by Jon E. Lewis
Lieutenant H.T. Bone, 2nd East Yorkshire Regiment
In the Mess decks we blacked our faces with black Palm Olive cream and listened to the naval orders over the loud-hailer. Most of us had taken communion on the Sunday, but the padre had a few words to say to us. Then the actual loading into craft – swinging on davits – the boat lowering and finally ‘Away boats.’ While this was going on, all around could be seen the rest of the convoy, with battleships and cruisers firing their big guns every few minutes and destroyers rushing round. One had been hit by something and only the up-ended part of its bows remained in view. As our flotilla swung into line behind its leader we raised our flag, a black silk square with the white rose of Yorkshire in the centre … It was some distance to the beaches, and it was a wet trip. All of us had a spare gas-cape to keep us dry and we chewed our gum stolidly. Mine was in my mouth twelve or fourteen hours later and I usually hate the stuff and never touch it. Shielding ourselves from the spray and watching the fire going down from all the supporting arms and the Spits [Spitfires] overhead, the time soon passed … Suddenly there was a jarring bump on the left, and looking up from our boards we saw one of the beach obstacles about two feet above our left gunwale with a large mine on top of it, just as photographs had shown us. Again a bump, on the right, but still we had not grounded. The Colonel and the flotilla leader were piloting us in, and for a few brief minutes nothing happened except the music of the guns and the whang of occasional bullets overhead, with the sporadic explosions of mortar bombs and the background of our own heavy machine-gun fire. The doors opened as we grounded and the Colonel was out. The sea was choppy and the boat swung a good bit as one by one we followed him. Several fell in and got soaked through. I was lucky. I stopped for a few seconds to help my men with their wireless sets and to ensure they kept them dry. As we staggered ashore we dispersed and lay down above the water’s edge. Stuff was falling pretty close to us and although I did not see it happen, quite a number of people from my own boat were hit. Instinctively where we lay we hacked holes with our shovels. The Colonel moved forward. I tried to collect my party of sets and operators, but could only see a few of them. I began to recognize wounded men of the assault companies. Some were dead, others struggling to crawl out of the water because the tide was rising very rapidly.
Sergeant H.M. Kellar, Devonshire Regiment
When we were about 200 yards from our landing point I could see heavy-machine-gun bullets cutting up the sand and making a noise like a huge swarm of bees.
I thought, ‘My God, we are going to be slaughtered!’ Then we were on the beach and the ramp was down and I do not know why but the firing stopped. Had it not done so I had my eye on a huge crater in the sand in front of a pill-box. On coming down the ramp I spotted our Company Commander staggering about with blood streaming down his face.
Anonymous Private, East Yorkshire Regiment
It was like a bloody skittle alley. The lads were being bowled over right left and centre. I thought to myself, ‘You’ll be a lucky bugger if you make it up there.’ Christ, it were bad.
W. Emlyn ‘Taffy’ Jones, 1st Special Service Brigade
Looking over the side we saw many craft broken down and some sinking and still no sign of the beach – too much smoke. Columns of water were now shooting up between our landing craft and the sound of battle grew louder. Can’t be long now, I can hear the small-arms fire; then suddenly, the beach appeared before us, tanks and landing craft on fire, men moving up the beach as quickly as possible, no doubt remembering Lord Lovat’s words: ‘If you wish to live to a ripe old age, keep moving.’ There were those lying there that just didn’t make it. Only seconds to go now before we hit the beach; the noise, the smell of gunpowder, flashing of guns. The naval ratings both port and starboard were firing guns at the enemy targets oblivious of the enemy fire which was now raining down on us. Landing craft to left and right had been hit and were now on fire. This is it – ramp down, let’s move, we’re a sitting target. Naval personnel scamper back to the rear of the bridge for safety. What’s the hold-up? Let’s move. Bren gunner has frozen at the top of the ramp, won’t move. Hit him out of the way. It seemed like hours before we got moving, then we found that only one ramp could be used. The other had broken away from its stanchions. To make matters worse, the only way we could land was to scramble down this one ramp on our backsides.
Ken Wright, 1st Special Service Brigade
There was a terrific jar, and all the first half of the party in the craft fell over on top of each other. I felt quite numb in my right side – no pain, just a sudden absence of feeling really, and a feeling of being knocked out of breath. At the same moment, the doors of the craft were opened and the ramp lowered, and the naval bloke said, ‘This is where you get off.’ So I got off, after a bit of preliminary gasping for breath and struggling free from all the others. Doughty kept on saying, ‘Go on, sir’, and it seemed ages before I got myself up and off the boat. There were quite a few who could not follow me off, including our padre. I got off into about three feet of water. It was nearly 7.45 … We had about fifty or sixty yards to wade and what with the weight of the rucksack and the water to push through, I was nearly exhausted by the time I got clear. I realized that I had been hit and was therefore less mobile than usual (which is saying something!) so when I got on the beach I just sat down and dumped the rucksack with all my belongings in it. That beach was no health resort, and I thought I’d be better off away from it, even without a change of underclothing!
Driver John Osborne, 101 Company General Transport Amphibious
As I went into the beach there were little spurts in the water; it took a little while for me to realize they were made by bullets. There were still a number of Germans in the houses and pill-boxes along the front. Suddenly between the waves right in front of my DUKW there was a pole sticking up with a shell tied to the top. That’s when all sense of adventure disappeared.
Private Islwyn Edmunds, South Wales Borderers, aged 19
I was very frightened, not only because of the shot and shell, but the fact that I could not swim troubled me greatly. Not that it would have made any difference with the weight of equipment I was carrying. I was also ordered to take a bicycle off with me, but I declined by saying I had enough trouble getting myself off. However, while I was arguing with the sergeant a sailor from our craft swam to the shore and attached a rope to a disabled tank, and we were able to work along this line. Unfortunately as I was proceeding along this rope, the buckle of my pack got caught in the rope … with the waves coming in I couldn’t keep my head above water. I was going under for the third time, when a hand pulled me out. It was my friend, who was aware of my fear of the water and had kept a look-out for me. He dragged me to the beach, where I lay exhausted, shells exploding everywhere.
Private Robert Macduff, Wiltshire Regiment
The landing craft drew up towards the beach. The infantrymen, who had their small packs on their back, gas-mask in front, pouches full of ammo and their rifles, jumped in the water and partly swam ashore. I had a number 18 communication set on my back, on top of it was my small pack, a number 23 communication set below my gas-mask, a telephone set on one side, on the other the new telephone equipment and spare batteries – all waterproofed – and a Sten gun in my hand. Off I jumped from the landing craft – straight down into the water. With the weight I was carrying swimming was out of the question. As the water closed over my head sheer panic gripped me and I began to run as fast as I could until my head was above water.
Sergeant Bellows, Hampshire Regiment
I said we were in deep water and was stuck on an obstacle. The ship officer said it was only four feet six deep. He had his way and ordered the vehicle to disembark. I ordered all the men to get on the turrets of the tanks and on the trailer of the bulldozer. The first tank went off and went to the left, the water was deep, only the top of the turret and the exhaust was showing and two men clinging on for dear life. The other tank went to the righ
t. He foundered, he went deeper. Next to go was the armoured bulldozer, it went down the ramp, fouled the chain of the ramp and capsized pulling the trailer which broke from the bulldozer and floated on its side. The left-hand tank got ashore, the other didn’t. The bulldozer never stood a chance. Some of the men still clung to the trailer and were OK. Quite a few died.
Alfred Leonard, Merchant Navy
There were dismembered personnel in the water, which was upsetting. From a young man’s point of view, up to then D-Day had been exciting, with all the guns going off, everything on the move and nobody getting killed. It was pure excitement. But when you see dead chaps in the water, you think, ‘Crikey, what is this all about?’
George Collard, 1st RM Armoured Support Regiment
The tanks slid into the sea at some depth. Water was pouring in through the turret ring causing some trouble. I found out that the troop sergeant could not get out through his hatch. I could, so it fell to me to give directions to the driver. Exposed in the turret hatch I had some thoughts about being shot between the eyes, but I looked with some admiration at the sight of the shells landing on the concrete stongpoints. Giving orders – ‘drive right’, ‘drive left’, ‘forward’ – I got the tank onto the beach between the anti-invasion obstacles, when we were suddenly in an explosion which blew off the left track. Under cover of the dunes we managed to shorten and correct this, and keep going.
Corporal L.E. Richards, 50th Division, Signaller to Brigadier Sir Alexander Stanier
I asked Corporal Davidson whether he thought the carrier and the jeep could be driven ashore. He replied that the back axle of the jeep was broken but that the carrier seemed all right. The carrier had been fitted with extra plates which extended eighteen inches or more above its normal height. These plates were held together by string at the top corner and all the joints had been made waterproof. Knowing Corporal Davidson would try to land the carrier, I volunteered to stay on the front and give him steering instructions, because he was unable to see from his driving seat. Before starting I drew his attention to two mines on a pole slightly to the right of the craft and about eight feet away. To avoid these I told him to bear left when he felt himself on the run or when I should tell him.
Corporal Davidson started the engine and we began to move. I grasped the string, holding the front and side plates together, and stood on the front, with my back to the carrier. As we were moving onto the ramp the carrier hit the side of the craft and I felt myself falling sideways. By this time the carrier was going down the ramp and I must have entered the water at the same time. For a split second I did not know what had happened, and I felt myself being dragged along beside the carrier. In falling, I had hooked two of my fingers round the string and the back of my left hand rested on the top of the side sheet. We were now making for the shore. My fingers pained me intensely but I realized that if I attempted to move them I should, to say the least, lose my tow ashore. My right hand was free and I brought it across my chest and held the set above the water, at the same time kicking my legs. I did this for two reasons, first and foremost to try and keep my feet away from the tracks of the carrier and secondly to propel myself along to ease the weight on my left arm.
Corporal Davidson stopped when he got into shallow water and I stood up and disengaged my fingers. He looked at me and said that he thought I was dead, and wanted to know what had happened. He could hardly believe it when I told him. Neither of us to this day can say how close we must have been to the two mines. They must have been barely inches away. I followed the carrier as it moved onto the beach. We joined up with our party who were already on the beach and I learned that the tanks and vehicles on the beach were unable to leave because of a huge crater in the road near the beach exit.
Alan Melville, RAF war correspondent
It was the first time I had driven anything – waterproofed or not – through any depth of water, and it is a terrifying experience. You can’t hear a sound from your engine, and the natural thing to do is to panic and assume that you have stalled. For weeks I had had the one golden rule drummed into me about one’s behaviour on such occasions: don’t use your clutch – never, never, never use your clutch. I had the most maddening temptation to get at that damned clutch: my toes itched to get near it. But to my intense surprise, I realized that we were still moving. Water was surging round the sides of the windscreen, and we were leaving a fair-sized wash behind us. Someone shouted something after us from the rhino, but whether it was advice, good wishes or just the usual blasphemy I never knew.
Captain Peter Young, 1st Special Service Brigade
Land ahead now – a hundred yards away a column of water shoots into the air. Away to port a tank landing craft burns fiercely, ammunition exploding as the crew go over the side. Ashore is a line of battered houses whose silhouette looks familiar from the photographs. They must surely mark our landing-place. On the beach a few tanks creep about and fire occasional shots at an unseen foe. Ouistreham is not much more than a thousand yards to port now. Somewhere on the front are the guns that are shelling us; the flashes are plainly visible every few seconds. The craft slows down.
‘What are you waiting for?’
‘There are still five minutes to go before H + go,’ the Captain, a young RNVR officer, replies.
‘I don’t think anyone will mind if we’re five minutes early on D-Day.’
‘Then in we go.’
In fact, most landing craft were ordered in by the beachmasters in strict succession, and had to wait their turn, milling around offshore in huge herds. This not only made the craft vulnerable to German shells, but the unpleasant motion on an anyway choppy sea produced yet more seasickness.
Major F.D. Goode, Gloucestershire Regiment
As we drew nearer we could see the distinct coast was a mass of smoke and flames. At this time the Colonel joined us on the bridge and the Captain said that we were too early and we would have to circle offshore until we were called in to the beach. So we started to circle slowly and the motion became very unpleasant. Nearly all the troops were seasick and those who had managed to find a place on deck looked very grey and miserable. One of the naval ratings brought me a mug of cocoa. Until that moment, although queasy, I had not been sick, but almost immediately after I threw up into a bucket, placed for that purpose on the bridge … As we neared the beach we could see some activity by our troops and guide parties and a number of bodies lying about and broken-down tanks and DD tanks. However, by this time we were all feeling so seasick that the one thing we wanted to do was get ashore.
Naturally, being British they had to assume an air of nonchalance. There were some who even pulled it off.
Captain Peter Young, 1st Special Service Brigade
No. 3 Troop comes ashore in grand style and almost unscathed. In the bows Troopers Osborne and Jennings make mock of the German gunners: ‘Put your sights up, Jerry!’ ‘Down a little.’ ‘Give her more wind-gauge’, and much nonsense besides, as each shell flies past and, as luck would have it, misses their craft – except for the wireless aerial. The first man ashore is Slinger Martin, our veteran Administrative Officer, whose first campaign in France lies thirty years in the past.
Among the most surprising receptions on reaching the sands of Normandy was that granted a company of the Royal Berkshire Regiment.
Captain Peter Prior, Royal Berkshire Regiment
There was a hell of a battle going on further up the beach, but in our sector the opposition quickly crumpled. As we went ashore we were met by a lovely blonde French girl shouting, ‘Vive les Anglais.’
This, though, was an exception. The most common welcome was that provided by the Wehrmacht. After touching down on the Normandy shore, the men of the British and Canadian Armies still had to make it across the sand and shingle into the hinterland. Their ease in doing this was largely dictated by the local calibre of the German coastal defences and troops. On Gold beach the British 1st Hampshire Regiment fought a bitter eight-hour battle against th
e defences at Le Hamel. Several hundred yards to the left the Green Howards moved inland and secured their first objective in under an hour.
Private Cartwright, South Lancashire Regiment
As soon as I hit the beach I wanted to go, get away from the water. I think I went across the beach like a hare.
George Collard, 1st RM Armoured Support Regiment
A number of wounded and dead were on the beach, including some killed where our own [not the Royal Marines’] tanks had run over them, pushing – it appeared – the bile in the liver up to the faces.
Howard Marshall, BBC war correspondent
When they got ashore they seemed to be in perfectly good order because the troops out of that barge immediately assembled, went to their appointed places and there was no semblance of any kind of confusion. But the scene on the beach, until one had sorted it out, was at first rather depressing because we did see a great many barges in difficulties with these anti-tank screens. We noticed that a number of them had struck mines as ours had struck mines. But then we began to see that in fact the proportion which had got through was very much greater and that troops were moving all along the roads and that tanks were out already and going up the hills. That in fact we were dominating the situation and that our main enemy was the weather, and that we were beating the weather. We had our troops and tanks ashore and the Germans weren’t really putting up a great deal of resistance.
Donald S. Vaughan, 79th Armoured Division
I was in an AVRE, our job being to lay a coconut matting over any soft spots on the beach. This wasn’t necessary, so when we got to the top of the beach we stopped and Corporal Fairley, the demolition NCO, and myself got out to erect a windsock so as to show anybody behind that it was a clear lane. We’d finished erecting the windsock and were re-mounting the tank when we were hit. Corporal Fairley was killed. The tank itself was damaged so badly – tracks were blown off, bogeys as well, the petrol tank was pierced – that we abandoned it. What was left of us.