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Several months after the D-Day landings (6 June 1944), we found ourselves outside the town of Falaise in Normandy, where Rommel’s army were in the process of being annihilated. This operation closed the ‘Falaise Gap’.

We were entrenched on the banks of the River Orne and awaiting orders to cross, which we expected any time.

Up to this period it was very heavy slogging. As the Germans retreated they quite often counter-attacked, throwing in their elite Panza Grenadiers.

Digging for our lives

It was hand-to-hand bayonet fighting, but we repulsed them time after time. Each time we halted and rested, we had to dig slit trenches - for our lives. To be above ground was certainly courting death, as the shelling and mortaring was very intense and often fatal. In other words, above ground you were a dead man.

When not fighting, we were digging! Every ‘Paddy’ who digs holes in our roads, would be proud of the way we dug our way in.

Night patrols

Patrols were sent out every night to capture Germans and bring them in for interrogation. When these Germans were taken prisoner with their hands clasped over their heads, they shouted ‘Ich bin nicht ein Deutch!’ [sic] The translation is ‘I am not a German.’ They claimed to be Romanian, Hungarian, or members of the Balkan countries, not the cowardly Nazi bxxxxxxs that they were.

Coincidence

I must now pause and return you to London where my then fiancée, the lovely Jessica (who is now my wife of nearly 57 years) lived. She had a friend named Rochelle, who during their conversation said she had a cousin, Alie Colman, who was serving in the infantry, Royal Warwickshire Regiment, fighting in Normandy. ‘That is a coincidence,’ said Jessica, ‘as my fiancé is also out in Normandy with the Royal Warwicks.’ Rochelle said, ‘I will write to Alie and tell him about your Leslie being in the same regiment.’

Back in the slit trench in Normandy, I sat reading magazines, which Jessica sent me. Jessica had also informed me that I should look out for Alie Colman, a cousin of her friend Rochelle.

Pleasantries exchanged

Suddenly a soldier looked down into my slit trench and said, ‘Do you happen to know a Private Sternberg?’
I replied, ‘I am Sternberg. Who wants me?’

He introduced himself as Alie Colman. He had a letter from his cousin asking him to look out for me. We exchanged pleasantries, and I invited him to join me in the trench to read some magazines.

After a while, Alie said, ‘This trench is not too deep.’
My reply was that I could not go any deeper because of the rocks and boulders.
Alie said, ‘My trench is much deeper. Bring the magazines and your rifle into my trench and leave all your other items.’

We had been settled in Alie’s trench for about ten to 15 minutes when suddenly Jerry opened up with everything he had - intense shelling and mortaring. It was so ferocious that the force of the impact of the shell and mortars tightened the helmets on our heads. The bombardment lasted for about one to two hours.

Fortune and fate

When it finally stopped, I retrieved my magazines and rifle and bid Alie good luck. I proceeded back to my slit trench. To my horror, I saw a huge crater where my trench had been, and all my belongings were gone.

If I had stayed there during the bombardment, I would not have been penning this article. It was fated that if my Jessica had not sent me magazines and spoken to her friend, Rochelle, telling her that I was in Normandy with her cousin, I would have died. Jessica had inadvertently and luckily saved my life.

This is indeed a true story.

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