D DAY. 2nd Devons Account

Things didn’t go wrong for the battalion until the last minute as the assault landing craft bucketted their way from the comparative stability of the Glenroy towards the unbelievable actuality of Hitler’s Atlantic Wall--unbelievable because the shore from a distance, in the grey light of early morning, had about it no sign of being any sort of Atlantic Wall.

 The whole affair, indeed, to that moment, had been unbelievable in its peaceful progress from the previous evening.

As the Glenroy, among the ships of the fleet bearing 50 Division, rounded the Needles, the setting sun had fallen on the quiet green fields of the Isle of Wight. The heavy seas, that had kept the evasion tossing off-shore for the twenty-four hours of the postponement, had now subsided into a choppy swell.

No cheering crowds, not even the hoot of a siren, had made memorable the moment of weighing anchor and steaming west down the Solent. In circumstance, it might have been another exercise except for one or two gathering and unmistakable arguments that it was not. Squadron after squadron of planes overhead roared and droned and vanished off to sea. Also out to sea were to be distinguished two more immense divisional fleets, linking up for the assault But the surest indication of D-Day for those embarked on the venture was the tension and excitement within themselves. The light began to fade, and England had dissolved into the darkness for the watchers on deck. The men settled down to sleep fitfully on the steel floor of their quarters below. For the more imaginative, it was difficult to sleep away such a moment m history. At one o'clock in the morning, news was that the fleet was altering course from a line aimed at Le Havre, to bear directly at the Normandy beaches.

At 3 a.m., from the bridge, beyond the outlines of the ships, away to the right and left, could be seen in the distance the first flickering of the battle into which they were going—star shells and irregular flashings in the sky, but so far away as yet to be without noise. Presumably the airborne landings.  The sea seemed to be getting rougher, but it might have been the night shadows on the water.

At 4.30, in the grey seepings of dawn, the men were roused and given breakfast of bacon and beans. About an hour later, the engines stopped. Word went round that they were seven miles off shore. The men were ordered to get into their equipment. Then the climb up the iron ladders, and across the slippery deck to where the landing craft swung, ready for lowering.

In the water, the LCAs rode like corks, but occasionally not quite riding the top of a wave, when spray would rise in a drenching cloud and smother the tight-packed mass of men and their equipment. The men squatted, according to orders, and could see little of what was going on. Many of them, from the change from the big ship to the bucking assault craft, were being very sick, despite the infallible pills. The noise and excitement grew. Against the background of the bombardment from the sea, a terrific noise from rocket ships split from somewhere level with the assault craft.

The landmark was the spire of Asnelles church, now clearly visible as the LCAs neared to within a few hundred yards of the beach. At the same time became clearly visible the stake defences, sticking out of the water, each topped with a mine. The tide was now so far up, there was no question of grounding below them. The assault craft reduced speed to manoeuvre round the obstacles, and immediately began to be carried eastward off course.

At last they were there. ‘This is as far as I can get you in, chaps,’ sang out the Navy. ‘Get ready.’ The thing first to be faced was four and a half feet of icy water. Once in that, came the struggle ashore over the uneven sand-bottom, full of dips and holes into which men vanished, with the water closing over their heads. Laughter here was one odd reaction, until the Devons began gradually to drag themselves out onto the beach. Here there was nothing much to laugh about. Instead of a beach already captured and cleared by the Hampshires, with signs set up pointing to the assembly area, was a chaotic scene, with swarms of men lying flat on their faces to offer the minimum of target. A little up the beach, stood a German pill-box, the gun crew lying dead around it.

Instead of landing near Le Hamel, all but ‘C’ Company of the battalion had fetched up well to the east, opposite Les Roquettes.

 III

The battalion plan, after the landing, had envisaged assembly in the village of Asnelles, which now was far off to the right and anyway in no likely state to permit assembly. Colonel Nevill was temporarily without ‘C’ Company, which had touched down at the right spot near Le Hamel and had gone straight into the fighting there under Major Duke. But Ryes remained the battalion objective, and the scheme to reach it up La Grande Rivière could still be tried by looping round Asnelles and cutting into the valley beyond the village.

The battalion set off from the beach in single file. ‘A’ Company led, followed by Advanced H.Q., then ‘D’ Company, then ‘B’ Company minus its company commander, Major Howard, already injured and out of it.