D-Day memory - Kenneth Stone

Heading for Gold Beach assault phase: Now well on their way south in the unrelenting strong swell, the men heard distant shellfire. Soon warships were sighted on the horizon. Three miles offshore, 60 naval vessels straddled the 50 mile assault front, bombarding the shore defences ahead of the invasion. Eventually this would continue further inland. It was now about 8am. The first troops had landed on Gold, at H Hour, 30 minutes before.

Maurice Holwell, Ken's cast-iron-tum friend turned to him, after another bout of seasickness, to nervously tease, "Would you like a bacon sandwich Ken?" Ken did not articulate a response, just a wry smile. Maurice always knew how to lighten the mood. A true friend. Ken hadn't kept much down in the last 24h, and felt exhausted.

Soon they approached HMS Belfast with two sister ships. On passing, the vibration and deafening sound of continuous shelling was akin to a continuous earthquake. They then entered, what can only be described as an apocalyptic scene. The cauldron of battle. Behind them, a continuous wall of fire from shell discharges, their thunderous transit overhead, and subsequent explosions on landing. Enemy shells, from the Mont Fleury Atlantic Wall Battery, fired in riposte, and as they neared the beach, mortar and small arms fire brought their inevitable intended tragic consequences. All missed their LCT, splattering the immediate water around them. Wrecked mangled vehicles and vessels, many aflame, on sea and land, hampered progress.

Ever-present mines took out many, resulting in multiple casualties too. The bodies of the fallen, many mutilated beyond recognition from high explosive munitions, lay everywhere, both in the water and on land. The sea turned progressively more red with blood at their approach.

They were landing on a wind whipped sea and rising foaming tide, which surged higher than expected, further limiting space on the heavily mined beach. Several landing vessels, had drifted off course, with the added hazard of offshore reefs. The cheery LCT Coxswain announced on the Tannoy, "Brace yourselves lads, I'm going to hit the beach at speed, to give you all a dry landing. Go get 'em boys!" Then paraphrasing Montgomery's earlier message to the troops, he added "Good luck to each and everyone of you!"

The men silently prepared themselves, each in his own thoughts. Ken reflects on Montgomery's words, his home and parents in St Erth. He remembered his drill. Always carry your pack on one shoulder on landing - that way it could be ditched if you flounder. Many men drowned, unable to surface due to their heavy loads on previous amphibious landings.

Suitably braced, full of adrenaline and showered by wind borne sea spray, they charged for the shore...when an almighty explosion violently shook the LCT. Fortunately, there were no injuries. They had hit a mine, buckling the bow doors, preventing opening. It was 9am, landfall was 30 minutes earlier than scheduled. While the Beachmaster summoned assistance, he immediately, and in no uncertain terms, ordered "All RAMC off NOW".

Clambering over the side, the men were able to drop onto the roof of a partially submerged lorry that had failed to make the shore, jumping into the shockingly cold choppy sea. Ken being only 5ft 3in, found himself up to his chest in water, but managed to bob ashore with his waterproofed medical pack, pushing away floating bodies as he strove for land, in a sea bright red with their blood. They all made it safely, albeit soaking wet. With relief, Ken noted he still had his glasses. It was too much for their sodden RAMC anti-vermin water-resistant-treated battle dress though. Their soggy boots squelched as they cautiously rushed off the exposed beach to regroup, under the Beach CO's tannoyed directions. All their senses were overwhelmed, not just what they saw and heard, but the all pervading smell. A combination of diesel, cordite, and the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh, blood and death.

Ken and the Beach Dressing Station group (BDS), a medical officer and 13 orderlies/medics, took stock among the chaos around them to coordinate their supplies. Their handcart of plasma, jeep and one ton of medical equipment was stuck on the LCT until the doors could be released, which happened about an hour later. The Unit managed to borrow some plasma from their 35 Field Dressing Station (FDS) colleagues, on the 2nd LCT, before they headed inland to set up in a local school in Ver-Sur-Mer. Ten stretcher bearers attached to the Beach Dressing Station from 2 Herts, jumped with Ken, bringing stretchers and some items with them. Good lads. The beach was still under artillery fire. A low flying plane, strafed the sand. "Get your heads down" yelled a voice, as it pulled up and flew away. The enemy still had a few planes on local airfields for these surprise hit and run sorties, which persisted during the day. Allied air activity, now focused, with the help of the French Resistance, on taking out infrastructure inland to hinder German reserves being brought to counter the Allied invasion.

Ken roamed the beach, with a few of the medics and stretcher bearers to collect and initially treat men where they fell. They had to be careful, not just from onshore munitions, but under foot. The beach area had yet to be cleared of mines, and movement was limited to narrow transit corridors. The mine clearing training received, was useful after all! A section from 209 Pioneer Corps helped set up their Beach Dressing Station, located to the West of the main road inland to Ver-Sur-Mer, and not far from where the initial the Casualty Evacuation Point would eventually be set up. Lorry canopies and tilts helped to create some shelter and camouflage nets cover.

It was harrowing work, as they went from man to man, many groaning in pain from severe injuries. The thorough training that had been drilled into them took over and they went about their work purposefully and effectively. Ken carried a significant supply of single-dose morphine injections, which were freely given.

A certain amount of resourcefulness and initiative was needed to deal with complications, such as splinting broken limbs, sealing a sucking chest wound or applying a tourniquet above a mangled arm or leg. Ken would use a soldier's tunic buttons, belt, or stretcher handle as an anchor point, or improvise with whatever was around him. After carefully securing packing around, say, a fragmented jaw fracture, a belt or strap on the soldiers clothing could immobilise the head to prevent him swallowing blood or his own tongue, and maintain an open airway. There were many they couldn't help, beyond making comfortable, their blood soaking into the sand, as life slipped away. A Padre accompanied them, who would provide both practical help, and spiritual comfort to the dying and wounded. He was a source of moral support to Ken and the men of the Unit too.

At 1100 the Beach and the Field Dressing Station in the school were fully operational and were triaging patients with 32 FDS. Those needing surgery were directed there. Apart from some snipers, and an occasional flurry, the beach in front of them was no longer under fire. The gun placement at Le Hamel, the other end of King Green, however, wasn't put out of action until 1630.

Around midday, Ken looked up to hear someone calling him. A jubilant middle aged man approached him brandishing a bottle. "Eh Tommie, you 'ave some wine with me? For you Tommie?" It looked vintage, probably saved especially for the occasion, and it would have been nice to share. He politely declined, maybe later. The man could see he was busy treating the wounded. "Ah, plus tard?" and left with a characteristic Gallic shrug.

A little later he was back, with reinforcements. He brought his neighbours who, without any hesitation, went to help treat the wounded. Their help was gladly welcomed and much appreciated. Ken would never forget their kindness and efforts. I do hope Ken did enjoy a sneaky swig of that wine, or maybe it was Calvaldos! They all certainly deserved it. Major Millar, 35 FDS OC formally records in the War Diary his gratitude for the invaluable help given to the wounded by French civilians both on the beach and at the school.