Once the size of the expedition had been determined it was possible to go ahead with intensive training. Not the least of our difficulties was to find enough room. A broad partition was arranged between British and American forces, whereby the British occupied the southeastern and the Americans the south-western parts of England. The inhabitants of coastal areas accepted all the inconveniences in good part. One British division with its naval counterpart did all its earlier training in the Moray Firth area in Scotland. The winter storms prepared them for the rough-and-tumble of D Day.
The theory and practice of amphibious operations had long been established by the Combined Operations Staff, under Admiral Mountbatten, who had been succeeded by General Laycock. It had now to be taught to all concerned, in addition to the thorough general training needed for modern warfare. This of course had long been going on in Britain and America in exercises great and small with live ammunition. Many officers and men entered into battle for the first time, but all bore themselves like seasoned troops.
Lessons from previous large-scale exercises, and of course from our hard experience at Dieppe, were applied in final rehearsals by all three Services, which culminated in early May. All this activity did not pass unnoticed by the enemy. We did not object, and special pains were taken that they should be remarked by watchers in the Pas de Calais, where we wanted the Germans to believe we were coming. Constant air reconnaissance kept us informed of what was going on across the Channel. And of course there were other ways of finding out. Many trips were made by parties in small craft to resolve some doubtful point, to take soundings inshore, to examine new obstacles, or to test the slope and nature of a beach. All this had to be done in darkness, with silent approach, stealthy reconnaissance, and timely withdrawal.
An intricate decision was the choice of D Day and H Hour, the moment at which the leading assault craft should hit the beach. From this many other timings had to be worked backwards. It was agreed to approach the enemy coast by moonlight, because this would help both our ships and our airborne troops. A short period of daylight before H Hour was also needed to give order to the deployment of the small craft and accuracy to the covering bombardment. But if the interval between first light and H Hour was too long the enemy would have more time to recover from their surprise and fire on our troops in the act of landing.
Then there were the tides. If we landed at high tide the underwater obstacles would obstruct our approach; if at low tide the troops would have far to go across the exposed beaches. Many other factors had to be considered, and it was finally decided to land about three hours before high water. But this was not all. The tides varied by forty minutes between the eastern and western beaches, and there was a submerged reef in one of the British sectors. Each sector had to have a different H Hour, which varied from one place to another by as much as eighty-five minutes.
Only on three days in each lunar month were all the desired conditions fulfilled. The first three-day period after May 31, General Eisenhower’s target date, was June 5, 6, and 7. Thus was June 5 chosen. If the weather were not propitious on any of those three days the whole operation would have to be postponed at least a fortnight—indeed, a whole month if we waited for the moon.
Of course we had not only to plan for what we were really going to do. The enemy were bound to know that a great invasion was being prepared; we had to conceal the place and time of attack and make him think we were landing somewhere else and at a different moment. This alone involved an immense amount of thought and action. Coastal areas were banned to visitors; censorship was tightened; letters after a certain date were held back from delivery; foreign embassies were forbidden to send cipher telegrams, and even their diplomatic bags were delayed. Our major deception was to pretend that we were coming across the Straits of Dover. It would not be proper even now to describe all the methods employed to mislead the enemy, but the obvious ones of simulated concentrations of troops in Kent and Sussex, of fleets of dummy ships collected in the Cinque Ports, of landing exercises on the near-by beaches, of increased wireless activity, were all used. More reconnaissances were made at or over the places we were not going to than at the places we were. The final result was admirable. The German High Command firmly believed the evidence we put at their disposal. Rundstedt, the Commander-in Chief on the Western Front, was convinced that the Pas de Calais was our objective.
The concentration of the assaulting forces—176,000 men, 20,000 vehicles, and many thousand tons of stores, all to be shipped in the first two days—was in itself an enormous task. From their normal stations all over Britain the troops were brought to the southern counties. The three airborne divisions which were to drop on Normandy before the sea assault were assembled close to the airfields whence they would set out. From their concentration areas in rear troops were brought forward for embarkation in assigned priority to camps in marshalling areas near the coast. At the marshalling camps they were divided up into detachments corresponding to the ship- or boat-loads in which they would be embarked. Here every man received his orders. Once briefed, none were permitted to leave camp. The camps themselves were situated near to the embarkation points. These were ports or “hards”—i.e., stretches of beach concreted to allow of easy embarkation on smaller craft. Here they were to be met by the naval ships.
It seemed most improbable that all this movement by sea and land would escape the attentions of the enemy. There were many tempting targets for their Air, and full precautions were taken. Nearly seven thousand guns and rockets and over a thousand balloons protected the great masses of men and vehicles. But there was no sign of the Luftwaffe. How different things were four years before! The Home Guard, who had so patiently waited for a worth-while job all those years, now found it. Not only were they manning sections of anti-aircraft and coast defences, but they also took over many routine and security duties, thus releasing other soldiers for battle. All Southern England thus became a vast military camp, filled with men trained, instructed, and eager to come to grips with the Germans across the water.
On Monday, May 15, three weeks before D Day, we held a final conference in London at Montgomery’s headquarters in St. Paul’s School. The King, Field-Marshal Smuts, the British Chiefs of Staff, the commanders of the expedition, and many of their principal Staff officers were present. On the stage was a map of the Normandy beaches and the immediate hinterland, set at a slope so that the audience could see it clearly, and so constructed that the high officers explaining the plan of operation could walk about on it and point out the landmarks. General Eisenhower opened the proceedings, and the forenoon session closed with an address by His Majesty. Montgomery made an impressive speech. He was followed by several Naval, Army, and Air commanders, and also by the Principal Administrative Officer, who dwelt upon the elaborate preparations that had been made for the administration of the force when it got ashore.
Events now began to move swiftly and smoothly to the climax. There was still no sign that the enemy had penetrated our secrets. We observed some reinforcement of light naval forces at Cherbourg and Havre, and there was more minelaying activity in the Channel, but in general he remained quiescent, awaiting a definite lead about our intentions. On May 28 subordinate commanders were informed that D Day would be June 5. From this moment all personnel committed to the assault were “sealed” in their ships or at their camps and assembly points ashore. All mail was impounded and private messages of all kinds forbidden except in case of personal emergency.
The weather now began to cause anxiety. A fine spell was giving way to unsettled conditions, and henceforward a commanders’ meeting was held twice daily to study the weather reports. At their first meeting poor conditions were predicted for D Day, with low clouds. This was of prime importance to the Air Forces, affecting both the bombing and the airborne landings. On June 2 the first warships sailed from the Clyde, as well as two midget submarines from Portsmouth, whose duty was to mark the assault areas. June 3 brought little encouragement. A risin
g westerly wind was whipping up a moderate sea; there was heavy cloud and a lowering cloud base. Predictions for June 5 were gloomy.
That afternoon I drove down to Portsmouth with Mr. Bevin and Field-Marshal Smuts and saw a large number of troops embarking for Normandy. We visited the headquarters ship of the 50th Division, and then cruised down the Solent in a launch, boarding one ship after another. On the way back we stopped at General Eisenhower’s camp and wished him luck. We got back to the train in time for a very late dinner. While it was in progress Ismay was called to the telephone by Bedell Smith, who told him that the weather was getting worse and that the operation would probably have to be postponed for twenty-four hours. General Eisenhower would wait until the early hours of June 4 before making a definite decision. Meanwhile units of the great armada would continue to put to sea according to programme.
Ismay came back and reported the bleak news. Those who had seen the array in the Solent felt that the movement was now as impossible to stop as an avalanche. We were haunted by the knowledge that if the bad weather continued and the postponement had to be prolonged beyond June 7 we could not again get the necessary combination of moon and tide for at least another fortnight. Meanwhile the troops had all been briefed. They clearly could not be kept on board these tiny ships indefinitely. How was a leakage to be prevented?
But the anxiety that everyone felt was in no way apparent at the dinner-table in the train. Field-Marshal Smuts was at his most entertaining pitch. He told the story of the Boer surrender at Vereeniging in 1902—how he had impressed on his colleagues that it was no use fighting on and that they must throw themselves on the mercy of the British. He had been assailed as a coward and a defeatist by his own friends, and he had spent the most difficult hour of his life. In the end however he had won through, had gone to Vereeniging, and peace was made. He went on to speak about his experiences at the outbreak of the Second World War, when he had to cross the floor of the House and fight his own Prime Minister, who wished to remain neutral.
We went to bed at about half-past one. Ismay told me that he would wait up to hear the result of the morning conference. As there was nothing I could do about it, I said that I was not to be woken to hear the result. At 4.15 a.m. Eisenhower again met his commanders, and heard from the weather experts the ominous report, sky overcast cloud ceiling low, strong south-westerly wind, with rain and moderate sea. The forecast for the 5th was even worse. Reluctantly he ordered a postponement of the attack for twenty-four hours, and the whole vast array was put into reverse in accordance with a carefully prepared plan. All convoys at sea turned about and small craft sought shelter in convenient anchorages. Only one large convoy, comprising a hundred and thirty-eight small vessels, failed to receive the message, but this too was overtaken and turned round without arousing the suspicions of the enemy. It was a hard day for the thousands of men cooped up in landing-craft all round the coast. The Americans who came from the West Country ports had the greatest distance to go and suffered most.
At about five o’clock that morning Bedell Smith again telephoned Ismay confirming the postponement, and Ismay went to bed. Half an hour later I woke up and sent for him. He told me the news. He says I made no comment.
The hours dragged slowly by until, at 9.15 p.m. on the evening of June 4, another fateful conference opened at Eisenhower’s battle headquarters. Conditions were bad, typical of December rather than June, but the weather experts gave some promise of a temporary improvement on the morning of the 6th. After this they predicted a return of rough weather for an indefinite period. Faced with the desperate alternatives of accepting the immediate risks or of postponing the attack for at least a fortnight, General Eisenhower, with the advice of his commanders, boldly, and as it proved wisely, chose to go ahead with the operation, subject to final confirmation early on the following morning. At 4 a.m. on June 5 the die was irrevocably cast: the invasion would be launched on June 6.
In retrospect this decision rightly evokes admiration. It was amply justified by events, and was largely responsible for gaining us the precious advantage of surprise. We now know that the German meteorological officers informed their High Command that invasion on the 5th or 6th of June would not be possible owing to stormy weather, which might last for several days.
All day on June 5 the convoys bearing the spearhead of the invasion converged on the rendezvous south of the Isle of Wight. Thence, in an endless stream, led by the minesweepers on a wide front and protected on all sides by the Allied Navies and Air Forces, the greatest armada that ever left our shores set out for the coast of France. The rough conditions at sea were a severe trial to troops on the eve of battle, particularly in the terrible discomfort of the smaller craft. Yet, in spite of all, the vast movement was carried through with almost the precision of a parade, and, although not wholly without loss, such casualties and delays as did occur, mostly to small craft in tow, had no appreciable effect on events.
Round all our coasts the network of defence was keyed to the highest pitch of activity. The Home Fleet was alert against any move by German surface ships, while air patrols watched the enemy coast from Norway to the Channel. Far out at sea, in the Western Approaches and in the Bay of Biscay, aircraft of Coastal Command, in great strength, supported by flotillas of destroyers, kept watch for enemy reactions. Our intelligence told us that over fifty U-boats were concentrated in the French Biscay ports, ready to intervene when the moment came. While I sat in my chair in the Map Room of the Annexe the thrilling news of the capture of Rome arrived.
CHAPTER XII
ROME AND D DAY
DEADLOCK at Anzio and Cassino imposed a halt in the Allied advance in Italy which lasted for nearly two months. Our troops had to be rested and regrouped. Most of the Eighth Army had to be brought over from the Adriatic side and the two armies concentrated for the next assault. In the meantime General Wilson used all his air-power to impede and injure the enemy, who, like us, were using the pause for reorganising and replenishing themselves for further battle.
The potent Allied Air joined in attacking enemy land communications in the hope that these could be kept cut and their troops forced to withdraw for lack of supplies. This operation, optimistically called “Strangle”, aimed at blocking the three main railway lines from Northern Italy, the principal targets being bridges, viaducts, and other bottle-necks. They tried to starve the Germans out. The effort lasted more than six weeks, and did great damage. Railway movement was consistently stopped far north of Rome, but it failed to attain all we hoped. By working their coastal shipping to the utmost, transferring loads to motor transport, and making full use of the hours of darkness the enemy contrived to maintain themselves. But they could not build enough reserve stocks for protracted and heavy fighting, and in the severe land battles at the end of May they were much weakened. The junction of our separated armies and the capture of Rome took place more rapidly than we had forecast/The German Air Force suffered severely and in early May it could muster only a bare seven hundred planes against our thousand combat aircraft.
By then General Clark, of the Fifth Army, had over seven divisions, four of them French, on the front from the sea to the river Liri; thence the Eighth Army, now under General Leese, continued the line through Cassino into the mountains with the equivalent of nearly twelve. In all the Allies mustered over twenty-eight divisions, of which the equivalent of only three remained in the Adriatic sector.
Opposed to them were twenty-three German divisions, but our deception arrangements had puzzled Kesselring so well that they were widely spread. Between Cassino and the sea, where our main blows were to fall, there were only four, and reserves were scattered and at a distance. Our attack came unexpectedly. The Germans were carrying out reliefs opposite the British front, and one of their Army Commanders had planned to go on leave.
The great offensive began at n p.m. on May n, when the artillery of both our armies, 2,000 guns, opened a violent fire, reinforced at dawn by the full weight of the Tactical
Air Force. After much heavy fighting the enemy began to weaken. On the morning of May 18 Cassino town was finally cleared by the 4th British Division, and the Poles triumphantly hoisted their red and white standard over the ruins of the monastery. Kesselring had been sending down reinforcements as fast as he could muster them, but they were arriving piecemeal, only to be thrown into the battle to check the flood of the Allied advance. By the 25th the Germans were in full retreat and hotly pursued on the whole of the Eighth Army front.
Six divisions under the American General Truscott had been packed into the Anzio beach-head and burst forth with the simultaneous onslaught of the Eighth Army. After two days of stiff fighting they gained contact with the U.S. Und Corps. At long last our forces were reunited, and we began to reap the harvest from our winter sowing. The enemy in the south were in full retreat, and the Allied Air did its utmost to impede movement and break up concentrations. But obstinate rearguards frequently checked our pursuing forces, and their retirement did not degenerate into a rout. The mountainous country stopped us using our great strength in armour, which otherwise could have been employed to much advantage.
But on the night of June 2 the German resistance broke, and next day Truscott’s Corps in the Alban Hills, with the British 1st and 5th Divisions on its left, pressed on towards Rome. The Und American Corps led them by a short head. They found the bridges mostly intact, and at 7.15 p.m. on June 4 the head of their 88th Division entered the Piazza Venezia, in the heart of the capital. From many quarters came messages of warm congratulations. I even got a pat from the Bear.
At noon on D Day, June 6, 1944, 1 asked the House of Commons to “take formal cognisance of the liberation of Rome by the Allied Armies under the command of General Alexander”, the news of which had been released the previous night. There was intense excitement about the landings in France, which everyone knew were in progress at the moment. Nevertheless I devoted ten minutes to the campaign in Italy and in paying my tribute to the Allied Armies there. After thus keeping them on tenterhooks for a little I gave them an account of what had happened, so far as we were then informed. By the afternoon I felt justified in reporting to Stalin:
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