100 D-Day 80th anniversary special – Gold, Omaha and more

Fighting Through Podcast WW2 Episode 100 – D-Day 80^th anniversary – Gold, Omaha and more

More Great unpublished history!

Enemy shells were landing on the shore, bullets raking the sand. The helmsman shouted: ‘Hundred to go, ready, fifty to go!’ Twenty five yards …

I don't expect there was a man amongst us, who thought we'd leave here alive, but I for one had not given up hope.

Small calibre shells or mortars were constantly exploding in the water, and splinters were thumping on the sides of our craft.

The first Tommy truck sank up to its front axles in shingle and sand - because in the confusion they had forgotten to lay out the rolls of wire mesh

Hello again and another exciting/warm WW2 welcome to the Fighting Through second world war podcast. 

I’m Paul Cheall, son of Bill Cheall whose WWII memoirs have been published by Pen and Sword – in FTFDTH. 

The aim of this podcast is to share family stories, memoirs, and interviews with veterans in all the countries and all the forces. I dare you to listen!

This is going to be a very special one off episode to commemorate the events of D-Day 6 June 44. There is so much going on at the moment around the 80th anniversary of D-Day that I couldn’t resist doing a short episode with a recap of some of the action we’ve heard in previous episodes.

That first intro passage was taken from Dad’s book and I’m shortly going to share the full description of his landing.

After that I’m going to share some new material with you, an extract from American William Hershall Nelson’s story of landing on Omaha.

Then we’ve got Royal Navy wireman Eric Clarke’s account on board a Landing Craft transporting troops and tanks to the Normandy beaches.

Following that I’m going to read engineer Sgt Brian Moss account of landing on Gold Beach with the 5^th East Yorks.

If you’ve never listened to these accounts then you’re in for a real treat. But for an even bigger treat catch up later with the full episodes 3, 6 and others – there are links in the show notes.

Just before I start I’ll share the words my Dad said in his memoirs’ “We were on our way to make history; there was to be no more waiting, no more exercises; this was it. This was the big battle, 6 June 1944, and we were going to give the enemy something to contemplate.

Bill Cheall

My ship was called Empire Lance. We were very crowded, but didn’t expect to be aboard for very long. But when we were allocated sleeping quarters, we decided we could not be going just across the Channel; We had tiered bunks and after we had stowed all our gear we sat around chatting, putting the war situation into perspective.

As far as I can recall, our gear consisted of our 303 Lee Enfield rifle or, in my case, a two-inch mortar and six bombs. We all carried, in our equipment pouches, two filled Bren gun magazines (twenty-eight rounds in each) in case there was a hold up in the supply chain, three hand grenades, a bandoleer of fifty rounds of 303 ammunition, an entrenching tool, a filled water bottle, a gas cape and groundsheet, gas mask, a full small pack and our webbing equipment, plus bayonet and steel helmet. Section leaders carried a Sten gun.

If anybody had spare capacity, more ammunition was carried because nobody was certain how things would go once we had landed and we were moving into uncharted waters against a formidable enemy.

Then, after three days of almost claustrophobic conditions, the tannoy system came to life, telling us to pay utmost attention. Our commanding officer then proceeded to speak. You could have heard a pin drop; no longer were we going to be kept in the dark. It was to be France. That moment made the deepest impression in my mind. Our battalion would be landing on a three-mile stretch of beach between Le Hamel and La Riviere, having the code name King on the coast of Normandy, on a sixty mile front. At last we knew. The whole attack from the sea would run from west to east, with the Americans on ‘Omaha’ beach, on our immediate right, and ‘Utah’ on our far right. The British were on ‘Gold’ beach, the Canadians on ‘Juno’, and the British again on ‘Sword’. Then we knew we would be the first and it all began to come together; what we had been training for.

At 0500 hrs, the ship heaved to. It was just starting to become light. We were now standing waiting for further orders, almost weighed down with equipment, ready for the fray. Suddenly, ‘Come on lads, let’s go!’ from our officer reminded me very quickly why I was there; it was time.

I found myself with my leg over the side of the ship, trying to get a footing onto the scrambling net. I had fastened the mortars and bombs onto my equipment and my Number Two on the mortar was alongside me. The practice we had done for this day was nothing like the real thing and endeavouring to get a foot onto the landing craft was beset with danger.

 The sea was very rough and there was a three-foot rise and fall of the craft against the side of the ship. It was a hair-raising experience but, luckily, nobody suffered any injuries. Somehow, we made it and pulled away from Empire Lance and then waited until all assault craft were in line abreast. There were fourteen assault craft to land on Gold beach, with thirty men in each.

As soon as we were all settled on the bench seat, the order came, ‘Craft away’. We were only seven miles from our objective.

The whole operation was fantastic; the sea seemed to be covered with ships of every description. The run in was to take two hours and our H-hour was 0725 hrs, with the Americans on our right and because of the differences in the tide they had started their invasion at 0630 hrs.

God help us, lads!”

LOOKING AROUND us, we could see other assault craft taking station at each side of us. The sea was very choppy but as the mist began to clear and the light was improving, the whole mighty operation became visible to us. And what a sight it was – something nobody had ever seen before. The mind could not absorb the enormity of it all. There were thousands of ships of all sizes and, standing out like huge sentinels, the mighty war ships (in fact, almost seven thousand in all). The extent of what we were taking part in is difficult to describe in great detail. It was such a vast undertaking that nobody, not even the participants who were part of it, could describe the invasion adequately enough and as vividly as we saw it happen. It would never be seen again in our lifetime. So many ships in one place at one time.

 If the British people could have seen it they would have been very proud. The sky seemed to be full of planes – bombers, Hurricanes, Spitfires and others I did not recognise; hundreds of them going towards our target for the day. With the continuous barrage of the battleships’ huge guns and the drone of never ending streams of aircraft, the noise was deafening. Nobody would ever be able to paint a really true picture of what our eyes were seeing, and what it was like to be actually there would never be believed. If it wasn’t for the tragedy of it all, the scene was magnificent.

Shells started coming towards us but the enemy seemed to be going for the ships, not us, and they created great spouts of water when they hit the sea. The gunners had not found their range. Now we could see bombs falling from our planes and fighters, skimming low above the enemy defenders.

The continuous thundering was never ending. We were about two miles from the coastline, Rommel’s Atlantic Wall, when on our port side we saw something which we had never seen before. It was a rocket ship, about half-a-mile away from us, and it was firing a massive, continuous barrage of missiles, screeching simultaneously dead straight towards the coast. We could hear – almost feel – the heat generated by the displaced air. ‘Hell’, we said. ‘Fancy being on the end of that lot!’

 It was fantastic and the bombardment was something the enemy could not have imagined it was possible to be on the receiving end of. We could hear the rumble of war as the planes dropped their bombs. Warships were shelling the fortifications and the sound of the shells flying above us was uncanny. Great flashes were coming from the gun barrels and lit the morning sky. The battleships were firing their salvoes of shells, which we could hear screaming above our heads. And above them, the planes, a never-ending stream of planes of all sorts was going to bomb the communications inland so the Germans could not send for reinforcements.

It seemed to be a hell of a long way to the beach, then I saw a landing craft next to ours slow down. A bullet must have hit the helmsman. Swiftly, somebody took over control but the boat was now a little out of line with the other assault craft and in the blinking of an eye, the front of the boat had been hit by a shell or a mortar, or probably a mine. The explosion lifted bodies and parts of bodies into the air and the stern of the craft just ploughed into the sea. All those boys, laden with kit as they were, didn’t stand a chance of survival.

There was so much happening now and so swiftly. Every second was vital; let’s get out of this coffin!

Enemy shells were now landing on the shoreline and machine gun bullets were 

raking the sand. Then, at the top of his voice, the helmsman shouted: ‘Hundred 

to go, seventy-five to go, all ready, fifty to go! Twenty-

five yards’, and suddenly, ‘Ramp going down – now!’ And the craft stopped almost 

dead in three feet of water and our own platoon commander shouted, ‘Come on, 

lads,’ and we got cracking. That was no place to be messing about. Get the hell out 

of it. Jumping off the ramp we went into waist-deep water, struggling to keep our 

feet. We waded through the water looking for mined obstacles, holding rifles above 

our heads. I was trying to keep a very cumbersome two-inch mortar and bombs dry 

as well as making certain I didn’t drop it.  Some of the lads were shot 

as they jumped. Two of them were a bit unfortunate because as they jumped into 

the boiling water the craft surged forward on a wave and they fell into the sea. I dare 

say they would fight like hell and recover but we were not hanging about, that had 

been our instructions from the start; we must not linger.

Our adrenaline was now at its peak and every one of us was aware of what he had to 

1. At the moment there was no actual fighting to be done as there was no visible enemy, 

but we had to get off the beach and forward in order to come into contact because they 

were hidden in their positions. Our primary concern was to get out of the sea.

Onto the soft sand and the boys in front and behind of me went down. Hell, 

get moving! Halfway up the beach, about ten yards from the sand dunes, I saw an 

amphibious Sherman flail tank at a standstill, its chains hanging helpless like some 

monster, one track was off its sprockets. It had gone into the assault on the beach 

before us to make a path through the minefield which ran along behind the beaches. 

The crew had bailed out and had continued, under fire, to make a path across the 

minefield and had taped it.

On the beach, lads were falling all over the place. 

Resting with his back against the 

tank was our company commander, Captain Linn, who had been wounded. 

He was waving his arm for us to get off the beach. Tragically, while he was in that 

position, he was hit again and killed. Our platoon commander, 

Captain Chambers, now took over and he, too, was wounded but was able to carry 

on his duties. He was shouting and waving his arms: ‘Get off the beach – off the 

beach, off the bloody beach. Get forward lads and give the buggers hell!’ That was 

the natural leadership coming to the surface, though we did not need any urging 

because we knew that enemy machine guns and mortars would have previously been 

set up on fixed lines to cover the beach and were now playing havoc with us. It was 

difficult to make too much haste in the soft sand but, by a supreme effort, we ran up 

the slope towards the sand banks in face of heavy enemy fire. 

Dead and wounded lads lay all over the beach. 

PFC William Hershall Nelson – Omaha

You heard from WHN in the last episode, covering his dramatic adventures fighting inland, beyond the beaches. Right now I’m going to share a little of his Omaha beach landing exprienece.

The Trials and Tribulations of a D-Day landing on Omaha Beach – BBC People’s War –

Memoir: The Untold Story by William Hershel Nelson - https://amzn.eu/d/364xd3G

The mist began to clear and one was able to see the brightness of the sun just clearing the edge of the horizon. This was where we had heard the machine guns. The Germans were shooting at the first wave of LST’s to try landing on the beach. They were shooting everything but the kitchen sink at us. Two boats to the right of ours were blown completely out of the water, leaving debris and parts of bodies floating on the sea. It would be impossible for me to describe the yells of pain and the death cries of the wounded and to make matters worse there was nothing we could do about it for we all were the intended target. The soldiers in the LST with me were extremely lucky, for if our boat had been in the first wave, all the men would have died. Every so often I could hear an explosion nearby and see pieces of metal fly in the air. Shells were still hitting the LST's everywhere along the ocean. Everyone in the boat was thinking, "When will it be our turn?"

The sky became quite light and we saw a haze of smoke as one of the crafts floated in flames on the sea. We were getting closer to the brownish white sands and we could make out the barbed wire and sea defences and pieces of something white was caught up in the wire. We were that close I also heard the hissing noise as the sea ran through the uprights holding the wire in place. We actually touched the wire, then, all hell broke loose. The gunners onshore had homed in on the boat I was in and all at once the front of the landing craft disappeared, breaking in half, and also detonating booby traps hanging from the wire killing nearly everybody at the front and leaving everyone still alive trying to save themselves from drowning. I do believe that someone that day was looking after me. If, I'd been sooner than later in boarding the LST, I would have been sitting at the front and would not be here to tell the tale. The boat as it broke in half flattened the barbwire, leaving me in the water up to my neck, but just able to reach the bottoms of the sands on tip toes. Without a doubt I must have swallowed a quart of water that day.

The dead were floating all around me and I had to push them away; as I and a few of my buddies made our way toward the sands. I had lost my rifle but at least I was alive. About a dozen of us in the LST that I was in survived and finally made it to the end of the waterline to throw ourselves down among the many dead bodies which had been washed up by the wind swept sea. Just beside me and huddled in a ball was the young soldier I’d seen praying and he seemed to be crying like a baby boy. I lay amongst the dead. In fact I played dead for it did not take too much working out what the machine gunners were doing. As each craft came some where near the sands and as the front of their boats fell down, the gunners laying in their concealments on the shoreline machine gunned the crafts killing or wounding everyone on board. This had not happened to the LST I was on, for the artillery shell had found our boat and the soldiers in the sea were not very good targets. Looking along the beach we could see many landing crafts still unloading men and as they unloaded many of the young men died and there were corpses everywhere. The Germans were having a picnic for every LST missed by the artillery, had the machine gunners to reckon with. I think another thing that saved us from disaster was that so many crafts arrived on the beach before ours. So you could say we were the "lucky ones" for the boat I was on was probably three minutes behind and this very likely saved a few lives.

The last command we were to receive when we made the landing was, "Take no prisoners", but it began to look as if no one would be around to take any. How the hell could we take prisoners if we saw none? All day long, early morning till late afternoon, we were held on this beach and all day long we received many casualties. The most annoying thing about this landing came later, after the war. The planes we all heard during the night never did hit their targets. The bombs dropped were supposed to leave craters on Omaha Beach. If this had happened countless lives would have been saved. We would have had cover of a kind and God knows we needed it. My leg was paining me, aching like hell and I turned on my side and put my hand down to touch something very wet on my leg. Looking at my open hand I found it was covered in blood. At first I felt frightened, but glancing at my leg I saw the wound was only minor. Ripping a piece of grey cloth from the barbwire nearby I wrapped it tightly around the open wound. Then looking back along the coast, I realized now how lucky the group around me was for all one could hear was cries for help and yells of severe pain. God it was a nightmare. Bodies were floating in the sea as far as I could see.

On this day I would suppose one man in every twenty reached the beach alive, but at least these men stood a chance of survival. By this time I think everyone around me was feeling frustration. Everyone knew he could not help his chums, only listen to the voices that gradually faded away. I could only tell about my own journey from the water to my present place of safety - and to describe it again, would be reliving a nightmare.

I don't expect there was a man amongst us, who thought we'd leave here alive, but I for one had not given up hope. The day slowly crept into afternoon and still there was no let up, only more bodies on the sands, it seemed like hours had passed, but we were gradually reaching our destination, a large wooden triangle that lay near the  beach edge. Then all at once we were out of sight of the enemy and were able to rest for the position we were in was safe and while I rested I was able to silently say a prayer.

There was one incident that pleased me, for as I rolled onto my side I found my best friend staring at me. "Are you okay, Buddy," he said. "Wait until we get to a place of safety, then ask me again." I replied.

 We were having quite a conversation, mostly about the situation we were in. Then a cry of someone in pain was heard and looking back the way we came there lay a man with his arm half off. Without thinking the two of us arose and ran back toward the wounded soldier, quickly picked him up and hurried back to the shelter we had occupied. We were able to stop the bleeding, put him in a comfortable position and hope to God the Medics would soon be on the scene. There were many a lesson I learnt in the forces but the one that was most important, was my understanding of the meaning of 'patience' and this stood me in good stead all my army term. In my training I never once refused to carry out an order but this did not mean that I agreed with every command I received, but never the less I did as I was ordered. Officers, Sergeants and even Corporals were there to be respected but I found the ones who were in charge were the very first to die during the landing at Omaha. The uncanny thing about this was they taught the whole company on the art of survival, yet they were the first casualties.

Eric Clark – Landing Craft Tank, D-Day landings

Vicky Zarajewski Hewitt from Cambs kindly sent me a story from her Dad. He wrote the memoir based upon his amazing experiences on board a Landing Craft transporting troops and tanks to the Normandy beaches.

Eric Ernest Clark

Ex leading wireman Royal Navy,

Early sixth of June, we received orders to sail to Normandy.

The weather was still bad with heavy sea swells making headway and steering difficult to stay in formation. Most landing craft needed special handling during bad weather because of their flat bottoms and shallow draft, especially LCTS’s because of the length and flat bow (loading ramp).

 They would buck and judder with a screw action and in certain sea swells would leave the sea and pancake down hard, often with the stem in the air with the propellers exposed, causing the main engines to race away.

 By the time we neared the Normandy coast, most of our soldiers aboard were showing signs of fatigue due to lack of sleep and seasickness, but they put on a brave front.

 All around the sea was littered with ships of all types, coming and going in all directions. Big warships were shelling over the coastline, smaller warships buzzing around them with loudhailers blasting away and numerous assault craft everywhere. The noise from the big Navy guns and machine guns and the stench from smoke and cordite was overpowering.

 As we neared the beach, we had to break formation and each craft was left to its own salvation. I believe we should have beached on Sword beach, but because of obstructions on the shore, we actually beached on Juno near Courseulles.

 It was difficult getting in because we had to allow enough distance to drop our kedge anchor before beaching in order to pull ourselves off. And apart from the obstructions and damaged craft, there were also rows of constructed obstacles on the beach line, some of which exploded on impact.

 However, we managed to drop our seven ton loading ramp (or door) and the soldiers started to disembark with their armour.

 The first Tommy truck sank up to its front axles in shingle and sand - because in the confusion they had forgotten to lay out the rolls of wire mesh, so it was all hands to drag it back aboard.

 Meanwhile, all sorts of missiles were flying about. The beach masters were shouting, our barrage balloon deflated and the cable dropped and tangled on the vehicles in the well deck.

It was a shambles and our captain was shouting at me to cut the cable free and stand by the capstan which was our aid for winding in the kedge anchor in order to pull us off the beach.

 When the six tanks and Tommy trucks were finally unloaded, we waved our RA soldiers and tank crews lots of good luck, then fortunately managed to pull our craft off the beach (our kedge anchor had gripped well).

 We turned about and headed back to Newhaven to reload with more army units.

We did this journey three times to near enough the same area of the Normandy beach and each time there was more and more obstruction on the beach shoreline - damaged landing craft, tanks, lorries, piled up enemy metal [fences] structures, which we learnt later were called Belgian gates. Also, quite a lot of the damaged and abandoned vehicles were Canadian.

 During the third beaching, we were hailed back to the beach and took aboard around 150– 200 German prisoners which we unloaded at Portsmouth. They gave us quite a problem because there was nowhere  they could sleep except in the well deck. They had no buckets for their necessaries [toilets] and we had no food to offer them since we ourselves were eating stale bread with mouldy green, baked beans.

 We managed another five trips back and forth but on these occasions we unloaded on Gold beach, Arromanches. The last couple of journeys inside or on the Mulberry harbour.

Brian Moss – 233 Royal engineers –

his memoir has been covered in the show when it was just a family story.

His son Mike has since got the book published by pns in Mines, Bombs, Bullets and Bridges: A Sapper's Second World War Diary, and what a masterpiece of a story that is. Link ..

Hear more about Mike’s astonishing war in episodes 2,3 and 13 – his book has been well-titled as he fights as well as blows up tank ditches and dismantles UXB’s in 1940’s London..

https://amzn.to/4ehXIqu

Our objective, La Riviere, had been intimately described to us over the past few weeks. All place names were coded, of course. We had been shown photographs of the place, but had no idea where it was. However, one day, one of our lads had suddenly said that he knew exactly where it was; he had once been on holiday there. He was immediately led away, and we never saw him again.

Behind the very end of the sea wall, the enemy had constructed an immense concrete casemate. It was designed to fire along the beach to the west, thus catching anyone attempting to advance up the beach anywhere up to a mile away. We had been told that it held an 88, a 50mm and automatic weapons. It was practically invisible from the sea; neither could it be accurately fired upon by our Navy, nor could the casemate’s guns fire towards the sea.

My personal plan was rather different to the Brigade plan. I could not see how men could be put across the beach in view of the enfilading fire from the casemate. I personally intended to make straight for the casemate, approaching it directly from the sea. In this way, I would only have to dodge all the other automatic weapons firing at me from trenches and so on. I would be reducing the odds, so to speak.

5 EY were also on our ship and I knew their CSM. After thinking about the casemate, I had visited him during the afternoon of June 5^th.

“Got any spare grenades?” I asked. He gave me two boxes of the 36 (Mills type) grenade. They were thickly varnished and bore paint splotches in red.

“They’re fused, mind you, set for four seconds,” he warned.

I made an unofficial issue of grenades to all my men who wished to carry them. I kept four for myself, carrying two in each trouser pocket.

Our leaders had spoken glibly of the 88 position. They assured us it would be put out of action long before we got there but we, had heard this sort of thing before and did not believe it.

Assault on Gold beach

Our marines cast off the falls and we were free of our mother ship. Goodbye, Empire Rapier. We shall never see you again, I thought. Sitting uncomfortably upon my folding bicycle, I stared across at the EY on the port side bench. Between us, in the middle, the men in the centre row sat facing forwards, straddling their bench. 2^nd Lt. White sat at the head of the central row, alongside me. He looked young.

The sea was quite lumpy, with waves running about four feet high. One moment you could see a ship, and the next moment it disappeared from sight. Very soon, vomit bags were in heavy use.

The LCA had a double frame filled with foam concrete which, it was said, would float. The sides of the craft were about two feet in thickness and, it was onto this flat upper surface that a man would spring, had he neglected to visit the heads before embarking. Squatting upon his bucket, he became the target of many jibes from our little flotilla.

Our heavy ships fired at the beach, with the sound of scores of express trains hurtling overhead. We could not see over the side from our seats. Now and then, I stood up to take a quick look. 2^nd Loot White dared not scold me but he had plenty to say to his own men if they tried to do this. One marine was stationed directly in front of me in an armoured steel box with vision slits. He steered the craft and would let the ramp down when we beached. The other two marines were at the stern, managing the engines.

Our little group of LCAs was drawing away from the mass of shipping and was steadily plugging away for the land, now visible some five miles away. Several other small groups of LCAs could be seen to port and starboard but not many, it seemed. Not nearly as many as I would have liked to see!

A destroyer moved in very near to us and cut loose with its main armament. It blasted salvoes at the 88 position and hit the houses beyond. They collapsed in smoke and flames. Other craft and rocket ships were pouring a drenching fire upon the beach defences which lay under a heavy pall of smoke. The rumble of explosions never ceased and was getting louder and louder as we approached.

To my right, I was surprised to see a marine taking cover behind the stern of an LCA. He was hanging oddly over the stern, so that only the upper part of his body was clear of the water. Many months later, I read of a marine (Cpl. George Tandy) who had been decorated with the DSM (Distinguished Service Medal) for having steered his craft all the way into the beach with his feet. The steering gear of his LCA had apparently been damaged as the craft was released from the ship. He was dubbed the “human rudder”. And I had thought he was taking cover!

Now I could see our AVRE starting to crawl up the sand, about 800 yards in front of us. Tooze and his two sappers would have landed with it. I was never happy about the plan to send Tooze out in front. What on earth were they supposed to do? A single boat landing at the start of it all would obviously attract the fire of every gun in range. I thought it was a suicide job and I could see that Tooze thought so too, when I had to detail him for it.

The EY were getting excited and many stood to look over the side. 2^nd Loot White said nothing about this now. A shell exploded 50 yards off our port side. I ducked as splinters thumped our craft and we were drenched with drifting spray.

Suddenly, there was a most awful explosion on the beach. A direct hit on our AVRE! It flowered into a gigantic spray of pyrotechnics and an enormous smoke ring. The 88 in the casemate must have hit it and ignited the attached explosives. This was the clearest evidence that all the suppressive fire on the casemate had done nothing to put it out of action. Then the heavy roar of the explosion reached us, across the water. Later, we formed the opinion that Tooze and his two sappers must have been killed while sheltering behind the vehicle when it exploded.

Our LCA travelled those last few yards in a space of time that seemed immeasurable, almost in slow motion.

Small calibre shells or mortars were constantly exploding in the water, and splinters were thumping on the sides of our craft. I watched the marine in his armoured box in front of me. From his activity, I judged that we were getting close. The thunderous noise drowned voices and the firing of individual weapons. The engines slowed and, suddenly, the craft bumped on the sand. We had arrived! Down went the ramp with a crash, and the armoured doors flew open.

Immediately, a burst of automatic fire crackled in, just over our heads. No one was hit. With a yell, 2^nd Loot White sprung to his feet and jumped out into the knee-deep water. To our surprise, he disappeared from sight! He had fallen into a shell hole, obscured by the water. Two stalwarts reached down, seized his shoulder straps and threw him up on to the beach, after which the centre row of men charged out.

When I saw that the port side row of men had also got out, I jumped up, threw the silly folding bicycle away over the side and set off down the ramp at high speed, shouting to my fellow sapper to follow me. On reaching the sand, I turned half left, and aimed directly for the end of the sea wall.

I glanced behind me. The bulk of EY troops were beginning to arrive and these men were running straight up the beach. The machine guns tore into them. Above the crackling in the air, I could hear the dull thuds of bullets striking bodies, reminding me of the noise made by a carpet beater hitting a damp carpet hung out on a clothes line. I ran as fast as possible, threading my way between the beach obstacles.

I had about five hundred yards to go to reach the head of the beach. My slanting course was also taking me four hundred yards to the left, to the end of the seawall. As I flew along, I felt no fear. I must have been burning up all my nervous juices as fast as they were being secreted. In front of me, a bundle of old rags raised its weary head from the sand. It was Johnny Halliday! Landing just before me, Johnny had been hit. Contrary to orders that said that we must stop for nothing, I did stop and bent down to look at him. There was a small wound in the top of his left shoulder. It could have been a superficial wound but if it were a bullet obtained when he was lying down, facing the enemy headlong, then it would likely have penetrated his whole body and there would be no hope for him. All I could do was give him an encouraging word before I raced on, quickly getting into top gear again. I never saw Johnny again and my attempts after the war to trace his fate were unsuccessful.

Within a few yards, I was surprised to meet two screaming, naked men making for the water at high speed. They were hairless, burned bright blue, and wore only smoking boots. I assume they were a tank crew. We passed on opposite courses with never a second glance.

I then picked my way through a zone where many bodies lay. These were evidently machine gun victims, in numbers approaching an entire Company.

This would have been the left-hand assault Company; men who had landed just before us and had felt the full fury of the enemy defence.

I sped along, dodging and ducking, the grenades swinging madly in my pockets. There was no sign of 2 Platoon at all. I wondered if they were sheltering behind the beach obstacles somewhere. Steel helmet bouncing on my nose, I covered the last few yards and collapsed on the sand next to figures in khaki under the sea wall. Panting like a dog, I was shocked to see only half a dozen men there: just the Yorkie CSM and a handful of his men. Where had our invasion gone? Where was 2 Platoon? Where was our officer?

Glancing along the beach, I could see no one else on their feet, only the dead and the dying. There were a few figures scuttling about in the distance, but that was all. The CSM threw what I realised was his last grenade over the wall, so I pulled out a couple more from my pockets and handed them to him.

“Good lad,” gasped the CSM, “let’s give them some more of these buggers!” and he sent them over the wall. I hurled my other two grenades to join them. I also gave the housetops a squirt from my Sten gun, not because I saw any particular target there, but because it seemed the right thing to do.

Enemy fire from the casemate was still pasting the beach. Despite our grenades, its machine guns were firing continuously while the 88 slammed out round after round. Neither we eight men at the seawall nor the enemy in the casemate could fire directly at each other. If we were to peek around the end of the wall, we would surely get our heads blown off. The grenade was the only weapon that stood a chance of penetrating a doorway or other access point.

The few EY lads were tight up against the bottom of the wall. I moved a few yards back, trying to see over the top. Heavy calibre stuff was now dropping on the beach to the west. I turned to look towards where the shells were dropping, and was suddenly felled by an almighty blow on the left shin. I found myself kneeling on my left knee and remembered having seen a mortar burst not far away. I knew that I had collected a mortar fragment. There was no immediate pain but it gradually built up to the kind of feeling you would expect to experience if someone hammered a six-inch nail into your shinbone.

I’ll conclude you with a gentle calming epilogue from my Dad – his thoughts as D-Day came to a close and the troops settled down for the night …

Dad epilogue

Taking our ground sheet from our pack, we spread it out then, using our pack as a pillow, covered ourselves with the gas cape – no chance of a blanket. Since we had had very little sleep for three nights we really should have slept, but it still wouldn’t come. The day’s events, the horrors, the sadness, the things we had seen, kept us awake until we were called to go on guard.

That’s your lot.

So, here’s wishing you a great sixth of June, D-Day 80, however you choose to commemorate it. And if you have no other plans, I hope this episode has helped you to carry out your own personal commemoration in some small way. I’m going to be at the Green Howards museum in Richmond Yorkshire for a very special day so I hope to share something of that with you at some point. Right now I’m probably at a very early morning church service, followed by breakfast, hopefully something other than bully beef and hard tack biscuits.

If you feel moved to listen to the full episodes pertaining to the passages, I’ve put details in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening. See you in episode 101 for the Fighting Through podcast anniversary special

I’d like to leave you with an important message, one that I’ve shared before,  particularly for younger listeners. The German people are no longer the enemy. Despite stuff you might have heard in this memoir, please remember that every bit of it is in the past and happened 80 years ago and counting.

Hatred and grudges heal with time and I can’t ever recall my Dad saying anything that amounted to hate against the Germans, even if he might have thought plenty during the war. And if you want to hear a bit more about the German perspective on the fighting, you’ve got to catch up with my earlier episodes, Through German Eyes – highly recommended and very popular!

I hope that’s given us all a lot of food for thought about what our fathers, grandfathers and even great grandfathers went through to secure the rights and freedoms we enjoy today. Let’s not spurn them. There’s a great cartoon featured in the episode artwork from the Mirror newspaper. There’s a copy of it in dad’s box of souvenirs. It’s a pic of a weary, bruised and bandaged soldier holding a laurel crown labelled Peace and Victory in Europe and he’s saying “Here it is and don’t lose it again!”

I’m Paul Cheall …

Books:

Fighting Through from Dunkirk to Hamburg – Bill Cheall:

https://amzn.to/3KpppQq

The Trials and Tribulations of a D-Day landing on Omaha Beach – BBC People’s War –

Published Memoir: The Untold Story by William Hershel Nelson:

https://amzn.eu/d/364xd3G

Brian Moss in Mines, Bombs, Bullets and Bridges: A Sapper's Second World War Diary – by Mike Moss:

https://amzn.to/4ehXIqu

D-Day Episodes mentioned:

Bill Cheall: Episode 3

William Hershel Nelson: Episode 99

Eric Clarke: Episode 42 D-Day 75 - Landing Craft Tank in WWII - Eric Clark D-Day veteran memoir

Brian Moss: Episodes 2, 3 and 13

Through German Eyes in the Second World War: Episodes 46/47

Other D-Day/Normandy episodes:

https://www.fightingthroughpodcast.co.uk/category/d-day/