7
In order for the Commando to land at the designated section and start their mission for Operation Aubery, the German defences were to be taken out by troops of the Dorsetshire Regiment. Unknown to the Commando, the 1st Dorsets met heavy resistance and were therefore unable to silence the German guns. Naval bombardments had little effects on the German positions hidden in their thick concrete bunkers and pillboxes. As a result, the planned removal of the beach obstacles by the Beach Engineers, which was planned at low tide also failed. By the time the Commando set out to start their approach towards the landing beach, the sea water level had already risen, concealing the intact underwater obstacles.
On 6 June 1944 at approx. 0800 hours, 47 Royal Marine Commando set out in 14 LCA to land at ‘Gold-Beach’, in the sector code-named JIG near the town of Asnelles at a place known as Les Roquettes.
They were launched from two transport ships; HMS Princess Josephine Charlotte, a former Belgian ferry boat incorporated in the Royal Navy and transformed into Troops Transport, and the SS Victoria, a former Merchant ship. Both ships were equipped with Landing Craft Assault hanging from davits; HMS Princess Josephine Charlotte carrying eight, SS Victoria carrying six LCA.
Most of the 420 men in the Commando were divided over the two mother ships.
The landing did not go well, in the approach to the beach the CO came to the conclusion the LCA were heading for the wrong beach. As a result the order was given to head east sailing parallel to the beach. This action provided the German defenders with clear view of the LCA allowing them to pick their targets. Five of the Commando’s LCA were sunk, another seven crippled, with 76 casualties out of a unit strength of just 420. Of the initial 14 Landing Craft, only two were able to return to the mother ship. Over fifty per cent of the men lost everything when they landed in the water. Most lost their weapons and equipment to save themselves from drowning, while others came ashore wearing nothing but their underwear. Heavy Weapons Troop lost all but one 3 inch Mortar Sight, so the Commando had to carry out the plans for their objective without accurate fire support from the 3 inch mortars. As a result, the advance was delayed by a couple of hours, but they set off at noon.
Extract of the landing beach map of Asnelles sector Gold JIG.
47 RM Commando LCA having been lowered from HMS Princess Josephine Charlotte 6 June 1944. (Photo by Eric Crawford)
L/Cpl Frank Wright, X-Troop:
We were due to arrive at Gold Beach at H hour + 2 which was about 09.30 hours but I had no watch and never had any idea of the time. You might say that it was the last thing on my mind.
We hove to about 10 miles off shore, at about five in the morning.
All troops assembled at their stations on the boat deck. We had blacked our faces with grease paint and as it was pitch dark anyway we shuffled sheepishly around trying to get in the correct order, barely able to see one another.
No one said much, the tension was getting to everybody.
The crossing and transfer to their LCA went well and the run-in to the beach began.
Combined Ops Signals Officer Charles Armstrong:
The boats were lowered and we got under way. We formed up in line ahead as a flotilla, heading towards ‘Le Hamel’, with Victoria’s six boats astern of us. I was sixth in line. Soon after we were shipping water in the rough seas, the pump was started by Ted Sloane, it worked for about 5 minutes, then stopped. It transpired afterwards that it was switched over to pump out the engine room only, when this was dry it pumped air until more water had leaked through from the bilges. The auxiliary pump would not work, I was worried for we were shipping water all the time from the waves breaking over the bows. Frank Ganney and I went aft and had a go, no good of course. Tom Jones our stoker got a spanner and tried to correct it, I then suggested to Mick Sweeney the coxswain the idea of getting an auxiliary pump from the craft ahead, to my horror he told me the only other boat that carried one was in the flotilla officer’s boat, which was the leading one. We could not have caught up with this craft anyway as we were already going full ahead. I was just going to suggest to the R.M. Lt that his men bale out with their helmets, when Frank Ganney shouted from aft that the pump was working again. How relieved I was. The Lt shouted ‘thank goodness for that, I would not have wanted my men to get their heads wet on a day like this, they might have caught a cold’. We grinned at each other, he turned from me and was promptly sick over the ramp door. It seemed amusing at the time. At this moment the pump failed again.
47 RM Commando LCA heading for the landing beach 6 June 1944. (Photo by Eric Crawford)
Mne Fred Wildman, Heavy Weapons:
Our two ships dropped anchor about six miles from the coast and lowered our landing craft. We had to go down scrambling nets, jump in and settle down 30 to each craft. Both ship’s crews were at the rails waving and giving us huge cheers as we set off. It soon became clear that there was plenty left to oppose us, as boats either side of us began being hit and blown up. As we got nearer to the beach there was a huge bang and the front of the boat disappeared. We all dived over the side into what we hoped was wading depth, but it turned out that there was some swimming to be done. I couldn’t get my equipment undone because the water had swollen the straps. The only thing I could discard was the mortar sight which was hanging around my neck and I managed to take it off and drop it. I soon reached wading depth and began to head for the shore having to push bodies out of the way as I went.
L/Cpl Frank Wright, X-Troop:
Finally we got it right and began jumping down into the LCA. We were very heavily loaded: two bandoliers of .303, one pouch stuffed with spare bren magazines, three hand grenades in the other, rifle of course, entrenching tool and in addition I was the reluctant bearer of the Troop’s Bangalore Torpedo.
The LCA was lowered, engines revved and we steered away from the Princess Josephine Charlotte under our own power. First thing I did was to unhook the toggles of my assault jacket. In the water with this weight one would go straight to the bottom.
CSgt Fred Batt, HQ-Troop:
I was awakened at 0530 by Burnett the CO’s attendant, who thrust a cup of tea in my hands and even as I came to consciousness I realised that the noise I could hear was the cable going out. We had evidently reached our anchorage, so hurriedly downing the tea and assembling into my clothes, I grabbed my field glasses and went out on to the upper deck to see the view. There we were, eight miles from the coast of Normandy, drawn up in line abreast as though we were ready for a review of the fleet. The fighting ships of the Navy were closer inshore and the bombardment had already started. Big guns crashed out their salvoes and by careful watching the fall of the projectile could be observed on the cliffs. Very occasionally a shore battery replied but even as we watched we realised the skill with which this stretch of coast had been selected. Obviously we were not expected to commence the much heralded ‘Second Front’ on this beach. The spotter aircraft which were working in conjunction with the ships circled and hovered over the cliffs, reporting fall of shot and directing fire where any opposition appeared. During all this time preparations for lowering boats were going on in ships on either side of us and very shortly we saw the Troops who were to make the initial assault gradually pulling away in their assault landing craft from their mother ships. A vague feeling of disappointment crept over many of us, because the whole thing appeared much too easy—so little opposition, apparently, from the coast and absolutely no enemy aircraft anywhere within sight. As the plan was working so well and there was bound to be some lull whilst the small craft crept in towards the shore, I decided the time had come to wash, shave and breakfast, all of which were completed in record time. Back on the upper deck where the Troops ahead of us were just approaching the beaches they were to storm. Unfortunately we were not privileged to see them actually land as at 0730 (just the time they were to step ashore) we were given the order to man our boats. This operation having been carefully rehearsed during the past two or three days was carried out rapidly, and by ten minutes to eight each landing craft was ready to be lowered. All Troops were aboard their particular craft fully armed and equipped, faces blackened and now even more ready for the task ahead.
Promptly at five minutes to eight the order to lower boats was given and we were dropped in to the sea to pull away from the ships side immediately. The sea was extremely rough and the craft tossed away to right and left as all boats jockeyed for position. I was given permission to stand in the bow of my craft which was really overloaded, and so watched all the pitching and bumping which the craft endured. Without any delay all craft were soon in line ahead and chugging very steadily towards the beach. Men all around who were sitting below the gunwales of the craft were vomiting heavily into special bags provided them but as I had the benefit of standing and consequently reviving fresh air I was saved this suffering. We could see quite clearly now the village of LE HAMEL which was immediately behind the beach on which we were to land and as I watched through field glasses, I could see a heavy bombardment falling on this beach. Everything was going very smoothly until a sudden burst of small arms fire spattered the sea all around us. Instantly we took cover behind the steel plates in the bows and could only see what was ahead of us through a narrow observation slit. We still kept to our original course until we were only some two hundred yards from the shore when it was obvious that our beach had not yet been captured. With a swing which very nearly threw us all across the craft, we turned broadside on to the beach and straightened just in time to observe the boat ahead of us get blown up out of the water. As we moved along towards the other beach we were subjected to heavy fire from the coast and astern boat, this time some distance behind us, was reported as hit. We managed to get along until we had to find somewhere a place to land. The currents were running off shore, the short length of beach which had already been captured was one mass of shell holes and the water immediately in front of it was full of drowned vehicles, chummed up waves, holed landing craft and craft attempting to pull in. The whole thing seemed absolute chaos, and yet by no means as chaotic as in my mind I had seen it as possible. We managed to run in alongside a Tank Landing Craft and came up broadside on to another Assault Landing Craft which had sunk. Just as we pulled up we struck an underwater obstacle and were badly holed in the bottom. The only way to get ashore was to climb out of our own craft and onto the one alongside, thence into the water and on to the beach. This was managed pretty rapidly and I soon found myself standing on French soil trying to hurry along the remainder of the men who were not yet ashore from my craft.
However, Lt-Col. Phillips, unlike most of 231 Brigade, realized that he was heading for the wrong point on the beach.
Combined Ops Signals Officer Charles Armstrong:
Then about 2 miles from the beach we saw the little village of ‘Le Hamel’, easily recognisable in our little book of pictures of the beach we were to assault. There were the buildings I had pointed out to the crew the night before, with the church and woods behind it. Our beach should have been to the east of this village, but the flotilla officer in No. 1 boat had miscalculated the drift and tide which should have pushed us over to the east to land us on target. I looked at the beach we were heading for through my binoculars, and suddenly spotted tanks, one of which was burning. It was the first sign I had that our landing was being opposed. The Commandos were now all crouched in the boat, except for a French captain who was sitting on the stern bare-headed, he had been grinning happily all the way. I thought to myself ‘vive la France’, he sat there swinging his legs looking at his native land.
We could hear the whine of the shells from the destroyers nearby as they passed over us, some seemed a little too close. I couldn’t spot any shells bursting on the ominous black hole in the concrete built on the cliff. Then the enemy took our attention. The sudden black smoke a hundred yards ahead of us, and the hollow sound of an exploding shell surprised us slightly. ‘Hell they are firing at us’ shouted Frank Ganney from the forward cockpit, sitting with his ‘Lewis’ gun at the ready. So they darn well were. It scared me for a moment, then there were explosions all round us, I heard and felt the horrid crack and whing of bullets. I glanced back, even the French captain still grinning, thought it wiser to get down. Then one of the boats astern of us was hit. I realised we were in range of their heavy guns now. The noise and explosions were increasing, the near misses were pushing us off course, the rough seas didn’t help either. Then I noticed an arm waving from the leading boat and pointing to port, we were to change course. I shouted these instructions to the coxswain, who promptly swung the wheel round. At that moment No. 7 boat on our starboard bow was hit. The Lt told his men it was the boat that carried the other half of their company. As a tribute to their discipline and courage, they accepted it with quiet dignity.
I felt proud to be with them. Then a boat ahead of us to port was hit amidships, it was one of Victoria’s boats, it was an awful sight, apparently there was only one survivor. After avoiding the wreckage we carried on. Our orders were not to stop to pick anyone up. Frank Ganney was loudly bewailing the fact that he couldn’t see anyone to shoot at, the sides of the boat were being peppered by bullets and shrapnel etc., the armour plating stood up well, the noise, smoke and confusion coupled with the shouts and cries of unfortunate men created a scene in my mind I shall never forget.
Because we had turned to port it brought us broadside on to the coast, therefore making us an excellent target. The flotilla officer in No. 1 boat was turning in to beach, apparently we were about a mile west of our prearranged landing place, we followed suit.
There were 14 Landing Craft in our flotilla when we set out for the beach, only one managed to get back to the ship, even this one had a gaping hole in it. The crew who consisted of Hutchings, Penny, Mellor, and stoker Hardy worked unceasingly to stay afloat. I thought this episode should be mentioned, because it must have taken a great deal of courage, determination, and good seamanship to make that 8 mile journey in a craft in that condition and to find the ship among all the hundreds that were out there. Therefore I say ‘Well done lads’.
Lt Peter ‘Frosty’ Winter, Y-Troop:
Our fourteen landing craft came inshore in line astern but the CO did something he shouldn’t have and turned parallel to the coast to get to our correct landing beach and made a good target for the Germans.
Mne John Wetjen, Q-Troop:
We cast off. If the Princess Josephine had been wallowing, then the LCA was doing a veritable fandango! What had looked rough over the rail of the mother ship, appeared near-disastrous at close quarters and felt even worse. With difficulty our craft was manoeuvred into place in the queue for front seats at the big game—and we held our breath! I must admit I felt a bit queasy but none of us was sick. Our little flotilla of 14 LCA headed for the coast. According to Commando records it was 08.00 hours and we travelled at 4 to 5 knots.
The see-saw rolling and buffeting did not abate and every now and then we would peep over the side to see how far we had progressed. It looked as if we were well on our way—the shore could be seen quite clearly and the bombardment was continuing without pause. I could make out the shells bursting on the seafront houses and hotels and other large buildings. I later learned that all of these had been bricked up turned into concrete blockhouses with gun emplacements. We were probably about three quarters of a mile offshore.
It was expected that we would have a dry landing with none or very few casualties; for this reason we had not gone in with the first wave. It was hoped that by the time we landed on the beach it would be safe and that the shore batteries would have been silenced and that the Commando would be fresh and a complete unit, well able to accomplish its mission.
When the flotilla came under fire from the shore batteries we changed course, running parallel to the coast before making another turn straight ahead. One of our craft had been hit but we all had our heads down and relied on the matelots for information. Risking another look I found we were pretty close to the shore. The destruction was immense with shot-up tanks grounded or drowned and landing craft littering the shallows. Spasmodic Jerry firing and shelling was passing over our craft and I did not know at the time that several of our craft had hit that our CO Maj. Feacey and poor old Wilkie had gone down when their craft hit a mine—neither survived.
47 Royal Marine Commando landed over a space of some 1,500 yards between 0945 and 1015 hours; the worst time possible for mines, sea conditions and congestion in the water and on the beach. The fourteen LCA had to make their way through the uncleared and mined beach obstacles in a heavy sea. Five were sunk and another five were damaged, causing casualties and capsizes.
The beaches were crowded with landing craft and all types of vehicles and equipment, mostly wrecked or ‘drowned’. The obstacles were much more than expected, so each craft made its own landing. Very few had a dry run in and nearly all floundered in deep water. One at least ran on a mine and had its bow blown off. Of the 14 craft that started, only two of the fourteen LCA, each crewed by two Marines, made it back to the ‘mother ships’ SS Victoria and HMS Princess Josephine Charlotte.
Eric John Sharp was an Able Seaman on LCT 858 (Landing Craft Tank), which was being repaired and so was one of the last to arrive at the embarkation point. They picked up the beach engineers and left. LCT 858 carried beach engineers rather than fighting equipment and landed at H minus 30 minutes. As they could not pull back until the landing had finished, Able Seaman Sharp had hours to take in the events. They landed in front of a deserted pill-box beside which was a farm track going inland. The commandos went up that track and engaged the enemy on a ridge some way back from the beach.
Men of 47 RM Commando landing on the beach near Asnelles 6 June 1944. (Press release photo)
AB Eric John Sharp, LCT 858:
I saw one of the commando’s craft hit an underwater charge near our LCT 858 and it instantly disappeared. We threw the kedge chain/rope and winched four survivors onboard. They were taken to the mess deck to recover.
Combined Ops Signals Officer Charles Armstrong:
He headed for the only possible place to beach between an LCT and a smashed LCM. I shall never know how he managed to miss the underwater obstructions which we could feel scraping holes in the bottom of our boat as we followed more or less in his wake. We had not expected to encounter somehow those underwater obstructions which had devilish beer bottle mines tied to them. Then an explosion at our stern sent a shock right through our craft, I thought to myself we had hit a mine and yelled down the voice pipe ‘are you alright Jones’, his head popped up from the engine room, he gave a thumbs up sign. We began to fill with water more quickly now, stoker Tom Jones throttled his engines to full ahead even though his engine room was filling with water. My coxswain cleverly avoided two whopping great obstructions and came to rest on a submerged tank. We were about 20 yards from the beach, the water was fairly deep, the troops were weighted down by their heavy packs, but they never hesitated and splashed into the turbulent sea onto the ramp and stepping onto the tank, while others went straight over the side up to their armpits holding their rifles above their heads, they waded their way to the shore. The mortar fire was getting uncomfortably close, we grabbed our two ‘Lewis’ guns which ‘Sweeney’ had managed to save as they were about to disappear under the water, these with the five pans of ammunition, followed the commandos to the beach. It was no easy task, as I had the two ‘Lewis’ guns each with a pan of ammo held above my head, one in each hand. I dashed across the narrow beach and laid the guns down behind the sea wall. Then we returned to salvage what we could. The radio set had become waterlogged and was useless, so I could not contact the ship. It occurred to me when I was carrying the ‘Lewis’ guns ashore that when Lt Cdr Peter Scott went aboard his steam gun boat The Grey Owl for the first time, his ship’s company had dubbed him ‘two gun Pete’, because he had been carrying a ‘Lewis’ gun under each arm.
I decided to go back to our boat to see what we could salvage, in retrospect it was rather foolhardy, as there was still a lot of enemy fire coming our way. After reaching our craft I grabbed the radio set and kit-bag with the thermos flask etc., the crew took what belongings they could plus some more pans of ammo. We then plunged once more into the water and headed back to the beach. The radio set as I thought was useless. We joined a little group of ratings from the other sunken craft, some were lying on the beach obviously badly wounded. I took stock of our situation, we were just behind the sea wall, it was preventing our tanks from getting onto the roadway, there was an ‘achtung minen’ sign and some barbed wire, there were some wounded lying all around, some making most pitiful sounds that could be heard through the noise and clamour on that dreadful stretch of beach. An army captain was led by, his eyes were wide open but he was quite blind, I looked at my watch it was 9.30 a.m. We had a drink from the thermos, I tried once more to get the radio to work, no good. An LCT that was high and dry nearby gave me an idea, so I ran over to it, scrambled aboard, and tried their set, but got no reply from our ship. I went back to the boys and found a few more had joined our group, some of our own lads and HMS SS Victoria’s.
I thought we had better look for a passage back to the ship or U.K. So moving away from the shelling, hopefully we looked along the shore for a likely lift. Two of our party had died and had to be left where they were. It was sad. After fifteen minutes search we rested near some RAMC men who were looking after wounded. One poor fellow just laid back and died, they covered him over with an army blanket.
I shall never forget what I saw next, our own commandos whom we had brought ashore had formed up with the rest of our group. Many of them had no equipment, were without rifles and were bare-headed. A sergeant, whom I had seen aboard our ship practising daily with his radio, formed the men up. They were to march smartly off to fight the enemy without even, as far as I could see, a hand grenade or rifle, just empty handed. I gave them our ‘Lewis’ guns and ammo, which they eagerly accepted. My heart filled with admiration for these brave men, showing the sort of spirit and determination that Royal Marine Commandos are made of.
Lt Wayne, flotilla officer from the Victoria found our party. He reckoned that we should load our wounded into an LCT We did this. The LCT was high and dry and looked as if it would be there for some time, so I carried on with the chaps who were fit, to try and find a landing craft to take us back. I gathered about 30 ratings together. We got into an LCIL which was also out of action, as we discovered. So we went ashore again dragging our small possessions with us, brown with sand and wet through as we were ourselves. We tried another LCI US which started to get off. Frank Ganney was the last man aboard, he managed to do so only by sheer guts. The captain of the craft we were now on had noticed the other LCI’s getting stranded on the beach, through not getting away quickly enough due to the ebbing tide. He suddenly decided it was high time for him to be leaving. So he went full astern paying little attention to the fact that we were still piling onto his craft from an LCT against which his bows were jammed, he had by the way, disembarked his own troops into this LCT. At the moment the captain went full astern Frank Ganney was in the act of jumping from one craft to the other. He missed but grabbed the bowline of the craft we were now on, the line was being chopped away from the LCT. Frank held on like grim death hanging about 30 feet above the water, he then worked his way hand over hand towards our craft (the LCI), he reached the side and hauled himself aboard. We were all shouting encouragement, he was just in time for a split second later the line parted. How did he do it? I don’t know, for we were all pretty exhausted long before that. A few men out of my party were left behind on the LCT. The men I had gathered with me amounted to 28 ratings and one PO. The Captain on the bridge informed me the best he could do was to land us at Calshott. That sounded very good to me. And so we came home and eventually joined our ship the Princess Josephine Charlotte at ten o’clock the following evening. The authorities wanted to send us on a survivor’s routine, it took a great deal of talking to dissuade them and let us return to our ships right away.
Mne John Wetjen, Q-Troop:
The beach was upon us, orders were barked by the Naval crew—suddenly there was a tearing crunch and we came to an abrupt halt. The spike of a hedgehog appeared through the bottom the craft—we had hit an anti-invasion obstacle—iron stanchions like railway lines, set at an angle in concrete at intervals all around us the low water mark. Fortunately for us this one wasn’t mined.
Down went the ramp, the water rushing round our feet, we quickly fastened our rucksack straps, grabbed our weapons and filed down to the water—centre fist, then left and finally right. I jumped into the water and to my surprise found it shallower than that in the LCA. I don’t remember if the water was colder than that we had used for washing a few hours previously, but as I scampered (or lumbered) up the beach a tumult of thoughts flashed through my mind. One was uppermost—the real fame had begun!
Lt Peter ‘Frosty’ Winter, Y-Troop:
My landing craft hit a mine and I was knocked unconscious for a while. When I woke up, I found myself in the water. I had a broken leg and a broken arm and attempted to swim ashore but only ended up going around in circles. A sergeant saw me and, despite the awfulness of the situation, said, ‘You won’t get anywhere fast like that, Sir. You had better think of something better.’ I eventually made it ashore where my MOA, Marine Woodgate, met me on the beach with the words, ‘I thought you’d like a cup of tea, Sir’. I can tell you that no cup of tea ever tasted better. The doctor could do little for us wounded, as he had few orderlies and they had lost all their medical equipment when their landing craft was sunk. It took me three days to reach hospital in England.
Sgt D. H. G. Gardner, B-Troop:
We swam ashore, about fifty yards, under machine-gun fire and at one point I heard someone say, ‘Perhaps we’re intruding, this seems to be a private beach’.
Mne Ted ‘Ben’ Battley, B-Troop:
The landing in Normandy on D-Day was somewhat similar. The LCA carrying part of B-Troop came to grief, impaled on the spike of a beach obstacle, some ten yards from the shore-line.
Expecting a waist-high dip, I went in over the side and was completely immersed in 8 to 9 feet of water, laden down with Bren gun, pack and other attached equipment. After two or three desperate lunges forward, my head was clear and I eventually made my way, dripping like a floor-mop up to the rendezvous, the church at Asnelles.
Cpl Tom Robbins, A-Troop:
Despite a heavy sea the embarkation into the LCA went smoothly and by 0800 hours the 14 craft were proceeding towards the beach at 4–5 knots, the run in to the beach went smoothly until about 2,000 yards from the beach when the LCA came under accurate fire from a 75 mm gun battery on high ground above LE HAMEL. The CO ordered a turn to port and all craft started running parallel to the beach in an easterly direction. At least one LCA was hit and sunk and it became a case of each craft for itself.
Lt-Col. C. F. Phillips:
The beach was a shambles and the Commando had landed over a space of some 1,500 yards between 0945 and 1015 hours. As had been planned the Commando in small groups of boat loads moved west along the small road running parallel to the beach to the RV at the church in Le Hamel, when the leading elements reached a point, just short of the road inland to Les Roquettes, it became obvious that Le Hamel was in enemy hands and that 231 Brigade were heavily involved in attempting to clear it, by about 1100 hrs the majority of the Commando had assembled and were sorting themselves out on either side of the road. Contact was made with Lt Spencer and the Cdr of 231 Brigade who suggested a move via Les Roquettes and thence to the original route beyond Le Hamel.
L/Cpl Frank Wright, X-Troop:
First troops ashore on Gold Beach on D-Day were 231 Infantry Brigade and the tanks of 50th Northumbrian Division, who had the unenviable job of attacking and overwhelming the defences and strongpoints of Le Hamel and Arromanches.
Our job—420 of us in 47 Royal Marine Commando—was as follows:
1. Disembark at Gold Beach at H-hour + 2 hopefully in one piece having avoided all obstacles and mines on the approach.
2. Assemble on the beach and, X-Troop leading, work our way through the fighting if possible without becoming involved—Ha!—to open country inland.
3. Turn westward and march for ten miles through enemy occupied territory to a small eminence, Hill 72, conveniently situated about one mile south of Port-en-Bessin.
4. Concentrate there then wheel north and attack and capture this small but well-defended port with its three strongpoints overlooking the harbour.
Port-en-Bessin was of importance in the invasion plans as it was to become the southern end of Pipe Line Under The Ocean, or PLUTO, the fuel pipe line from the Isle of Wight to Normandy. Its early capture with a minimum of damage was crucial.
Back in the LCA we were thinking about our chances—from tricky to downright bloody impossible—in this wildly optimistic plan. The heartening sights of the Solent soon faded and I, imaginative little soul that I was, pictured a scene inland where we would meet, head on, a squadron of enemy Tiger tanks backed up by a Company of experienced infantry. In other words, I became terrified.
The racket of the battle onshore increased steadily.
Someone suggested that on our country march we might meet a Yank jeep with a couple of GIs and their French girlfriends on board and we tossed that idea around feeling more cheerful for a few minutes.
Heavy guns from our own naval craft were plastering targets ashore but, not silenced by any means, the enemy was responding—boomCRASH ..... boomCRASH—alarmingly close, some of it and all the time machine gun fire whacked constantly overhead.
Everyone was desperately stiff and uncomfortable, our wooden seats took on the consistency of reinforced concrete. Seized by an attack of cramp someone kicked out and gave the Bangalore Torpedo a hefty wallop—a unanimous shout told him to be ‘More fucking careful’. On the port side a whole shipload of rockets were fired off with an ear splitting screech.
Then suddenly B.O.O.O.O.M came a terrible roaring explosion only thirty or forty yards to starboard, I felt the vibration through my boots—in an instant a great column of smoke shot high into the air until it became a great spreading tree, two irregular black shapes flew upwards into the smoke turning slowly over and over, paused, then plummeted down... Oh Christ Almighty, what was that?
The stern of the LCA rose on the swell and I could see the beach ahead quite clearly. Black looking tanks crawled slowly along from left to right like stag beetles. One tank was stationary and burned with a transparent red flame. Figures were running to and fro. No village as we had been led to expect at the briefings, only open fields behind the beach and a line of trees in the distance.
The engine note changed as the coxswain throttled back.
I thought ‘I’m not ready for this—I AM NOT....’ the keel grated on sand, bow doors banged down, Capt. Walton and TSM Ball were off up the beach like sprinters from their starting blocks. We staggered stiffly to our feet, feeling the extra weight and, picking up our gear, we followed.
Just for the record, it was the driest landing I’d ever experienced—one boot in two inches of water, the next on dry land. I hoped that was a good omen.
I could feel the heat of the flames as we ran past the burning tank. The body of one of the crew lay alongside one of its tracks, the front of his head was a bloody pulp.
We came to a halt at the top of the sloping beach where there was a low cliff, about five feet in height. On top of it was a field of lank grass. A well-worn path ran along the cliff edge and behind that a barbed wire fence with the signs that soon became familiar: ACHTUNG MINEN and the skull and crossbones. It took only a second to see this then it was a case of heads well down.
The enemy fire continued, we scooped out hollows in the sandy cliff and pressed ourselves into them.
Something told me we were to have a long wait. Le Hamel was to our right, hidden by a smoky haze. There was a strong smell of cordite mixed with, astonishingly, Gauloise cigarette smoke.
We waited, and waited, more landing craft arrived, men and tanks moved along the beach towards Le Hamel. The expressions on the faces of the officers who rounded up their charges before leading them away spoke volumes.
We still waited, occasional shell-fire, constant machine-gunning—finally someone noticed signs of activity in the minefield, sure enough, there were two sappers patiently swinging their mine-detectors to and fro, to and fro—completely oblivious to everything that was going on around them.
The minefield was more than one hundred yards across. The whole operation took some time but finally we were moving—with, I may say, mixed feelings. We made our way onto the minefield, keeping carefully within the tapes. Then, half-way across, guess what? A traffic jam! We lay down alongside the tapes whilst a squadron of Sherman tanks edged their way past. Then on again.
CSgt Fred Batt, HQ-Troop:
I found it very difficult then to realise this was the much valued beginning. All around men were lying about something and having tea in little cans, no terrific buzz of activity was noticeable and it seemed just another exercise. In the matter of seconds which it took to collect myself together I can remember only a feeling of elation that I was actually there. I was compelled to order two men to abandon their attempts to get a motor cycle ashore and when these men had joined the party we all proceeded up the beach towards LE HAMEL and moved up a track into a small road and any doubts as to our being in France were dispelled by a large notice confronting us—‘ACHTUNG-MINEN’.
In this road which we had now reached were all the Troops which had preceded us and after much enquiry we found that the opposition at the village was holding up their advance. Not that an infantry Battalion had been sent in to attack. Our second in command, who had assumed control as the CO had gone ahead and not yet returned, informed me that only one officer had got ashore in the Troop which was to provide the checking officer, the Adjutant had not got ashore and so the job of ascertaining who had reached this checkpoint fell to me. I went up and down the road to find out troop strengths and eventually formed a reasonable estimate of the total strength of the Commando at that time. During the time I was moving in the road, a burst of machine gun fire made us all endeavour to burrow through tar macadam.
Mne Fred Wildman, Heavy Weapons:
Once ashore, we gathered ourselves together and under Capt. O’Connell’s leadership set about repairing what damage had been done. He got two of our best swimmers to take ropes out to the hulk which was still afloat at the back where the engine compartment was. We hauled it in and recovered the mortar equipment, all of it except the mortar sight. Our captain weren’t best pleased about the missing sight, but we were trained to operate mortars without the sight, but it made getting onto our targets somewhat slower.
I should perhaps explain here that the 3 inch mortar in those days consisted of three parts, a base plate, a tripod and a barrel. The heaviest of these weighed about 40 lbs with the other two not far behind, hence our description of being a Heavy Weapons troop. The actual bombs we used weighed about 10 lbs each. The Vickers machine guns of our other section were no light weight either. Essential parts of our equipment were canvas backed trolleys to be hauled along during some of the longer and rougher journeys. My job, as No. 1 was to operate the mortar sight, using a measuring stick a few yards in front of the mortar and take directions from whoever was up front with a good view of the target. We used phones and whatever cable was needed for this.
Mne John Wetjen, Q-Troop:
I saw my first dead Jerry a few minutes later, he had been crushed between a half demolished anti-tank obstacle and a British tank. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Off the beach, on a narrow road, we sheltered in the lee of a hedge as the Commando assembled in dribs and drabs. Some of the craft had landed some distance along the beach as they tried to avoid the congestion and some had lost men, equipment and weapons when they had been hit. There was chaos on the beach but the Beachmasters were valiantly directing troops to their individual assembly points and putting some sort of order into the whole operation.
The remnants of our forces trickled up the beach, man by man, section by section, troop-by-Troop. Roll calls were made and repeated, but for the moment, at least, it seemed we were well below strength and for the time being the Officer Commanding was missing. We had landed a long way down the beach from our original planned location.
As far as it could be ascertained A-Troop had lost most of its weapons; Q and Y-Troops had lost a complete craft. Heavy Weapons had lost one heavy machine gun and one 3 inch Mortar and most of their Mortar bombs and Bangalores, also the wireless sets were doubtful starters and the surviving Mortar had lost its sight. It was eventually confirmed that only five of the fourteen LCA had managed to make it to the shore unscathed. Approximate Commando strength was now 350 officers and men.
Cpl Chuck Harris, HQ-Troop (later CQMS):
LCT—The Tank in front of the one I was driving caught fire, A very brave Tankee (Cpl) drove it off the craft. Fire raged back and my vehicle caught fire, so I went over the side. Wet, Cold, Windy, I laid on shore, taking cover. Recovered a MP38 (German Schmeizer) automatic pistol. Had fighting knife down trousers, Green beret stopped on! Pack, rifle, gas mask etc. all left on vehicle in the fire. Out of the 14 landing crafts only 3 survived intact. Out of 450 men, we lost 50, but not all landed on this beach.
Mines on side of road. Jerry was in church, so needed to be knocked out. Needed to take Port en Bessin, but had to go through 12 miles of Enemy Occupied Country.