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Early on the day which was due to be D-Day, the motor torpedo boat on which I was the navigating officer was told, without explanation, to go to Plymouth from our base at Dartmouth. On arrival, our Captain went ashore for his orders. He was told that three US Army Signal officers would come aboard and fix various things to the boat. The officers soon appeared in the ubiquitous Jeep and, loaded with cases, explained who they were and asked to fit their equipment. This turned out to be large lights on the yardarm and antennae pointing in various directions, plus a portable generator. This left little room on our very small bridge — soon to be occupied at sea by the Captain, First Lieutenant, Coxswain and two seamen manning twin Vickers 303s, who in an action one hoped would only fire seawards at the enemy and not inwards at the crew.

D-Day was postponed for 24 hours because of the weather, but the following afternoon the Captain collected the Americans and our sealed orders, my only experience of it in my naval years, and said we had to be ready to sail in the evening. We left Plymouth and soon ran into the heavy swell which often follows stormy weather. An early deluge of water all over the bridge made us realise how ill-equipped our American colleagues were for a wet night at sea. We shared our spare sea clothes but could hardly suggest their going below to rest because the wardroom was small and tended to get very hot and stuffy, which often brought on, rather than cured, sea-sickness. In fact, an airless room and a cup of naval cocoa, with its condensed milk, and spoons of sugar would have rendered the Americans hors de combat.

The Skipper explained to the crew that we were to do a special navigational job for two US airborne divisions which were going to land in Normandy on the Cotentin peninsular.

I would like to claim that my required pin-point navigation was to be inspirational, but in fact we had the forerunner of the present day Gee system which gave one’s position in effect by chart lines on a screen. The point we were aiming at turned out to be 8 miles west of a lighthouse on Jersey. I looked up a wonderful D-Day information book I had been given at Plymouth and read that long range German guns were thought to be on this island point. I thought this was a rather unfriendly act on their part. The book gave geographical information on the whole coastal area of the three beach zones. In view of the thousands of such books which were no doubt printed it is another example of the almost unbelievable secrecy maintained for the D-Day operations. There were of course major plans to keep or divert German attention to the Pas de Calais area. (In fact, it was many days after D-Day before Hitler allowed divisions to be moved from Northern France.)

We arrived on time as did the cocoa .. sweet, thick and nasty as usual. My chartroom was just below the bridge, and apart from an occasional breather I spent all the time helping to keep the boat exactly on station, the swell, sea and tide being such that we could not cut engines and remain stationary. I merely heard that the three Americans were nobly holding on, albeit gradually collecting a complexion as green as the sea.

I cannot remember how long we had been on station when I heard shouting on the bridge, mostly expletives and exclamations of wonder and disbelief. I went up and saw a sight never before seen and I doubt ever to be seen again in the history of mankind. In the sky was a wide line of lights stretching back to the horizon like a comet’s tail, and looking as if a mass of bright stars was on the move. We began to hear the sound of hundreds of Dakota engines. Aboard were the crack 82nd and 101st US airborne divisions. The lights which the Americans had put on our boat were already flashing and the antennae pointed to France. The first aircraft came over our boat and immediately turned to port and put out their lights. Beams to the land were sent by the onboard equipment which the aircraft followed to their dropping or landing zones, some aircraft carrying paratroopers and others towing gliders. I cannot now remember how many planes were involved but, as I recall, it took hours for them all to pass over us, although there were some gaps between the waves of aircraft.

I don’t know how long after the first wave arrived, but 2 of the 3 Americans passed my chartroom door looking decidedly sick, which was not surprising since with the slow station-keeping movements the boat wallowed all over the place. Apparently, there was little to do but put the lights and the beams on and off. When the US officer on the bridge could take no more of the rolling, he was relieved by a colleague, so everything was continuously checked. A short rest in the wardroom helped them, and we all greatly admired their stoic determination to see the job through.

So this amazing indelible night passed and in the early hours of the morning we were signalled to leave. Our friends appeared one by one looking somewhat less pallid. They said kind things about our work, which we perhaps over-reciprocated. Suffice it to say that by the time we got back to Plymouth it seemed that it was only going to be a matter of time before our United States decorations were announced. This went down very well with the flotilla. Our other boats had spent a very dull D-Day protecting channel traffic from enemy intrusion.

Maybe the last laugh was on us because nothing happened .. until, months later, we were told to clear the boat and parade everyone on the upper deck for the visit of a very important general, so we knew that this, at last, was our day. A bevy of top brass appeared led by General Ridgeway who commanded the two divisions, and who subsequently became the Allied commander in the Korean war. The brass came on board, our saluting arm going up and down in semaphore fashion. General Ridgeway said he would read a Presidential (I think) citation. This said flattering things about our D-Day work and its success. Yes indeed, this was it. It wasn’t a long citation. At the end, General Ridgeway said something like ‘well done’, seemed to salute everyone he looked at and walked off the boat without so much as a mention of those three heroic British officers who braved the waves, spent hours near the enemy coast and shared their coffee, cocoa and clothes with the US Army.

I might just add that the US 82nd and 101st airborne divisions suffered a comparatively very high rate of casualties in the first two months of the campaign in Normandy, and came out of the war with a consistently high reputation. They still seem to be the spearhead of any United States military involvement.

J.D. Nightingirl
2.6.05