D-DAY: 65 YEARS LATER
With the 65th anniversary of D-Day and the Battle of Normandy approaching, I am devoting this special section of my blog to this important milestone.
I have included within this section some of the entries that I have written on D-Day since launching the blog. In addition, I will continue to add others, including my own recollections of these critical days in 1944.
- Introduction
- D-Day: The Battle of Normandy – Part II
- D-Day: The Battle of Normandy – Part I
- D-Day: “Take the City of Caen”
- D-Day: Murders at the Abbaye d’Ardenne
- D-Day: Murders at the Chateau D’Audrieu
- How One Man Remembers
- Waiting for the Inevitable
- Queen’s Own Rifles
- The Fabulous Recce Regiment
- The Big Picture
- The “D” in D-Day
- The Neil Young Connection with D-Day
- The 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion
- Hobart’s Funnies
- Smokey Smith
- Theatre in the Rough
- Allied Targets during WWII
- Execution of Prisoners
- 50% of the Wounds in Northwest Europe were from Artillery
- Courage on the Gridiron
- Who Took Caen
- Verlaine
- Special Air Service
- The Midget Submarines
- Rommel
- D-Day
Introduction
Posted by Cliff Chadderton on Apr 15 2009
In early 1940, the enlistment of the troops who would eventually invade Europe at places such as Courseulles started. They came from the small towns, the factories, the inner cities.
They were the true citizen soldiers of World War II. Some enlisted for patriotism, some for adventure, but the majority, because it just seemed to be the right thing to do!
Little did they know then that they would end up four years later as the spearhead of the Allied invasion of Europe, either as part of the 3rd Canadian Division, or in the tank battalions, which would support the Normandy landing, designated as the 2nd Canadian Armoured Brigade.
They formed the assault wave that smashed through the German defences, held off the counter-attacks of the crack SS Panzer units and took, in a magnificent battle, the pivotal city of Caen. It took a month.
The Canadian invasion forces had spent years in Britain training for the task. They had tried very hard not to think of what lay ahead. It was difficult to realize the enormity of what we would be attempting.
I was part of that force. However, when we started our assault training on the south of England and in Scotland, we began to realize what loomed before us. Untried troops would dare to set foot in Hitler’s Europe.
Everyday while in Britain, we heard stories of the heavily fortified French coast which the Germans, in four years with slave labour, had turned into a continuous system of guns, pillboxes, mines, barbed wire and, on the beaches, underwater pilings, some loaded with explosives waiting to blow up the assault crafts. It was a terrifying picture.
The men of the infantry and tank regiments chosen for the invasion simply had to disregard what lay ahead for them across the Channel. We just dug in, trained harder, determined to do what some were saying would be impossible. Then it came, June the 6th, 1944, D-Day.
With the 65th anniversary of D-Day and the Normandy Campaign fast approaching, this special section of my blog will commemorate this critical period in our military history by compiling herewith my previous D-Day entries.
I will also continue to add new entries to this special section in the coming months as we mark this important anniversary.
D-Day: The Battle of Normandy – Part II
Who else was a Knight of Battle?
PHIL GOWER, on D-Day June 6 ‘44, earned a reputation beyond belief with his handling of the giant casements at the mouth of the Seulles River where it joins the channel. This constituted one of the major objectives of any of the assault forces in the Normandy landing.
PHIL had an interesting career. He was a Corporal in the Permanent Force prior to the war. After he obtained his commission he came to the RWR and soon showed that he had a thorough grasp of infantry tactics. He knew, also, how to get the best out of his men.
In the Regiment PHIL had originally been the second-in-command (2 I/C) of BAKER Company. His looming objective on D-Day was a huge German bunker. The scene was destined to send shivers up the spine of any infantryman. It provided defence, either from the sea or in an outflanking manoeuvre from the rear. Several weeks before the final plans for D-Day, the major originally tasked to command B Company took a staff position at a Headquarters (HQ). This meant that CO JOHN MELDRAM had either to bring in a new major or leave this all-important position to PHIL GOWER, the 2 I/C – a captain who knew the men and was immensely qualified to organize and carry out the attack. It was a wise decision.
PHIL GOWER was given his normal compliment of 130 men with another 30 or so special combat troops, including engineers and explosive experts. PHIL’S landing craft infantry (LCI) came under withering fire. According to the regiment’s history, however, the highly-touted support from planes, warships and rockets fired from landing craft failed ‘to make one hit on this objective.’ (RWR Combat Report)
Of the 160 men – the figure is approximate – who landed with B Company, only 27 survivors could be counted at the end of the day. Many spoke of the heroism of PHIL GOWER, standing knee-deep in water. He had taken off his helmet and was using both arms to wave his troops ashore, completely ignoring the German small-arms firing at him. He received a Military Cross for his bravery; a very rare decoration for a company commander holding a captain’s rank.
Here the story is scarcely believable. PHIL was taken prisoner. Until the end of the war he was in a POW camp, being paid as a Captain although his task would certainly have called for a Major’s rank. It gets even worse. After the war, PHIL decided to return to the Permanent Force. The policy at that time for officers, staying in the Active Force, was to drop one rank. PHIL had been a Captain, hence had to revert to Lieutenant when he joined the Peacetime Army. It was my great fortune to spend a great deal of time with he and his wife Anne, in Ottawa, until he was posted to Calgary and then Korea.
He eventually got his Major’s rank - without back pay. Unusually tragic circumstances continued to dog him and he was killed in an Air Canada plane, on Mount Slesse in the Rockies, on his return to Calgary from the Korean War.
Going down the list, it can be suggested that our Company Commanders were as good as any in the U.S. or British Forces. That includes the commandos who landed on D-Day on the immediate left of our 8th Brigade at Saint Aubin. Some of these ‘Knights of the Battlefield,’ and the list is by no means complete, would include MAJORS FRED HODGE, HUGH DENISON, and BRIAN ROBERTSON - all killed in action.
The point being made: A company commander had, at his fingertips, an almost unlimited number of 25-pounders; anti-tank guns if needed for defence; air support from what was known as the ‘cab ranks’ of close-support aircraft flying above the battle and always ready for action, and even some of the ‘funnies,’ such as the Crocodile flamethrower tanks. The so-called ‘funnies’ were the product of the ingenious mind of SIR PERCY HOBART – the father of the floating Sherman tanks which were effective on D-Day.
Crocodile flamethrowers were usually mounted on Churchill tanks. Petards were a tank which could rush up to a German fortification, plant a beehive charge consisting of thousands of pounds of TNT against a wall, back off and open a breach from which the infantry could penetrate.
Where did the Canadian Army find field commanders such as HARRY KNOX? Their German counterparts were trained in infantry, tank or tactical schools – not so our Company commanders. They simply joined the Forces and used their natural ability to pick up the finer points of their jobs. It is remarkable that such officers had command of a battlefield many miles long and wide.
Our Infantry Battalions, or individual companies, using the supporting arms as necessary, wiped out or subdued the well prepared German positions. The German commanders – mostly in mobile vehicles – were perplexed about the courage and the knowledge of these new commanders of the battlefield.
Some say our victory in Normandy was a ‘fluke.’ Who won? Who lost?
D-Day: The Battle of Normandy – Part I
August brings us to the end of the Battle of Normandy and I thought it fitting to conclude with a chapter from my memoir, Excuse Us! Herr Schicklgruber.
THE KNIGHTS OF BATTLE IN NORMANDY
HARRY KNOX controlled a large area of Normandy as a Company Commander.
When first I saw HARRY in my neighbourhood in Winnipeg, he wore a white smock as he ably served the shoppers in a supermarket. He enlisted in the infantry early in World War II and was eventually posted to the RWR. He quickly rose in the ranks. He was on what is today called a ‘fast track.’
By the time the Regiment was in Normandy, he was commanding an infantry company. HARRY KNOX was the prototype of ‘fellow well met.’ He made a rapid transition to officer of field grade rank – a designation for Majors. He looked great in the white smock in his job making jokes with the grocery shoppers. He looked even better in a camouflage battle smock, with his tin hat slung over a shoulder and a map case sticking out of a pocket. In the meantime he learned the hard way how to command an infantry company of eager young soldiers.
We met up in a ‘hot zone’ half way between Caen and Falaise, where today some 5,000 Canadians lie in peace. He had come clipping along the road in a jeep, complete with a tall aerial and a powerful radio set. He had just been through a fierce battle with the German SS. We stopped in a safe farmyard and had a chat. Harry had all the skills of an infantry company commander.
The Dean of Canadian War Correspondents, ROSS MUNRO of The Canadian Press (my pre-war boss in Winnipeg) joined the discussion. HARRY was enthusiastic about a recent, highly successful attack. He pointed to a concealed copse about 500 yards ahead, stating that, with the flick of a radio button, he could give an order to the Forward Observation Officer (FOO) of the Field Artillery for a 25-pounder shoot, or give a command to the lethal 105mm guns mounted on tracked vehicles, also we had our own 3” mortars and mobile anti-tank guns. Sherman tanks, too, were at his ‘beck and call.’ The German position would be badly shaken.
ROSS MUNRO – always the reporter – got out his notebook, asking for further details. HARRY, without a hint of braggadocio, pointed to the sky. He told us that by communication with the Air Liaison Officer (ALO) at Tactical Headquarters, he could bring in the ‘Tiffie’ fighter bombers with tons of high explosive, smoke bombs or rockets. From his command post (usually a well-concealed jeep), armed with radio communication, HARRY could give commands which would bring the entire Division’s artillery weapons into play. Another aspect of his ability to dominate the area would be counter-battery fire. He could accurately determine the German gun positions by spotting enemy muzzle flashes. This included the pride of the German artillery – the mobile .88s. Once discovered, they would either be obliterated or have to find another appropriate gun position.
HARRY KNOX wasn’t finished. He had been tasked by the CO and was literally in command from his jeep of the coming brigade attack on the town of Renesmesnil, on the route to Falaise.
With this awesome command of firepower, the infantry commander from a farmyard or ditch, had control. If they attacked an objective, his men, with grenades, 303 rifles, and access to Bren and Sten guns, could advance behind an artillery and smoke barrage. The German command post could be annihilated.
This was later ably demonstrated in the attack on Renesmesnil which opened the way to the pivotable ‘strong point’ of Bretteville-le-Rabet and was reported in the Canadian newspapers by the legendary ROSS MUNRO. As ROSS put it – the infantry was still the Queen of Battle but had unbelievable help from supporting arms. The story was repeated in the Maple Leaf – the army newspaper in Europe. The boys of the RWR understood that, with these tactics, we could dominate the battlefield.
The well-trained majors, while commanding infantry companies, had literal mastery of Normandy from Caen to Falaise - 25 miles in length and 15 miles wide. One legendary Company Commander was MAJ LOCKIE FULTON. Another was JAKE CARVELL who started as a signal officer but had decided to fight the war as an infantry company commander. JAKE was not satisfied merely to send signals, he wanted to play a close combat role.
HARRY KNOX’S company that morning had been in a tactical manoeuvre with devastating results for the enemy. The ground troops, who otherwise would have had to put in a hand-to-hand bayonet assault, talked of their faith in artillery, tanks and aircraft. Also they acknowledged KNOX’S brilliant work as conductor of the assault.
More Knights of Battle in Part II.
D-Day: “Take the City of Caen”
The French city of Caen, one of the largest cities in Normandy, was a vital objective after landing on D-Day, June 6, 1944, and remained the focal point for a series of battles throughout June and into July.
On July 7, 1944, at long last, the 3rd Infantry Division was given instructions to “take the city of Caen.” It would be tough, tough going.
Imagine our relief when the attack was temporarily called off to allow the RCAF and the RAF to bomb the outskirts of the city which, so far as we knew, contained thousands of Germans, ordered to fight to the last.
Those of us who sat in the fields and watched that bombing, cheered wildly. Incidentally, the cheering came to a sudden end when we saw at least two Lancasters fall from the sky, and we realized that there would be a price in human lives among the air force crews that night.
There has been public criticism about the bombing of Caen. I can tell you, because I was there, that it was very, very necessary for the softening-up process, otherwise we could never have gotten into that city.
The bombing of Caen was an essential part of the military strategy, as a prelude to taking this vital strongpoint in the German defences.
It will be noted that the Canadians still had to capture some major German strongholds which guarded the entrances to this ancient city, such as: Buron, Authie, Gruchy, Cussy and the Abbaye Ardenne. The strategic plan behind the bombing of Caen was to soften up the rear areas of this heavily fortified German position. It will be noted that the target zone was not in the heart of the city, but rather on the most lightly populated northern outskirts. Much of this ancient Norman town was spared, including the ancient church of St. Etienne, founded by William the Conqueror.
The main attack began the morning of July 8th. After the German troops withdrew on July 9th from the city centre to the north and west of the city, the Allied troops engaged in the north, but were kept from further advances by German snipers. At 18:00 on July 9th, the first units reached the Orne River in Caen. Later on that evening and on July 10th, the Allies reached the city centre.
And so ended the battle for Caen.
It tried the mettle of these young volunteers from Canada. They served with the infantry; with the armoured corps, the artillery, the signal corps, the medical corps, all the support groups, the tactical air force. It was just one grand magnificent battle that showed what it really would take to drive the Germans all the way from Juno Beach to the pivotal city of Caen.
The Canadians had pierced the Atlantic wall defences. They had captured Caen; they had opened the gateway to Falaise. At Falaise, two weeks later, the German forces in Western France would be trapped or annihilated.
Terry Copp, in A Canadian’s Guide to the Battlefields of Normandy, sums up the battle for Caen thusly:
“…The German defensive ring around Caen had been broken. During the night, Rommel had ordered the withdrawal of all heavy weapons south of the Orne and rearguards left in the battered city of Caen were in no mood to put up resistance on the 9th. The bridges across the river were down and the enemy firmly entrenched on the other side. But the city, which had loomed before the Anglo-Canadian forces since D-Day, was at last in their hands…”
D-Day: Murders at the Abbaye d’Ardenne
The night before the senseless murder of Major Hodge at the Château d’Audrieu, another officer, who was fairly familiar with the D-Day plan, had been subjected to frightening interrogation at the Abbaye d’Ardenne. He was Lieutenant Tom Windsor of the Sherbrooke Fusiliers and, incidentally, a man whom I had met several months before in training exercises in England.
Seven prisoners, including Tom Windsor, were taken to the Abbaye and locked in a storage shed. The inner walls of the 13th century Abbaye in Normandy have seen some macabre sights, but certainly none more sinister than that which took place there late in the evening of June 7th, 1944.
Tom Windsor would give his interrogators only his name, rank and number. The SS commander – General Kurt Meyer – was furious. Windsor realized that the Germans were going to shoot all of the Canadians. Meyer issued the orders for their execution.
In a final act of courage and leadership, the 31-year-old Montrealer shook hands with his young soldiers and entered a garden where a member of the merciless Hitler Youth Regiment shot him in the back of the head. The rest of the Canadians met the same fate.
Seven defenseless, unarmed Canadian prisoners of war were executed for obeying international law. The Geneva Convention states that a captured soldier must give only his name, rank and serial number. The German SS wanted much more from them and they paid the penalty of their lives.
It should be remembered that Lieutenant Windsor and Major Hodge were interrogated before we had an opportunity to build up our reinforcements. Had the SS learned of the meager troop dispositions, the situation could have been disastrous. These two Canadian officers faced a brutal death rather than tell their German interrogators what they wanted to know.
Terry Copp, noted military historian, vividly describes the situation in A Canadian’s Guide to the Battlefields of Normandy:
“…If the Germans had broken through the Canadian position astride the Caen-Bayeux railway, the 12th SS could have launched a coordinated attack splitting the Anglo-Canadian bridgehead…”
The brutal German SS snuffed out the lives of Tom Windsor and another 133 young Canadians. They had fought bravely. They surrendered with honour. They were prisoners of war. They deserved to be treated as human beings under one of the oldest protocols of international law, the Geneva Convention. They died but their stories should not. Sometimes we tend to gloss over the tragedy of war in terms of human loss. I would like to close with part of a letter which Tommy Windsor wrote to his wife, to be opened “only in the event of my death.”
“Dear Roma,
As our time draws near to go into battle, I want to tell you, darling, how much you have meant to me and how happy and complete you have made my life. I have no regrets, darling, at going and I am at peace with the world, knowing that you will be here to carry on for me. I will always be waiting for you.”
D-Day: Murders at the Chateau D’Audrieu
No story of the D-Day landings would be complete without telling of the horrific events which unfolded just days after the beach landings.
Early in June of 1944, the 12th SS reconnaissance battalion established its headquarters in the grounds of the Château D’Audrieu in Normandy in France.
Major Fred Hodge, then commanding “A” Company of the Royal Winnipeg Rifles, was taken prisoner at Putot and was brought to these grounds for interrogation by the German SS. Major Hodge had wanted to be a soldier all of his life. In his teens, he joined the Cameron Cadets. He became a crack rifle shot. When the Royal Winnipeg Rifles mobilized, he was one of the first officers in uniform.
It is understandable then, that when the 1944 invasion of Europe took place, Major Hodge would be found holding a position in close contact with a German reconnaissance unit.
The battle of Normandy had just begun. Hitler and most of his German generals still thought the main Allied thrust would come at Calais. Then, a Canadian Major commanding an infantry company at a point of deep penetration became their prisoner. He could tell them what they wanted to know.
Major Fred Hodge became the first Canadian company commander in the hands of the SS. The Major and two of his soldiers were taken immediately to the SS advance headquarters.
About 2 p.m. on the afternoon of June 8, the three prisoners, Major Hodge, Corporal Ralph Fuller and Rifleman Fred Smith were brought in from the north.
They were taken to a point where the guards turned them and headed them in a different direction towards a very large sycamore tree. The 12th SS had a tent there as its headquarters. In that tent, Major Hodge was first interrogated. Major Bremer was the commanding officer of this reconnaissance unit. He was wounded and away at the time. His second in command was a Lieutenant Schenk and the British war crimes unit identified a third officer later as a Major Von Reitzenstein.
I will take you through, step by step, what actually happened. The M on the appended map stands for the place where members of the Château d’Audrieu staff could observe everything that was going on. And that becomes very important. In other words, they could not commit murders in this area because they would have been seen. Major Hodge and the other two prisoners were marched up the road. They went further along the road and into a very deep area known as “the park.” This is a tragic, sacred and emotional place for me and for members of the Canadian Army who fought in Normandy.
This is where Major Hodge, Corporal Fuller and Rifleman Smith were further interrogated. Evidence at a later Court of Inquiry, given by a Polish German SS conscript, and by two French girls who were witnesses, was that Fred Hodge gave the traditional order in accordance with the Geneva Convention. He turned to the other two soldiers and said “Rank, name and serial number.” The German SS sergeant shot him in the face, decapitating him. The other two were summarily dispatched by the German-held Schmeissers.
Here we have a tragic accident of fate. Rifleman Fred Smith initially belonged to the Queen’s Own of Toronto. He was transferred to the Winnipegs as a reinforcement and a day later, he was murdered.
Hodge Bay in Coutts Lake, Manitoba, was named after Major Fred Hodge in 1989.
How One Man Remembers
The article below was written in July 1969 to mark the 25th anniversary of D-Day. The author was Ross Munro, who was my boss at the Canadian Press before the war, and a CP correspondent with the Canadian Forces in the Normandy landing on June 6th, 1944. This is his recollection of that day’s events:
It was my fifth and last D-Day of the war - that one in Normandy 25 years ago today. Four times before I’d been with the Canadian troops on landings from the sea, some easy like Spitzbergen, some tough like Dieppe. But June 6, 1944, was the longest of the Longest Days.
Across those years, it’s personal impressions that now linger in memory of one of history’s most spectacular and fateful 24 hours.
We sailed the night before from Southampton, down the Solent and Spithead, past Plymouth into the open Channel. The sky was cloudy, and gusty winds kicked up an unwelcome sea.
Slipping southward for miles and miles around us were hundreds of other assault ships in the greatest invasion armada ever assembled. Four thousand ships and landing craft.
Darkness closed in, but I couldn’t sleep. Early in the morning I went on deck. The night was inky. Only an occasional misted moon. The wind whistled eerily in the wireless masts and rigging. A dark blob behind us was the Canadian destroyer Algonquin. Comforting.
Four a.m.: Pounding steadily south. The sky lighted up with flares to the west. German reconnaissance aircraft trying to spot the convoys. Ahead and to the left a series of flashes flared on the horizon. Allied bombers near Le Havre.
The French coast was 20 miles away. Down in the wardroom, the doctors were preparing the officers’ mess for casualties. I waterproofed my typewriter with surgical tape for the landing.
Sullen dawn
Five a.m.: The bells clanged action stations. The wind had gone down and a haze hung over the sea. It was a raw and sullen morning.
Just before 6 a.m. we saw the French coast. The slender church spires, the strips of beach. The curious water towers, like doughnuts on pylons, behind the towns.
The sand dunes and the inviting, rolling countryside beyond-peaceful and gentle. A tourist picture.
The invasion fleet stood off the coast. As far as one could see east and west there were ships, with balloons tugging from their sterns - all working their way into position for the final run to the beaches.
There was scarcely a sound but the water lapping at our hull. The enormity of it all stunned the invaded as well as the invaders.
No spectacle like this had ever been seen before – or likely will ever be again.
6:30 a.m.: Wireless silence was broken. Signal lamps flashed messages through the fleet. The small landing craft carrying the assault troops left their mother ships and moved towards the beaches. Flanking them were the larger assault craft carrying the tanks and artillery.
The bombardment ships now were in position. Our planes droned over us. Then the bombardment started, breaking the tension of the night and signaling the beginning of the battle for Normandy.
Then spurts of fire began to come from the German positions. Steel obstacles, with explosives attached to them, dotted the water near the shore and our landing craft bobbed and weaved through them. Ghastly explosions erupted as several boat loads of our men blew up.
It now was full daylight. Our men were ashore. A cryptic message from battalions at Courseulles: “Under fire on all beaches.”
The fighting at Courseulles was fierce and bloody. Casualties were heavy.
At Bernières and St. Aubin to the east the resistance was not as severe although the Canadians there had a bad time at one concrete fort on the beach. But they broke through and rapidly captured the towns.
I landed at Bernières in the wake of the assault. Our wounded and dead as well as the enemy’s were lying on the road into town. German prisoners were huddled on the beach.
Incongruous image
It was incongruous to be running into Bernières at that phase of the operation with a portable typewriter as the battle continued on the other side of the village.
It was mid-morning and another message went back from the combat units to Canadian headquarters in England - “Beachhead gained. Well on our way to our intermediate objectives.”
I dug a trench and typed out my first dispatch from Normandy. Just as I finished, a battery of our field guns opened up 50 yards away and the blast nearly blew my foxhole office to Caen and back.
At all three Canadian target towns, the victory on the beaches had been won and the penetration inland was under way by late morning.
Across the wheat fields, down the narrow roads and through the woods, our men drove hard for the Caen-Bayeux highway about eight miles inland. Some of them reached their objectives in the farthest advance of any allied units on D-Day.
By this time, I was munching Benzedrine tablets to keep awake. Two squadrons of Flying Fortresses circled the beachhead with the grace of aerial swans and then dumped their bombs on Caen as the evening set in.
When the night came I took over a German slit trench in an apple orchard south of Bernières.
But it was no place to sleep. Throughout the night we were under fire as the enemy air force hit back hard at the invaders. The sky flamed with tracer, explosions, diving planes, flak and thunder of battle.
The dawn was one of the most welcome of my life. D-Day was over. Canadian casualties were 800 killed, wounded and missing. We had expected 1,800 at least.
D-Day: Waiting for the Inevitable
In 2003, I was asked by the editors of The Book of War Letters to contribute a letter written during wartime.
The Book of War Letters is described as including “private correspondence from the battle and home fronts during a century of war and peacekeeping, from South Africa in 1899 to Afghanistan in 2002. Most of these letters have never appeared before in print.”
I provided the editors with a letter I wrote to my mother. At the time, the D-Day landing was approaching and, like many young soldiers, my thoughts turned to home and family.
Freshwater Bay
Isle of Wight, England
May 9, 1944
Dear Mum,
If you ever read this letter you will recognize the significance of the date. May 9, 1919 was of course my birthday.
I am sending the letter to Vic Peever and asking him to deliver it to you if for some reason I don’t survive what we know now is coming very close – that is, the invasion across the Channel.
To say that I am ready for whatever comes is really the truth and I want you to understand that.
Unfortunately, there comes a time when young men have to deliver up the finest thing that God gave them: that is, their lives, but being pragmatic about it, although we were brought up to believe in the “greater being,” you were the one who in a ward in the McKellar Hospital in Fort William brought me into this world.
I have so far had a wonderful life, thanks to you and Dad.
As a boy, we in our family had a taste of the good life. When the Depression came we sampled what millions on this earth had to face which would not be called the good life, but when we got it back again as Dad’s business prospered again, we were able to appreciate what hard work, guts, determination and a good family can do.
I can hardly imagine what will be going through your mind if Vic ever has to deliver this letter to you. To a young man of my age going to war is a very selfish act. As you know I had several paths I could follow. One was hockey and that would have been short-lived, I am sure. Another was to go on to university. I could have followed the university path and in this regard I was attempting to decide whether I should take Dad’s advice and be a veterinarian or take your advice and go into law. I guess without too much effort I had the marks that would get me to the early years of university and perhaps scholarships and everything would have helped.
The world changed all that for a young man like myself. We saw that we cannot let the bullies inherit this earth. I have often asked myself why I joined the Royal Winnipeg Rifles. One of them was Dad which of course was his choice and I knew he was proud about that.
I could have had another path perhaps, but we will never know that now…
I will not make this letter too long Mum because there is no need. Between you and I it was always the unspoken word that really counted.
The mix of the Blackburn strain (your side) and the Chadderton strain certainly was more than I could have hoped for. You will realize that in a way I am getting on to the “gene line” but after all both you and Dad were very strong on bloodlines when it came to breeding the best springer spaniels in the world.
Nobody fooled me. I knew that when I told Dad that I was going to get married the first thought that went through his mind is that my wife would be able to carry on the line should anything happen.
Dorothy has Bill at home and I think I am particularly blessed because she has agreed to live with you and Dad and you can share everything that comes along.
Your loving son,
Cliff
D-Day: Queen’s Own Rifles
The much photographed house at Bernières was the objective of the Queen’s Own Rifles of Toronto on D-Day. There are two ways to learn about what this famous Canadian Regiment did.
Let us look first at the account in their regimental history.
The official description is certainly accurate, but hardly gripping:
“…The dull roar of far distant bombing could be heard but all was quiet around the assault craft. Thanks to our Navy and Air Force not once was the immense D-Day flotilla really menaced by enemy ships or aircraft. Steadily the L.C.A. forged ahead. Suddenly, at 0725 hrs, with Bernières-sur-Mer just in sight, the air was filled with screaming shells; later, the rockets joined in; a veritable inferno that numbed the senses and shattered coherent thought. To the men bobbing about on the flimsy craft it was tremendously reassuring that this great weight of metal was all going in the right direction…”
For another retelling which is much easier to understand, let us go to the book titled Battle Diary, written by a friend of mine, the late Charlie Martin. Charlie was a Company Sergeant Major with the Queen’s Own. He landed on D-Day and he fought right through until he sustained a wound late in the war when his regiment was in Germany.
Here is how Charlie saw the landing. You will find it somewhat different than that in the official history:
“…As we moved farther from the mother ship and closer to shore, it came as a shock to realize that the assault fleet was disappearing from view. Suddenly there was just us and an awful lot of ocean, or English Channel if you prefer. All that remained within sight was our own fleet of ten assault craft, moving abreast in the early-morning silence in a gradually extending line facing the shore, the “A” Company boats on the right and the “B” Company boats on the left.
None of us really grasped at that point, spread across such a large beach front, just how thin on the ground we were. Each of the 10 boatloads had become an independent fighting unit.
To both sides of us we had minefields. The machine-gun fire and mortars never let up, a barrage of shelling that seemed to come from everywhere. Once over the railway we had … grass cover, but we ran into heavy barbed wire. So we moved on. We’d made it, done what we were supposed to do…”
The Fabulous Recce Regiment
No account of the landings at Juno Beach would be complete without telling of the fabulous work of the reconnaissance troops, carried out by the 7th Canadian Reconnaissance Regiment. Known as the 17th Duke of York’s Royal Canadian Hussars, they came from Montreal.
The work of recce regiments is difficult to describe, because they are everywhere, probing enemy positions, directing traffic and keeping the assault regiments informed. As the historian of the 7th Reconnaissance Regiment states:
“…To tell the story of a reconnaissance regiment in the Second World War is an extremely difficult proposition, for unlike an infantry battalion or an armoured regiment, it operate(s) with few exceptions as independent squadrons…”
Among the first ashore at Touchdown was the BEACH GROUP composed of personnel from the 7th Recce Regiment.
Describing the work of the BEACH GROUP, the author, Captain Walter Pavey, states:
“…First, they were to land with the assaulting infantry, locate exits where the divisional battle vehicles could pass through the sea walls, barbed wire, mines, etc. and then be responsible to the 3rd Division that all carriers, guns, tanks, … got off the beach…”
D-Day - The Big Picture
The so-called “BIG PICTURE” of the D-Day invasion brings to the mind’s eye a sky full of aircraft, thousands of ships of all descriptions, many carrying the guys who would do the fighting on land, the combat engineers, the tank men and their armoured vehicles, the gunners and the signallers.
Some 30,000 Canadian troops on that morning of June 6, 1944 were heading for a 10 mile stretch of beach in Normandy, code name JUNO.
It is always surprising to learn that the initial touchdown was the responsibility of just four regiments of Canadian infantry with an additional company from another regiment — the North Shore Regiment of New Brunswick on the left at St. Aubin, the Queen’s Own Rifles of Toronto in the centre at Bernières, the Regina Rifles and the Royal Winnipeg Rifles at Courseulles on the right.
Securing the right flank was a company of the Canadian Scottish of Victoria, and on the left flank, a company of the Royal Marine Commandos. Two tank regiments, the Fort Garry Horse of Winnipeg on the left and the 1st Hussars of London on the right, supported the landing. Not more than 3,000 young Canadians in the first wave, all ranks.
What kind of troops would the Canadians be facing? Stephen Ambrose in his epic book, D-Day June 6th 1944, states:
“…Hitler had characterized the Wehrmacht as ‘an army such as the world has never seen.’ The German high command had been particularly successful in placing the various types of men where they best fit, and in selecting those to serve as cannon fodder, who are told to hold out to the last man. In accordance with Hitler’s Directive Number 40, the Atlantic coast defences should be so organized and troops so deployed that any invasion attempts be smashed before the landing or immediately thereafter…”
Ordinary German troops would man the concrete fortifications along the coastline, supported by heavy machine gun nests and well-placed artillery. This first line of defence would be backed up by elite formations of crack mobile troops, standing just inland from the Atlantic wall.
The strategy was, if the Atlantic wall were breached, these highly mobile Panzer Regiments would throw the Canadians back into the sea.
The Germans had a state-of-the-art communication system. The troops could answer to an alert in seconds and were highly trained to get to their defensive posts. The anti-aircraft defences were formidable and interfered not only with the pre-invasion bombing but with the aircraft carrying the paratroopers, charged with the initial strike inland. German Motor Torpedo boats played havoc with the invasion fleet.
The landed troops were immediately engaged with anti-tank guns. The Germans realized that the day had begun.
The “D” in D-Day
A question that is often asked is what the “D” in D-Day stands for.
In general military terms, D-Day means the day on which an operation or exercise is planned to start. The choice of the letter D has no real significance.
Another such example would be H-Hour which merely signifies the hour on which a combat attack or operation is to be initiated.
The purpose is to provide a point of reference from which all other dates can be reckoned. For example, D+1 would be the day after D-Day. This ensures that all other aspects of the plan can be worked out in advance, even if the actual date has not yet been set.
The most famous D-Day, also known by the codename ‘Operation Overlord,’ was June 6, 1944 - the beginning of the Allied invasion of France - although there were numerous other “D-Days” during the Second World War.
The Neil Young Connection with D-Day
Few would know that Scott Young, Neil’s father, was on the crew of the Mayflower, an assault vessel taking its place in the D-Day raid on the Normandy coast.
There is a delightful story involved. A carrier pigeon landed on the poop deck of the ship, too tired no doubt to carry out its mission. The bird was to return to the UK giving German gun positions supplied by the French Underground.
I worked with Scott in The Canadian Press office in Winnipeg before the war. At a meeting in Toronto post-war I heard him tell this story at a Press Club luncheon.
I went to several Neil Young concerts hoping to chat with him about his equally famous father, who survived the war.
D-Day: The 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion
The landings of the assault troops would have been impossible, had it not been for the preliminary tasks assigned to the paratroopers, seven or eight hours ahead of time.
Shortly past midnight, Tuesday, June 6, 1944, paratroopers with the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion took off with 50 aircraft carrying the troops and equipment heading for France.
Certainly one of the best known officers in the Canadian Army was Jeff Nicklin. He was Second in Command of the Canadian Paratroop Battalion, on the drop on D-Day.
Jeff, who had originally served in my own battalion, The Royal Winnipeg Rifles, is a member of the Canadian Football Hall of Fame, having played brilliantly in the Grey Cup Game in 1935, when the Winnipeg Blue Bombers became the first Western team to win the National Championship, defeating Hamilton.
On his drop, Nicklin was severely wounded by fire from a German machine gun nest. (His full story is told in The War Amps production Jeff Nicklin: Hero of the Gridiron and the Battlefield.)
The main job of these tough, hard as nails Canadian paratroopers was to capture a gigantic coastal battery at Merville.
The Canadians were also tasked to hold and destroy a number of bridges which would prevent a German counter-attack from reaching the invasion forces. The objectives were all taken.
Brian Nolan, in his book Airborne, describes one such action:
“…Norm Toseland, who was to lead a party farther east, found he had only a handful of men to blow the bridge below the tiny hamlet of Robehomme, perhaps a dozen at most…”
And Nolan explains:
“…Leaving a small patrol to watch the bridge, Lieutenant Toseland took the rest of the men to the hamlet of Robehomme where they dug in…Of all the positions, these Canadians had gone the furthest into enemy territory, dangerously exposed to counter-attack…”
As night fell on June 7th, the strength of the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion, that had left England only hours before, numbered 1,200. It was now down to 300 soldiers “fit to fight.” These men had to withstand a bitter 10 days during which they held off determined German counter-attacks, a job they did very, very well.
Hobart’s Funnies
Posted by Cliff Chadderton on Mar 31 2009
Media attention will soon be focused on the upcoming 65th anniversary of the D-Day landings of June 6, 1944.
When the assault force, including my regiment, the Royal Winnipeg Rifles, was approaching the Juno Beach landing area, we saw all manner of special assault vehicles.
Known as “Hobart’s Funnies,” these vehicles were developed by the British 79th Armoured Division under the command of British military engineer Major-General Sir Percy Cleghorn Stanley Hobart. Drawing on the lessons of the ill-fated Dieppe Raid of 1942, the Funnies were designed to perform tasks such as clearing mines, throwing flames and even travelling over water at the rate of almost five knots.
Among them was the Churchill Crocodile tank, which featured a flame gun mounted in place of the hull machine gun. With a range of about 120 yards, it could fire continuously or 80 one-second bursts. It also employed a quick-release device allowing it to discard its trailer and revert to a normal tank.
The Sherman Crab was a minesweeping adaptation of the Sherman tank. It employed a flailing attachment, which was a rotor at the front of the tank to which was attached 43 chains with an iron ball at the other end. These chains beat the ground and exploded mines. They were of great benefit in Normandy and the northwest European campaign.
Armoured Vehicle Royal Engineers (AVREs) were Churchill tanks designed to handle tasks as varied as laying bridges over obstacles and dropping bundles of sticks (known as fascines) into trenches. Each was fitted with a powerful gun called a Petard, which fired high-explosive shells — dubbed “Flying Dustbins” — capable of destroying a concrete pill-box.
The Duplex Drive (DD) Tank was an amphibious Sherman tank, the “DD” quickly being converted to the nickname “Donald Duck” by the troops. With a waterproof chassis, collapsible canvas screen with tubes that filled with compressed air, and two rear propellers, they were mistaken for small landing crafts by the Germans. Once onshore, the air tubes deflated, the screen collapsed and the propellers retracted to allow the vehicle to act as a normal tank.
The Armoured Bulldozer was a standard Caterpillar diesel tractor converted for military use by adding a blade and protective armour plating. Carrying no armament, these vehicles cleared Normandy beach obstacles, assisted demolition teams with attacking seawalls, cleared debris, built ramps for inland-bound vehicles and later cleared streets, filled bomb craters and removed road blocks.
These and the other Funnies contributed enormously to the success on D-Day by helping the Allies break quickly through the German beach defenses.
Percy Hobart – “Father of the Funnies” — received a number of honours including Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire and the American Legion of Merit. He retired in 1946 and died in 1957 in Surrey, England.
An excellent book titled The Tools of War notes that U.S. General Omar Bradley and his staff eventually accepted the swimming tanks, but not the rest of “Hobart’s menagerie.” It concludes, however: “British and Canadian formations used them all. The weird machines worked – and saved many lives.”
Smokey Smith
From time-to-time, in this blog, I have paid tribute to some of Canada’s war heroes. Smokey Smith was a legend, and on his passing in 2005, I was asked to prepare my recollections of this extraordinary and humble Canadian. Here is an excerpt:
Most people will know that I have had a close friendship with Ernest ‘Smokey’ Smith, going back more than 30 years. We had been on 22 commemorative trips together.
Smokey passed away August 3, 2005 at the age of 91. He was Canada’s last surviving recipient of the Victoria Cross, Canada’s highest award for valour. His Citation printed in The London Gazette, December 20, 1944 can be seen here.
In this entry, I would like to share some of my memories of this one of a kind Canadian.
He got the name ‘Smokey’ because he was a sprinter in the New Westminster High School and could run like a deer.
Another reason he was anxious to adopt the name ‘Smokey’ was that he did not like his given name which was Alvia. He used to say, partly in jest, “what would it be like to have the reigning monarch award a Victoria Cross to a guy with a name like Alvia?”
A fond recollection is when he and I were laying wreaths at the Agira Military Cemetery in Sicily. It meant climbing cement steps to a height of at least one thousand metres. Smokey suffered badly from emphysema but said that if Chadderton could manage to climb with one leg, he would keep up. When we got to the top of the hill where the monument was, we found out that the Government officials responsible had forgotten the wreaths. Smokey was undaunted. He snatched the wreath from George Hees, the Minister of Veterans Affairs, and said he would lay the wreath on behalf of the Canadian Government. George Hees laughed so hard that he had tears rolling down his face.
Smokey Smith was a true patriot. He had a bluff-hearty exterior but underneath, woe betide anyone who desecrated the flag or made unflattering comments about the monarchy, or about Canada for that matter.
Theatre in the Rough
When the Canadian Army captured Verrières Ridge, the town of Fontaine-Henri was part of the prize. The property included a gigantic cave which the Army engineers had turned into a respectable stage. The adjoining land made a natural theatre, complete with seating on the hard ground. (Nobody complained.)
It is believed that the episode described herein took place on July 18. Those of us present will never forget it. We had been in action 42 straight days.
The program for the early evening included The Army Show with famous Canadian comics – Wayne and Shuster.
During a skit, Johnny Wayne was playing the fool when Frank Shuster said something like: “If you keep that up, they’ll send you to the front.” The irony was not lost on the audience, all front line soldiers, which included the Royal Winnipeg Rifles.
This blog entry is intended to pay tribute to those fantastic Army Shows, many of which were sponsored by the Royal Canadian Legion Auxiliary Services. The amateur historians were quick to note the similarity with the Tin Hats, famous for entertaining Canadians in the trenches in World War I.
Our helmets (the mercury type) were different, but the boys were quick to take them off in salute. We needed a good laugh!
Allied Targets During WWII
We were fortunate to be able to locate maps which show all of the locations which were allied targets in Europe during World War II.
Some of the historians centered around the University of Toronto continue their tirade about the immorality of the bombing campaign. I thought you might like to see these maps which show how Germany provided the many targets. A study of the maps appears to indicate that if German civilians were killed or injured only their own Government is to blame.
Execution of Prisoners
The following letter was sent to those daily newspapers which published a column from Peter Worthington.
Peter had written that Canadians did not follow the practice of the Germans in shooting unarmed prisoners.
Lorraine Cornelius, who co-produced The War Amps documentary Take No Prisoners, was the author of the letter.
Letter to the Editor
Peter Worthington in his recent column on Captain Robert Semrau of the RCR is absolutely correct in pinpointing the late Major-General Kurt Meyer who holds the chief responsibility for shooting Canadian PoWs in the beach head area in Normandy. Meyer, as Worthington says, was found guilty, but his death sentence was commuted by a court of enquiry headed by the late General Chris Vokes on the grounds that a senior commander should not be given blame if his troops practice unwanton executions of captured soldiers.
In his searing documentary, Take No Prisoners, War Amps Chief Executive Officer Cliff Chadderton indicates that 18 members of the North Nova Scotia Highlanders and Sherbrooke Fusiliers Regiments were murdered at the Abbaye d’Ardenne plus another 37 Canadians lost their lives to the rampaging Hitler Youth in the same battle.
Another German, General Wilhelm Mohnke ordered the deaths of 58 Royal Winnipeg Rifles (of Chadderton’s regiment) at the Chateau d’Audrieu. The Western Canadian Battalion raised an inspiring tableau naming those who met their end at the Chateau.
Mohnke was never charged and spent most of the post-war years as a German prisoner in the hands of the Russians. When the Iron Curtain came down, Mohnke still managed to dodge the military courts.
Chadderton who produced the documentary in 1997 states emphatically that in his many months of direct combat leading to the surrender of the German troops he saw no further evidence of Germans shooting Canadians or, for that matter, Canadians shooting Germans.
Peter Worthington is probably correct in saying that the current case involving Captain Semrau will possibly put an end to this tragic and infamous practice.
Yours truly,
Lorraine Cornelius
Director, Audio-Visual Productions
War Amps of Canada
50% of the Wounds in Northwest Europe were from Artillery
The late George Blackburn was a well-known Gunner Officer with the 4th Field regiment. He had the distinction of the longest service as a Forward Observation Officer in support of infantry.
George survived the war and became my closest friend. We worked together on various projects involving veterans.
George was adamant that the artillery did not get sufficient credit for the battle which raged from D-Day (June 6, 1944) to the end of the fighting (May 8, 1945). He wrote three books as follows:
• The Guns of Normandy
• The Guns of Victory
• Where the Hell are the Guns?
He has two strong arguments to back up his comments.
FIRST: We now have access to the official reports identifying fragments from German sources (artillery; rockets; rifle bullets; mines and grenades).
• Shells 290
• Small arms 107
• Rockets 56
• Total 453
British origin
• Shells 121
• Small arms 1
• Total 122
Combined German and British shells made up 53% of all wounds.
SECOND: Personal experience of Captain Blackburn
The battle was at the Twente Canal in Germany. The Canadian formations included:
4th Field Regiment
Royal Regiment of Canada
Royal Hamilton Light Infantry
The Canadian battle diaries state that Captain Blackburn, as a Forward Observation Officer, took over command of the Infantry forces. The Staff Officer completing the report stated: “The Bridgehead was heavily counter-attacked and one company was completely cut off. The company commander (Blackburn) called the mortars down on his own position.”
FOR THIS ACTION GEORGE BLACKBURN WAS AWARDED THE MILITARY CROSS.
Courage on the Gridiron
I had the pleasure this week of writing Calgary Stampeders quarterback Henry Burris to congratulate him for his selection as the 2008 winner of the Jeff Nicklin Memorial Trophy, which is presented by the Canadian Football League to the most outstanding player in the Western Conference.
Jeff Nicklin was going to Kelvin High School in Winnipeg. We were in the same graduating class and he became a good friend of mine. He went on to have great success as a member of the Winnipeg Blue Bombers and was part of the Winnipeg Grey Cup victories of 1935 and 1939. He scored a touchdown the first time the West ever beat the East (1935), and in those days was known in Canada’s sports circles as the “best in the west.”
He interrupted his tremendous football career when World War II broke out. We served together in the Royal Winnipeg Rifles and played hockey for the Regiment team. In 1942, he volunteered for the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion and rose through the ranks to become Commanding Officer. One of the first to land on D-Day, his leadership earned him a Mention in Despatches, a military award for gallantry. Tragically, he was killed in action while leading his paratroopers on the drop into the Rhineland on March 24, 1945.
I told his story in The War Amps internationally award-winning documentary Jeff Nicklin: Hero of the Gridiron and the Battlefield, shortly after teaming up with the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion Association and the CFL to rededicate the trophy during a live TSN broadcast in 2006.
In writing to congratulate Henry Burris, I included a copy of the documentary and noted that the Jeff Nicklin Memorial Trophy will, for all time, stand for courage and honour on the gridiron and on the battlefield.
Who Took Caen?
D-Day: Verlaine
One of the best kept secrets regarding D-Day (June 6, 1944) was the message on the BBC which alerted the French Underground to the date of the invasion.
The directors of the British Intelligence began broadcasting hidden messages at the end of the regular BBC News broadcasts. They were in French, Dutch, Danish and Norwegian. Most were meaningless, such as “The Trojan War will not be held” or “John has a long moustache.”
The ‘real thing’ was two passages from the French poet Paul Verlaine. The plan was that one message would be broadcast as a ‘heads up’ to be activated only if a second message came over the airwaves. The first message was: “Les sanglots longs des violons de l’automne” (Translation: “The long sobs of the violins of autumn”). The second message, which was broadcast several days later, was the first phrase of Chanson d’Automne (Song of Autumn). The last half of the message was: “Blessent mon coeur d’une langueur monotone” (Translation: “Wound my heart with a monotonous languor”). This meant that the invasion would begin within 48 hours.
History tells us that the message system worked admirably, resulting in a great deal of activity by the French Underground, wrecking both rail and road transportation systems, bridges, etc.
Note: The Germans had been tipped off to these messages. They thought, however, that they were not genuine.
D-Day: Special Air Service
My communications with the Special Air Service became personal when I captured some deserters from the French Underground.
Those of us who received the briefings aboard our ships about the French Underground (known as the Maquis) were familiar as well with the members of the British Special Air Service (SAS). Before D-Day, the SAS began landing special operatives to help the French Underground. Their story is little-known. They were, however, provided with the matériel of war and were a potent force working with the 20,000 or so loyal French who made up the paramilitaries, organized to disrupt the defences of the Germans. I recall running into some of them in the landing area. They had communication with RAF bombers, designed to neutralize German strong points. German troops took desperate measures to stamp out the invisible SAS army. Two of the British commanders who gained international reputations were David Sterling, later a PoW. After his capture, his replacement was Paddy Mayne, a craggy-faced Irishman, former rugger player who was another legend of the D-Day battles.
D-Day: The Midget Submarines
The armada which crossed the English Channel on D-Day was composed of 2,700 ships. Among them were midget submarines. These vessels were the stuff of legend. We know a great deal about one of them, numbered X20. They scoped out the French coast from Ouistreham to Cherbourg. The trip from Portsmouth had covered 90 miles in two days. The D-Day orders named the midget submarines Operation Gambit. They landed the day before the invasion, armed with specially designed navigation lights which guided the invasion ships to their objectives. Also, their radios provided valuable information on German fortifications.
My platoon insisted on looking over the edge of the tank landing craft. We were surprised to see a frogman (later identified as a Royal Naval officer) clinging to an obstacle built from iron girders. Part of the invasion plan was to release some 120 underwater demolition experts with the responsibility to cut through the obstacles, making way for the landing craft. Apparently the Admiralty orders were for 30-yard gaps. The frogmen were the first to encounter the beach obstacles. It was said that these were sown to restrict the landing craft if possible. Beach landing officers told us when we touched down that the casualty rate was very high among them. In some cases, landing craft were caught in a large swell, turning them sideways, which meant they would often land on mines wired to the hedgehogs, as they were called. One of my sergeants used his binoculars to see at least three frogmen lying dead in the water.
D-Day: Rommel
I was training with my regiment in England when General Erwin Rommel first became a familiar name to me. He was known as the Desert Fox, commanding the German forces in North Africa. Later he took charge of the Festung Europa – in other words, the Atlantic Wall.
It is typical of his caustic character that the extensive fortifications were viewed with scepticism. Rommel denounced them as “a figure of Hitler’s wolkenkuckucksheim” (cuckooland). Although we did not know it when we landed on June 6, 1944, Rommel was absent from his headquarters at LaRoche-Guyon on that fateful morning. He was convinced we would not land in the region due to unfavourable weather forecasts. He left the control of his forces to others and went home for his wife’s birthday. Rommel was later executed on Hitler’s orders due to his participation in the bomb plot of July 20.
D-DAY
I can remember when we were heading for the beaches in Normandy and I was taking some carriers in, and that’s kind of a dangerous vehicle to be driving around in because there is no top to it. It’s only 3/8 of an inch of cast iron. That’s the first time I said to myself, ‘What do you mean, Cliff, that you can get out of it? How are you going to get out if a bomb lands right in the middle of this vehicle of yours?’ I said, ‘Well that kind of thinking is not going to get you anywhere so think of something else.’
You kid yourself. I think you really kid yourself. When you see one of your friends killed, you don’t have time to stop; and, secondly, you don’t realize what it really means to have the end of life. There may be an extended family… at least a mother… sisters. You don’t really think of it in those terms. I hate to say it, but it is ashes to ashes, dust to dust, get on with your job or you are going to be next. So I guess, it’s a self-hypnosis… at least I found it like that.
When we landed, my job was to take a carrier and go left along the beach and keep in touch with the colonel and tell him what I saw because the carrier is the eyes and ears of the Regiment. So I turned and said to the driver, “Sparky, let’s go! Just follow the beach right along.” He stopped and I said, “What’s the matter?” He said, “I won’t run over that body.” I said, “Yes, you will.” He said, “No, I won’t.” So he said, “You get out and drag that body out of the way and I’ll take the carrier where it’s supposed to go.”
Well, that’s the first time I ever touched a dead body. I grabbed this guy by the ankles. I didn’t look at him. I don’t know today whether he was German or Canadian. I have no idea, but the next guy I knew. I knew him very well and I took a look at him and I thought, that’s it. I will take a look at his gaiters and I will take a look at his combat boots and I will know he is a Winnipeg Rifle and that’s all. Just drag him out of the way and go, because if you get dwelling on the fact that this guy is Garth Henderson and he is not going to be with you, you are not going to see him drink a beer or dance in a dance hall … if you start thinking that, it’s just going to destroy you … you are not going to have the will to go on.
You can’t go around saying, “God… he is one of ours.” You just have to drag him aside. I remember very well the worst day I ever spent was when the colonel told me to go into this field and pick up all the Winnipeg Rifles I could find – dead or alive. I thought he was kidding, dead or alive, you know… what is this, Hopalong Cassidy or something? But when I got out there and I realized that a lot of them were dead and some of them were alive and they had been out there two days and they had been crying, “Momma!”… whew, boy! I said, “OK, on with the job; I don’t care who they are; just take a look at their boots; I’ll know they’re Winnipeg Rifles.” See, we had combat boots where ordinary soldiers didn’t. We had Mercury helmets… only the D-Day troops had the Mercury helmets.
If Saving Private Ryan ever did anything for us, it told the story of the noise. It was so fast and so furious that nobody could really write about or even capture it on film; although I think Spielberg did a pretty fair job of it, quite frankly.
For the actual guys who were involved in what we called ‘touchdown’, firstly it was noisy, very, very noisy, and secondly, it was, to get poetic about it, it was the moment of truth. When you see a guy standing beside you one minute and the next minute you see his head blown off or his arm flying through the air or he lets off an awful scream… and when a guy gets hit by a shell, it makes a hell of a noise. People say it’s only soft tissue, but it just makes me shiver when I think about it right now.
The assault troops were highly, highly trained that if Bill McWilliams was shot and fell beside you and you stopped to get him, help him, what about your objective? The same shell that got him is going to get three or four other guys, so you had to learn.
Do you ever get over it? Three nights ago, I dreamt about it again. Do I ever get over it? Do I want to get over it? I don’t know. I really can’t tell you that. I just know that somehow in my mind when it gets bad, I’ll wake up. I’ve just trained myself to wake up when it’s bad and that’s it. And how do you train yourself to do that, I don’t know. I guess something takes over in your makeup that allows you to do that. Thank God.
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I don’t usually post but I enjoyed your blog a lot.
01 Nov 2009 at 12:09 am
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06 Nov 2009 at 12:23 pm