Fighting Through Podcast Episode 99 OMAHA HEROES  - more WW2 Stories –

More great unpublished history!

Intros

Intro Passage 1 ww2 memoirs

To my amazement, I saw three Panzer tanks almost upon where I lay. One of the tanks was nearly on to my slit trench when he started to fire at my chums.

Intro Passage 2 ww2 podcasts

Dad went off the end of the ramp and straight to the bottom.  He immediately lost his machine gun and helmet.  

Intro Passage 3 ww2 memoirs

I made a dash for a huge hole and jumped in. I was just in front of another man and he landed on top of me, a very large man who completely covered my body.

Intro Passage 4 wwii story

Dad looked up and noticed the large mine dangling from the obstacle he was hiding under, and he decided that he needed to quickly hide somewhere else.

Welcome to this ww2 podcast

Hello again and another 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 read family stories, memoirs, and interviews with veterans in all the countries and all the forces. I dare you to listen!

Today,

My aim with this episode is to give you an insight into individual stories. I'm going to try to keep them in a degree of chronological order as events unfolded throughout the day - and I'm going to let each individual story tell the history, in the most part.

Backstory

Omaha Beach was one of five beach landing sectors for the Normandy invasion, Operation Overlord.

The beach was a 4 mile section of the coast of Normandy, stretching from Port en Bessin to Vierville sur Mer.

Cliffs and a grassy ridge were the dominant and natural defensive features behind the beach and the German fortifications were strong.

Taking Omaha was the job of United States Army troops, with sea transport and a naval bombardment force provided predominantly by the United States Navy and Coast Guard, with contributions from the British, Canadian and Free French navies.

The American untested 29th Infantry Division, along with nine companies of U.S. Army Rangers assaulted the western half of the beach. The battle-hardened 1st Infantry Division was given the eastern half.

Unfortunately almost all the floating DD tanks launched at sea capsized before they got near the beach and the advanced air and naval bombardment had largely failed to soften up the German defences so the first wave of troops landing on the beach came under very heavy fire. The second wave suffered the same fate.

Progress was slow but eventually the Americans fought their way up the cliffs and began to move inland, eventually getting a mile and a half deep at the cost of over 2000 casualties.

Landings were intended to link the British landings to the east at Gold with the American landing to the west at Utah, and provide a continuous lodgement on a major portion of the Normandy coast.

Opposing the landings on the 33 mile front of Normandy was the German 352nd Infantry Division. With 12,000 men more than half of which were experienced combat troops.

American troops had been established in England for a couple of years for training. But he's a short story from the BBC website about how one particular individual arrived in England

Arriving

Warren allen smith - BBC

After zigzagging across the Atlantic Ocean from New York City, my Victory Ship landed in Liverpool. My M.A. is in literature, so it was special to know I was at last on the island where so many of the authors lived that I had taught.

An acting 1st Sergeant, I helped lead my company down the gangplank and got a glimpse of a cop, uh, a bobby. But he only directed us to a nearby train, and we took our seats after hearing that we must pull the window blinds down because we would be traveling through a blackout area.

For hours the train traveled on and on, one rumor being that we were in London, another that we had turned around and were going back to Liverpool. At daybreak, the train stopped. And when we exited we learned we were in Southampton. After only a few steps, however, we were directed to the H.M.S. Rangitata (how could I ever forget such a name), and I estimate that the total number of steps I took in England must have been fewer than 100.

Off to Omaha Beach, wherever that was - some place in France, I guessed.

In 1994 I returned, along with President and Mrs. Clinton, Queen Elizabeth, and numbers of dignitaries. I really should have returned again in 2004, this time spending a little more time in the land of one of my ancestors, Thomas Blogate of Haughley (wherever that is), who was born in 1490.

For some photos, see PHOTO GALLERY on my home page:

http://wasm.us

The beaches

Just around 11 am on the beaches of Omaha....

At the height of the battle, when disaster seemed like a real possibility, Col. George Taylor, commander of the division’s lead assault regiment on D-Day, risked death to walk along the beach and motivate his soldiers to continue the fight. His words were the inspiration for the title of McManus’ book.

“Only two kinds of people are going to be on this beach,” Taylor said, “the dead and those who are going to die. Now get moving!”

Family story – Earl R Parker - military history podcasts

This leads me into a story from Jerard Parker who said:

Hello Paul, 

I would be very pleased for you to use my Dad’s Omaha experiences on your podcast.  

In a way, this is very fitting, as his 100th birthday would have been May 11th (he passed at age 91 in 2016).

Please let me know if I can assist you in any way or attempt to provide you with more info.

Many blessings to you and your family, especially considering your father’s lengthy service with such a historically distinguished regiment.  

—Jerard Parker

My Dad, Earl R. Parker, was a machine gunner in Company M, 3rd Battalion, 16th Infantry, 1st Division…also known as the Big Red One.  He landed on Omaha at H-Hour, D-Day.

He initially tried to enter the Marines, but was rejected for poor eyesight.  Determined, he somehow got ahold of an Army eye chart and memorized it so he could get in.  Since he had some college under his belt already and could type, the recruiter pressured him to become a clerk-typist.  “Typist, HELL!  I wanna be a fightin’ man!!” he replied.  He would get his wish.

After training in England, Dad crossed the Channel on the HMS Empire Anvil and, despite the rough weather, was not at all seasick.  Yet, he was seasick almost the entire voyage from the US to England.

“Did you finally get your sea legs?” I asked him once.

“No, my ass was too tight,” was his reply.

While on the landing craft headed into the beach, one of Dad’s best friends, private James Steinberger of Wisconsin, told a corporal “I’m gonna get killed and never see a German.”  The corporal, a veteran of North Africa and Sicily, tried to reassure James.

I can’t remember if the coxswain driving their landing craft was hit or if he simply got scared at the amount of landing craft being blown apart around them, but whatever the reason, he dropped the ramp early.

Dad went off the end of the ramp and straight to the bottom.  He immediately lost his machine gun and helmet.  Fighting to keep from drowning, he removed almost everything else…except his .45, which he couldn’t get off.

Finally making it out of the water, he took cover behind a beach obstacle.  He then looked back just in time to see Pvt. Steinberger come charging up out of the water.  No sooner did Steinberger make it onto the beach than he was stitched across the middle by a machine gun burst.  He didn’t even react, and ran several more steps before falling, dead before he hit the sand.  I don’t know if he had a premonition or what, but he indeed never saw a German.

About that time, Dad looked up and noticed the large mine dangling from the obstacle he was hiding under, and he decided that he needed to quickly hide somewhere else.

Grabbing a blue Navy helmet from the beach and gathering whatever weapons he could find, he and the other men around him pushed forward to the shingle on Fox Green.

At the shingle it was determined that they didn’t have enough weapons and ammo to keep pushing forward, so Dad volunteered with some others to RUN BACK ON TO OMAHA BEACH (multiple times!) to gather more weapons and ammo.  His actions would later earn him a Bronze Star with a “V” for Valor.

Finally making their way off the beach, they captured their first pillbox and the Germans inside came out with their hands up.  These were the first Germans Dad had seen up close, and, frightened, he drew his waterlogged pistol to cover them.  Unfortunately, his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Finally, one of the other guys in his group told him “Parker, put that goddamn gun down before you either shoot one of us or squirt water on those poor Germans!” Dad complied.

And thus began Dad’s combat career, a literal baptism of fire.  He would fight across France, Belgium, and into Germany before being wounded by a tree burst November 18, 1944 in the Hurtgen Forest.  Around Thanksgiving of 1944, the hospital he was in in Liege, Belgium was hit by a V1 rocket and Dad was sent back to England.

After recuperating, he was mercifully reassigned to SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force) as a clerk-typist.  He was present outside SHAEF HQ in Reims, France as German Gen. Alfred Jodl and company goose-stepped in to sign the surrender.  While everyone else celebrated, Dad cried, because now no more of his buddies had to die.

Jerard adds “I tell that story a lot, both because it’s worth retelling, and so I won’t forget it.  And a shout out from Jerard – “Thanks to some of Dr. John McManus’s excellent books on the Big Red One and Omaha Beach, I’ve been able to connect some dots.  

We also re-discovered all of Dad’s photos and letters home two years ago; we thought they had been lost during a move.

Jerard thanks so much for that brilliant story about your dad Earl R Parker. How proud you must be of him.

An English Corporal on Omaha Beach by nostalgicW – BBC

Just before we get too far off the beaches, here’s a short story of the small part just one Brit played in the Omaha landings.

This is from the BBC pw site about Arthur Reginald Greenleaf, posted by his son. It’s called an English Corporal on Omaha Beach, posted 20 years ago!

Location of story:

Royal Air Force

17 June 2004

My father became a corporal in the RAF. Unable to fly as the result of a burst ear drum, he was sent to Omaha, Normandy on secondment to one of the first American units to land on French soil on 6th June 1944. After weeks of preparation on the south coast, although nervous, he was glad when the order to invade was given. After crossing the Channel overnight and spending several hours in a landing craft he was so seasick he couldn't wait to get to dry land.

His job was to take a radio truck, land on the beach and be responsible for vectoring in the bombers. Unfortunately, the truck was blown up almost as soon as he landed, so he had no job to do except survive. According to my father some "brass hat in Whitehall" had instructed the RAF unit to wear dress blue by way of showing the flag. Unfortunately, RAF dress blue is similar to the German field grey and in the confusion of battle he was under attack from both the Americans and the Germans. Therefore, as soon as he could emerge from his fox hole he swapped his uniform with that of a dead American GI and survived the day until he was shipped back to the UK to be resupplied with another truck.

Reviews

The following people kindly left show reviews in various places:

Review 2 GoldenRodder – sent in via Apple Podcast reviews

A Grandfather’s excerpt.

I’m writing to tell you a quick story about my grandfather. I was able to interview him before his passing in 2009. He landed at D-Day+6. He was in a replacement company. He said that they would go out on patrols to keep busy before being assigned. On one patrol, they took fire from a farmhouse - all the guys from the patrol shot at the house and when the firing stopped, they went in to investigate. It was a woman and she had sniped at them from a ventilation crawlspace. My grandfather‘s patrol had killed her - it was particularly hard for him to talk about the fact that he had taken part in the killing of a woman – and it affected him greatly.

Review 3

My Favorite Podcast

I have a rather monotonous job operating heavy equipment in a rock quarry and listen to many podcasts to pass the time. The Fighting Through Podcast is by far my favorite and it feels like Christmas when I see another episode has dropped. I have purchased and enjoyed your dad’s book as well as a couple others that you have recommended and am even having a French friend of mine bring me a bottle of Calvados on his next trip to the States. Thank you very much your excellent work.

 Rich Wagner

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@chrisdaniels4674  • 4 hours ago

(Ep 98) My grandpa was WW2 scout sniper.   He was in Pearl Harbor on December 8th and then seen action in Okinawa.  Marine.

He talked me out of joining the military.

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Hi Paul great podcast my grandad died North Africa Tunisia on the 9th of April 1943

Reuben Victor Brazil

Trooper 410956

Royal Armoured Corps

2nd Squadron Armoured Brigade

But I am struggling to find out any information about him if you can help me with anything I would be very grateful thank you Jay

Feedback 3 Bo Powers

Your Podcast has kept me company when I travel across Texas,  USA   This year, not only have I enjoyed the content, I have learned a lot about WWII I didn’t know. Thank you!

Feedback 4 Donald Rutherford

Philadelphia, PA 19116

USAF 1978-82…..back when we had an Air Force, not an Air Farce like we do under this regime that stole power in 2020.

Thank you VERY MUCH for all you do. Is the book available on Amazon? If not, could you please tell me how to order please?

Thank you, Sir

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Richard Lord • 5 months ago

Chelt Thompson • 8 months ago

Amazing podcast, absolutely brilliant content. One critic is there is far to much attention to other topics before the main stories. Hard to skip through and find the good stuff. Avid listener. 

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Buy me a coffee

News:

A quick bit of news about the buy me a coffee feature on the website. I am really thrilled to announce  a new feature. Video replies.

Starting today I can reply to any buy me a coffee donations with a quick video. It might be a video of my hedgehog or my dog but more likely myself. Or it just might be of the freshly born ducklings in my garden if you hit the right time of year, probably June. I'll try to look my best and smile but regret I won't be including a PS, all will I?

So from now on if you buy me a coffee or a calvados through buy me a coffee, I'll send you a quick thank You video. Bye for now!

Thank you guys, all of you

The Journey inland –

The Trials and Tribulations of a D-Day landing on Omaha Beach. by Ben_Nelson

Over to the main feature now

How do you cover the ground in a country to make sure there are no enemy left in the villages and towns? Because the Cherbourg peninsula wasn’t empty of enemy. And it wasn’t short of German weapons and tanks, soldiers and snipers.

Well this extract from PFC William Hershall Nelson found on the BBC peoples’ war website goes some way to help us understand what the task was like over 28 days of battle. This isn’t just an anecdote – it’s a serious sized chapter of memoir written by this chap.W H Nelson

Hello All,

My name is Benjamin Nelson and this story is about my grandfather, William Hershall Nelson. Although he was an American citizen he is in my opinion a real WW2 Veteran, having survived the landing on Omaha Beach and several further battles inland.

It is with great pleasure that I have been able to persuade him to write his story of this terrible time and to able to submit his true life experiences of WW2 for the benefit of all those whom can relate to this terrible time in our history.

I hope that you all can relate to his story and learn that at the end of the day war accomplishes nothing but death and heartache for all parties involved.

Enjoy the story.

“Chapter Five: The Journey Inland

- William Hershall Nelson

There was not one soldier among the company who did not look dirty, tired and stressed. Two full days we had gone without sleep, food or comfort of any kind and I think this is what brought the men through the hell we'd faced. From greenhorns to veteran soldiers in two days. Not bad considering we, or most of the men were in their teens. The whole company went about two miles inland and well away from the beach before we found a safe place to settle for the night. Sentries were posted for there was always the chance of a counter attack as so many Germans had fled the beach. A new captain had taken over command of the company and with his permission we all fell out to find a place of rest and as a few supplies of C rations turned up, we also had a small tin of meat as well.

A trickle of blood started to ooze from the wound in my leg again, so without [further] ado I re-dressed it and with the water from my canteen wiped the blood away from my skin and as I also felt sticky around my forehead reaching above, I slipped my helmet off. I’m sorry to say I said a few bad words.

My finger went into a jagged hole that brought blood streaming from my finger. Looking closely at my headgear, I could not understand when it had occured. With amazement I looked at the hole that went in one side and the large torn hole, where the missile came out. I never knew a thing about this, only that if what had hit my helmet had gone an inch lower I would not be alive to tell this tale.

Having made myself a place to rest I leaned back against a very large tree and before anyone could say "Jack Robinson", I was in a deep sleep, but when I say a deep sleep I’m telling lies for all of my combat days (and nights) I can honestly say there was never a time that I slept peacefully.

 I always became dead tired, but there was always the restless sleep. If I told you I had a lovely kip, this meant I did not have a nightmare. Omaha and all the land around it for miles inland had one thing in common. Large and middle sized fields, with hedgerows running around them, about three or four foot high and separating one from the other. They also had a large old wooden gate that kept the animals from straying. This area of land also had many a German sniper in it that we found to our sorrow.

The Germans were very crafty and to slow the Americans up, they left a man here and there to kill without being seen, and many a man found to his sorrow, he had walked into an ambush. I do not know how long I slept that night but it's just as well someone nudged me awake, for I was having nightmares. As I opened my eyes I saw my friend Stubs, he was pointing to Sergeant Bowchamp in the background. He had been our cook in peacetime but now instead of cooking, he was fighting. I suppose it was unfair in a way he had not been on the route marches, or the endurance tests that we were put through, but was the master in the canteen. How he survived the beach landing I'll never know, but if I had been lucky, well why not [him] as well.

The sun had come up quite early that morning and while I had been sleeping, the sergeant had been looking around the vicinity for something to eat. He was looking here and there and at long last made a hasty grab at something with bright red feathers. The chicken never stood a chance, but how the dickens did he expect to cook it? He'd already figured this out and was busy lighting a small fire as I watched with fascination. As the fire got hotter, he had plucked the chicken and put it in his water filled helmet, which he placed on the fire.

Gunfire sounded just to the left of me and I glanced that way, losing interest in what the Sergeant was doing, but almost instantly I looked his way again and as I did so another shot was heard. He raised the cooked bird in the air and shouting with glee, had ripped off one of its half cooked legs and was just putting it into his mouth as another shot was heard.

He fell onto the fire, spilling the water from his helmet and the look of amazement on his face was there for all to see. The German sniper who killed him was in the opposite field in a high tree and had been waiting patiently for the right target and poor Bowchamp became it. The sniper finally felt he would be undetected and chose the Sergeant for his target. He probably would’ve got away with it, if birds had not flown from the tree. Thus making it obvious where the shot had come from. By the time he fell from the tree I'll bet he had about two pounds of copper in him. This made us all more aware and on the alert for snipers. There was no more sleep for anyone this day, so we all formed into groups, collected our rations for the day and was soon on the move.

Sometime later a farmhouse was seen in the distance and we were on the long winding dusty road that led past it. As we got closer the building looked very ancient and had a thatched roof that I'd never seen before. The ground was very wet as it had been raining heavily sometime before and this was where I saw my first dead civilian. The corpse of a women lay half in and half out of a huge puddle and as for her age I could only guess, for a tank had run across her head, and the smell of death was everywhere.

Horses and cows lay bloated, with the dead woman as well, the air made one sick to breathe. I was with the leading group of soldiers and had just passed the corpse when the officer in charge beckoned that he wanted me, so I left the soldiers I was with to slowly join him. "Nelson he said, as you are one of my scouts, I want two men and yourself to go into this old house, search for any enemy and if one is found take him alive if possible”. With his last words, two other men were selected and the three of us left the outfit to enter the old building. The front door had only one hinge holding it up; pulling it open we saw a long corridor with a stairway on its left.

Always having our guns at the ready another door was noticed. This door led to the cellar, under the building. Slowly, very slowly the three of us crept down the four steps. We three were amazed, for the whole room was lit up like daylight. Then I saw the generator working in the corner and knew where the supply of electricity was coming from. What did surprise us though was two men and a woman sitting at a table, all three as drunk as hell. The two men had Nazi uniforms on and were presumed to be of high rank. Tying the Germans hands together we led them up the steps of the cellar, but as we opened the door a shot rang out as a German was waiting for us to emerge. We were lucky for we were prepared and as he shot so did us all. His bullet hit one of the prisoners and ours hit its target.

So two men died in this gun battle one a German in the room and the other upstairs. We left the woman sitting at the table as we guided our prisoner up the steps. PFC Alfred was lagging behind and as we got outside he showed us about three bottles of wine he’d picked up. It did not take us long before we returned to our company and handed over the prisoners and our report of events transpired. [And the wine? – Ed]

Through one field then another, forever onwards or at least it seemed that way. The odd civilian was seen scurrying along the wet muddy road, sometimes smiling, but mostly waving their hands about, bowing to us as we went past and the occasional flower was thrown, but everybody had to be on the alert, for sometimes they threw rocks. To the left and right of my position I was able to see a long line of soldiers all walking forward. Each man was about two hundred yards apart, stopping occasionally to search for the enemy.

It had been quite a normal day, which went to prove the enemy was somewhere in front of us. In front of me about a quarter of a mile ahead I saw a man run across a field. From a distance I could see he carried a large object, which I made out to be a gun. I then saw two other men follow and a short time later a volley of gunfire rang out. I ran across two fields and slowed down at the third, for this was where I had seen the men. At that time I was not able to tell if they were Germans or friends.

I stooped over, and following the hedgerow, crawled along its side, stopping only when I came to the large lopsided gate. Stopping for a moment just before the opening I pulled up my leggings to see what my leg looked like. It was bleeding quite a lot but a bandage stopped the flow of blood. I then peered into the next field and again I can thank my lucky stars, for if I had walked around and into the field I most certainly would have died.

Lying, almost on top of each other, I saw two men and beside them a third man lie. They were the bar men (a large semi-automatic rifle on tripods) and these were the men I had seen in the distance. All three men were nearly facing me and one man’s helmet was literally torn from his head where the bullets had struck him. I can remember this so clearly as I knew these men very well. I could also see the gold watch the gunner wore, but this man’s name was not Dick or Harry. His real name was Ralph America.

I slowly stood up beside a tree stump on top of the hedge to see a grass-topped pillbox. This was so concealed I understood why it was not located and what happened. I could not bring these men back to life, but still made sure no one was alive by calling out their names, but got no response. I had no way of telling anyone about this death trap, but had plenty of time to make sure everyone would see it.

The men were not allowed to use naked flames during night-time fighting, but were allowed to use a cigarette lighter, only this had no flame, only a burning wick. I made a torch out of dead grass and blowing on the wick I was able to set it alight. I then threw the burning grass into the debris around the lethal pillbox. To my delight my plan worked perfectly, in fact too dam perfectly for the whole area in the field burned so quickly I had just enough time to backtrack out the way and come in before the whole field was alight. I often wonder even today how the men in the concrete box behaved, but I'll never know.

Making my way back to the platoon took me a considerable time and by the time I rejoined my company it was getting towards evening. I was so tired my feet felt as if they were falling off and I had to put another bandage over the shrapnel wound on my left leg, for there was a slight trickle of blood forming again on my skin. I came to a small-pebbled stream flowing under an old wooden bridge and decided that now was the time to have a nice quiet rest. As I was taking my shoe off, one of my buddies sat down beside me and said, "Where the hell have you been all day". I looked at him in amazement and when I had told him of what I had done, he said, "Well I'll be damned". We bathed our feet, had a wash and while each of us had turns on lookout the other had a catnap.

We were here for quite a long spell and it was getting dark as we made the journey back to the company. We dug two deep holes and gingerly crawled into them for the night.

The hedged fields of Normandy were gradually disappearing and as time went by the odd farmhouse came into view. The odd field of cows still remained, but the desolation was plainer to see. I cannot recollect ever seeing a huge gathering of people, only the odd peasant and whenever I approached a person, I got the uncanny impression I was not welcome. The sidewalks of the towns were alive with people, yelling "Viva La America” and throwing flowers at us, and the odd potato.

Then came the task of clearing the street and searching for the odd sniper. This sometimes was not what I would call a picnic, for I had begun to distrust all the residents in each town we went into; and I remembered this town very well. I went in a house with another soldier and we started to search the rooms. Every room in the house searched lacked any people so we went downstairs and tried the cellar door. It had been locked so my buddy Peter smashed the door down and as it fell down Peter was shot in the arm. Without hesitating I pulled the pin from a hand grenade, throwing it in as my wounded friend and I fell to the floor for safety.

We both got up after the explosion and left the building quite satisfied the problem had been taken care of. In any case I had to find the nearest medic for my friend. It turned out to be not as bad a gunshot wound as the both of us feared. I’m sure Peter was expecting to be released from active service, but after being treated he was sent back to join his unit. It was a long time before we were satisfied, but some hours later the town would be considered clean. Then when our job was considered done, the Military Police arrived to take over and we were more or less told to carry on winning the war.

When a person cannot talk French or German, it is impossible to read sign posts to tell where you are. It is therefore easy to understand I only knew [So all I knew was] I was fighting a war in France but the route we were taking I never knew. I did know, however, that we were not far from the coastline and we were going to a place called Cherbourg.

[Listener you might recall the adventures of PFC Prince in episodes 56 onwards. He was headed to Cherbourg. Often referred to as the Cherbourg peninsula – the bit that sticks out at the far west coast of Normandy – there’s a map at the web site under the episode 56 transcript.]

There are many ways a soldier can die and it's not always by the enemy. The whole company was following a pathway along the side of a forest of pine trees and talking softly amongst ourselves. Just in front of us a huge towering fir tree was blown into the air to fall among the leading men. The whole company knew that within seconds the whole area would be shelled. Knowing full well the old saying, "You never retreat, only withdraw", we threw this saying to the wind and ran like hell. Yes we did retreat! The company was to learn later on that it was not the enemy firing the big guns it became another error by our own forces. They were using the mighty 155’s on our own troops.

Going back a considerable distance, we all lay behind a huge ditch as the shelling continued. Quite a while later the shelling ceased and we again formed a line to go back to where the giant tree had fallen. The Sergeant wanted to see if any of the men missing from our unit were still alive. The entire area where we had been had large holes in the earth and trees lying criss-crossed everywhere. We found Corporal Stone dead just before the large spruce tree and he had not a mark on him. He had died from the concussion.

Everyone in the company pulled the dead pine limbs away from the huge stem of the tree to expose another three of our chums. I will never forget the men who died that day, for they were very good friends of mine, and we had survived the Omaha Beach landing. The fate of these brave men was pushed to the back of my mind, for if I had broken down at every death I saw, I would not have survived the war.

Many times in the bloody battles I took part in there always seemed to be one building that was untouched. The bombing and artillery only seemed to scrape the outside shell off of the buildings. These were beautiful old grey stoned churches, standing always alone with other buildings fallen down around them. This is a wonderful sight to see, but the Germans also took advantage of these sacred places. It was not unknown for the Jerry’s to leave a sniper in the upper most part of the church and more often than not the unseen man would succeed in claiming at least one life.

As the days went by I seemed to get less and less sleep. Adding to this with hardly any food or drink, lack of a bath and nothing but death all around, I dug in that night, feeling very low in spirit and although I felt tired I found it very hard to sleep and hoped to God that on this night I would forget about the war. No such thing happened and I tossed and turned all night but at long last I must have fallen asleep.

The company awoke the following morning and gathered together for our orders. We then walked in a staggered line about five hundred yards apart until we saw the blue of the ocean. We followed the coastline for a while then veered inland. The day was very peaceful, hardly a sound was heard, but in the distance I could just make out the silhouette of men running here and there. To the right of these on a hill stood a real old thatched building. I very quickly rushed forward and told the officer in command what I had seen.

He immediately took the field hand phone to tell the top commander in the rear the situation. As he was on the phone all hell broke loose. The first shell exploded about fifty yards to my left, then another a bit closer. I'd been in this situation before and as I started to run, so did the rest of the platoon. There was a bush here and there and a long hedgerow where some of the company went behind for cover. The rest of us started to dig foxholes and deep trenches to get where the enemy could not see us. Everyone knew where the danger lay, it was coming from the huge building, but we could not destroy it without outside help. The soldiers were saved from being slaughtered because the officer who had got a message through by phone had told them about the building.

All at once the old house was not there anymore. It had a barrage of artillery shells hitting it and pieces of the old wooden building were flying everywhere. This, however, did not cause the shelling to cease only now the American shells were going over our heads, and the enemy artillery was doing the same. They both were trying to silence each other. This gave our company time to get out of our holes and following each other we ran like hell across the field to the left of us and up a small dirt road to find shelter from these big guns.

That afternoon we got a message from headquarters that we were to halt the forward march we were on, find a place of refuge and wait for further orders. The platoon broke up, and each soldier found a comfortable place to stretch out on, but mostly to take off our heavy boots and have a good rest. A short time later, we were told to dig in, for we were to stay in this place for quite some time. We then proceeded to dig deep foxholes and some like myself were so tired we dug slit trenches instead. The ground where the platoon rested was as hard as brick, but at long last I was satisfied with the depth and putting my shovel away, rolled over into it. The hole was not too deep so I was able to sit in the trench and look over the top. I was tired when I started to dig and when finished I closed my eyes to fall into a deep sleep. Not long after I woke to feel a slight vibration in the ground. Slightly rolling on my side, I was able to glance out of my place of refuge, only to roll quickly back again.

>>> 

To my amazement, I saw three Panzer tanks almost upon where I lay. As I was hiding in my hole and had not been seen, it was obvious I had picked the right place to dig. One of the tanks was nearly on to my slit trench when he started to fire at my chums. I actually looked out of the top of the hole I was laying in and looked up the side of the giant panzer.

>>> 

I lay deadly still and as I rolled over a little, the large muddy grey tank drove over the top of my place of concealment. If I hadn't had my helmet on at the time, I'm sure my hair would have stood on end. The panzer going over me proved how hard the soil was and as for myself, I stayed where I was for a long time before I very gingerly got out of there. The tanks had been long gone and in leaving had blown holes in the earth everywhere, but what annoyed me more was why we weren't warned beforehand.

Everyone who had dug in got out of the holes they had dug long before the tanks arrived on the scene. The only explanation I could arrive at was they couldn't wake me up! As before, we had all gathered again to reform the line and walk up a long dusty road and as we trod along there was an artillery barrage being fought out. The German eighty-eights were going over the top of us and from the other direction came the one fifty-fives, (the whispering deaths) both seemed to be landing about a mile either side of us.

We were walking up a long hill, tired and weary and not really expecting anything to happen, when a German soldier  ran across the road about five hundred yards in front of the column. I bet nearly everyone treading up that road fired at him and believe it or not, not one bullet hit him. In fact I can see it now, when he flung himself into the undergrowth at the other side of the road, he turned quickly to put two fingers up and disappeared into the bushes.

It had been a funny old day with the tanks and the lucky German, but the day again was coming to a close, so we pulled up alongside the road to find another place to spend the night and make plans for the coming day. Every time the bright sun passed over the horizon and the large moon arose to bathe the earth in shadows, became time to thank the good Lord for another day. I believe that everyman that fought with me on Omaha Beach was a true veteran, not just because he made the landing and survived. The stress he went through was astonishing and he deserved the highest award given to a man, for the service to his country. I thought of all of this and at long last I fell into a very deep sleep. On this particular night our Sergeant made a most horrible mistake that was to claim the lives of four of the brave men in the company. I suppose owing to tiredness he forgot one of the great codes of war. Always protect your rear flank but he forgot to put out sentries.

I awoke a few times that night to hear the odd snore coming from a foxhole just beside me, but other than this I felt reasonably safe, that is until I was awaken at the break of day by shouting, and looking out of my refuge, I saw two of my friends gazing down into the hole next to mine. One of the men was so upset, he was crying and calling out the names of the men in the hole, and the men standing beside him were shouting over and over again, "the dirty bastards", and raising his rifle in the air was firing it.

We at first looked to see if the sentry had survived and then was told none had been posted on duty that evening. Any other time a man would have been put on charge for this error of stupid judgement. Being in enemy territory they deemed it as just another mistake, so we learned a very costly lesson and one that should never happen again. We did find out later that a German patrol had passed that way during the night and finding no sentry it became a gift from the Gods and they took it. All four men were bayoneted whilst they slept, but I did not realise till later on that day that my hole was next in line and I often wonder why the Germans did not carry on the slaughter.

The weather had got worse and was wet and windy as the company regrouped to go forward, but we left the area with the medics on hand to take care of the wounded men. The rain literally poured down and got worse as the day went on and as not one of the soldiers had proper rainwear we all got soaked to the skin and felt tired, depressed and fed up with this damn war. About an hour later the heavy rains abated, leaving a slight drizzle and some mist in the air. We all saw the trees in the distance and the whole company walked very slowly toward them, hoping to find shelter of sorts from the elements. One hundred yards from the woods, the man on my left fell to the ground as we heard a rifle shot.

There were four of us scouting that day and as we heard the rifle shot the other three flung themselves to the ground, as all hell broke loose. With the rest of the company following behind and not far from the trees, only one thing could happen and this must mean casualties. Men began to scream and others tried to find a rift in the ground to crawl into and return the rifle fire coming from the woods, but it was like shooting at shadows and all the time the Americans could not go forward or back. Three of the remaining scouts were nearer to the tree edge than the main group of men, so we slithered and crawled into the outskirt of tress and lay with our backs to a stump.

Looking back from where we lay we could make out the many dark shapes that lay on the earth, but many were still firing towards the woods and I'm sure they could not see anyone, only trees. It was a hopeless task and without a miracle things looked very bleak. This was exactly the same as the Omaha landing we were again sitting ducks. I've heard the old expression that if you pray long enough your prayers will be answered and I think that everyone on that day prayed for the same thing and so it happened.

The three of us under the tree were kneeling in a pool of wet, cold and slimy mud when we heard a loud humming noise, coming from the field behind us. Then in the distance I just made out the shape of a huge tank, coming up the long dusty road. Its turret moving from left to right and beside this tank another appeared I counted three in all. The prayers we'd asked for had been answered for they were our own Sherman tanks. The vehicles came through the space between the hedgerows and stopped facing the trees. There turrets swung left and all the guns opened fire. I thanked my lucky stars that they were not pointing in our direction, but they were near enough for the striking shells to blow debris into our place of concealment.

 One foolish German came from the woods to aim an anti-tank shell at the Shermans. He never stood a chance, for as he emerged from his place of concealment, one of the shells hit him and he just disappeared. All at once all the noise of firing ceased, for the enemy all drew back into the undergrowth and as we were the closest to them we got to our feet and ever so slowly followed after them. The large Shermans had certainly changed the situation for now instead of being on the receiving end, the Jerries were getting more then we had received.

The afternoon was nearly gone as everyone entered the undergrowth and left the good old medic to tend to the sick and dying and this was to take a very long time. No resistance was met for the Germans had drawn all their troops back, leaving an empty forest, but for the odd sniper to contend with. Many a good man had died this day and there was no holding back those that wanted revenge and they would die to achieve and pay back the Germans for this ambush.

It was not a large forest as we expected it to be, but a large tract of woods. It was not long before we came out the other side of the trees and were amazed to see the Germans with their hands above their heads waving a white flag frantically in the air. I do not think there was too much elation over this victory, for most of the men wanted revenge for the killing of their mates. Nobody can say with any certainty, but I do believe that everyone that surrendered did not live to gloat over what they had achieved. Not everyone gave up during this battle, for many a German went across to the next field to disappear and fight again.

The majority of these men were the old guards, the SS, the hard core of the German army. We had all lost very close soldier friends this day, but this was happening every day and we knew that one day it had to be yours truly, but we were too damn tired to care. We would leave this place in France as just another memory but in the meantime we had at least another three quarters of Normandy to walk through and needed to get to our resting place and shelter for the night. The usual routine was performed the following morning arising and receiving our orders for the day. We split up in a group of five to go along a valley toward a high field that stood in the distance. I was in the lead for about two miles and beckoned the other four to keep following the route along the lower ground. I chose to go up the side of the hill to about half way to keep my eyes open for any sign of the enemy. I found this worked quite well, for I saw the four at the bottom and as they could work from the base, I could see everything from above.

Nothing unusual occurred until we reached the end of the valley and as I was above and leading quite a distance in front, I saw the large house first. The four soldiers at the bottom of the hill could not see it or realise a group of Germans had seen them and gone into the large building to await their coming. No way could I warn them, for to do that would surely jeopardise my own life. I had hardly any time to make a decision, but in a flash it came to me, attack the house.

In my cartridge belt was six full cases of ammunition (each case was a bullet container) and in each one had been put a tracer shell, then a live shell. I lay on the ground to aim at the top window and fired my first bullet. The noise plus the tracer flame overhead made my buddies below stop to look where the noise came from. The tracer bullet acted as an arrow pointing out where I was to fire the next shot. Then a live shot was fired and as I fired the second tracer I knew that each round I fired was going into the upstairs room. I emptied the case full of bullets, reloaded and kept firing into the open space until smoke came out of the window and I knew that the place was on fire. I waited for a short time after the fire started and what I expected happened and oh boy, were they in for a surprise.

While I was carrying out my mission of setting the house ablaze, the whole rear guard had stationed themselves behind three trees that nestled in the grounds of the old house. The next few minutes were nerve racking, and I could not be sure that the enemy I last saw remained in the confines of the house.

They could have gone out the other side and were hiding in other parts of the large yard. The fire was coming out of the building and the whole top of the house was now burning furiously. I could now hear, from where I lay hidden, the sound of falling timber and slowly making my way down the hill and skirting a large bush, I was just in time to see and hear the Germans as they ran out of the door, shooting at everything that moved. As they shot unluckily, they gunned down one of our men, but they really had no chance at all. It was just a gamble on their part, but we held all the aces.

The battle was over in about five minutes, leaving about twelve Germans dead on the ground and one was taken captive. This turned out to be a high-ranking officer. He was returned to the nearest army headquarters without delay and the four survivors, including yours truly, received congratulations for our bravery.

The enemy front line was about two miles in front of us, so we had to be extremely careful. There seemed to be German snipers everywhere. Our basic training had taught us never to stay in groups, so the company spread out in a long line and gradually moved forward over the horizon. A Major was just to my right and was sitting with a field telephone in his hands. "You men" he shouted, "come around me and go forward, and keep your tails to the ground, for the guns cannot be very far away".

We had no way of knowing how far ahead the action was, but there was only one way to go and that was forward. Three of us decided to stay as close as possible together but not in a group. The rest of the platoon went straight on, as my chums and I veered slightly to the left and then we found ourselves quite a distance in front of the strung out men. This meant we were leaving the men we fought with well behind and as we slowly arrived at the bottom of a steep hill, another old house came into view.

Private Lazar pointed to a large rock and we both sat behind it to stare at this place with suspicion. It was situated in an isolated position and must have been miles from the nearest village. It was then I noticed the flicker of light appearing at an upstairs window. I pointed my finger at the house and we both saw the light again. With guns at the ready, we both made our way toward the old structure. It had become very difficult for us to conceal ourselves, for the bushes and trees were gradually thinning out. We stopped about a quarter mile away to sit and watch. The light was flashing again as if someone was signalling. Both of us were in no doubt that this was an attempt to point out the position of the American forces. Then the two of us waited behind the huge rock for quite a long time.

The signals had ceased and at last our comrades approached where we waited. We made our report to the company commander, not leaving out the fact about the old house and what we had seen  I put this down to tiredness, for it had been a long day and we were very tired. If the leader had taken our report and acted upon it, what happened next would not have occurred. I believe the message by mirror from the window was to tell the enemy exactly where we were and so they were prepared and waiting for us.

German marksmen seemed to be everywhere, in a large tree close by and from over the long stonewall. My friend Lazar, walking next to me, was one of the first casualties, but he was lucky. The bullet that hit him went straight through his open mouth and came out the other side of his face. Another literally had his arm cut off by shrapnel, and then the artillery barrage came. The men in the window had certainly done their job well. To this day I still say the old house should have been at least investigated. Maybe this wicked massacre could have been avoided, but of course it became another 'accident' by someone higher up, and who paid the penalty for this stupid error, well of course it was the front line troops?

This was not to be the only mistake made during my twenty-eight days of battle and as time went by everyone took them to be just an act of stupidity. The heavy guns threw everything at us baring the kitchen sink and bodies of my comrades were floating in pieces in the air. I made a dash for a huge hole and jumped in. I was just in front of another man and he landed on top of me, a large fat man who completely covered my body. My guardian angel must have been with me, for as we both leapt into the hole an eighty-eight shell struck just on the lip of the bank, blowing the man on top of me apart.

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The place of refuge we'd both jumped into was a cesspool and with the stench coming from below and bloody remains on top of my body, I could not move. I was petrified. Then I remember sobbing like a small boy. If anyone had asked my name at that time, I would not have known it. I recall shoving the remains of the dead comrade off me and looked at the old house. In a split second the structure had blown apart, leaving an empty space where it had once stood.

Two Sherman tanks appeared on the scene and as the shells ceased for a spell, I made a dash for safety with lots of the soldiers following me. I came to a small stream of water and threw myself in, without worrying about what I was wearing. In fact I was so traumatised at this time I hardly knew what I was doing. Again although I did not know it at the time I was lucky for I could have drowned.

Hardly knowing what I was doing I somehow grabbed a bush and I fell on the bank to pass out. I remember the rest of the company passing me, but it was a long time later before I became able to get to my feet and walk ahead to find my platoon. I gave a small prayer of thanks and I do believe I was literally speechless for two or three hours. I kept thinking of what had happened and the horrible nightmare I had just gone through.

They had moved a considerable distance and as I caught them up we were approaching a small town. All the buildings of this area seemed deserted. All I could hear was a dog howling in the distance. Everyone was on the alert as we spread apart to go cautiously from doorway to doorway to search each house for life. The odd Frenchman was found, but we never knew whether they were for us or against us.

We made very good headway in clearing the town of the enemy, but there was the odd sniper and a few dead Americans as we passed out of the town. Speaking quite candidly, I am still not sure that a few of the dead bodies were not Germans but French, because there were quite a few collaborators fighting with the Germans during the war, and of course this was to be expected as they were under German occupation.

I'm very sure everybody was relieved to get away from this area and there were a few sad faces as some had left good friends behind who they'd never see again. Within a short time we had arrived at another town and this one was a lot larger than the one we'd just gone through. This time there were a few people on the sidewalk, and as we slowly walked along the road there were yells of "Viva La America", and even the odd drink was offered but politely refused. We were extremely lucky in gaining access to this place, for the enemy had moved out just before we'd arrived. One thing for certain happened during the capture of these towns and villages, as soon as we went out of the town the military police always moved in.

That is the end of that memoir. Thanks to Benjamin Nelson from the US for posting that up about his father PFC William Hershall Nelson. Thank you for your service sir.

Thank you so much for listening to me. Thank you for staying to the end – even just doing that helps me perform in the chart rankings -  I’ve now got the best PS’s ever to share with you.

Next episode is 100^th anniversary. Oof my word. I am lining some cracking material up for you, some favourites, some new. Keep yer ears peeled sergeant!

PS

PS 1

Marucana Reddit WW2 group

My grandfather was on Omaha beach during the second wave of D-Day. We only have a few stories but everything else is lost to time.

He was Giovanni Pezzella 1st Sargent in the 29th Infantry division and 116th regiment, 2nd wave of d-day on Omaha beach and he was in charge of 127 men. I wish I had more to tell but my mom always said he never spoke of the war.

The only story I have is this: before dday,

he was supposed to be in the 4th wave on omaha,

but he knew a man who was supposed to be in the 2nd wave,

but this man had a wife and kids

so my Grandpa offered to switch places with him.

We know all this because this man attended my grandfather's funeral in 1998 and told my mom's family about this.

And that dear listener, is the photo I’ve used as my episode artwork on this occasion. Sergeant Giovanni Pezzella -  What that guy did – how good was that!!!! A shiver just went up my spine.

PS2

This PS goes back to William Hershel Nelson’s memoirs. There’s a little paragraph I sneakily held back because I thought it would make a perfect PS on which to close the show. If you recall, our Omaha Hero was walking up a hill feeling slightly jaded – well, let’s pick up the story properly. , I’ll  let the author have the last word, but if it was left to me I’d be saying, don’t you just love some of the unexpected stuff which comes out of this podcast.

“We were walking up a long hill, tired and weary and not really expecting anything to happen, when a German soldier  ran across the road about five hundred yards in front of the column. I bet nearly everyone treading up that road fired at him and believe it or not, not one bullet hit him. In fact I can see it now, when he flung himself into the undergrowth at the other side of the road, he turned quickly to put two fingers up and disappeared into the bushes.

I’m PC saying

Auf Wiedersehen – Pet!

Links

Memoir: The Untold Story by William Hershel Nelson

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