- Contributed by听
- Stuart Yates
- People in story:听
- Frederick Yates
- Location of story:听
- Normandy beaches, 1944
- Background to story:听
- Army
- Article ID:听
- A2713367
- Contributed on:听
- 06 June 2004
My father, Frederick Yates, was at D-Day. Sadly, he is no longer with us. A quiet, unassuming man he was never very forthcoming about what he did, giving brief snippets every so often 鈥 whenever a documentary or film about World War Two was being televised. When pushed, he would simply shake his head. I knew he had given back his medals at the end of the War. I never really knew why. Occasionally he would make a comment, along the lines of, 鈥淵our mother had a worse time of it than me. 鈥 (Mum lived in Wallasey, Merseyside throughout the War and experienced, first hand, the heavy bombing that took place all across the docklands during the early part of the War). Then, one particular day, I felt brave enough to actually ask him what it was like, landing in Normandy in June 1944. He shifted uneasily in his seat, 鈥淎 bit like walking on New Brighton prom,鈥 he murmured laconically. I didn鈥檛 believe him. I asked him to explain. 鈥淚 was amongst the first to go ashore,鈥 he continued. A first class carpenter 鈥 he could make anything out of anything 鈥 he was in the Pioneer Corps. 鈥淚t was quiet. We just walked onto the beach. It all happened later on though. I remember there was a lot of noise going on down the right, but that didn鈥檛 really bother me.鈥 I know now that that noise, of course, was Omaha. Then he set me a steely stare. 鈥淚t was when we moved off the beach that it got worse. I was promoted in the field.鈥 I asked him what that meant and he told me. 鈥淢y officer was leading us through the countryside. We came to a farmer鈥檚 field. Our officer told us to break off to the flanks whilst he went through the middle. I went to go with him, reaching to open the gate that was the entrance to the field, but he stopped me and told me to go to the left, that he would go through the centre. He opened the gate. It was booby-trapped. He was blown apart.鈥 I was stunned but Dad simply picked up a newspaper and began to read. He never mentioned anything about his War days again, and I never asked him. I regret that so much now, I really do.
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