Cyril Crain, Memories of D.Day 1944
The sixth of June 1944 is a date that will always be remembered in our national history. On that day the allied forces landed on the beaches of Normandy in France.
The Navy, Army and Air forces of the allied countries joined together to force back the German occupation of France, and so began the turning point of the war in Europe. Known as D-Day, the "D" simply stood for "Day", the day chosen for the landing.
War has an effect on people that lasts throughout the rest of their lives.
Lesley's uncle, Cyril Crain, is one such man. Cyril was 18 when he was called up into the Lincolnshire Regiment, and then transferred to the Royal Norfolk Regiment.
In 1942 he was transferred in to Royal Corps of Signals, and it was as a signaller that he boarded the s.s. Monowai on the night of June 4th 1944 with no knowledge of where they would land.
The following evening a Canadian Padre conducted a short service and many of the soldiers wrote out their will inside the pages of their pay book, then they all turned in for the night knowing that they had to be up early the next day.
Cyril was one of the first soldiers to set foot on Juno beach, one of the six designated landing areas. He did not get shot or injured as he moved up that beach amid gunfire and bombing, but many of his mates did. In total 10,000 men died on that one day.
Cyril has written down a graphic description of the scenes of battle on that beach, it does not make comfortable reading!
Here it is in his own words:
DOWN DOORS !!
Where to start - that is the question! Well, the title gives me a clue so here we go.
After serving in the Lincolnshire Regiment and the Royal Norfolk Regiment, I was transferred to the Royal Corps of Signals in 1942.
F:\0 Family History\1 Personal Histories\Crain, Cyril Walter (1923-2014)\Combined Ops.doc Their badge is the winged messenger, Mercury, nicked named ‘Jimmy’ for some unknown reason.
In March 1943 I left the 5th O.T.B. at Slaightwaite and proceeded to Dewsbury, a town in Yorkshire, where I was asked, very kindly, if I would like to volunteer for Special Services, namely Combined Operations.
If so, I would be generously blessed with sixpence (2p) a day extra, to do as I pleased with.
With beer at sixpence a pint, I thought why not.
o.k. ‘Crainy’, you're in! Welcome to 19 Beach Signal Section; join the 27 other idiots.
They turned out to be a grand bunch of lads, all of them. We would do anything for each other, without question, such as Guards, Fire Pickets, etc., sharing fights, money, ale and fags (how unhygienic). By the way, “United we Conquer" was the motto of Combined Operations.
Anyway: to continue.
If you travelled along the coast road between Troon and Irvine in Ayrshire, Scotland during the last war, you would come across a military camp. This was a combined operations base. H.M.S. Dundonald (in Navy terms a “Stone Frigate”) for obvious reasons.
It housed barrack blocks for all three services, the Royal Navy, the Army and the Royal Air Force, who all wore the combined operations patch (002).
It contained classrooms for teaching various subjects of a military nature.
To the rear of the camp, sand dunes led down to the sea where amphibious landings were practised.
It was a base primarily for assault troops involved in initial attacks on enemy coasts and of course the big one, Normandy.
We were sent there for our training, although our H.Q., from where we received our instructions, etc., was actually at the War Office in London.
We all seemed to acquire nicknames like ‘Lefty’ Fallows, ‘Nick’ Bolton, ‘Corners’ Horner (the shape of his head), ‘Granfer’ Clapham (the oldest member), ‘Toot’ Cooper, etc. Mine was ‘Spider’ Crain’. Don't ask me why.
After training with the wireless sets, Numbers 18 and 22, which had to be wheeled on kind of trolleys, and with wireless procedure
(including code words for certain persons and subjects), we were ready for the vigorous side of life. We were already very much clued up in the art of "Bull ****" including hours of drill on the barrack square. Physical training was very strenuous and included gym work.
To make things more interesting, we split into teams for friendly competition and we actually came to enjoy our training. Of course, there were the usual route marches, which, I must admit, were not enjoyable. I defy anyone to enjoy a march of 20 miles a night scheme (fighting a mock enemy) and a return march of 20 miles.
On return from these marches, we were allowed to soak our aching and blistered feet before being inspected by the Medical Officer, more for his benefit than ours, I believe, especially if he had a keen sense of smell.
Obviously, much of our time was devoted to making landings from L.C.A’s (Landing Craft Assault). The full compliment for these craft was 36 men plus the crew. With only 28 of us, we scarcely had a full craft, unless exercising with the infantry. As you can gather from this information, these boats were quite small. They were flat-bottomed and shaped almost like boxes, so that they were able to run up to the shore and beach, but not very good for sailing in.
They would toss about like a matchbox, ride to the top of a wave and flop down the other side with a splash. Not very good for the head or stomach!
We did our 'mock' sea landings at Troon, Inveraray and Acharacle on the west coast of Scotland.
At Acharacle, we had the doubtful pleasure of meeting Lieutenant Louis Marsden R.N.
This was another shore base (H.M.S. Dorlin).
They called him ‘Mad Lew’, because he definitely was ‘mad’. He was in charge of the assault course there. Acharacle was on the most rugged coast of Scotland, with no home comforts except the N.A.A.F.I.
‘Mad Lew’ had us climbing the castle walls by scrambling nets (a sort of rope netting), and climbing up the cliffs by ropes and ‘Jacob’s Ladders’. These ladders had rungs made from tree branches and these were spaced at various distances apart, some at 1 ft., some 2 ft. and others approximately 1 yard, but in no semblance of order at all and the rungs were set at all angles.
Definitely not good for the legs, the nerves, or for the not so tall like yours truly.
We also had to run for three miles in respirators (gas masks), which, as you can imagine, was quite breathtaking (literally).
We had our baptism of fire on the assault course, machine guns firing over us to keep our heads down. Thunder flashes were set off at various unmarked places. Our 'friend', ‘Mad Lew’ told us, prior to the assault course run, that he was allowed 10% casualties. I didn't doubt his word for one minute and was relieved when it was all over, in more ways than one.
After leaving Acharacle , we returned south, in fact to Chilworth Manor on the outskirts of Southampton.
Not to a life of luxury, as the name implies, but to an existence in bell tents, with duckboards on the ground to keep us off the mud, as it rained incessantly all the time we were there.
However, we were blessed with good food as we teamed up with the Canadians, who first called us the ‘Limey Commandos’. We soon became great pals, and ate and drank with them.
My mouth still waters as I think of the flapjacks and maple syrup we had at breakfast time - very scrumptious!
Their alternative to the N.A.A.F.I., the ‘Knights of Columbus’ as it was called, was also a great eye opener to us. We had free cigarettes called 'Sweet Caporal', individual fruit pies, Coca-Cola and salted nuts – all luxuries at that time.
We billeted with the North Shore Regiment (New Brunswick), the Queens Own Rifles of Canada and the French Canadian Regiment De La Chaudier, who were a fearsome bunch, itching to get at the Germans and drive them out of France.
We still had to undergo landing exercises, whatever the weather, hot, cold, calm or rough, and the landing wasn't a good one unless we were dumped up to our chests in the sea, which the R.N. Crews seemed to enjoy for some reason.
We did landings at Bracklesham Bay, Studland Bay and on many other coasts including Bembridge, on the Isle of Wight, which I remember well.
This particular exercise I remember very well, as it was almost my last.
Here we used an old L.C.I, in which the ramps were lowered forward, down the sides of the craft. Myself, and a few others, were halfway down the ramps, ready for a quick dash ashore, when we beached. Unfortunately, along came a massive wave, our ramp overturned and we were flung into the sea, in about 8 feet of water at a guess. (Not very pleasant, I can tell you, with kit, rifle, steel helmet and fully clothed.) We did have ‘Mae Wests’ (a sort of blow-up lifebelt which we had round our chests) but, with our heavy load, not a lot of help I'm afraid.
With lungs full of salt water and almost panicking, I grabbed hard at the first thing I could get hold of. It was the guy in front, who wasn't very pleased, I can tell you, because he was in the same boat as I was, or, should I say, out of the same boat. Anyway, we struggled together until our feet touched the sand below, where we said our fond farewells and I replied, "the same to you Jack".
I can assure you that I didn't do any dashing up that beach.
We climbed up from the shore to a disused gun site, which was to be our temporary quarters for the night. All my clothes and equipment were sodden with seawater, including two blankets I was carrying at the time.
After drying off as best I could, I managed to borrow a blanket and make a drink of tea in my mess tin with a sugar and tea cube, which was part of the 24-hour ration supplied.
Still shivering with cold, I also managed to scrounge a couple of packets of Sweet Caporal cigarettes from a truckload of passing Canucks. These helped to calm my nerves.
Next day I was able to get an exchange of clothing from the Quartermaster's Stores, which had been set up inland.
The following night, after manoeuvres, two or three of us slept on the carpet of a house nearby, by kind permission of the owner.
It was hard but luxury compared to the previous evening. This was to be the last exercise before Operation Overlord (the code name for the D Day Landings).
My personal wireless was to be a 46 set used by assault troops. It was about the size of a portable T.V. set and carried on my back, plus the normal kit.
The microphone consisted of a strap which clipped round the neck, with two sensors which fitted one each side of the larynx, thus enabling you to talk normally, sending and receiving instructions and messages to the platoon commanders regarding enemy positions and progress of the landings, etc. We didn't need to use Morse keys so had both hands free for other uses.
Shortly before D Day, we were transferred to a tented camp in woods somewhere near Southampton. This camp was entirely surrounded by a double row of barbed wire, 8 feet high and about 6 feet between the rows, down which a security patrol would pass, at intervals, 24 hours a day.
This was to keep the troops in to stop any leakage of information, which would be useful to the enemy. Thank goodness this proved to be successful and helped to make the invasion of France a total surprise.
By the way, ours was only one of these camps, which covered a large area of Southern England and made it one large transit camp.
We had visits from Field Marshall Montgomery, who explained the situation to us, and our bunch of Canadians had a visit from General (later to become President) Eisenhower of the U.S.A.
We were lined up and, as he passed our Combined Ops. lads, he shook hands with us and in his American accent said, "Radio experts, eh! Good luck guys".
When the great day was near, we were transported to Southampton Docks by trucks.
This was 4th June 1944 when we of the first assault wave boarded our ship S.S. Monowai.
She was once an armed merchant cruiser built in New Zealand, and now converted to carry L.C.A’s (Landing Craft Assault).
We left port and sailed out into the Solent, which became known as "Piccadilly Circus" due to the large number of craft anchored there. The weather was terrible and the seas so rough that the invasion date, which was originally set for 5th June, had to be postponed. But, if we were to catch the right tide for the landings on that particular month, then 6th June was the latest date it could be delayed until, so 6th June it was!
We knew that we were bound for the continent somewhere and, as we had been paid out in French francs, it must be the French coast where we were to make the landing.
Our only allowance of British currency was 10 shillings; if we had any more it was to be exchanged for francs (special invasion currency).
The sleeping quarters were packed with Canadians and as there was only the sergeant and myself from our section on this particular craft, we got a couple of bunks in the sergeants' quarters.
It was a small but very comfortable cabin compared with the other ranks quarters.
The cabin consisted of four bunks and the luxury of a washbasin, with hot and cold water.
The occupants were two sergeants from the Queens Own Regiment of Canada, the section sergeant and myself.
By the way, the water was sterilized which gave it a very sickly smell and taste. I couldn't drink it and as the tea was made with this water, I'm afraid I couldn't drink that either.
Well, the next day we were up quite early (about 7 o'clock) and before breakfast we lined up for our rum ration, which I was looking forward to. It was real Navy Rum, very concentrated and really needed diluting, but I couldn't drink the water, remember, so I drank it neat. There was about the same amount that would fill a whisky glass. I'm afraid this dulled my senses a little, so you will understand that I don't remember what breakfast consisted of, or whether I ate it or not.
I then retired to my bunk and slept the morning away.
After dinner, I went up on deck. As cigarettes were 20 for sixpence, I smoked myself to death that afternoon.
Evening came and the orders were unsealed. The section sergeant was given a map of the beach where we were to land, showing the defences and reefs, etc.
It was to be Berniers Sur Mer on the Normandy coast.
The Canadian Padre then held a short service and we turned in for the night, as we had to be up very early the next morning (6th June).
I had a very good night's sleep, helped by the rum I suppose.
Next morning, when we were "roused" from our sleep, we put on our equipment.
It was still quite dark. The big guns and the rocket firing landing craft were pounding away at the shore defences, following a softening-up attack by the R.A.F.
The seas were pretty rough as the landing craft were lowered over the side from the mother ship. We climbed down the scrambling nets into the L.C.A.s, which was a tricky job in rough seas.
As I said before, the L.C.A.s held 36 men, plus R.N. crew, so we were packed together like the proverbial can of sardines.
It wasn't very comfortable but no one bothered about that - our minds were on much more serious things. We were now about three miles from the French coast and our landing craft was tossing about like a cork on the waves. Besides my normal gear, I was carrying the wireless backpack and I had to strain to keep my body bent forward. We had been travelling quite fast and by this time the noise of the guns and the shriek of the rockets firing was much louder.
The shore was clearly in view now and tracer bullets were passing by each side like a stream of sparks. By this time, things were getting hot. The water was splattering all around our craft, as shells and bullets hit the water. I stood up once, after much struggling, but quickly crouched down again when something smacked into the sea a couple of yards away. Then bullets began to glance off the sides of our craft but, luckily, failed to penetrate the steel plating.
By this time, we were approaching the seawater obstacles. They were a kind of concrete pyramid with mines attached. These pyramids were spaced apart at short intervals and there was barely room for the craft to pass through. Our naval crew did a fine job in the rough seas and managed to steer us through O.K.
We heard explosions as the L.C.A.s behind, and at the side of us, blew up on the mines.
(Our craft "copped" it on the way back.)
As we approached the beach, we heard a shout "DOWN DOORS".
The ramp went down and off we piled, finding ourselves up to the chest in seawater.
I don't really know whether the water was cold or not. I didn't notice because I had my eyes fixed on a concrete wall ahead.
We struggled to get out of the water, which seemed to take ages but in reality was just a few seconds.
On reaching the firm sand, the sergeant and myself made a dash for the wall. I've never run so fast in my life.
The beach was sprayed from all angles by enemy machine gun and mortar fire.
I could see Canadians, out of the corner of my eyes, running for the sea wall but unfortunately they didn't all make it.
On reaching the shelter of the wall, I looked back along the beach and saw the bodies of dead soldiers and also the wounded being dragged to the comparative safety of the sea wall. To our left, the Commandos were landing. A party of them were lying in the sand for cover. A tank, which had just come ashore, rolled towards them, the tank commander failing to see them before it was too late. They were crushed beneath the tracks. It was a gruesome sight.
At our rear, bren gun carriers were off-loading. I saw one receive a direct hit from an enemy gun, overturning it in the sea. As the tide receded, I saw a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the carrier.
We were still "holed-up" behind the wall, under fire from a German machine gun post, when a civilian wearing a red, white and blue armband appeared on the beach. He was obviously a member of the French resistance. Speaking in broken English, he led a party of Canadians to the rear of the house, where they surprised the machine gunners, who surrendered with little resistance.
Most of the enemy had now left hurriedly. They didn't even have time to take down the signs marking the minefields.
They were pretty gruesome looking signs:-
ACHTUNG
MINEN
There was another incident I must mention.
After we moved forward from the beach, some Canadian infantry were advancing, moving from house to house along the main street. A sniper fired from one of the windows, wounding one of them.
The rest dived for cover, apart from a medic who wore an armband with the red cross on it.
He rushed forward to help the wounded man but had only gone a few yards when he was also shot by the sniper, who then came out of the house with his hands up in surrender.
The Canadians weren't having any of it. One of them drew his revolver and emptied the whole chamber into him and it was "Goodbye, Fritz".
There were quite a few snipers about during the first couple of days, hiding away until dusk. Amongst them were two or three French women who, I imagine, had German lovers or were collaborators. I'm afraid they didn’t live long, as the Canadians had no sympathy for snipers, be they men or women.
There's another little story about a group of Canadian soldiers who were advancing on an enemy “pillbox”, which they eventually surrounded.
The officer went forward, holding a white flag aloft, asking the Germans to surrender. Whilst he was walking towards the “pillbox”, he was shouting in German, asking them to surrender and saying he was unarmed. They opened fire, killing the officer, and then came out with their hands up to surrender, but it was too late - they were riddled with Tommy gun fire.
Well, the first chance that came along, we dug ourselves slit trenches in the ground. They were about 5 feet deep, 6 feet long and 3 feet wide. I managed to clamber down to the beach to salvage a couple of armoured doors from a wrecked L.C.A., which I placed over the top of my slit trench, leaving a narrow entrance to get through. I then covered the doors with soil and camouflage.
It was surprising how comfortable and warm these holes were, with a blanket, greatcoat and a water-proof ground sheet.
I didn't get much sleep that night, though, because German planes managed to get through to the coast and were bombing the ships. They also dropped anti-personnel mines. However, we became used to it in time and it didn't bother us too much - we were so tired.
Next to the field where we were dug in was a big ammunition and petrol dump, and in the field next to that was a house. I say ‘was’ a house, because the first night it was hit by a bomb and caught fire. This really scared us because it was very near to the big dump.
Luckily, the fire was put out pretty quickly and a sigh of relief was uttered by all.
Well, the next night we had just crawled into our foxholes when we were called out. German paratroops were expected to be dropped in our area shortly. We were all tensed and strained, waiting and watching the night skies for the first signs of the enemy. Once, we heard planes passing over and thought, "Here it comes", but luckily they turned out to be our own planes on a bombing mission.
When daylight came we were still waiting; no German paratroops came, so we had breakfast (tinned soya sausages).
After a few days, we had orders to put up telephone lines in the coastal town of Courseilles-sur-mer. We had to dig more foxholes.
I became quite expert at climbing telegraph poles (many of them broken and shaky) and putting up lines.
My next job was operating a telephone exchange switchboard Mk I, a Heath Robinson affair, situated in a cellar. There was no electricity so at nights we used a tilly-lamp. What a boring job it was until one morning I was sitting there – the next moment I wasn't sitting there.
A shell had crashed through the house next door. I was lying on the floor, amidst chairs, blackouts, telephones and all sorts of things, covered in dust. I thought the house had fallen in.
It was whilst I was on night duty that I heard, over the phone, that German E Boats were in action, off the beaches, and later, in the early morning, a report came through that 65 of them had been sunk. Well, for a few days after this, everything became calm and peaceful.
The big gun which had been firing all the time from Le Havre (the one that put the shell through the house next door) had been captured. Then we had another scare.
We were put on full alert at 12 o'clock one night. The Germans, we were informed, were about to attempt a landing on the beach and, as previously, we waited and waited but no sign of the enemy.
Nothing exciting happened after this, except when Caen was bombed. The big four-engine bombers came over just as it was getting dark, in what seemed an endless stream - they seemed to be coming over for hours. A tremendous red glow appeared in the sky over Caen. We could hear the A.A. guns as they fired at the planes and the crunching noise of the falling bombs.
I was glad I wasn't on the receiving end of that little lot.
I moved up to Caen later and everything appeared to be in ruins, apart from the cathedral. Bricks and rubble lay everywhere; what a terrible scene of mass destruction. Even in the nearby woods, the trees had been literally torn up by their roots and just lay where they had fallen.
After this, things began to return to a reasonably normal existence in our area, except for a few sorties by our planes. Well, these are the main events as I recall them.
There were quite a selection of everyday occurrences but obviously I can't remember them all. There is one event, which I failed to mention.
One evening, we decided to pay our Canadian friends a visit, up at the front. We clambered aboard a truck and commenced our journey, which was uneventful.
All seemed to be pretty peaceful when we found them; they had come out of the line for a well-earned rest. We found them in a ‘rest camp’, which was situated in caves in the hillside. One of the caves was as big as a cinema and we were surprised to find a film being shown in there.
This was where the Germans had been holding up our advance. It was here that I came across a French Canadian (of the Regiment de la Chaudier) who was a buddy of mine. He took me over to his truck. The windshield had been shattered and I counted 45 bullet holes in that truck and, miraculously, he wasn't even scratched. How he got away with it I shall never know.
After returning to ‘Juno’ beach, which was now back to normality, I decided to take a stroll one morning over the sands. I saw corpses and parts of human bodies that had been washed ashore. I guessed they were the remains of sailors, some British, some German. One body was obviously a German from a one-man submarine. He was clothed from head to foot in a tight fitting rubber suit and wore a sort of mask over his face.
One of the other enemy sailors was very tall, between 6’6" and 6’10" I should guess.
All the bodies had obviously been in the sea quite some time as they were bloated and the fish had been nibbling away at their flesh. Bones were sticking out where the flesh had failed away from them and they were a mouldy looking colour, tinged with patches of green and red.
I picked up a human skull, lying in the sand, which had been picked clean by fish.
It was my intention to keep it as a sort of souvenir but quickly changed my mind.
This record is just a main outline of my days in Normandy whilst serving in Combined Operations.
Of course, there were certain incidents during the fighting in which I was personally involved but I think you will understand when I say they are my own private memories and I wish to keep them that way.
After the war ended in Europe, I left HMS Dundonald, my Combined Operations Base, to serve in India and Singapore which is another story.
Cyril W. Crain
D Day Veteran
Landed "Juno" Beach H Hour + 10 minutes
For Cyril and his comrades who survived, it is important that the cost involved in bringing peace back to Europe is not forgotten.
Cyril was the Secretary of the Nottingham branch of the Normandy Veterans Association who met regularly and share fellowship and memories. Even his house is called "Juno"
Sitting in the comfortable lounge of his local pub, and sharing a pint, I asked Cyril how his life had been changed by those events so long ago.
He told me that after the war he was given 6 weeks "demob" leave then it was back to work and try to pick up the pieces of his life.
He was very unsettled and moved jobs several times. He also found that he was more aggressive and irritable in his behaviour.
For many years he tried to forget the past and live for the present, but a phone call from a comrade called George 10 years ago brought it all back to him and now it all seems to affect him more than it did then.
He has been back to Normandy several times, to walk on that beach and visit the graves of the friends he lost.
He feels no anger or hate of the German people, "after all", he said, "they were young men who were called up like me."
The bravery and the courage of those who risk their lives so that all can live in peace must never be forgotten.
"Greater love has no-one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
MY BUDDY
In memory of a man from '43, he came from a land across the sea
"Hi there, Limey!" he yelled with a grin "Hello!" I replied, "how've you bin"
"Go inside and stow your gear, bring your pals, we'll go for a beer".
From this moment a friendship grew. We ate, we trained, and socialised too.
Then one day the orders came, realising now this wasn't a game.
We boarded ship, then on our way, and during the night we gathered to pray.
Landing craft lowered seven miles from land, we scrambled down nets, hand overhand.
Into the boats, a fearsome task, “Look after us Lord”, that's all I ask
The sea was stormy, we had a rough ride, I looked at my buddy who sat by my side.
”Take care Limey, you'll do fine,” “Good luck Canuck, old friend of mine”.
The ramp went down, we plunged into the swell, the beach before us a living hell.
Our feet on the ground, we dashed to the wall, from the corner of my eye I saw him fall.
Again and again I still ask why! My friend from Toronto, why did he die?
Cyril Crain
This poem is dedicated to Freddy Harris, a sergeant in the Queen's Own Rifles of Canada killed in action on D-Day 1944.
In Memory of
FREDERICK BERNARD HARRIS
Sergeant B/63616 Queen's Own Rifles of Canada, R.C.I.C.
who died on Tuesday, 6th June 1944. Age 23.
Son of Dr. William Harris and Tillie Harris, of Toronto, Ontario.
Commemorative Information
BENY-SUR-MER CANADIAN WAR CEMETERY, REVIERS, Calvados, France I. C. 4.
Reviers is a village lying 18 kilometres east of Bayeux, 15 kilometres north west of Caen and 4 kilometres south of Courseulles-sur-Mer. The cemetery lies on the north side of the main road 1 kilometre east of Reviers. It was on the coast just to the north that the 3rd Canadian Division landed on 6th June 1944; on that day, 335 officers and men of that division were killed in action or died of wounds.
In this cemetery are the graves of Canadians who gave their lives in the landings in Normandy and in the earlier stages of the subsequent campaign.
Canadians who died during the final stages of the fighting in Normandy are buried in Bretteville-sur-Laize Canadian War Cemetery. There are over 2,000, 1939-45 war casualties commemorated in this site.