‘Twenty miles from the coast and 12 to lowering point,’ shouted Lieutenant-Commander Rupert Curtis, the flotilla commander, against the wind. I nodded respectfully, trying a shivering smile with eyes on the duffle coat. The navigator had done his job well – on course and ahead of the clock. Nautical twilight was past and the sea was changing colour to oyster shell in the grey dawn when an Aldis lamp blinked on our port bow. ‘Good morning, commandos, and the best of British luck.’ Curtis and his yeoman spelt out the signal. We made a suitable reply: ‘Thanks; think we are bloody well going to need it.’ Rupert ran up his battle ensign. War was becoming personal again. At 0530 hours, Warspite and Ramillies opened fire. The men came up from below to stretch legs, and sea-sick soldiers gulped in fresh air. Muzzle blast from the turrets of the ironclads lit the dawn with a yellow glare as 15-inch guns hurled their one-ton shells into the batteries round Le Havre. The fearsome salvoes screamed over like trains coming out of a tunnel. ‘That is just an overture’, I said, ‘Listen to the racket starting on the starboard side; old Ajax with destroyers are way on ahead, shooting up defences. At six o’clock, some real noise will startle the Herrenvolk.’ The run-in took 40 minutes. At the lowering position, we changed formation. The flotilla divided into equal flights, landing ten minutes apart. I did not want the whole brigade boiling on the beach at the same time. The first wave – 12 motor launches [actually Fairmile LCI(S)] in line abreast – closed to arrowhead formation as we picked up landmarks in the last mile. No.6 Commando, the point element in the encounter phase, rode on the port quarter of No.519 (the command craft), keeping station, a cricket pitch apart. No.41 Royal Marine Commando (attached passengers in transit) rode to starboard on the right flank. Ahead, No.4 Commando and the Free French were landing, passing through the toe-hold hopefully seized by the 8th Infantry Brigade. They had the benefit of steel landing craft – slow movers, but proof against the small-arms fire expected on arrival. Hutchie Burt’s troop went in singing ‘Jerusalem’, like the fierce Covenanters of old. With them rode the brigade major and his wireless operators. In the event, communication from ship to shore was a wash-out. No.4 landed at the double, with no help from the first arrival. The heavy casualties sustained by the infantry on Sword came from mortars and artillery, ranged (as predicted) on the tide mark and controlled by observation points on high ground behind. Our own approach, which had the legs of the field, relied on speed rather than protection. The thin skins of three-ply wooden hulls did not stop machine gun bullets, and we knew it. As a precaution against trouble, I had divided headquarters, with Max in charge of the other party. Derek rode within hail, wrapped in a wet oilskin and taking a lot of spray as he searched for landmarks. The big ships had made an impression on my subconscious mind but noise spoiled the conversation, and commandos were busy with immediate personal affairs. They looked green after the rough crossing. As we came under heavier shelling, Salsbury (who happened to be a mimic) suggested, in an Oxford accent, that the piper should get on with that blank-blank fanfare and find himself a trumpet. From a breastwork of protective rucksacks, a voice restored order. ‘Watch it mate – the old man’s farting fire this morning.’ Half-seen through palls of smoke, boats were burning to our left front.Then, with much shouting. Derek picked up his landfall: a conspicuous building, still standing, with a pitched roof. No.6, who had trained over a stiff course, here took a tot of rum; Curtis made a slight alteration to starboard. A tank landing – craft with damaged steering came limping back through the flotilla. The helmsman had a bandage round his head and there were dead men on board, but he gave us the V-sign and shouted something as the unwieldy craft went by. Spouts of water splashed a pattern of falling shells. Out among the off shore obstacles – heavy poles and hedgehog pyramids with Teller mines attached – we started to take direct hits. Curtis picked his spot to land, increased speed and headed for the widest gap, our arrowhead formation closing station on either side. The quiet orders – a tonic from the bridge - raised everybody’s game: ‘Amidships. Steady as she goes.’ The German batteries mistakenly used armour – piercing ammunition in preference to high explosives and bursting shrapnel. Derek’s landing brows were shot away and beyond him Ryan Price’s boat went up with a roar. Max had an unpleasant experience when a shell went through his petrol tanks without exploding. Rear headquarters got away with minor casualties. Our command ship took two shells in the stern. It happened in the last 100 yards. There was no time to look back. The impact must have swung round the two boats; Max’s and mine, touched down side by side. Each carried 4,000 gallons of high-octane fuel in non-sealing tanks aft of the bridge. Had Max blown up we would have gone with him. Five launches out of 22 were knocked out, but the water was not deep and commandos got ashore wading; a few took a swim in the shell craters. The smoky foreground was not inviting. The rising tide slopped round bodies with tin hats that bobbed grotesquely in the waves. Wounded men, kept afloat by life-jackets, clung to stranded impedimenta. Barely clear of the creeping tide, soldiers lay with heads down, pinned to the sand. Halfway up the beach, others dug themselves into what amounted to a certain death trap. Half left, middle distance, Doc Patterson’s No.4 Commando stretcher-bearers were still struggling, under heavy loads, up to the shelter of the dunes. ‘I am going in’, said Curtis. He gunned his engines and bumped over the shallows. ‘Stand by with the ramps!’ Four able seamen sprang to the gangways. ‘Lower away there’, and the brows ran sweetly down at a steep angle. The command craft had a comfortable landing. On these occasions, the senior officer, stepping cautiously (rather than attempting a headlong dive), is first off the boat. Surprisingly, it is as safe a place as any. The water was knee-deep when Piper Millin struck up ‘Blue Bonnets’, keeping the pipes going as he played the commandos up the beach. It was not a place to hang about in, and we stood not on the order of our going. That eruption of 1,200 men covered the sand in record time. As we ran up the slopes, tearing the waterproof bandages off weapons, the old man fell, but swift reactions saved casualties. My O group did well through the soft sand and flung themselves down behind the nearest pillbox taken single-handed by Knyvet Carr. The job had been the responsibility of the East Yorks; Carr (a skinny but determined subaltern known as ‘muscles’ in No.4) would have won a VC in less demanding circumstances as he bombed his way into the enemy wire. Others were less fortunate: Max’s brother-in-law, Eric Kiaer, was killed before we reached the dunes. Wounded and half drowned in landing, pulled over by the heavy rucksack, then picked out and dragged over the sand – Brian Mullen the artist, like a broken doll, lay with both legs shattered, at the end of a bloody trail. He was beyond speech but out of pain; a glance showed a hopeless case and death was busy with him. A gifted man, Mullen would have landed later with the reserves, but he would not hear of it. No volunteer in the whole brigade was prouder of his beret. David Wellesley Colley, a Downside boy with a cheerful smile, lay against the pack of a sergeant who had pulled him into shelter. He was shot through the heart. Tears were running down the NCO’s face. ‘Mr Colley’s dead sir. He’s dead. Don’t you understand? A bloody fine officer,’ he repeated in shock as a field dressing was wrapped round a broken arm. Little Ginger Cunningham, RAMC, with the flaming red hair, had his legs shot from under him as he ran up the beach, but he was picked up by Murdoch McDougall and got clear. His swearing between lamentations is recorded: ‘To think they could miss a big bugger like you, those fucking Germans, and then blank something well chose to pick on me!’ after picking up more wounded, and with the help of my wading stick, he set off after the commando and stayed with them through D-Day. There was no time to catch the breath. A hot reception – in terms of noise. Destructively, it could have been worse. Except for direct hits, the long-range heavy stuff wasted each shell burst, bunkering deep into the dunes. During the saturation bombing, Monsieur Lefevre, a Resistance Leader, risked death to walk from Ouistreham and cut cables connected with flame-throwers in the beach defences. He did more than the 8th Brigade, who landed to our immediate front. A poor showing in the last rehearsal was faithfully repeated on the battlefield. We passed through them, leaving platoons scrabbling in sand where the shelling hit hardest, digging holes which would be drowned when the tide returned. No.6 Commando led the way. Alan Pyman, commanding the point element with Donald Colquhoun, bombed a path through the built-up area, widening the gap where No.4 had previously forced a passage. Throwing down rucksacks, the troops moved fast, mopping up pillboxes and the immediate strong points with hand grenades and portable flame throwers; supporting Bren guns sprayed lead at every loophole and casement aperture. Houses not destroyed by bombardment were occupied by a few Germans; firing small arms, they sniped from roofs and windows. These pockets of resistance were wiped out by selected marksman. The landing was a soldier’s battle – total confusion which favours spirited assault – and it was soon over. Above the crash of shells and mortars, Derek shouted among the buildings like Marshall Ney leading the Old Guard at Waterloo. Soon a trickle of grey uniforms appeared: bewildered men in shock, their hands clasped behind bare heads. (The captured Germans seemed pleased to throw their hats away.)Some scuttled in a bee-line back into concrete positions already captured. Others hurried towards the beach, where Peter Young and No. 3 Commando were landing in the second flight with No.45 Royal Marines under Reis. I heard later that, humping some wounded as they ran, the demoralised Germans splashed into the boats, crying, ‘Engeland, Engeland!’ We were almost through the Atlantic Wall. The immediate defences were laid out with German thoroughness: they warrant a description. They were not, as it were, a continuous row of grouse butts, but rather a system of ingeniously interlocked defence works equipped with every weapon, from underwater obstacles and devices to set the sea on fire to wire the minefields at the water’s edge, ranging back through strong points laced with machine gun and anti-tank guns to distant artillery and self-propelled half-track cannon – all bearing on the beach. Beyond lay German infantry dug into weapons pits – again with interlocking fields of fire. The tanks and armour were held some distance to the rear. It was a question of how long they would stay there! Each pillbox was a citadel of reinforced concrete, sunk hull-down and half buried in the ridges of the dunes. Walls two feet thick stood six feet above ground level, their height made up by a very solid roof giving further feet of concrete head cover. They were certainly bomb- if not blast-proof and made equivalent precautions at home appear inadequate. Positions sited in depth, 100 to 150 yards apart, were surrounded with barbed wire, with minefields in between. No pillbox faced directly to the front, but each was at an angle to either side, sited to enfilade the wire and deal effectively with approach from the flanks. Each was manned by a crew of half-a-dozen men firing 75mm cannon and light automatics. All this was seen before smoke blinded the last nests of resistance. The furious pace quickened and determination turned the scales. Our teamwork went well. Men remembered that ‘he who hesitates is lost’. No.6 Commando moved like a knife through enemy butter. Bobby Holmes (my demolition expert) hated marching, but he must have been uncommonly strong in the arm. To a slung Tommy gun, a pack of explosives and regulation rucksack (50lb in weight) he added a motorbike borne across his shoulders. Bobby took cover at my side behind another pillbox. He was wet from head to foot, after disappearing in a shell crater below the churned-up surface. But he held onto his wheels. They provided our only transport for some time to come. The proximity of the Chief Royal Engineer was an embarrassment as more sappers, laden with gelignite, struggled into the O group. ‘Are those bags liable to get touched off?’ The brigade major moved hastily round the corner, muttering, ‘HQ’s going to blow up so fast that nobody will know what hit them.’ Bobby assured us that plastic charges were harmless, though detonators (he tapped a hand grenade) were unpredictable. ‘And who the hell controls the fuses? Let’s get out of here and shake out, your crowding headquarters.’ Even as I gave the order and moved on, a shell pitched among the last RE’s to get to their feet. Sand partly contained the burst of shrapnel. The ‘gelly’ behaved correctly, but three of Bobby’s men were killed and we left another sitting head down with hands pressed into his middle as blood started to seep through weakening fingers. The poor fellow was beyond speech: nothing could be done for him except a shot of morphine. Prisoners were forced to hoist packed explosives; here also we collected a windy gentleman in officer’s uniform, smoking a pipe at the bottom of a shell-hole and taking no part in the battle. The pipe annoyed me and he was kicked up, told to join the party and consider himself under arrest: Salsbury, who enjoyed any untoward occurrence, put a rifle in his back and we pushed blindly on. Brigadier, The Lord Lovat 1st Special Service Brigade
As the LCA’s got near the beach, they moved into line abreast and drove on at full speed. Through the thick pall of smoke along the beach, features of houses which had been picked out as landmarks began to be recognised. Then, the beach obstacles could be seen with Teller mines lashed to the top of them. The cox’ns of the LCA’s who were Royal Marines skilfully weaved their way through them and other obstacles such as derelict tanks. The LCA’s grounded in about 18 inches of water and those in them waded ashore some 40 yards. As they landed, though there was much noise of guns and small-arms fire, there was nothing falling on that part of the beach. Shortly afterwards, enemy guns opened up from the right front, shells whistled overhead and bursting amongst the beached craft. The CO, Lieutenant-Colonel Dick Goodwin, believed one landed on the LCA he had just quit, while Major C. A. Boycott, commanding C Company, was told his LCA had received a direct hit just as the last man had left it. The crew would have gone up with it. The general impression was one of burning vehicles and craft and houses on fire beyond the beach creating a general smell of explosive and burnt metal. Companies moved off to the right to find a way off the beach. Having found prepared exits off the by now-crowded beaches, companies moved to the assembly area about 800 yards inland. Bullets and shells were flying about in all directions but casualties were few. C Company had one man slightly wounded. Sergeant Ling from Lieutenant Mike Russell’s platoon of D Company was badly wounded in the thigh just off the beach by a bullet that came from behind and another man was killed. More seriously, Captain Llewellyn RA, the Forward Observer, Bombardment, and his party were hit by a mortar bomb as they left their LCA and had all been killed or wounded. As a consequence, without the FOB, it was not possible to call on the fire for the attack on ‘Hillman’. On arrival, the assembly area was found to be devoid of cover. The trees which had been there had all been cut down, perhaps to make ‘Rommel’s asparagus’. This was not unexpected as the battalion had been told at the last moment that photo reconnaissance had shown the clearing of the wood. A sniper was among the piles of brushwood left but he was either killed or made off. The CO decided to move further inland 200 or 300 yards to an orchard where companies soon assembled. It was from here that Captain Harry Elliott, commanding the anti-tank platoon, was sent on a special mission to make contact with the 6th Airborne Division which had captured the bridges over the River Orne and the Caen Canal. He covered some 8 to 9 miles which he described as ‘rather like walking across the front of the butts at Bisley during a rapid fire practise’ and successfully completed his lone mission. In the assembly area, the CO confirmed orders and companies moved off accordingly. D Company, less the two breaching platoons, moved south to a position where they could observe and bring fire upon ‘Morris’. They met minefields marked with ‘Actung Minen’ signs but they did not hinder progress unduly. C Company moved off immediately after with a troop of tanks south-eastwards towards Colleville, followed by the remainder of the battalion. C Company had already started on the clearing of the village, assisted by a troop of C Squadron, 13th/18th Hussars. Under Major Charles Boycott, a clear-thinking, brave leader, later wounded, the company did its work of ensuring that the village was cleared quickly and efficiently. It was plain that they knew what had to be done and were well trained for it. They found no Germans and, therefore, had no problems as they worked through the buildings. In the meantime, Major Philip Papillon, an imperturbable commander who inspired confidence, had reported from his position with C Company on the right that C Squadron of the 13th/18th Hussars were in position to his right and were exchanging some shots with ‘Hillman’. He also reported that there appeared to be no movement from ‘Morris’. As C Company was meeting no opposition in clearing the village, the CO sent for Major D. W. ‘Mac’ McCaffrey commanding B Company and told him that it was possible that the enemy had already deserted the battery position. He was instructed to be prepared to put in his attack as arranged in case it was a trick. Major McCaffrey ordered his company quickly up into the village behind C Company and, directly he had elbow room, he moved towards the battery. B Company started preparing for its assault on ‘Morris’ and the guns of the supporting battery began to register on their target. In view of the lack of fight shown so far, Major McCaffrey decided to quicken the procedure by blowing the outer wire before calling for his artillery concentration. However, just as the Bangalore torpedoes are being placed for this task, a white flag was put up and the garrison emerged from their concrete emplacements with their hands up. There were 67 in all. They were brought back into the village by four highly delighted soldiers who moved them along the street at a smart pace. They were not in good shape. They had suffered some heavy air raids on June 1 and 2, one of which we now know had caused a lot of casualties. That morning, they had again been attacked by the USAAF though there had not been any direct hits. The navy had then started their bombardment with the 6-inch guns of HMS Dragon and those of the destroyer Kelvin. Their fire was to be controlled by a naval air spotter but they reported that there was difficulty in communications with the spotting aircraft. Dragon therefore was unable to engage ‘Morris’ except by blind fire. It was found later that the guns were still serviceable. A photograph taken a fortnight later showed one of the guns apparently intact except for a small jagged hole in the shield presumably from a shell or a bomb splinter. Despite the strength of their two-metre-thick concrete, the positions can be seen today in very much that state they were in in 1944 with no apparent damage from all the explosive hurled at them. The effect, however, was enough to make them give up without a fight. Captain Eric Lummis 1st Battalion, The Suffolk Regiment 1989.
Captain Geoff Ryley, commanding A Company, went off to make a closer reconnaissance; C Company pushing one platoon forward to protect the reconnaissance and deployment of A Company and another platoon through the orchards on the left where they could see the open country so as to form a defensive flank for the operation on that side. Thus, with B Company on the right, a Company was reasonably secure. At the same time, the platoon of D Company with Company HQ collected the breaching platoon which had been with B Company, and waited in reserve at the top of the village. The battery commander was now registering his guns on this enemy strong point and the battalion 3 inch mortars were doing the same. Just before 1300 hours, Captain Ryley told me he was ready and I laid on ‘Grab’ for 1310 hours, giving this out over the air. At 1310 hours, the HE came down, laid on by artillery, mortars and tanks; the breaching platoon with A Company under Lieutenant Mike Russell, ready to move forward to the outer wire. Then, with the lifting of the HE and undercover of smoke, the platoon crawled forward through the corn; the Bangalore torpedoes were placed under the wire and blown. Next, the mine clearance sheep tracking party made their 3 foot wide lane through the minefield and laid the white tape for the troops to follow. When these reached the inner wire, the second Bangalore section came up and placed their torpedoes. Here Lieutenant Russell had bad luck as the first initiating device to fire the torpedo failed to go off, and he had to go back and fire another one. This was successful and the breach was made. This platoon of D Company carried out their task very well, working just as they had done on training many times before; but in this case they were within 50 yards or so of the enemy. They were then pulled back into company reserve. The first assault platoon of A Company then moved forward through the breach, crawling under cover along a narrow sunken lane which enabled the troops to get within about 30 yards of the outer wire. The platoon got through the gap, the enemy opening up with machine guns; but the platoon went on into the trenches. These proved of little value for, when they moved again, the Germans from their shelters and emplacements brought heavy machine gun fire to bear at close range. The enemy now had the gap in the wire taped and any movement brought bursts of automatic fire; casualties began to mount up. However, by the use of 2 inch mortar smoke, the second platoon got into the enemy’s trench position but was brought to a standstill like the first platoon. Captain Ryley was killed and Lieutenant Trevor Tooley mortally wounded, also Corporal F. Stares, his leading section commander. It was not possible to bring these two latter in as no movement across the open was possible. Other wounded from the vicinity of the gap were dragged back through the corn to the sunken lane, where the stretcher bearers carried them back to the Regimental Aid Post. By this time, my carrier and the battery commander’s tank had arrived; this gave us a No.19 set, a link on the tank squadron net, and on the battery commander’s tank, his proper communications to his guns, both of which were great assets. The smaller sets had not been working well due to the great number in use over the area. As there appeared to be no enemy anti tank guns left in action in the position, I ordered the tanks up to the outer wire in order to give the troops close support. At this time, the 2nd Norfolks, who were to pass through us, started to move out to the left and bypass the position; as it was obvious that it would be sometime before it was finally subdued. The divisional commander, Major-General Tom Rennie, came up to my OP and asked how we were getting on. On being told the situation, he said: ‘Well, you must get it before dark; and in time to allow you to dig in on your consolidated positions. Enemy armour is about and they will probably counter-attack at first light.’ I assured him we should succeed. He left with a cheery ‘Good luck’. The arrival of the tanks at the outer wire did not materially improve the situation; they prevented any enemy movement across the open, but they could not penetrate the emplacements or cover our men from enemy machine gun fire. The steel cupola which was causing most of the trouble was not even penetrated by several rounds of 17-pdr armour-piercing shot, though no doubt the occupants suffered from a severe headache. It was obvious that it would not be possible to capture the position unless the tanks went inside the wire to enable the infantry to get up close to the emplacements and winkle the Boche out. In the absence of enemy anti-tank guns, this seemed a justifiable task for the Shermans, and accordingly I decided to make a vehicle gap and lay on a fresh attack with a short preliminary bombardment. I ordered Lieutenant K.G. Perry, who had taken over command of A Company, to withdraw his men from the position to the sunken lane so as to get them clear of the bombardment. Then I ordered the Royal Engineers officer, Lieutenant Arthur Heal, to widen the gap to nine feet. This he proposed to do with a British Mark III mine buried deep; a job that would have taken at least an hour. It was only possible to work lying full length on the ground as any exposure drew machine gun fire. Meanwhile the Squadron Liaison Officer and the battery commander went off in the battery commander’s tank to look at the left of the position. They returned about 20 minutes later and the Liaison Officer sat down saying that he had a slight headache, as the tank had just gone up on a mine. The tank in fact was a complete wreck, one track being blown off and the tank completely burned out. The Brigadier [E.E.E. ‘Copper’ Cass] arrived and I asked him for two Flails which would speed up the process of mine clearance and make a wider track. This he arranged to do. But we did not stop work on the gap, and this was just as well as the gap was open before there was any sign of the Flails. The Squadron Leader agreed to take a chance with the gap, even though the sapper had only been able to give it a 50-50 chance of complete clearance. Time was getting on and I called for a preliminary bombardment for five minutes HE from the tanks and two batteries at Rate Four. When this lifted, the tanks went through, negotiating the gap safely. The troops followed them up and set about cleaning up the complicated position – one platoon from each of C and D Companies assisted A Company with this task. It was a slow business and, at the start, the tanks drew away too far from the infantry; but were called back and then were of great assistance. Whatever had been the state of the moral of the enemy we first encountered, there was no doubt that the men in this strong point had been told and were determined to fight it out to the end. They continued to fire from their emplacements while the mopping up was going on and in some cases they had to be blown out with heavy explosive charges which the battalion pioneers were carrying. When it appeared that resistance was decreasing and the situation under control, I ordered B and D Companies forward to their previously arranged consolidation areas, as it was essential that they had as much time as possible for digging in before dark. The last resistance on the strong point ended about 2015 hours and our men moved on as quickly as possible to get on with consolidation. Lieutenant-Colonel R.E. Goodwin CO, 1st Battalion, The Suffolk Regiment.
Odd, being they are talking about my Brigade and my company. I know very well that Lt Arthur Heal RE CdG of my company...was never ordered to do anything, By any other officer than the CO of the Suffolks. Sapper
Sapper - reads like you had a lot of fun that day - we never did a landing we just plodded on so missed all that excitement...pity really... Cheers
Once I saw this thread I was hoping that sapper would show up. Here is a link to a thread sapper has going over on this forums sister, WW2F. It contains his own accounts of the landings. Sword Beach to Bremen., A Veterans tale. Sapper - Page 29 - World War II Forums All 29 or so pages of it. I certainly enjoyed it.
