大象传媒

John鈥檚 D-Day War Story

I landed in Normandy on D1 as the Assistant to the Adjutant of the 5th Regiment RHA. We had three batteries of self-propelled 25 pounder guns, and were part of the 22nd Armoured Brigade of 7th Armoured Division. The following three months (after the landing on D1) were probably the worst in the entire history of 7th Armoured so far as the tankcrews and infantry were concerned; the country was very close except on the plain beyond Caen so that the defenders had always the advantage. In addition, the Cromwell even with its high velocity 75mm gun was no match for the German Panthers and Tigers. The Allies had massive air superiority, which gave the artillery immunity from bombing and reduced the enemy鈥檚 available ammunition, so we had a relatively easy time, that is until we reached Villers Bocage.

Briefly, a gap appeared in the German line near Caumont and 7AD was put through to exploit it. When the leading tanks reached a point beyond Villers they were ambushed by a single Tiger, and the County of London Yeomanry lost their leading squadron and regimental HQ. The Tiger just motored along the whole column brewing up the Cromwells at close range and then destroyed the half-tracks of A Company the Rifle Brigade machine-gunning the surviving crews as they baled out. Andy Merrifield who now drove a G Battery OP tank managed to escape with his tank. K Battery CO鈥檚 Sherman was in the main street of the town when the driver, Jock Rae, saw the Tiger. He alerted the Major who escaped through the turret while Jock went through the escape hatch in the floor, as the first 88 round, HE as it happened, blew the track off, and the second, armourpiercing set the tank ablaze. Like all the command tanks in the regiment this one had a wooden gun. I wonder what the Germans made of that.

All the accounts you will read of the action emphasise the failure of the recce to detect the Tigers (there were several) and gloat over it as proof that 7AD, for all its claim to fame, was rubbish. But after the initial losses, which were enormous in dead and captured, the remaining tank force and a battalion of Queens managed to hang on in the town for several hours of confused fighting before retiring to form a defensive island about half a mile long and quarter of a mile wide, at Amaye-sur-Seulles, a few miles north-west of the town.

We, back with the guns and Tactical RHQ, were aware of this unfolding drama through the Adjutant鈥檚 radio and, of course, the sound of gunfire and the sight of black smoke from the direction of the town a few miles away. G Battery took up position facing south and Tac HQ including the Adjutant鈥檚 party (halftrack with Raymond driving, me on motorbike, Bill Caines jeep) dug in behind. During the evening the Queens arrived and covered the front ahead of G Battery and we passed a nervous night. At first light we became aware of this island position mentioned above and how exposed it was when two gunners delivering ammunition to the SP guns were sniped and there were several casualties from shell fire close by. There were two attacks on our font during the day beaten off by the Queens supported by our guns. Once the infantry sustained such heavy casualties our CO2 (second in command) asked for volunteer stretcher bearers, and when none was forthcoming detailed four of us to go to the front trenches, still under intermittent mortar fire. We were given a stretcher and wasted no time finding a customer, one who seemed from the first sight of us to hate our guts. A mortar fragment had taken him across both shins and left his two lower legs dangling. We manoeuvred him on to the stretcher as carefully as we could, he cursing us the whole time, then we ran and walked with him for several hundred yards with bullets singing round our heads ( could be retrospective imagination that bit!). As we reached the barn where our MO had set up his Regimental Aid Post, I sought to reassure him that Jerry was letting ambulanced through to the rear and that he would be in Blighty in no time 鈥淵ou said that well鈥� he said then went right on hating me.

We knew the next day would be 鈥榮hit or bust鈥� as they say, and we were right. It began with an attack on our right just when I was on my way to CC Battery with new code tables, and the thought crossed my mind that I was going to be taken prisoner with them. My next thought was to get them to CC Command Post, which I did very fast: they were so busy in there I don鈥檛 think anyone noticed me come and go.

I should mention at this point, that attached to our HQ was a Captain of artillery from the US Army called Chuck (鈥淛ust call me Chuck鈥� was how he introduced himself), and from time to time he called down fire from his regiment way back in the main battle area. So it was that at about midday when a G Battery OP reported a large force of tanks and infantry assembling to attack he said he would call on the whole of his corps artillery. (鈥淚t had better be worth it鈥�). He set off running towards his jeep about 100 yards away just as a load of shells landed on our position. Looking over the rim of my trench I watched him run and drop in between shell bursts like John Wayne in a WW2 movie. When he got there, his signaller was in the trench and refused to get out so we heard Chuck shouting fire-orders himself sown the mike. Before he got back to us, the shells came over like 400 express trains and seemed to land in the next field, so we were surprised when shouts of 鈥淎pples鈥� (code for shells on own troops) came over the radio, followed immediately to everyone鈥檚 relief by 鈥淎pples OK鈥�. The whole 鈥榮tonk鈥� came down on target and broke up the attack before it started.

In all this excitement no one noticed that Gunner Walkden the MO鈥檚 orderly who had come back to his truck for more bandages had been hit until, in a lull in the racket, we heard him shouting. When we reached him he was so pale I thought he was dead already. Blood was pumping from an artery in his leg and he directed operations as Bill Caines bound it up tightly with a shell dressing and we somehow got him into the Regimental Aid Post. I remember the MO, who was not softy, wept when he saw who it was. We heard later that Walkden survived and walked again. His wife apparently never understood how he came to be wounded in Normandy when George Wharton, from the same regiment but temporarily left in England with non-essential elements, was being married in Downham Market. For months afterwards our survey officer, Lt Liverman used to say that if anything went missing it was always blamed on Villers Bocage or Wharton鈥檚 wedding.

That should have been the climax but there was more. At about 3 o鈥檆lock the following afternoon Captain Hill (the adjutant) said that as it was quiet he would have a sleep and walked up the slope of the filed to lie in the sun. Almost at once three shells landed just where we could see his feet, and we thought he was a shovel-job for sure until he came legging down the hill. Then all hell broke loose with a barrage of shells landing on our position and heavy mortars on the infantry, with both signallers in the adjutant鈥檚 two radios screaming into their microphones. This went on for some time, then we were horrified to see groups of the Queens running between G Battery guns towards us. They looked like young boys to us in our mid-twenties and were whimpering with terror. There was not sign of an officer, only a youthful sergeant-major doing his best to stem their headlong flight. Major Holman (CO2) drew his revolver, but that only increased the panic. Eventually we managed to persuade them to dig in next to us; I remember Raymond Selfe did a wonderful calming down job, telling them all was well.

Meanwhile the eight guns of G Battery were blasting away non stop making speech impossible, but we all knew, without being told, that only those guns separated us from the enemy. It was not a situation we were used to. Our little trench was about ten yards behind the lefthand gun, which completely obscured my view but I was dead calm and determined to fight it out with anything in grey or black that came around the corner of the SP (self-propelled [gun]) in front. This has always surprised me, since, faced with danger I am usually frozen into terrified immobility. I had picked up a stengun from somewhere and I carefully cocked it and made sure the safety catch was off, but I was denied my moment of glory. There was a muffled cheer from up front and the guns fell silent while the empty shell cases came clanging over the side of the SP, and the adjutant careered off into a tank to claim some prisoners. Meanwhile the Colonel came on the radio wanting to know where the hell he was. I went to tell the MO in his barn that all was well for the time being, but he was too busy to bother, so I jointed an anti-tank gun crew on the road in time to see the adjutant returning on his tank but with no prisoners. I told him he was in trouble with the Colonel, and he ran to his half-track and I heard him crawling apologetically over the radio to the CO.

As they had done at Waterloo 129 years (almost to the day) before, Mercers Troop (G Battery RHA) had broken up an enemy attack, not French Cuirassiers this time but SS Panzer Grenadiers, and I, for one, was very relieved. We had no more excitement that day; the Typhoons came over to add their bit of punishment, and at midnight the RAF put in a heavy bomber raid on Villers under cover of which we pulled out. At first light I was directing RHQ into their new position when I went to sleep and fell over with my motor bike. Our retreat had been unhindered, although G lost their gun-fitter and his store truck, which went up in flames. After breakfast I had to bring up the ammo truck to replenish the batteries and had to shunt the whole convoy into a field to allow the GOC鈥檚 armoured car through to congratulate the boys.

From:
John Coombs (Former Gunner Coombs, 5th Regiment RHA)
Hayes Barton
Nethergate Street
Harpley
King鈥檚 Lynn
Norfolk

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