥檛. Eventually I got bored watching; I suppose even fantastic sights like huge convoys of ships forming up pall after a while. As twilight was falling thoughts turned to the soldiers universal cure for boredom - 鈥榞etting your head down鈥�. It was helped by a little voice inside me, which niggled away wondering when next I would be able to stretch out for several hours sleep. I took off my boots, loosened my battledress blouse and webbing to spend a rather uncomfortable night but nevertheless with some fairly sound sleep. The gentle rocking of the ship helped quite a bit. I have no idea what time our convoy set sail for France but after we were all roused at 6am and scrambled for a quick wash and shave then queued up at the galley for breakfast it was well past 9 am. It was then that I heard the announcement on the ship鈥檚 P.A. system that the invasion of France had begun. I have heard recordings of that news announcement many times since, and every time I still get the same sensation that I felt on that morning on hearing it - a thrilling feeling of excitement and fear. However I was relieved to hear that a bridgehead had been established and was holding with large forces continuing to be put ashore鈥�. It really felt pretty good knowing I would very soon be part of those large forces and looking back on it that didn鈥檛 make me feel frightened, though I certainly felt fear later.
Up on the top deck, as far as the eye could see on all sides, the convoy of ships was making it鈥檚 steady way South and high in the sky there seemed to be a constant stream of aircraft flying high up, going South. Mostly they were medium and heavy bombers in small formation probably pounding roads, bridges and railway line. This was very much the case as we were to learn later. There was a flurry of excitement when a formation of rocket firing Typhoon aircraft (鈥榯iffies鈥�) roared overhead, back to England, no doubt to refuel and re-arm. It was early evening when we first caught sight of land on the horizon and as we slowly approached we were able to get our first clear view of the coast of France. There were gently rising hills sloping back from a strip of beach. The beach was fifty yards in depth from the shore to a line of sand dunes. Openings had been bulldozed and gauged in the dunes to give access from the beach into the fields behind. This was so that immediately after landing the vehicles or lines of infantry, could be directed off the beach area by the beach master鈥檚 staff and immediately move inland without making a bottle neck on the only metalled road leading off the beach.
There was so much activity that it was many days later that I remembered our instructions 鈥榠n the event of the area coming under heavy fire鈥� 鈥� so I guessed our troops must have pushed quite a few miles inland that first day. Far over to our right a ship armed with banks of rocket firing mortars discharged its load of high explosive missiles in about four or five salvos, with a couple of seconds between each one. We were quite a distance from it but the noise was awesome. What it must have been like on the receiving end doesn鈥檛 bear thinking about.
We were brought back to our senses by the voice on the loudspeaker ordering all the Royal Artillery 25 pounder gun crews and supply wagons to prepare to disembark. I expected the LTS to gently nose in to the beach and drop its landing ramp, after all. we were quite a distance form the beach and in too great a depth of water to wade ashore , but to my amazement we suddenly dropped anchor. The activity all around was tremendous. Behind our ship in deeper water, large infantry carrying ships were disgorging men over the side down scrambling nets into small LCI鈥檚 (Landing Craft 鈥擨nfantry). These, when full, would head straight for the beach so close in the men could walk off the dropped ramp on to the beach. Way off in the distance the old First World War battleship the famous 鈥榃arspite鈥� was firing off its huge guns at targets inland.
By now dusk was falling and the loading ramp on our boat was drawn up. We were warned to catch a few hours sleep and given a hot meal, then told we would be taken off at first light. There wasn鈥檛 a lot of sleep; for one thing the atmosphere below decks by now was pretty grim. Comfort had been the least consideration when the landing craft were being built and what with cigarette smoke, sweat, the overpowering small of diesel oil fuel and the dim lighting it was pleasanter up on top in the fresh air. So we packed up our blankets, returned them to our bed rolls on the tanks, checked everything was ready to move off and went up. The rocket ships seemed to have eased off firing but the Warspite was still bombarding its inland targets. However the darkness now allowed us to see things that hadn鈥檛 been obvious in the daylight. That was evidence of battle taking place just a short distance inland. Gun flashes and streams of machine gun tracer bullets told their own story. It was a very scary thing; somehow it brought the war down to a very personal level.
We did manage to shut our eyes but first light came all too soon and after a mug of hot tea we reported to our various tanks and vehicles. The ship鈥檚 engines increased in power and I realised we were moving on to the beach we all wondered how wet a landing we were in for. There was a as light grating sound a the LST bows beached and a hard revving of engines a sit was held steady then down went the landing ramp. The order to start the engines had been given a few minutes before and immediately the ramp grounded the squadron commander lead the way off in his scout car. Ours was the third tank off and though not storming the beach we were all at our battle stations inside it. From my position as the second wireless operator I occupied the co-drivers position, which gave me the advantage of being able to have my head out of the hatch and observe everything. The count eased the tank down the ramp and then it sloshed through about two feet of water and we drove up the beach and through the sand dunes. We were finally on French soil!

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