大象传媒

In June 1944 I was serving with the 5th Battalion The Kings Regiment, which was the infantry assault unit and nucleus of the Beach Group. The job of the Beach Group was to organise and cope with the landing of an assault force. Such a multitude of tasks - clearing beaches and exits of mines, making additional exits, supervision and unloading of all craft, both troops and stores, organising dumps for ammunition and petrol, signal systems, beach dressing station for wounded. There was also rearward movement for evacuating more seriously wounded and POWs. All this whilst under a constant hail of shelling, mortar and small arms firing!

My D-Day adventures commenced on the 4th June 1944 when I was told that I would not be taking my 3 ton lorry over. Orders had been altered and I was now to collect a Jeep. This I did and was surprised to see that across the front was a large white board bearing in red letters the legend "Provost Marshall". Whilst going to fill up with petrol I was horrified to discover that the engine cut out under pressure. I was told to carry onto the boarding area and all would be organised. However when I got there I was told it was too late to correct the fault in the engine. I was duly put aboard first, i.e. last off so that I would not block the ramp when we landed. I was also told that the Provost Marshall was now going over on another craft. I noticed too that adjacent craft had both Flail and Bobbin tanks. Flail tanks had a rotating chain arrangement which beat the ground ahead and exploded hidden mines. The Bobbin tanks were able to lay sections of tracking to enable wheeled vehicles to proceed over mud or fine sand. Just to complete a good day I then learned that we were to land in the first wave at 07.25, on Queen Red Beach. When news was received that D-Day was to be postponed for 24 hours due to bad weather, I decided that I would check the Jeep engine. As all vehicles had been waterproofed with a plastecine/clay like material this had to be removed in order to get at the carburettor. Upon dismantling this I found some cotton wadding blocking the jets. I prayed that I'd found the fault and replaced the waterproofing.

I cannot remember how I spent the next 24 hours, but I do recall waking up from under the Jeep to a voice saying "Well, here's France". I stood up expecting to see the coast on the horizon, not what appeared 200 yards away and the tremendous sound of the allied Navy bombardment whooshing overhead. Looking to my right, sorry starboard, there were landing craft of all sizes as far as the eye could see, which combined with the sight of RAF planes overhead was all very comforting. Against that was the realisation that the fountains of water appearing all around were a sign that the enemy already had our range. All too soon was the sight of the Navy rating with his depth stick and the stomach churning sound of the ramp going down and the over powering smell of diesel fuel from the tanks infront of me. As I waited my turn I put my wife's photograph and my cigarettes under my steel helmet. I cursed the Jeep's designers who had put the petrol tank under the driver's seat, and at the same time realising that in order to keep reasonably dry I would need to sit almost on the seat back. Being last off it seemed an eternity before it became my turn, as each vehicle had to wait until the previous one had cleared the ramp. I had almost reached the ramp when the Flail tank ahead of me received what must have been a direct hit, suddenly exploding and for a few seconds it appeared to disappear, only to reappear as a smoking hulk bathed in flames. At that moment my only thought was to get ashore.

With a silent prayer that my repair work had been successful I engaged four wheel drive. I drove down the ramp into the water which was about a foot in depth, only to find it commenced to get deeper. Just as I was getting really worried the shore shelved upwards again and I was across the beach. Almost straight ahead a roadway of tracking had already been made with tanks. To the right were buildings from which enemy snipers and machine gunners were operating, whilst from the left came a steady bombardment of mortar shells. At that moment my position in the slight shelter of small sand dunes seemed safe, until I saw the sign "Achtung Minen!" It might well have said "Welcome to Hell".

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