D Day.

I knew my father fought in WWII, in the Navy, but he never spoke of it. I also knew, from what my Mum had told me, that when the war was over he was a shattered man. It took many months in her loving care for him to recover.


But a few years ago, when there had been a big hoo-fa-rah about funding for veterans to re-visit France, I asked him if he had been there, at D Day.


His answer was 'No'- he and his ship mates, on a tank Landing Craft (LCT), were there the day after. And then he told me all about it.


The following was what he told me, which I wrote it down.


He figured the authorities were giving them a break by sending them to France the day after D Day, since they'd been getting 'hammered' on a regular basis in the Mediterranean.


One of those 'hammerings' took place in Salerno.


Prior to D Day, Salerno was the biggest gathering of troops and ships during WWII. It was the first Allied assault on Europe. And as a result of the landing at Salerno, the Allies began the reclamation of Italy from the Germans.


Dad told me how the Commander of the Fleet had informed them that this was the biggest landing of WWII and that he and his shipmates had the 'honour' of being the first craft ashore.


I remember Dad laughed ruefully at that; it was some honour.


Just getting to shore was hazardous. An LCT would be a prime target for the German U boats who patrolled the area. And the beach at Salerno was heavily and vigorously defended from the land.


An LCT carried 36 tanks. To land them, a ramp had to be lowered before it reached the shore so that when it beached, the tanks could roll right off. In order to complete this maneuver safely and be able to retreat, the LCT dropped it's anchor about 200 yards out and then carried on into the shore. Once the tanks were disembarked, guided by some brave soul who stood out front calling them off in sequence, the LCT had to get away. The ship's engineer (my Dad) would use the engines to 'walk' the vessel back off the shore and away.



The whole time they were under heavy fire from the Germans. In fact the LCT that Dad was on got hit 56 times. One of those hits killed the Captain. The only reason that the ship itself was not demolished was that the Germans were using armour piercing shells, to get the tanks, and not the type that tear a big hole.


You might think that 56 holes would be enough to keep a vessel out of the war for a while. Dad and his mates certainly did. But no. They spent the very next day patching each hole with a thin sheet of tin. And then they were off to either Malta or the African coast, to pick up more tanks.


Their duty was relentless. I asked my Dad if he was scared. His answer was, not surprisingly, 'Yes, ' he continued ' but I had to maintain an icy control to get the job accomplished'.


We never spoke of it again. My Mum told me later that she had never asked him about his war time experiences. She had seen the devastation it had caused in him and she always figured that if he wanted to talk about it, he would and if he didn't- that was fine.


While we were talking, I asked him about his medals. I knew he had to have some- you don't see that kind of action and not get medals. And I had a vague childhood memory of finding them, jumbled in a drawer with some junk. His answer was that he had seen so many acts of sheer bravery which were never recorded or acknowledged, that he had no regard for the medals he was given.


My Dad survived the war, and in fact lived til 2005, when he died aged 94. He was as sharp as a tack til the very end. I am oh, so privileged to have known him.

This post is in memory of every brave man and woman who were involved, with no choice, in that terrible war.

'They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn,
At the going down of the sun,
And in the morning,
We will remember them'.

From 'For the Fallen' by Laurence Binyon.