Saints and Sailors

by Pam Rhodes

  “So, where exactly are you taking us?” Pete asked as Bertrand, the driver, secured the back door. Pete had booked Bertrand through a local company specializing in private trips to the Normandy beaches. There were always plenty of people who wanted to visit the landing area for thousands of Allied troops on D-Day, 6th June 1944.

  “We’ll head for Ouistreham. It’s about an hour’s drive away from Honfleur,” Bertrand replied in what was thankfully excellent English. “On D-Day, the eight-kilometre stretch of coastline from Ouistreham to Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer was given the code name of Sword Beach. You said your father was with the 3rd Infantry Division? About twenty-eight thousand men from the 3rd landed on the most eastern point of Sword Beach, between Ouistreham and La Brèche d’Hermanville. We’ll start there, and see if we can find exactly what he’s looking for.”

  Arthur was surprisingly quiet on the journey.

  “You all right, Dad?” asked Pete.

  “Seventy years,” said the old man, gazing out of the window. “It’s a different world now, a peaceful world. I remember this land at war.”

  “It’s not easy to imagine the past when we’re travelling on main roads like this,” said Bertrand. “But these modern roads will help us to get you there as quickly as possible so that you have plenty of time to look around. Do you see the sign up ahead?”

  Arthur squinted to read the lettering, then exclaimed, “Caen!”

  “You remember that name,” smiled Bertrand.

  “That was our mission,” recalled Arthur. “To take control of the beach and the town of Ouistreham and move inland to capture Caen and Carpiquet airfield.”

  “And, of course, you know the famous landmark at Caen?”

  “Pegasus Bridge. It was over the canal between Caen and Ouistreham. The airborne boys had done their stuff before our division got there.”

  “I’ve seen that film,” interrupted Callum, suddenly lifting his head from his mobile phone game to join the conversation.

  “That was The Longest Day,” said Pete. “John Wayne, Robert Mitchum and Henry Fonda: all-American heroes winning the war single-handedly!”

  “It was a real-life triumph though,” said Bertrand. “In the dead of night, it took six gliders, less than two hundred men and about twenty minutes to take the enemy by surprise. They claimed the bridge in preparation for thousands of troops who were already making their way across the Channel, heading for the beaches on this coastline. Did you know the original bridge is no longer there, Arthur?”

  “They’ve put it in a museum.”

  “They have. It’s only a short detour. Would you like to see it?”

  “No. I never got there. I didn’t see it then. I’ve no need to see it now.”

  Bertrand nodded. Although Pete was full of questions, which Bertrand endeavoured to answer, Arthur was lost in his own memories as they travelled on. Eventually Bertrand pointed out a sign indicating that they were entering the town of Ouistreham. Arthur stared earnestly out of the window as the car wove its way through the streets, until at last they emerged onto a wide, grassy area with a huge expanse of white sand and the sea spread out ahead of them.

  “Is this it, Dad?” asked Pete with excitement in his voice. He noticed that Arthur’s hands were trembling.

  “It’s OK,” said Bertrand. “We’ll take this slowly. If you like, Arthur, we can take a stroll along the path here?”

  Arthur nodded, plainly too emotional to reply.

  Within minutes, Bertrand had expertly manoeuvred the wheelchair out of the car, and the group stood for a moment taking in the scene.

  “What’s that?” asked Arthur, his eyes fixed on a huge flame-shaped structure.

  “That’s the Kieffer Flame Monument, a memorial in honour of the one hundred and seventy-seven Free French Commandos who fought here that day.”

  Arthur’s gaze misted over, picturing past rather than present scenes. “They wore green berets. We all respected them. Philippe Kieffer: wasn’t that his name?”

  “You’re right,” agreed Bertrand. “He was a sailor fighting for the French Free Forces because, like so many other brave French people, he would never surrender to German occupation. He joined the British Navy and then was so impressed with the Commandos, he asked to be allowed to set up a similar unit of Free French fighters. The training he and his unit went through was brutal, but they excelled to the point that British officers would salute anyone wearing the green beret because that meant they were tough enough to be a member of Kieffer’s Commandos.”

  “They were the first ones to set foot on the beach here,” recalled Arthur. “They led the way. Took a lot of casualties.”

  “Kieffer himself was wounded twice that day, but they fought on to meet up with the British paratroopers at Pegasus Bridge.”

  Arthur looked intently at the peaceful beach ahead of him. “This takes me back – but I don’t think it was here.”

  “Neither do I,” agreed Bertrand. “From what you’ve described, I think we need to go a little further west.”

  It was a short drive down the coast road to where Bertrand drew the car to a halt. Arthur’s body tensed as his chair was pulled out and he was able to look around.

  “Recognize anything?”

  The old man nodded slowly.

  “Come!”

  They pushed the chair down the path for a while before Bertrand indicated that they needed to take Arthur down onto the beach. With the three men lifting the wheels off the ground, it took very little effort to carry him across the sand until, not far from the sea line, they turned his chair around to look back towards the land.

  Arthur gasped. “That’s it!”

  “The monastery has not been used for many years now,” said Bertrand quietly. “The monks left long ago and the building has fallen into disrepair.”

  “I was there…” breathed Arthur. “They saved my life.”

  “How?” demanded Callum. “Were you wounded, Grandad?”

  “They called it the Longest Day,” began Arthur, “but honestly it had been the longest week. We’d been waiting near Shoreham, on the south coast, for days, expecting the order to come any time. At first they told us D-Day would be the 5th June, but they hadn’t reckoned on the British weather – it was as foul as it could be. They loaded us all on the landing crafts anyway, and we waited there all day, packed like sardines, in pouring rain and high winds. We didn’t have much in the way of rations, but we hardly wanted it. I was sick as a dog. Everyone was – and we hadn’t even left the shore! The worst thing was having time to think. We didn’t really know what we were going to meet over here. I thought I might die. I was twenty years old, and I really thought I was going to die.

  “The waiting was agony. When the order finally came, we were too exhausted to care what happened at the other end, just as long as we were doing something. So we set sail in this huge armada of landing craft and warships, thousands and thousands of us, sailing through the night. The sea was really rough, high enough to knock us off our feet when it crashed over the sides of the craft, as if we weren’t already soaked enough from the belting rain. I remember someone praying out loud. The Lord’s Prayer – Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. We all joined in, even the ones I knew would never call themselves Christians. It was as if that prayer was our souls calling out for help, whoever we were, whatever we did or didn’t believe.

  “And then, about seven in the morning, we saw this bit of coastline looming up ahead. The noise was deafening. There were other landing craft on the beach ahead of us, and the Germans were shelling them without mercy. Those lads were falling where they stood, with their comrades running on without them. They told us not to stop. Whatever happened to people around us, we had to keep going and not look back.”

  Arthur rubbed his face with his hand, as if to clear his vision of those long-ago days.

  “As the front of our boat was lowered, one landing craft ahead of us took a direct hit and bodies tumbled out into the se
a. And then the German guns took aim at us, and about half a dozen men at the front of our boat fell where they were standing. They were my mates. I’d trained with them, and they were dead before they’d even jumped in the water.

  “And then we were all running to the front, stepping over their bodies, jumping down and wading towards the shore. Shells were exploding all round us and I remember just focusing on my feet and splashing on, not daring to look up at whatever was ahead. And then I reached the sand and just ran. I ran and ran until my lungs ached. I ran up the beach and was almost there when it happened. I didn’t realize it was machine-gun fire till my legs collapsed under me. I dropped like a stone, with a searing pain in my thigh, the carnage of hell all around me.

  “I don’t know how long I lay there. Hundreds of men ran past me. Some fell. Some seemed to be getting through. I knew no one would stop for me, though. I was on my own.

  “It took a while for me to realize it was just my leg that had taken a hit. There was a huge hole below my hip and I was lying in a pool of blood. So I dragged myself inch by inch up this beach, leaving a trail of blood behind me. Slowly, so slowly, I was almost fainting with the pain as I used my elbows to drag myself along. I didn’t know where I was heading, because all I could see was smoke and feet and bodies and confusion. Then I looked up and I saw that.”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he gazed towards the old monastery building.

  “Would you believe it! That little iron gate is still there. That’s what I made for. There’s a pebble path through it and I remember the agony as I dragged myself over the stones to get to the building. I thought it might give me some sort of cover. I had no idea, though. It could have been full of Germans. I was beyond caring.

  “I’m not quite sure what happened then. I might have blacked out. I’ve got a hazy memory of being lifted up, faces and voices and hands on me – and then silence. When I came to, I was in a long room, lying on one of about ten bunks lined up along the wall. All the bunks had soldiers in them, looking as bad as I felt.”

  “So was it a hospital?” asked Pete.

  “No, but when the monks found themselves in the middle of a battlefield, they just did what they could to comfort the wounded, whoever they were.”

  “What do you mean? Whose side were they on?”

  “The side of God and mankind. Apparently as the Allies were falling through the doors of their monastery on the beach side, the Germans they’d been helping were climbing out of the windows on the other. Some were too ill to leave, though, like the man in the bunk next to me. I could see he was badly wounded.”

  “He was German?”

  “Yes. Most of them in that room were.”

  “But they could have killed you!” exclaimed Callum.

  “By then the killing was over for all of us. We were beyond that. We were just young boys caught up in our countries’ war, doing our duty – and almost dying for it. The man two bunks along from me did die that afternoon. He was German, and I felt nothing but compassion. He was calling for his mother…” Arthur’s voice faltered then, his eyes glassy, his breathing heavy and laboured.

  “Steady, Dad,” soothed Pete. “Rest a bit.”

  Visibly pulling himself together, Arthur touched Pete’s hand, which was resting on his shoulder, and continued.

  “I was there for ten days before the regiment realized where I was. They were organizing transport for hundreds of wounded soldiers, and I was less important because at least I was being cared for. I didn’t realize how much blood I’d lost, but that very nearly cost me my life. If the monks hadn’t picked me up and stemmed the bleeding, none of us would be here today.”

  “How bad was your wound?” asked Callum.

  “There was a bullet lodged in an awkward position right up near my hip. It was too delicate an operation for the monks to try, even with the help of the local doctor from Hermanville, who was a wonderful man. So I stayed there while I got my strength back and waited for transport to take me home.”

  “What about the Germans there with you? Didn’t they arrest them as prisoners of war?” the young man demanded.

  Arthur smiled. “There were no enemies in that room. We shared too much in common to feel anything but fellowship. Those monks treated us all as equals, because that’s what we were.”

  “They should have shot them,” retorted Callum. “It was a war. Look at how many Allied lives they’d taken that day – your comrades, Grandad. They showed no mercy – and neither should you have.”

  Arthur sighed as he looked at Callum. “If you can say that, it’s clear you’ve got a very limited view of war. Unfortunately that’s not something you’ll learn just because I’ve told you. It’s a lesson you only learn through experience. But to get that, I fear you may not live long enough to value it.”

  “So what about that man in the bed next to you?” asked Pete. “Did he get better too?”

  “When I first came round, I heard them saying they thought he could die any time. I kept staring across at him, thinking that it could have been me. He was wearing a crucifix, I remember, very similar to mine. I found myself just willing him to live. Whenever the monks came to tend to his wounds and help him take a sip of water, they would pray for him and I prayed with them too. We’d been through hell, all of us, and I wanted that connection with God from the very depths of me. All those years of going to church meant nothing until I called out to God on this beach and in that monastery, and my prayers were heard. I was alive – and more than anything, I wanted that young man, who looked so like me, to live too.

  “And he did. On the third day, his fever had gone and he opened his eyes properly for the first time. He looked over towards me and sort of smiled – and do you know, I could have hugged him.”

  Arthur stopped for a moment to compose himself.

  “We spent another week together before I left, and in the whole of my life before and since, that was the deepest, most meaningful friendship I have ever known.”

  “How did you talk to each other,” asked Pete, “if he was German and you were English?”

  “He’d got some English relatives and had been over to stay with them a couple of times. He spoke well enough for us to understand each other. His family had their own farm in Lower Saxony, and as he was the only son, he would have taken it over if the war hadn’t got in the way.”

  “So what did you talk about?”

  “Our families, our homes, how much we hated the war that had pitted us against each other, when in fact we felt like kindred spirits divided by nationality rather than nature. We had hour after hour to do nothing but talk. By the time I left, I didn’t just like him, I loved him – and I hated my part in the injuries he’d sustained from a bullet I might have shot. The bond between us was so strong that it shaped my life ever – a beacon of inspiration that’s never left me.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Arthur smiled. “I had a letter from one of the monks here a few weeks after I’d arrived at the sanatorium in Nottingham to recover from my operation. He never made it home. His internal injuries were too severe. He died a few days after I left.

  “His memory lives on, though,” Arthur went on, looking up at his son. “After the war, when I got back home to Derby, I took over Dad’s hardware shop. Over the years I built up the business, so eventually I had to take on a secretary. That was your mum, of course. Beryl had lost her fiancé in the war, and it took us a while to work out we’d be good together. We had a little daughter, but she died after three days. We’d been married for five years by then, and as time went on we thought we could never have any more children. And then, miracle of miracles, you came along. You were perfect and we loved you so much, the most unexpected blessing from God. I knew life would never be the same after that. I found myself thinking again about that other man who’d made such an impact on my life. His name was Pieter – and Pete, you were named after him.”

  “Come in a bit closer, everyone,” called Pam as the go
spel choir members tried to arrange themselves into a shape that worked in the space available. The open-air deck outside the buffet restaurant had been specially cleared for the “Praise Away” service. “Try not to leave any gaps between you – don’t be shy!”

  “Where would you like Mum?” asked Julia, wheeling the chair up to the performance area.

  “How about over there at the side, Ida?” smiled Pam. “Would that be OK for you?”

  “I think that’s a yes,” grinned Julia, as Ida’s normally vacant expression brightened just a little.

  At that moment Pete arrived, pushing Arthur in his chair.

  “I hope you’re not too tired for this, Dad. You’ve had a long day.”

  “I’ve never felt better. It’s been the most wonderful day and I’m really looking forward to singing tonight. This is an act of worship, and I’ve got a lot to thank God for.”

  “Right!” shouted Pam over the happy chaos as the choir shuffled into place. “Take a look at the rows of seats down either side of the deck. Those are for you, so when the choir’s invited up to sing right at the end, you can all walk smartly into the places where you’re standing now. Shall we just rehearse that? Follow each other off to the seats in the order you stand when you sing, and then when you come back to perform, you should be able to lead straight to your places again. That’s the theory, anyway.”

  Pam caught Richard’s eye as he was handing out worship sheets to the passengers who were already coming up to find a good place to sit for the service. They chuckled at each other over the heads of the choir members as they tussled over who should sit where. Minutes later, though, with seats selected and after a successful run-through of getting to their right positions on stage, the choir members settled down and waited for the service to begin.