Since there has been so much media attention for Memorial Day and D-Day on June 6, even though it has been 65 years, D-Day and H-Hour are still very vivid in my mind and should not be left unobserved.
June 6, 1944, started as an ordinary day. We were living in England in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire to be exact. My father was assigned to the administrative headquarters of the war office and spent his time between the HQ in Cheltenham and the War Office in London working with Winston Churchill. It was not unusual for him to disappear for several days without explanation. On this occasion, he had been away for more than days. My mother was on a short official visit to London working with the NIB (National Institute for the Blind) teaching visually impaired children to read Braille.
As I said, June 6, 1944 was an ordinary day. I followed my usual routine, took Kippers, our obese beagle hound for his usual walk, checked the tomato plants in the back garden and rode my bike to college for an early history class. I recall vividly the professor's words "Here I am, endeavoring to instill you young ladies with knowledge of medieval history. Do you realize that your generation will be remembered for creating history? You are living through extraordinary times, which you will be able to tell your grandchildren about." Nobody was very impressed at the time, but she was right, this was D-Day, June 6th, 1944.
Since then, D-Day at H-Hour has taken on great historical significance, but at that time, it was just an ordinary day for me. In the afternoon, I fulfilled my volunteer duties for the local WVS (Women's Voluntary Services) by driving three VIP WVS ladies to a special meeting at Sudeley Castle. Lizzie, the old black Lanchaster (car) took the hills well to the village of Winchcombe and Sudeley Castle.
By that time, the BBC had announced the significance of the day and the invasion of Europe and messages from General Eisenhower and Churchill. It was hard to concentrate on the speakers at the meeting extolling the glories of whale meat steak and how to bottle fruit or make black currant syrup without sugar.
I said a couple of silent prayers for the safety of my father and my fiancé, Hal Greenwald, our wedding was scheduled for May 29, 1945 and I prayed fervently that he would be there.
It was only years afterward that my father explained the magnitude of the undertaking and the brilliance of its execution, including the elaborate plans to make it appear the invasion was actually taking place on the beaches of Calais.
The invasion of Normandy actually began at midnight, June 3, when thousands of British paratroopers were dropped into occupied France and set off alone in the dark to secure the bridges the invading armies would need to get off the beaches. The invaders themselves were told to get off the beach at all costs. Not that they really cared at that point; they had been "sealed" in their ships and transports for 48 hours and were for the most part wet, cold and seasick. And when H-Hour came they stormed ashore more out of relief then anger. Relieved to be out of the boats and relief that the waiting was over, the young men from Yorkshire and London and Cardiff and Ross-on-We were coming out to fight. Many men remember hearing someone reciting Shakespeare's Henry V: "Once more into the breach, dear friends...for Harry, England and St. George." (A favorite quote of mine that I have quoted and misquoted several times in my columns.) Some tell of singing "Roll Out the Barrel," but the most prominent memory is of a Scottish piper calmly striding up and down the water's edge, piping the troops onshore. He kept perfect time and by some miracle survived to lead the soldiers inland.
Each man had his job to do and was part of the big picture, a picture so big it included two artificial harbors, code named Mulberry, each one as big as Dover; a gasoline pipeline which would run under the English Channel, codename Pluto, to supply the fuel for the invading armies; thousands of airplanes; hundreds of ships; and by the end of D-Day, more than a 250,000 men in Normandy on the beaches, code named Sword, Juno, and Gold. In some places the fighting was fierce, wounded men machine gunned in the water floated for hours until help came, the seawater cleansing their wounds.
By the early afternoon, the paratroopers who had been fighting for several hours, without ever knowing if the invasion was successful or not, were relieved by Lord Lovatt's commandos, who discarded their steel helmets in favor of their distinctive "Red Berets." Lord Lovatt is quoted as saying, "Sorry chaps, we're a bit late."
For the veterans of five years of war, they were not late at all. For the men who the day before had been boys they came just in time. Because these were not warriors, they were not even soldiers really. Just one small part of General Dwight D. Eisenhower's announcement of the invasion earlier in the day. And a whole nation and the whole world waited to hear the news. News of victories and troop movements and war aims and policies. The waiting of war had been replaced by the drama of war.
Today, historians have forever sealed the names, "Sword, Juno and Gold," Normandy and D-Day. They tell of millions of men and equipment, strategies and logistics. But 65 years ago, on Tuesday, June 6, 1944, when the twilight gathered over the villages of Great Britain, mothers, wives and sweethearts waited and wondered and prayed that no one would ever have to do this again. And to this I say, Amen, and TTFN until next time.[[In-content Ad]]
