9
Lt-Col. C. F. Phillips:
The Commando moved off at 1945 hrs in the same order of march; the route was entirely across the country over the Masse de Cradalle, across the road leading south of Fontenailles and then on to the lane leading to Point 72 beyond La Buhannerie. At first the move was without incident. Just after passing La Buhannerie, both X and B-Troops exchanged shots with isolated groups of enemy, but opposition was soon overcome, or by-passed. Occasional prisoners were taken, including one RSM en route to visit his Fiancée. X-Troop detached 3 ORs to cut a cable; these men completed their task and re-joined at Point 72. A-Troop, less one section and the others in rear, lost contact soon after leaving La Rosière, but by following signs made by the IO re-joined the Commando at Point 72. By the time Le Mont was reached it was almost dark, but the move along the lane was without incident and by great good fortune Point 72 was not occupied, although there were signs of considerable defence work in progress.
L/Cpl Frank Wright, X-Troop:
We had a short break at a crossroads in a small hamlet called La Rosière. It was a relief to remove one’s gear for a few minutes—we had been wearing it continuously for about nine hours.
At this point we crossed the main road, Bayeux to Arromanches. We knew that there was the headquarters of a German Panzer Division in Bayeux, so where are they? I strained my ears whilst we sat smoking at the roadside for the squeaky rumble of moving armour. Nothing.
Late afternoon on D-Day and along the narrow country lane high hedges either side concealed orchards and occasionally open fields. Our road was fairly straight but rising and falling over a series of low ridges, each only twenty or thirty feet high.
We were in the dip between two of these ridges when we first heard the motor car, some way off. I immediately thought of the American jeep doing a recce or even just joyriding.
No such luck. Seconds later I knew it was no jeep, nor any Allied vehicle. The car was running easily—perhaps on downhill slopes—then struggling up the little hills in a way that suggested very low grade petrol.
It came nearer, still invisible though, the leading sections stopped. Whoever it was, we were to be the reception committee.
I put down the Bangalore Torpedo for the umpteenth time that day then, left foot forward, rifle in both hands, safety catch forward. We waited. The engine noise grew louder. One ridge to go, we heard it change gear.
Into our view the car appeared, roof first, then windscreen—it was a small saloon unfamiliar in design and in the gingery-hued camouflage colours of the Wehrmacht. It was the first enemy vehicle I had seen.
The car reached the crest of the hill. There was one occupant sitting in what I thought should be the passenger seat. If I was a little surprised by this the driver was totally gobsmacked. He screeched to a halt, eyes almost popping out of his head at the sight of the two lines of black-faced, heavily armed men lining both sides of the road.
Wheels locked in an emergency stop on the very top of the hill, skidding a little this way and that before coming to a halt. The driver’s door flew open and he leapt out grabbing the door with his left hand to effect a lightening U turn. As he spun round, so his machine pistol was clearly silhouetted on its sling.
Capt. Walton shouted ‘Halt! Deutsche soldaten, kommen—sie hier!!!
The driver ignored that. He set off at a run, back over the hill. If he had kept going he might have made it, he would have been out of sight in seconds and anyway no-one would want to shoot a man in the back. But he slowed, changed course so that he was hidden by the car. Then he stopped and flung himself down on the road. He looked at us through the space under the car’s chassis.
Perhaps he thought that the car would give him some protection conceal him—but owing to the high clearance of the suspension and the position of the car on the crest of the hill he was in full view.
I began to get a bad feeling about the situation. Within the space of a few seconds the driver had made several choices. Each time a bad one. He was about to make another.
There was a short silence.
He shifted his position, feeling for his pistol with his right hand, he seized it by the butt and dragged it into a firing position. I remember the sound of the magazine scraping on the road surface, it made a tinny noise like a rattle falling from a baby’s pram.
If he opened fire, with a long burst he could take out the leading section in seconds.
I saw daylight under his body when the volley hit him.
He was still for a moment then rolled slowly, agonisingly, onto his right side and then onto his back.
There was some shouting—I heard the words ‘Stop firing!’
A few of us went forward. Shock Kendrick, our medical orderly said ‘Give us a hand you lot’. Four of us picked him up as gently as we could, someone supported the driver’s head, we carried him over to the grass verge with little shuffling steps then laid him carefully down. He was still alive.
The front of his uniform was drenched with blood. He was scarcely breathing, tiny pink bubbles blew from his nostrils. His eyes flicked to and fro, to and fro, in despair.
‘Oh Christ Almighty, you poor sod why don’t you die? Just die you poor sod.’
Capt. Walton and Kendrick knelt by him. We turned away.
I went back across the road to fetch my gear. As I passed the little car I saw that it was beginning to creep forward. Sgt Hooper reached over the driver’s seat and yanked up the handbrake.
All right then lads, let’s get on.
There were two other incidents on the journey to hill 72. Half an hour after meeting the little staff car, still in the same ‘up and down’ terrain a sudden burst of machine-gun fire swept through the hedge on the right—bits of torn leaf and twigs flew across the road, but by a miracle no-one was hit. After a few seconds of this Capt. Walton shouted ‘Take cover’. We weren’t slow to respond—this was our first taste of personally hostile fire.
‘Darky’ Allen and another marine were sent to investigate but they were spotted by the machine-gunners and Allen was wounded. His colleague came smartly back to report, Shock Kendrick, again, went to attend.
By the time Sgt Hooper went to see the size of the problem the Germans had gone having made a small statement.
Later we left the road, taking a track through what seemed to be parkland. In a large clearing we came upon some substantial barracks.
As the ‘mines expert’ in the troop (I had attended a course in mines and booby traps in Edinburgh) I was sent to check the place out. Corlett and Skinner came along with me but waited at a safe distance lest I should blow myself up. The buildings were clearly unoccupied, not only that but had not been used for some time. Nevertheless I took some care. Provided myself with a long, dead plant stalk to act as an antenna for trip wires and looked hard at the pathway and steps for signs of disturbance. Nothing. Inside the barrack rooms all was clean and tidy.
Mne John Wetjen, Q-Troop:
By dusk we had reached Point 72, a hill some two miles from Port en Bessin. It was unoccupied but there were signs of considerable activity in progress. We dug in and managed about two hours sleep in our shallow slit trenches. We were holding 50th Division’s (Gold Beach) most westerly position; the Americans were somewhere further over, landing on Omaha Beach and it was hoped to be able to contact them and arrange artillery support for the assault on the Port. However, there was no sign of them as yet. The time for the assault had been set at 1600 hours on D + 1 in order to allow time for the Naval bombardment and the R.A.F. dive bombers to give the two fortified features and the blockhouses on the harbourside a good pasting.
Cpl Chuck Harris, HQ-Troop (later CQMS):
Got to hill over looking Port en Bessin (Hill 72). It was dark and I had to go back and get a vehicle on my own. After a couple of hours with a truck, returned, travelling via Ryes and joined up with 47 on outskirts of Port en Bessin. Ordered by Micky O’Brien (lieutenant) to stay with truck and hand out supplies, ammunition etc.
Mne Ted ‘Ben’ Battley, B-Troop:
That proved to be the last defiant gesture from the copse. Ten minutes later it was overrun. The place was deserted with not a soul in sight except for a magnificent shire horse, no doubt employed to pull the anti-aircraft early warning contraption hidden among the trees. The horse was passed back along the column where, eventually, it was ‘got rid of’ by order of Col. Phillips.
The advance continued with stops, starts and little deviations until later in the afternoon the leading section spotted a slit trench lying across its path about 150 yards ahead. The trench contained three not very alert Germans.
Fearing this could be part of a larger defensive position, Capt. Isherwood decided on a softly-softly approach. Keeping to the fringes of a wooded area, Sgt Gardner and Cpl Toms, closely followed by Battley, Emsley et al, crept to within 25 feet of the unwary Germans and with a shout of ‘Hände hoch!’ the Sgt and Cpl jumped out of the thicket and charged the trench. The Germans reached for the sky but the middle one, whether intentionally or from shock, let off a shot in the air before dropping his rifle and scrambling out of the trench with the other two.
While standing in a small group as the German interpreter from 10/IA Commando, Sgt Herbert Farr, interrogated the three prisoners, another German soldier came hurtling down the hill towards us, ignoring cries of stop, halt, stillgestanden! halt, halt! Capt. Isherwood gave the order, stop him, shoot him and so it was. The German weapons were destroyed and the prisoners passed back down the line where they were pressed into service as stretcher bearers.
The interrogation revealed that nearby was a small enclave of Germans which meant another diversion. And so it went on for another hour or two, moving forward, stopping, getting down, getting up, moving on again. Those behind the leaders must have been fairly cheesed off with the slow progress. At one point Col. Phillips, accompanied by Maj. Vincent, came to the front briefly to chivvy. He made a disparaging remark about Emsley’s Spandau and disappeared back down the line.
It had taken about six hours to cover the eleven miles as the crow flies but the actual distance travelled was much further.
By the time the Commando reached Point 72, the launch pad for the following day’s attack on the port, it was evening with a hint of dusk and this tricky stage of the operation had been successfully accomplished.
Up on the hill dug outs were scraped from shallow topsoil, emergency ration packs opened and the first gasper of the day lit. It had been a very long day’s journey. Not so much a march, more like a meander in a minefield.
Lt-Col. C. F. Phillips:
B, Q and X-Troops were deployed on top of the ridge from east to west. A-Troop were in a position where the track left the lane with the road leading south from Port-en-Bessin—Escures. Digging commenced immediately and proceeded through the night, all ranks having about two hours sleep. Two large underground dug-outs were discovered in A-Troop area, they were occupied by a small German medical Staff with two wounded German soldiers. These were made prisoners and the dug-outs occupied by the Commando Regimental Aid Post.
Mne Fred Wildman, Heavy Weapons:
Having made up—much of the ammo and equipment lost in the landing from casualties and also from vehicles strewn all over the beaches, the Commando set out on the 12 miles march to Hill 72, a prominent feature overlooking Port de Bessin. The road we took was to the rear of towns and villages, mostly still held by the Germans and there were plenty of skirmishes on the route. One incident found us firing at about 15 figures running across a field straight at us. It turned out that they were enemy soldiers trying to give themselves up and I’m afraid they suffered some casualties before we realised. We reached Hill 72 late evening hoping to get some rest. H.Q. and Casualty were stationed towards the top. Our H.W. troop was put some way down behind a hedge, hoping to rest up. This hedge overlooked a sunken road with a field behind that. Before long, some patrols started probing our position. This resulted in some rifle firing and grenade throwing between us. It was assumed the patrols were from a sniper’s school that had been marked on our maps, (not much rest to be enjoyed there then).
L/Cpl Frank Wright, X-Troop:
Later that day, when a group of us were standing at the top of hill 72, looking northwards towards the town along the straight approach road, just before getting our heads down for, hopefully, a spot of shut-eye. A black dot appeared over the town, grew larger, larger still, sprouted wings, finally roared overhead at an incredible speed and disappeared southwards. It was the first enemy plane we had seen, an Me 109—very fast.
Mne Fred Wildman, Heavy Weapons:
As night fell, our attack troops started to move down nearer the port and the hilltop gun turrets. We moved our mortars and machine guns down towards the bottom of the hill, still behind the hedge and nearer to the sunken road. Before long, there appeared signs of life in the village at the bottom of Hill 72. This resulted in one of the sad things that can happen in a war area. As we watched for enemy patrols in the fields opposite, a middle aged couple came walking arm in arm along the sunken road. We couldn’t call out to them because the patrols were not far away. We reached out through the hedge and waved at them to go back to the village. They just looked up at us, smiled and waved, then carried on walking. Before long, the inevitable happened, we heard a lot of screaming and crying and then they came back into sight along the road. She had somehow obtained an old fashioned wooden wheelbarrow and the man was spread out across it. She passed us without noticing and went into the village. It seemed to us there was no sign of life in the man.