大象传媒

By now of course it was clear that within a very short time we were about to enter a phase of the war that had been anticipated for some time. Men spoke very little, there was an air of nervous excitement. No one could know what to expect when the enemy coast was in sight. There was some comfort in the knowledge that the RAF and the AAF had sapped the strength of the Luftwaffe - this much was clear from the absence of any enemy planes at that time - but the Germans had several years of building up coastal defences and it was unlikely that all would be silenced before the main invasion vessels arrived off shore.

All these thoughts were in mind as the flotilla began to move out of the harbour to join the huge armada now making for France. Soon after the start there was a slight hiccup in our progress and a partial recall, due I think to weather conditions. The sea was quite choppy and the flat- bottomed craft tended to wallow, to the obvious discomfort of some of the men, some of whom I am sure, would have welcomed being shot at, than have to remain aboard the LCT. But our luck held and, still undetected, the main body of the invasion fleet continued on its way in the night of 5th/6th June. It would have taken only one lone spotter plane, to have alerted Jerry to the fact that we were on the way, to have ensured our reception in France was less of a surprise than it appeared to be.

Meanwhile, aerial activity was immense, and the distant flashes and crump of explosives from the direction of the French coast underlined what was going on there. As the sky began to lighten the size of the invading force became truly awe-inspiring; in every direction and to every horizon, there were ships of all kinds, battleships, carriers, LCTs etc. The sheer complexity of the logistics in getting the whole fleet underway, must have been mind-boggling. The spectacle certainly helped to calm the inevitable nervous tension. Still hardly anyone spoke, except perhaps to offer a cigarette. My own thoughts, I remember well, included the realisation that history was being made and I was present to see it unfold. From notes I made some eighteen months later, the lines from Henry the Fifth's speech before Agincourt came to mind - 'And gentlemen in England now a-bed shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here..................'. That was my gung-ho thoughts then. Given the chance for a repeat job, if I am honest, and having no claim to being a hero, I'd probably opt for bed!

My LCT was scheduled to touch down on the beach - in the military jargon of the time - at H-hour, i.e. 7 a.m, plus 3 1/2 = 10.30a.m. This was achieved within the minute. As much as two hours ahead of this, however, could be heard the rumble of heavy shelling from naval vessels, targeted on German strong points ashore. The forward assault troops had by this time secured the section of the beach that was to be my landing area and before our arrival, men, vehicles, tanks, artillery and all manner of supplies, were piling up on the strip of sand between the sea and the promenade wall. The strip became narrower as the tide rose and soon there was one great traffic jam. As we got closer in the spouts of water from enemy fire became visible. It was then one realised - as if we hadn't expected it - that hostile fire was being aimed at the advancing armada. Most of this came from further east along the coast. It was to be three days before the battery responsible was finally silenced. The shells fired from there were clearly visible, when viewed at right-angles to the line of fire, whizzing along - and parallel to - the beach. Later that day, one such round decapitated a signals lineman working on the beach; our first fatal casualty of only three, fortunately, in the first few days of the landing.

Actually, the invaders were better off than the defenders. The amount of firepower aimed at the enemy from both sea and air was devastating. Yet the plan for the forward troops to capture Caen on the first day could not be achieved, and was not to be, for about six more weeks, proving how well the Germans were able to resist in their dug-in positions.

As my landing craft covered the last half mile or so to the beach, I had my first real sight of what war was about. Not bad going to have been five years into the conflict and not had a shot fired in my direction until then. Now it was suddenly very different, with bodies in the water and men being hauled out of floating wreckage. I can't really recall being frightened at the time, more numb and sort of detached. There was just so much happening and the noise, mostly generated by ourselves, and perhaps because of that, made one less concerned about personal safety. Of the latter there was none, you just had to be one of the lucky ones.

On the assumption that a number of LCTs and other assault craft would be lost, each unit's strength was dispersed among other craft - the principle of not having all your eggs in one basket. Thus on my ship, there was of my Company, around ten men made up of linemen, radio operators, signallers - and me. Also aboard was a tank, an ambulance, two or three armoured vehicles, several trucks - I expected to drive ashore in one - and of course, tons of stores, ammunition etc as well dozens of men from other regiments.

By now traffic was moving away from the beach, laden with casualties and prisoners, the latter probably glad to be leaving the mayhem behind them. A 'casualty' from my Unit had sailed on an LCT that put its ramp down over deep water (not all LCT commanders relished getting too close - they were keen on off-loading their human and material cargoes and getting-the-hell-out-of-it with almost indecent haste). Our man, encumbered with webbing and equipment, pushed his signals trolley off the ramp into some ten feet depth of water, became entangled with the trolley and, in the struggle, lost his false teeth. We assumed we had lost him, when he failed to turn up at our assembly area ashore. He showed up two weeks later. He had become a casualty simply because, without teeth, he'd not have been able to cope with the hardtack intended to keep us fed until bread became available.

My ship's ramp was put down about two metres from the water's edge. Sitting in the cab of a three-ton Bedford truck, only the front wheels got wet, the rear set remained on the ramp for about half an hour. If I had not made notes, about my unorthodox entry to France, a year or so after the event my subsequent imagination would surely have made that wait to get off the ship, seem like hours had passed.

I do not think I have adequate literary skills to describe the scene on shore, that we were forced to sit and watch on that eventful day, 6th June 1944. The time was 10. 30 a.m. and one could have been forgiven, at the time, for thinking that the war would be lost. The beach was 'Sword, Queen Red Sector' (see map following) at the extreme eastern end of the bridgehead. It was designed to be the pivotal point which the allied armies would sweep around, towards the south and east, at an early stage of the invasion. It was to be nearly two months before this came about. Indeed, as I have already hinted, that the enterprise should succeed at all, especially had it been known locally that the US Army was having a rough time of it at the other end of the beachhead, would have seemed an unsafe bet. Fortunately, stouter hearts than mine were in charge!

The sea-front houses had largely been cleared by No.4 Commando, and other infantry units had begun to move inland, long before my arrival. But it was past 11 a.m. before the beach exits to the promenade were able to cope with the rush of traffic coming ashore. Hence, my having to wait my turn to proceed. The tide was now well in and no more than 30-40 metres of sand lay between the water's edge and the sea wall, below which a hastily dug trench contained the dead. The beach itself was hardly visible for vehicles, equipment and men waiting to move off. It was a scene of utter chaos and it was down to one man and his team to get it sorted. That man was the Beachmaster
for our sector, Lt-Col Wharton, and he did succeed in the end, in getting the exits cleared, enabling us to move inland. I cut his obituary from the 'Daily Telegraph' in December, 1994. He was quoted as having said of 1944, 'June 8th was a better day for me than the 6th because at last I had enough people to clear the bodies of the beach.'
(the above is an extract from a longer version)0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

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