by Mark Zuehlke
While Jackson waited for his number to come up, he saw a man, stripped down to a singlet and wearing an apron, step outside the tent to smoke a cigarette. As the man’s match flared, Jackson saw that he was covered in blood from the tips of his fingers to his elbows. “The surgeon,” one of the other wounded said. It soon became evident that Jackson’s wounded hand was very low in priority for treatment, so he settled down in the courtyard and catnapped as best he could while the night dragged by. Jackson’s thoughts often strayed to all the friends who had died or been maimed around him so few hours before.18
As the sun had set on Juno Beach, war correspondent Ralph Allen had found a soldier of the Queen’s Own Rifles still hanging in the barbed wire that had been strung along the railroad tracks behind the seawall. “I knelt beside him,” Allen said, “and discovered he had bled to death. Beside him was a pack of Canadian cigarettes—open, with one cigarette out and beside it a lighter. I tried the lighter. It was clogged. This poor man had been trying to have one last smoke and the lighter hadn’t worked. Nothing had worked for him that day.”19
OUT ON THE FRONT LINES, emotions numbed by the horror of the day’s combat began to make themselves felt. At Tailleville, Sergeant Jack Springer had learned that the North Shores had lost twenty men killed or wounded from his hometown of Chatham—a terrific loss for a town of barely three thousand souls. He walked out to the edge of the lines and saw his antitank platoon commander, Captain “Chuck” Murphy, sitting beside a gun and softly “crying like a baby.” When Springer asked him what was wrong, the officer said he could not get the memory of the German prisoner who had tried to pull a hidden weapon on him out of his mind. He kept seeing the man’s expression as he died from the Sten gun burst that Murphy had fired into his body. “Chuck, he’d have got you if he could have,” Springer said softly. “Don’t worry about it.”20
To the southeast of Tailleville at the Queen’s Own Rifles position in Anguerny, Company Sergeant Major Charlie Martin had completed his evening tally of men still on ‘A’ Company’s strength and been dismayed to find that it mustered only about half of those who had climbed down the scramble nets into the LCAs that morning. He walked behind a wall for privacy and let the tears come. “So many had been lost. I found myself questioning—idiotically—why war was conducted this way. Four years of training and living together, a common purpose, friends who became brothers—then more than half of us gone. Why didn’t they just round up any collection of men in uniform and throw them into this killing machine? Why these, when anyone—somebody else, but not these—could have paid this price in human life? In grief there is not always good sense. It was one of those times. Gradually though, in asking helplessly what we could do, we would find an answer—we could carry on and do our best, that’s what.”21
Returning to his slit trench, Martin stared out at the eerie blackness of no man’s land, beyond which it was easy to imagine that a branch moved by the breeze or a crackle of brush caused by a mouse was evidence of a German counterattack creeping slowly up on the Canadians. A little before midnight, the lines off to one side erupted in wild firing. Men shouted and machine guns chattered to be answered by hoarse bellows in German and the higher-pitched screech of Schmeisser submachine guns. Martin realized that a patrol of Germans had infiltrated the position. “Dealing with them was difficult. This was our first experience with night fighting, and while the enemy knew who and where we were, we didn’t know where or what about them. We had to be careful about our targets. A shadow in the dark could be an enemy or it could be one of our own.”22
As quickly as it had begun, the firefight abruptly ended with four Germans from the 12th SS Panzer (Hitlerjugend) Division taken prisoner and three Queen’s Own wounded. The SS patrol’s officer had attacked Rifleman Frank Mumberson in his trench, but the soldier had managed to bayonet the German in the stomach. Mumberson and the German were now swearing loudly at each other because in the confines of the three-foot-wide trench the rifleman was unable to pull the bayonet from the SS man’s guts. Finally some other Queen’s Own were able to extract the two from the trench and free the bayonet. They sent the wounded SS officer back to the aid post and tried to settle down for the rest of the night.
Out to the front, a match flared as somebody tried to light a cigarette. Martin shouted at the man to douse the cigarette, that he was lucky such foolishness had not ended in his being killed by a sniper. Then the CSM realized by the shape of the man’s body that he was dressing down Lieutenant Colonel Jock Spragge. He stomped over to the battalion commander and “gave him plain hell. As far as NCOs and senior officers and all that business might go, combat is far different from the Parade Square. I told him he should be back at Battalion HQ, not up at the front with us—the last line between our forces and the enemy. He was too good and too necessary to be killed or wounded. He gave me one of those looks that anyone who ever knew Jock Spragge would recognize and said, ‘Charlie, it’s such a sad day. We’ve lost so many good men.’ He said goodnight and turned away, but not before I saw the tears in his eyes.”
Martin “walked back to ‘A’ Company with some heavy thoughts about the Colonel’s burden and about the Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada, 8th Brigade, 3rd Division, and our landing in Normandy that day. That any of us had survived seemed like a miracle.”23
[ EPILOGUE ]
Juno Beach in Memory
ISTAND ON JUNO BEACH, back to Courseulles-sur-Mer, and look upon a sea whipped into frenzy by a stiff westerly. Chill drizzle falls from a leaden sky. Grey light, grey sea, grey sand. Similar weather to that which greeted more than 14,000 Canadians that morning of June 6, 1944. Then, the Baie de la Seine brimmed with ships. Today, only a couple of small fishing boats have ventured out of the port directly west of me to dip nets and lines into the stormy waters. Then, the air was rent with a cacophony of gunfire, exploding shells, the cries of young men dying. Today, there is only the plaintiff call of a single gull drifting on the wind. Hard today to imagine that morning sixty years past, and yet how can any Canadian visiting this long stretch of sand not? For it is here on this grey beach that Canada fought and won one of the nation’s most important battles. Five Allied divisions landed that day—two American, two British, one Canadian. A David hit the beach alongside two Goliaths and did as well or better than the giants.
A David that was largely forgotten in the collective Allied memory of the event. In most American histories of the invasion, Canada’s presence figures as little more than a footnote. Because they fought on loan to the British Second Army, British histories are generally more inclusive, while still curiously remaining more focussed on not only what their own divisions experienced but also the American divisions. So while Canada is less a footnote, it is not a chapter either. It falls then to Canadians to tell their own story, which is probably as well.
How have we done with that? Until recently, books on the invasion of Normandy have tended to take in the entire campaign from the landing on Juno to August 28 when the Falaise Gap was finally closed—a lengthy span of time usually compressed into a slight number of pages. During that time, of course, First Canadian Army landed in its entirety and 3rd Canadian Infantry Division reverted back to its control to join in the large and bitter summer battles. That the Canadian experience on June 6 merited singular attention was not seriously considered by most writers or publishers turning their hand to World War II subjects.
Perhaps this is because the official history, The Victory Campaign, published by the Canadian Army in 1960 and written by Colonel C.P. Stacey, compressed the day’s events into twenty-two pages. While arguably a necessary economy of words in a book spanning the entire northwest Europe campaign, the effect was to create a false impression of June 6’s unfolding, particularly as more pages are devoted to describing the invasion plan and German defences than to the fighting itself. The afternoon’s drive inland from Juno and build-up of reserves and supplies on the beach passes in just five pages. The reader is left with the sen
se that once the Canadians exited the beach, the march inland was not seriously contested, which was clearly not the case at Tailleville or St. Croix-sur-Mer or anywhere along the main column’s embattled advance from Bernières-sur-Mer through Bénysur-Mer to Anisy and Villons-les-Buissons.
There has also been a sense in many writings that the Canadian performance on D-Day was disappointing because the final June 6 objectives were not attained. Coupled with an oft-drawn conclusion that the opposing 716th Infantry Division had neither the heart nor ability to offer serious resistance, the inference is drawn that the Canadians, those landing on Juno and paratroopers alike, could and should have done better. Seldom do Canadian writers addressing the subject credit the fact that 3rd Canadian Infantry Division ended the day ahead of either the U.S. or British divisions despite the facts that they landed last and that only the Americans at Omaha faced more difficulty winning a toehold on the sand.
While it is true that the Germans and Eastern Europeans of the 716th Infantry Division were not elite troops, neither were they incapable, and they enjoyed the advantage of fighting from fixed and well-armed fortifications. Most did so until the fall of their position was clearly imminent, whereupon they surrendered or fled if possible. More than a few fought to the bitter end.
Could the Canadians have reached the final objectives on D-Day? Beyond mere speculation, it is difficult to say. While the three 1st Hussars tanks of Lieutenant Bill McCormick’s troop did gain the Caen-Bayeux highway, it seems improbable the foot-slogging infantry could have pressed through in the face of the defense offered by the remnants of the 716th and the assembling strength of the 21st Panzer Division. By nightfall, this latter division had established several strongpoints ahead of the Canadian position, and the 12th SS Panzer (Hitlerjugend) Division was already probing the front lines with intent to counterattack on June 7 and drive right through to the beach.
What is evident is that the failure of the Allied naval and air bombardment of the German defences both on Juno Beach and inland of it left the Canadians facing an enemy little disrupted or reduced by the great storm of steel that had been flung its way. This resulted in a far more prolonged and bloody fight for the beach than the planners had anticipated or the soldiers had been led to expect. By the time the last strongpoints on the beach were cleared, the invasion timetable was in tatters and the assaulting battalions staggering from the heavy casualties suffered. The fact that these casualties were less than half of what had been predicted does not diminish their effect. The Queen’s Own Rifles and Regina Rifles, for example, had companies reduced to fractions of their starting strength, only a couple of hours earlier. That the survivors gathered their weapons and kept on fighting for the rest of the day is telling testimony to the endurance, resilience, and innate courage of these soldiers.
It also speaks of the effectiveness of the training the Canadians had in preparing for this day. The Canadian army in Britain from 1940 to 1944 engaged in steadily improving its combat prowess. When 3rd Canadian Infantry Division and 2nd Canadian Armoured Brigade were tipped to form one of the five invasion forces, the training for these soldiers quickened and intensively focussed on the principle task that would make or break the invasion’s ability to succeed—getting ashore. Despite the many problems that beset the assault forces on June 6 as they took to the water and started heading in, the soldiers did not falter. When they found the fortifications virtually unscathed by the bombardment, the assault battalions attacked and eliminated them according to their training.
An essential characteristic of the Canadian soldier was his ability to stay in the fight no matter how casualties reduced the command structure of the battalion in which he served. Perhaps because of Britain’s class structure and the fact that its army was one of conscription, there was a tendency for the common soldier to hesitate and take to defensive positions if his officers were killed or wounded. The same has been said of American troops, who also served in an army reliant as much on conscription as volunteerism. In June 1944, Canada’s army was still entirely a volunteer one, for the government would not implement conscription until late November of that year. The fact that the soldiers were volunteers greatly increased their esprit de corps. Another key contributing factor to the spirit of Canadian troops was that the battalions were regionally raised, so soldiers marched into battle alongside men they had known in civilian life or who shared similar backgrounds. This was true for the officers of these battalions, too, so there was a lessened gulf between those of rank and the men they commanded. Many veterans relate that they were on a first-name basis with their officers and sergeants. And that, if those leaders fell, the platoon or company would carry on even if it meant being led by a corporal or private. In this, the Canadians excelled to a degree unseen in any of the other forces that fought in Normandy, whether Allied or Axis. This combination of independent spirit strengthened by a sense of community is uniquely Canadian and contributed enormously to the extent of the victory gained at Juno Beach.
TODAY, FEW OF the Canadians involved in the Normandy invasion remain and their numbers shrink with each passing year. Until recently, it was reasonable to fear that as the last veterans passed away the national awareness of this seminal event in our history would be lost. Yet there are signs that this will not be the case. Although it is late in the eyes of many veterans, there is a trend towards Canadians taking active interest in our military heritage. Remembrance Day ceremonies draw larger crowds than was true two or three decades ago. The number of books dealing with Canada’s experience of war is growing and these are being more strongly received by readers than was the case in the 1980s or 1990s. In Canadian universities, the study of military history, once a backwater of history departments, is enjoying a renaissance of popularity with students.
I believe that one of the strongest influencing factors in this upsurge in interest stems from a desire on the part of younger generations to understand how World War II affected their forebears—whether great-grandparents, grandparents, or parents. Raised in times when the quest for self-understanding and comprehension of personal motivations is germane to life, we cannot believe that a cataclysm as profound as war did not indelibly influence the lives of those who endured it. And we are right to believe that it did, even when so many of the old warriors try to downplay its effect on their lives after peace came. Theirs was a generation not given to displays of emotion or the exposing of inner feelings. There was also a natural modesty that is Canadian to the bone.
It is at the Bény-sur-Mer Canadian War Cemetery, a few miles inland from Juno Beach, that I see one veteran lower his emotional guard. It is here that the majority of those Canadians who died on D-Day lie alongside more than two thousand others who fell during the subsequent fighting in Normandy. The cemetery is atop a rise from which it is possible to see Juno Beach in the distance. Interspersed among the row upon row of white marble headstones, roses and other flowers grow and the grassy lanes between the ranks of graves are meticulously maintained.
As has been my wont for these years spent researching books on Canada’s World War II experience, I slowly pass down each lane, noting the names, ages, ranks, hometowns, units, and inscriptions on each headstone. In this cemetery, like all the others, the Canada of 1940 to 1945 is poignantly depicted. Here a significant portion of that small nation’s youth of the time remains ever young.
In a lane near the one I am walking, an elderly man in a brown jacket, upon which a row of medals is pinned, stands with his gaze fixed on the headstone in front of him. Although tears glisten on his cheeks, the old soldier makes no move to wipe them aside. I turn away quietly, not wanting to affront or embarrass. The palpable nature of his grief is deeply moving. I wonder who it is that he weeps for, but when I look again he is striding off as if to rejoin a marching column and I had failed to fix the headstone’s location. Just as well. He has come to this cemetery as an act of remembrance and whether his tears related to one fallen soldier or all those lying here matters
not.
From the cemetery I drive to St. Aubin-sur-Mer and then follow the coast back to Courseulles-sur-Mer via Bernières-sur-Mer, pausing often to walk out onto the sand and to examine the various German casemates that can still be found along Juno Beach’s length. In each town, plaques have been erected to commemorate the battalions that landed in front of them. The three towns are now pleasant seaside resorts that cater to French sun-seekers from the big interior cities. And to those engaged in pilgrimages of remembrance. Most of this latter group are veterans with their families, but others come, too—largely from Britain, the United States, Germany, and Canada.
They journey from Utah Beach up to Pegasus Bridge, where a new museum honours the 6th British Airborne Division and has a special section set aside to relate the story of 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion. Until 2003, this museum, the plaques, a few armoured vehicles transformed into monuments, and the cemetery at Bény-surMer were about all there was to signify the Canadian participation in the invasion.
Today, however, there is the Juno Beach Centre. Costing more than $8 million, the Juno Beach Centre stands immediately west of the River Seulles opposite Courseulles-sur-Mer and was opened on June 6, 2003. From the beach, its low grey structure gives the impression of an oversized German fortification the Canadians might have had to take in bloody battle. It is, however, the most significant Canadian World War II interpretative history museum to be found anywhere outside this country. The federal government and several provinces contributed most of the money required to build the centre. France put in $1 million. And Canadian veterans of D-Day and the Normandy campaign raised more than $1 million. Inside the museum, displays include one that provides a simulation of the approach to the D-Day beaches by landing craft. Others give extensive explanations of relevant military hardware and tactics employed to make the invasion successful. There is also a “children’s circuit” aimed at children aged eight to thirteen.