I thought members would enjoy this. It's extracted from the full version of Dad's memoirs which are about to be published by Pen and Sword. I've forgotten how many times I've read this yet I still enjoy the spectacle of it! Dad was in the first wave of troops landing with 6 Green Howards on Gold Beach. See the link in my signature for more details and a link to the Dunkirk chapter. The extract starts in a landing craft on the way to the Normandy beaches. Enjoy! All the best, Paul. Looking around us, we could see other assault craft taking station at each side of us. The sea was very choppy but as the mist began to clear and the light was improving, the whole mighty operation became visible to us. And what a sight it was – something nobody had ever seen before. There were thousands of ships of all sizes and, standing out like huge sentinels, the mighty war ships (in fact, almost seven thousand in all). It was such a vast undertaking that nobody, not even the participants who were part of it, could describe the invasion as vividly as we saw it happen. It would never be seen again in our lifetime. If the British people could have seen it they would have been very proud. The sky seemed to be full of planes – bombers, Hurricanes, Spitfires and others I did not recognise; hundreds of them going towards our target for the day. With the continuous barrage of the battleships’ huge guns and the drone of never ending streams of aircraft, the noise was deafening. How could the enemy in their wildest dreams have imagined what the Allies would be able to assemble for this day, the day of retribution for the vile sins which had been perpetrated in the name of the Third Reich? When a soldier is going into action, it is not a time to think of the past, or the future. The present is the thing that is uppermost in his thoughts; what is happening now; today is all that matters and God willing there would be another time for his tomorrow. The probability of death does not come into the equation. Get on with the job. The infantryman was the vital link in the chain and we were the most vulnerable. We must not fall at the first hurdle but had to get ashore and move inland. If we did not succeed, the consequences would be very serious, so we would have to be aggressive. We were now seasick, that most awful of feelings, and were making full use of our sick bags but even that did not stop us from taking note of what was going on. Nobody wanted to miss this great occasion. Shells started coming towards us but the enemy seemed to be going for the ships, not us, and they created great spouts of water when they hit the sea. Now we could see bombs falling from our planes and fighters, skimming low above the enemy defenders. The continuous thundering was never ending. We were about two miles from the coastline, Rommel’s Atlantic Wall, when on our port side we saw something which we had never seen before. It was a rocket ship, about half-a-mile away from us, and it was firing a massive, continuous barrage of missiles, screeching simultaneously dead straight towards the coast. We could hear – almost feel – the heat generated by the displaced air. ‘Hell’, we said. ‘Fancy being on the end of that lot!’ We could hear the rumble of war as the planes dropped their bombs. Warships were shelling the fortifications and the sound of the shells flying above us was uncanny. Great flashes were coming from the gun barrels and lit the morning sky. The battleships were firing their salvoes of shells, which we could hear screaming above our heads. And above them, the planes, a never-ending stream of planes of all sorts was going to bomb the communications inland so the Germans could not send for reinforcements. Meanwhile, we saw the other assault craft keeping in line with us, in the hands of competent helmsmen, all rising and falling with the mood of the sea, like bucking broncos. As we were now coming within firing range, the enemy machine gunners turned their attention to us in the assault craft, and we felt fairly vulnerable. It seemed to be a hell of a long way to the beach, then I saw a landing craft next to ours slow down. A bullet must have hit the helmsman. Swiftly, somebody took over control but the boat was now a little out of line with the other assault craft and in the blinking of an eye, the front of the boat had been hit by a shell or a mortar, or probably a mine. The explosion lifted bodies and parts of bodies into the air and the stern of the craft just ploughed into the sea. All those boys, laden with kit as they were, didn’t stand a chance of survival. There was so much happening now and so swiftly. Every second was vital; let’s get out of this coffin! We were getting so near now and felt so helpless, just waiting for our fate one way or another and at that time we were keeping our heads down. Enemy shells were now landing on the shoreline and machine gun bullets were raking the sand. Then, at the top of his voice, the helmsman shouted: ‘Hundred to go, seventy-five to go, all ready, fifty to go!’ He was now fighting hard to control the craft, avoiding mined obstacles showing above the water, as well as the ones just beneath the surface. One boat had already met disaster on the approach. ‘Twenty five yards’, and suddenly, ‘Ramp going down – now!’ And the craft stopped almost dead in three feet of water and our own platoon commander shouted, ‘Come on, lads,’ and we got cracking. That was no place to be messing about. Get the hell out of it. Jumping off the ramp we went into waist-deep water, struggling to keep our feet. We waded through the water looking for mined obstacles, holding rifles above our heads. I was trying to keep a very cumbersome two-inch mortar and bombs dry as well as making certain I didn’t drop it, Some of the lads were shot as they jumped. Two of the lads were a bit unfortunate because as they jumped into the boiling water the craft surged forward on a wave and they fell into the sea. I dare say they would fight like hell and recover but we were not hanging about, that had been our instructions from the start; we must not linger. Our adrenaline was now at its peak and every one of us was aware of what he had to do. At the moment there was no actual fighting to be done as there was no visible enemy, but we had to get off the beach and forward in order to come into contact because they were hidden in their positions. Our primary concern was to get out of the sea. Onto the soft sand and the boys in front and behind of me went down. Hell, get moving! Halfway up the beach, about ten yards from the sand dunes, I saw an amphibious Sherman flail tank at a standstill, its chains hanging helpless like some monster, one track was off its sprockets. It had gone into the assault on the beach before us to make a path through the minefield which ran along behind the beaches. The crew had bailed out and had continued, under fire, to make a path across the minefield and had taped it. On the beach, lads were falling all over the place. Resting with his back against the tank was our company commander, Captain Linn, who had been wounded. He was waving his arm for us to get off the beach. Tragically, while he was in that position, he was hit again and killed. Captain Chambers, now took over and he, too, was wounded but was able to carry on his duties. He was shouting and waving his arms: ‘Get off the beach – off the beach, off the bloody beach. Get forward lads and give the buggers hell!’ It was difficult to make too much haste in the soft sand but, by a supreme effort, we ran up the slope towards the sand banks in face of heavy enemy fire. Dead and wounded lads lay all over the beach, the worst of whom were shouting for the stretcher bearers. They were bricks, those medics. At this time, we lost Sergeant Burns but I never did get to know how many others were actually killed on the day. Along the invasion front, 10,000 men were killed or injured. From jumping out of the craft to getting onto the beach seemed to take ages, yet it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes, which was long enough to be in that situation and it was still drizzling with rain. I’ll tell you what, we didn’t look back. The situation didn’t allow it, but now I wish I’d had the presence of mind to turn around to see the navy in action. It must have been an awesome sight from a defender’s view, but this was no time for sightseeing. I had made it. It was beginning. Nobody, absolutely nobody, can even simply imagine the horror of war unless he actually experiences it. Take my word for it, it is awful seeing living boys killed before your eyes, heads and arms blown off. I could go on. Our company had suffered fairly heavy casualties; one platoon alone had lost twelve men, killed. The way some of our lads died that day was dreadful. One of our sergeants, in D Company, was called Rufty Hill and as he jumped off the ramp into the sea he landed in a shell hole. At the same time a wave made the assault craft surge forward and he was forced beneath the boat. Rufty was drowned and probably crushed beneath the boat. I knew that chap and knew he would have given a very good account of himself had he lived to go into the assault. He was ‘one of the lads’. It was awful to think that Rufty had survived Dunkirk and from Alamein to Enfidaville then through Sicily, only to be killed in such a tragic way. For us, war was a very bitter experience in life. One can put these things to the back of one’s mind, but how can one possibly forget? It is true when we say, ‘They shall never grow old’. We will always remember them as we knew them, young and vibrant, good lads. I was told that two lads who jumped into the water after me had been hit by gunfire, so I was lucky. Unless a soldier who was killed was one’s pal, it did not seem to bother us as it happened so frequently and we did not dwell on the loss. A pal’s death and how he died was a totally different matter and we were all aware how easily a good young life could be ended so violently. It was quite a heavy drizzle now and we were soaked through but we had more important things to think about so our personal comfort was of little consequence. The beach was the worst place to be. Since there was no protection, we felt very exposed and vulnerable and although still in great danger, felt better when we had entered the marshy ground beyond the beach. After all our haste and determination and taking about fifty prisoners and killing many of the enemy, to our great surprise, apart from the machine gun and mortar fire, there was not a great deal of opposition to our advance slowly inland. The outer crust had been broken, though there was some machine gun fire and always the snipers, looking to kill our officers. After the initial landing had been accomplished, there was a different atmosphere among the lads and they could find time to light up their cigarettes for which they were all gasping. We now knew that we had overcome the unpredictable landing and what we now had to face were the usual hazards of war we all knew about. Our future would depend upon the discipline and self-confidence we showed in whatever action which faced us. All we lads of England would do what we had been trained to do. The beach, with all the deaths, was behind us. What had happened there was history, we just got used to it. The cold hand of fate did not lay its icy fingers on me, for which I thanked God.
