Voices from D-Day

by Jon E. Lewis

  There were only one or two times we ever had face-to-face confrontations with storm troopers. The SS. They were the elite. They were so brainwashed they were impossible to reason with. Those people made me angry.

  The ordinary Germans, the boys we took prisoner, were so glad to be out of it. We’d take their shoes and they’d walk down the road. The last thing they’d do is come back and either shake hands with us or embrace us.

  There is a myth about Normandy, which runs to the effect that the French were unanimously overjoyed to be liberated by the Allies (who in turn were always courteous to the Normandais) from the tutelage of the Germans. In fact, the reality was infinitely more complex.

  Richard McMillan, war correspondent

  I entered Bayeux with the first troops. It was a scene of rejoicing as the people went wild. The streets were blocked with cheering men and women and children. The Tricolor and Union Jacks were hung in the windows. Cafés threw open their doors and pianists began to play British and French patriotic tunes. Crowds danced and shouted, ‘Vive Tommy’, ‘Vive l’Amerique’.

  It was a scene of mingled war and peace through which I passed as I drove a jeep into the interior along part of the front line. After a dusty dreary morning, the sun burst through and the skies cleared. It was a perfect summer day. Driving through the coastal defence belt, I saw the havoc wrought by the Allied naval and air bombardment which had wrecked some roads and many hamlets which the Germans had used as headquarters …

  In the fields peasants tended their sheep and cattle as if this day were no different from any other. The Allied war machine rolled past along the dusty highways, but the only sign the stolid peasants gave was a wave of the hand. It was the townspeople, like those of Bayeux, who really showed their appreciation, repeating again and again, ‘C’est le jour de la liberation.’

  Marine Stanley Blacker, RM

  In the chateau next to the churchyard at Ste Cambes, I always gave a bar of chocolate to a little French boy who came up to the gates. He never knew me and I never knew him, and I shall never know him. He used to take the chocolate and run indoors.

  Trooper Peter Davies, 1st East Riding Yeomanry

  We met quite a lot of resentment, not a little abuse in the first few weeks. The Germans had left that part of Normandy fairly free, they hadn’t bothered the people to a great extent apart from building the Atlantic Wall. We arrived with tanks, shells and everything, tanks cutting through cornfields, through crops, not doing them a lot of good. They were all given chits by officers to claim compensation at a later date, but there was resentment. I can understand that. A squadron of tanks going through somebody’s cornfield makes a hell of a mess.

  Rex North, Sunday Pictorial war correspondent

  I met Jeanne rushing down a village street, hair awry, her coat torn on barbed wire. She was clutching at the arm of a German prisoner who was being marched to the coast.

  She was not alone. Seven other women were doing the same to seven other German prisoners. Presumably for the same reasons as Jeanne.

  The war? There was no war in Normandy when we marched in.

  Private Robert Macduff, Wiltshire Regiment

  During the clearance a sniper from a church tower fired on, and killed, several of our soldiers. It turned out to be a woman collaborator.

  W.C. Weightman, RCS

  Diary, 6 June

  German prisoners being led out and French women kissing them.

  Alan Melville, RAF war correspondent

  When the newspapers began to come through, I read some amazing stories of the hysterical welcome which the local population had given our troops. This may have happened over on the centre and right flanks; I certainly saw no sign of it on our own sector. The single example of true Gallic emotion which I saw displayed was when a poodle dog was snatched from almost under the wheels of a three-ton lorry in Douvres. Then there was a great to-do of arms being flung in the air, and general handshaking all round, and kissing and embracing while the poodle was returned to the bosom of its owner. But in my own experience rose-throwing, which to judge from some reports seemed to be the main occupation of the people of Normandy, was conspicuous by its absence. I had only one rose thrown at me during the first ten days I was in France; that was on D plus 3, and I don’t mind admitting that I ducked. The people of Normandy are not, in any case, your typically emotional type of Frenchman. They are honest-to-God, slightly dour peasant stock – the sort of folk you meet on cold, wind-swept farms up in Buchan. Folk who take quite a while to sum you up and then, if you prove yourself to their satisfaction, show their friendship in a quiet, sober way. In the early days in Normandy no civilian ever spoke to you first. If you said ‘Bonjour’ they answered politely enough, but they never opened a conversation. They stood in the doorways of their damaged homes, and watched us rumble past in tanks and lorries – with their arms folded and on their faces no hint of what they were thinking. Or, more probably, they went on with their work in the fields, completely unconcerned that a new colour of uniform had appeared all round them. And, after all, who could blame them for not going berserk with delight at our arrival? They had had years of German occupation, and on the whole they had been well treated. Normandy is a rich agricultural district, and Germany had decided to save it and not spoil it. Though wine and sugar and soap and certain other things were rationed, there was no real shortage – certainly nothing approaching the line of starvation. I found an old woman in one village who consented to do my laundry for me, and whenever I went to her house around a meal-time there was a mountain of fresh butter – I should think about four pounds – on her table. It made me think sadly of the ridiculous two-ounce pat I used to collect from my grocer in Soho. The fields and gardens were stacked with produce, and I saw no signs of anyone being hungry.

  Anne de Vigneral, Ver-sur-Mer

  Diary 12 June

  In the village the enthusiasm diminishes, as the [Canadian] soldiers pillage, break everything and go everywhere under the pretext of looking for Germans. A soldier who went up into my bedroom while we were lunching searched our rooms, and we later found my father’s wedding ring and chevaliere stolen – my gold watch also. The doors of my cupboard were axed, the locks broken, my linen chests emptied, contents thrown on the floor, towels stolen.

  And all the time in our home we give drinks to the officers – delighted with our calvados and champagne, which they had not tasted since the war began.

  9 July

  Some officers take me to Bayeaux … Then I go to the official office to reclaim all the objects and jewels which have been stolen from us.

  Private Islwyn Edmunds, South Wales Borderers

  On finding that the enemy had left Bayeux, we were ordered to withdraw and take up positions guarding a road. We dug trenches outside a house, and the lady of the house invited us in to share a meal with them. They had so little to give us, but we were given a soup with a little meat. We were enjoying this meal when we observed a small boy crying in the corner, and in our best French enquired why the boy was crying. We were told that we were eating his rabbit.

  Anonymous GI

  18 June

  Dear Mom,

  We get milk and cider off these French people. It looks like they are very glad to see us yanks. They should be these dirty Germans tried to make slaves out of them. I met a little boy I used to go to school with on the boat crossing the channell [sic].

  There is lots of things I would like to tell you but maybe later I will be able to.

  I still have my little prayer book and I have used it. I am sure it has done me lots of good, you know what I mean … Take care of yourself,

  love,

  Son.

  Lieutenant A.J. Holladay, RA

  Diary, 14 July

  Le Quatorze Juillet. Fine day at last. Sadly bitten by mosquitoes in night – lip and eye. Hang French and English flags and cross of Lorraine over gateway at farm and chalk ‘Vive La France’ on all the trucks. Pilotless aircraft cros
s over at 08.15. Range-tables for 88 mm arrive. Half-day to celebrate. Stroll with corporal down to Hermanville and go into the church and the curé, then on to the estaminet and find all the villagers there, having been to mass in their Sunday best. Drink a couple of glasses of white wine and give a toast of le quatorze juillet to the company … Back for a magnificent lunch cooked by madame – roast chicken, new potatoes and cauliflower … back to Hermanville and meet the curé who comes out to thank the men for their gift to the children. The whole troop volunteered their sweet rations for them. Men are paraded and he thanks them, then his speech is interpreted to them. We learn from madame that he was an ardent collaborationist with the Boche. In the evening we drink wine and talk with the French people of the house, and afterwards down to the village green to see the dancing. The Germans burnt the dancing floor because the French wouldn’t dance with them. Incipient romance between Marcelle and the airborne sergeant who was the first British soldier they saw. Back to the farm and Gibb plays music, finishing with hearty rendering of Marseillaise. Monsieur is very drunk by now. Heavy air activity at night. Ken (here for the court martial) sleeps in barn with us. Russians take Pinsk.

  Captain Joseph T. Dawson, US 1st Infantry Division

  At Mayenne we had considerable battle with the Germans withdrawing through the Falaise gap and we were greeted with a number of Resistance members there, in Mayenne, and a little contingent of them – twelve of them – joined me and stayed with me throughout the battle through France and into Germany. There they had to be removed from the combat area because the situation did not allow for volunteers. But they were very effective in going through France and we enjoyed having them with us.

  Trooper W. Hewison, 1st Royal Tank Regiment

  Diary, 18 August

  From the reverse Jerry seems to be falling back all along the line. I believe that the hard fighting is over for the time being … people really glad to see us, waving and smiling and throwing stuff on the tank.

  War diary, Algonquin Regiment

  18 August, Dives

  It is the first time that the battalion received the first-hand acclaim of the newly liberated populace. Their greeting and generosity was unexcelled.

  Captain Albert H. Smith, US 1st Infantry Division

  As we broke out of the lodgement and took a turn for Paris, we were always seeing the Resistance, and the French people threw flowers at us, and apples. Now, apples are alright if you’re walking but if you’re in a lorry, as we were sometimes, and you’ve got your helmet off and an apple comes through the air and hits you at 30 m.p.h. – it makes a crack.

  For the German Army the Battle of Normandy, after the failure to drive back the Allies in the first few days of the invasion, was a desperate exercise in holding back an ever greater tide. Throughout June, July and August columns of men and supplies wound their way to the Normandy front, but were critically hampered by Allied fighter-bomber attacks. And back in Germany itself the industrial workshop was simply not providing enough goods of war. The German Army in Normandy – as elsewhere – was critically short of fuel, armour, ammunition – and just about everything else. The German soldier himself was a mixture of hope and hopelessness, buoyed by a belief in himself as the consummate professional soldier.

  Staff Officer, 17th SS Panzer Grenadier Division

  On 7 June our division received orders to leave the marshalling area in Thouars and to move to the invasion front in Normandy. Everyone was in a good and eager mood to see action again – happy that the pre-invasion spell of uncertainty and waiting was snapped at last.

  Our motorized columns were coiling along the road towards the invasion beaches. Then something happened that left us in a daze. Spurts of fire flicked along the column and splashes of dust staccatoed the road. Everyone was piling out of the vehicles and scuttling for the neighbouring fields. Several vehicles were already in flames. This attack ceased as suddenly as it had crashed upon us fifteen minutes before. The men started drifting back to the column again, pale and shaky and wondering how they had survived this fiery rain of bullets. This had been our first experience with the jabos [fighter-bombers]. The march column was now completely disrupted and every man was on his own, to pull out of this blazing column as best he could. And it was none too soon, because an hour later the whole thing started all over again, only much worse this time. When this attack was over, the length of the road was strewn with splintered anti-tank guns (the pride of our division), flaming motors and charred implements of war.

  The march was called off and all vehicles that were left were hidden in the dense bushes or in barns. No one dared show himself out in the open any more. Now the men started looking at each other. This was different from what we thought it would be like. It had been our first experience with our new foe – the American.

  During the next few days we found out how seriously he was going about his business. Although now we only travelled at nights and along secondary roads rimmed with hedges and bushes, we encountered innumerable wrecks giving toothless testimony that some motorists had not benefited from the bitter experience we had had.

  Field Marshal Erwin Rommel

  Letters to his wife, 10 June 1944

  Dearest Lu,

  … It is a hard fight that the army is having to withstand. I was up at the front yesterday and am going again today. The enemy’s air superiority has a very grave effect on our movements. There’s simply no answer to it. It’s quite likely to start at other places soon. However, we do what we can.

  …

  14 June 1944

  Very heavy fighting. The enemy’s great superiority in aircraft, naval artillery, men and material is beginning to tell. Whether the gravity of the situation is realized up above, and the proper conclusions drawn, seems to me doubtful. Supplies are getting tight everywhere. How are you both? Still no news has arrived.

  …

  18 June 1944

  There’s a chance of sending you a quick letter today by one of the men. I saw the Fuehrer yesterday, who is at present in the west. I gave him a detailed report and clarified everything. If the OKW at first had the idea that the troops at the front were not fighting well, this idea has now been revised. Our opponents themselves have provided my army with the best of all possible testimonials. Of course large forces of ours were overwhelmed by the immense weight of the enemy bombing and naval barrage, but every man still living fought like the devil. If people had listened to me we would have counterattacked with three divisions on the first evening, and would probably have beaten off the attack. Frightful delays were caused by the panzer divisions having to travel between 250 and 400 miles to the front and in many places the battle was going badly. Much of this has now sorted itself out and I am looking forward to the future with less anxiety than I did a week ago. The long-range action has brought us a lot of relief. A number of generals fell in the first few days of battle, among them Falley, who was killed on the first night – the 5–6th June

  … A quick enemy break-through to Paris is now hardly a possibility. We’ve got a lot of stuff coming up. The Fuehrer was very cordial and in a good humour. He realizes the gravity of the situation.

  …

  23 June 1944

  Militarily things aren’t at all good. The enemy air force is dealing extremely heavily with our supplies and at the moment is completely strangling them. If a decisive battle develops, we’ll be without ammunition. You can imagine how worried I am. Even Cherbourg will not be able to hold out for long in these circumstances. We must be prepared for grave events.

  War diary, Panzer Lehr Division

  9 June 1944

  12.30. As a result of the frequent air attacks, the troops’ baggage trains have been considerably held up or have been misrouted. Because of this provisions for the fighting troops have begun to dwindle.

  19.00. Message from Ia. 2-cm and 8.8-cm anti-aircraft ammunition urgently needed. Special measures necessary to secure this. 8,000 rounds of 8.8-cm and 60,000 rounds o
f 2-cm munition requested from Q Corps.

  Conversation with Q Corps about whole question of provisions. The Quartermaster gives his support, however, Q Corps has no tonnage available. Tank ammunition cannot be obtained. Difficulties are caused by the petrol supply. New petrol supplies cannot be expected for at least 48 hours.

  Corporal Ted Morris, 6th Airborne Division

  Not long after I was captured, I started talking to the German corporal who was in charge of us – his name was Herman. To my amazement, he said to me: ‘You – the Allies – should give up, you know.’ He really meant it. To him it was fact. The other thing was, he was absolutely convinced of Hitler’s secret weapons. ‘It’s going to be bad for you,’ he’d say, and shake his head.

  H. Schluter, 716th Infantry Division

  You know, I was not in an ‘elite’ division. I was in the division which was crushed by the bombardment and invasion, the 716th. Mostly old men and young boys. But even to us – those of us who were left – the Allied soldier seemed very naive. Why did we keep going? What else could we do? We were soldiers.

  Gefreiter Werner Kortenhaus, 21st Panzer Division

  Hitler should have ended the war on 9 June at the latest because, after all, he had said that if we weren’t successful in pushing back the Allied landing, we would have lost the war. We had three fronts – Poland, Italy and the West. It would have been impossible to win.

  Captain Alexander Hartdegen, Panzer Lehr

  Unless a man has been through these fighter-bomber attacks he cannot know what the invasion meant. You lie there, helpless, in a roadside ditch, in a furrow on a field, or under a hedge, pressed into the ground, your face in the dirt – and there it comes towards you, roaring. There it is. Diving at you. Now you hear the whine of the bullets. Now you are for it.

  You feel like crawling under the ground. Then the bird has gone. But it comes back. Twice. Three times. Not till they think they’ve wiped out everything do they leave. Until then you are helpless. Like a man facing a firing-squad. Even if you survive it’s no more than a temporary reprieve. Ten such attacks in succession are a real foretaste of hell.