D Day Memories

Bill Nichols’ story:

“We were billeted under canvas near the barracks at Horndean on June 3rd. At this point we were split up, with the main body of men going to the Landing Ship Infantry (LSI), but I was to go with a smaller group under the orders of Captain Archdale, our Company’s second in command. We went first to the naval barracks at Portsmouth, then marched down to Southsea for embarkation.
“We went aboard Landing Craft Infantry (LCI) No. 229 which moved out into its allotted space offshore, expecting to sail that evening. But then came the 24 hour delay. Next day we were allowed ashore for exercise & invited to view HMS Victory, which was nearby.
“On the evening of June 5th we were really on our way. It was a bit overcrowded & a call came for some to sleep on deck. I quickly volunteered my group and our bed that night was tightly packed cases of compo rations.
“We had each been given a letter from the Supreme Commander, together with a booklet on France, so for the first time we knew for sure where we were going.
“I had a good sleep and woke early to be greeted by a truly wonderful sight - the sea appeared to be covered with ships & crafts of all types & sizes.
“We had our breakfast, checked our kit & weapons, and watched! As we got nearer to the coast we could hear the heavy gunfire and we had a lovely view of HMS Warspite in action with her mighty guns hammering away. As we got close to the shore we could hear her shells whooshing overhead, plus many more from the other ships taking part in the bombardment.
“Our landing point was on Sword beach near Ouistreham and there was a hold up which caused us to lay to for some minutes. There was a fair swell rocking the ship and with the hot diesel fumes quite a few of the lads lost their breakfast.
“Finally we got to the beach - the crew of the LCI did well to get the craft between two seaward-facing tripods which had mines on them. An LCI nearby had hit one and was ablaze.
“We grounded, the crew dropped the ramps on each side of the bows and we were on our way with one thought - to get off the beach as quickly as possible. The East Yorkshires & South Lancashires had taken the beach area and the Suffolks were to press through to attack gun positions further back.
“ There was a lot of machine-gun fire but we concentrated on making it to the sea wall, at the same time keeping between two tapes which marked the path beaten by a flail tank.
“A quick dash and we were sheltered by the sea wall. A young lad was there saying he had lost his mates and I told him to stick with us. He was from the East Yorkshires.
“Another dash and we were over the sea wall, past the bungalows, over the road and on to our rendezvous (RV) point in an orchard. Here the Yorkshire lad left us to rejoin his own unit as he knew where they were headed. I trust that he made it safely.
“I was with B Company which now attacked strongpoint ‘Morris’, while A Company tackled strongpoint ‘Hillman’. ‘Morris’ soon gave in and a lot of then turned out to be Italian troops. ‘Hillman’ was a far tougher proposition, and we badly needed the help and firepower of the allotted cruiser, but the Forward Observation Officer (who relayed instructions to the ship’s gunners) was killed and contact was lost. Quite a battle took place with many casualties before it was captured.
“My group reached a piece of high ground a bit further inland and we quickly dug ourselves in. Over to the right we saw a section of enemy tanks trying to fight their way to the beaches through Canadian lines, but the Canadians dealt with them.
“Later in the day we had a wonderful sight - a whole fleet of aircraft swept in from the sea towing gliders. As we watched, the gliders were cast off and headed for a landing near the canal. Soon they were thick on the ground, and how they managed to land without crashing into one another was truly marvellous. They were a very brave lot of men and some of them came to grief.
By the evening of D-Day we were able to settle down a bit. It was two men to a slit trench, one on watch and one resting except for stand to when everyone was on watch.

“That night our sergeant major vanished. He had gone down a lane to contact the next company and we later leaned that he had bee hit by a sniper and had been unable to move. He was picked up by an amphibious DUKW which took him straight to the beach and put him on a landing craft to return to England. He sent us a message from hospital!”

On June 19th Bill was shot in the leg, and he returned to England the next day. For him the war was over.

Stanley Gardner’s story:

My story begins on the night of June 5th 1944. Our ship, the Battleaxe, a converted American freighter, was anchored off Portsmouth. Around us, as far as we could see, were ships of all descriptions, all of them with their bows pointing out to sea and France.
On board the boys were playing cards, gambling away their last English money and starting on the French money that had been issued to everybody. At 8.30am the captain spoke over the ship’s microphone: ‘We sail at 21.00 hours tonight’. This was the message we had been waiting for.. At 8.45am the decks were crowded with troops - hundreds of sun-burned, fit young men in khaki, with their safety belts on and everyone with a black triangle on their arms.
On the stroke of nine we weighed anchor. Around us ships were belching black smoke as they got up steam to move off: then we swung into line and began to move out to sea. At 9.30pm, we were all ordered below to get what sleep we could.
Dawn was just breaking, and as we looked out over a rough sea, we could see a huge red glow on the horizon. This must be France.
As we stood there we saw the first signs of action. A destroyer, speeding by about 8 miles from us, struck a mine and blew up, scattering wreckage in all directions.
At 3.30am we queued up with our trays for breakfast of porridge, two hard boiled eggs, four rounds of white bread and butter and jam and a mug of tea. We gave our rifles the once over, filled the magazines, and made sure our ammunition and grenades were ready for use.
At 4.45am the word came over the loudspeaker to get dressed, and at 4.50 the captain spoke. He could see the French coast, he said: it was a blazing inferno and the Navy was shelling it and the RAF stilling bombing it. He said that in a few moments we would be starting off on the biggest landing in history.
Millions of people had been waiting for the Second Front to start, and now that we were about to open it, he wished us God Speed on their behalf - the very best of luck and happy landings! The general feeling was: ‘Let’s get it over with, we have been waiting for it long enough’. We had been training for it, some of us since Dunkirk.
Then came the order: ‘Marines of ALC23, lower away’, and slowly the winches began to turn and we slid down the ship’s side and bumped into the stormy sea. We were then seven miles from shore. We made ourselves as comfortable as possible, some sitting, some standing, but all singing. New songs and old, sentimental, patriotic and ballads, but we all sang.
Now and then as we crested a wave we could see burning buildings near the shore. By this time there was a queer feeling in my stomach. I do not say I was scared, but there was just that feeling of uncertainty of what would happen when we reached shore.
Funnily enough, there was nothing coming back at us, not a single shell came from shoreward. When we were about three-quarters of a mile from land, we saw some of the first wave returning. Their crews waved us on and wished us luck.
No sooner was the ramp down than we began to disembark, as we had been trained to do - in a quick but orderly manner with the platoon officer leading. Down the ramp we went, up to our waists in the icy water, but for once we did not feel the cold. As the boats emptied their loads, they were filled up again with the wounded, to be taken back to Blighty.
At last we reached dry land after struggling through the water, stumbling over the bodies and debris of chaps who had caught a packet.
That beach looked a sight: burning tanks, dead men, both German and British, the Medical Corps running around doing their best for the wounded and helping as many as they could on to the empty boats.
When we were organised, we moved off the beach, keeping under cover of the bank as far as possible, then sprinting across an open space and up a side street lined with burning houses, from which snipers occasionally tried to pick us off.
After passing through this street, we set off across the fields to our pre-arranged rendezvous, a wood about half a mile inland. All went well until we started advancing through an orchard, in which cows, looking somewhat dazed, were still grazing. In the orchard we were continuously fired on by snipers. We were able to get down and enjoy a smoke and munch a biscuit or a piece of chocolate, which we had tucked away in every available corner of our battledress.
By 9am we were ready to start on this next lap of our advance which would carry us three-quarters of a mile further on, to a hill commanding the beach. The Navy was shelling this place now, and 20 tanks were getting into position, ready to shell it too. So B company moved off, going through the wood and onto the road beyond. We followed this road up through a small village, which the Commandos had captured. We continued, and the French peasants came out to greet us.
It was then that we had our first view of the German gun positions on the rise ahead. We stayed by the roadside for a while observing their position. It consisted of 6 concrete pillboxes, some finished, some under construction, each one containing a heavy gun, which fired down onto the beach.
Around the position were two barbed-wire entanglements and to our left was the entrance to the position, which, to our surprise, was still open. By this time I was wondering what was happening. Things looked very fishy. Here we were, almost on top of the place and not a shot had been fired at us. I was not too happy.
I was keyed up for the stutter of a machine-gun as we continued over the open ground up to the first wire. A Bren-gunner was ordered forward to cover the breeching platoon as it worked. Now that answering hail of fire must come, I thought, but instead, to my surprise, white flags began to appear everywhere. Out they came by ones and twos, a woebegone, bomb happy crowd.
We spent the rest of the day there, while the other companies dealt with another position, which fought harder than ours did.
We were still digging in at about 7.30pm when, looking out to sea, we saw a marvellous sight - hundreds of troop carrying gliders, being towed in by bombers. In they came, low over the beach, and on, over us at almost tree-top height, circling around the level plain to our left, which had been cleared of anti-glider stakes by another regiment of our brigade.
Soon all was quiet again. The carrier brought our supplies up and we took out our 24-hour food packs and our little cooker-stand and fuel tablets. The pack contained one bar of plain chocolate, one of fruit, about a dozen sweets, two packets of chewing-gum, two Oxo cubes, blocks of sugar, concentrated meat powder, concentrated blocks of tea, sugar and powdered milk combined for brew making, and also porridge blocks containing sugar, and four pieces of toilet paper. This, and six thick oatmeal biscuits, was enough for one man to live on quite comfortably for one day. By then darkness was drawing on, so guards were set out while the rest of us tried to get some sleep.
All was pretty quiet except for blazing houses on the beach and the crackle of a crashed bomber not far away, while ahead of us the sky was stained red with the glow of the burning town of Caen.
When morning came we found we were near a farmhouse, and the owners of the place came out to greet us, bringing us bread milk and cider. I went to one house to heat up our dinner. The lady of the house opened up a secret cupboard in the wall and fetched out best cider and cognac to give to us.
I gave her a bar of chocolate and cigarettes, much to her delight. She said that she had not tasted chocolate since 1940, and cigarettes were almost impossible to get, and when they were obtainable, only two or three per person. Her husband, she told us, was in a German concentration camp. Her daughter of 20 had been compelled to go to Paris to work for the Germans.

On the 26th of June we got ready for the big attack towards Caen. Extra ammunition and grenades were issued, special emergency rations were given out and we wrote all our mail up to date.
During that night a strong force of tanks and motorised infantry started out from the beach, unobserved by the enemy, and made their way around the back of Caen in a wide circuit so as to cut off any way of retreat to the enemy. The same night the heaviest barrage that I have ever heard opened up on the town.
Next day at noon we moved, but Jerry saw us too, and mortared us unmercifully. Our barrage started again, and the first attack went in. As the troops went forward a signal was given by our mortars, firing blue smoke bombs into the air, to the waiting squadron of Typhoon aircraft, which came over and loosed their loads of rocket bombs.
Our attacking force received very heavy casualties. One company was almost wiped out. We waited for the order to get ready to attack, but this did not come, and later word was sent round that, owing to the withdrawal of our forces, we would have to recapture the wood in an attack at dawn.
So that night we moved from that position to another, and managed to get some sleep and something to eat. We were glad to get away.
At two o’clock next morning we were up and ready for battle, and at three we made our way through the hedge in front of us. The barrage started again as we advanced in open formation across the field ahead.
Our orders were to keep well up to the barrage, and we did. Then came Jerry mortar bombs from behind us: it was a living hell. We advanced over the first field and continued on to the next cornfield.
Two men, one each side of me, rolled over dead. One in front was wounded, and his comrade started to help him back, only to be blown up by a shell that landed at his feet. I was covered with dust and dirt. Shrapnel was whining all around me, some even hitting my steel helmet, and one piece penetrating my equipment belt, while the air reeked with the smell of explosives.
Then all of a sudden we sighted tanks coming over the brow of the hill to our left. Were they ours? As they came nearer we saw black crosses. We covered ourselves with broken boughs, and camouflaged ourselves as best we could. We were all pretty well covered, except for one wounded man.
Soon we were completely surrounded and then about 20 German infantry, mostly boys of 16 and 17, came along, looking worn and shaken. As they passed, somebody was foolish enough to open up on them. He killed two, but then the hedge was swept by fire from the German tanks. Germans came past us now, and all went by without seeing anyone, all except the last one.
He turned and saw the injured man as he passed. ‘Achtung, Tommy, Tommy!’ he shouted, turning and throwing two grenades. These landed very close to me and set my head ringing, and I felt a pain in my arm, but apart from that, I was unhurt.
By now the tanks had turned their guns on us. The Taffy corporal in charge of us said ‘Well boys I think we have had it; there is nothing for it but to go out with our hands up and pray God will save our lives’ We slowly got up, expecting to be mown down. No shots came. The Germans searched us for weapons, then formed us up in threes and told us to march. For me the war was over.

Their war was over, but not their friendship...

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