

          
          * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
          *                                                       *
          *      CHAPTER 4: THE FINAL PREPARATION FOR D-DAY       *
          *                                                       *
          * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

          Once the battalion was settled in Axminster, it was time
          to turn to the purpose of our being there, to get ready for
          the invasion of the continent. We had amphibious
          training in the US, but this was only a sample of what
          awaited us.
          
          There were, however, still important matters to be worked
          out with the local community, such as who would do the
          officers' laundry. Since the Axminster laundry was already
          overtaxed, women in the village kindly agreed to take this
          task on.
          
          Thus, once the battalion arrived, my letters and diary
          dealt mainly with two subjects, life in Axminster and
          training for the invasion. Given the restrictions upon us,
          it was possible to say more about life in Axminster than
          the training.
          
          Diary, Axminster, Sunday, February 6, 1944
          
          This is a quiet, little village of Axminster on a Sabbath
          day. Most of the officers and a great many of the men
          were inspired to go to church this morning.
          
          The officers' dining room is in the George Hotel, where is
          our battalion headquarters. The hotel has no guests,
          since it was requisitioned by the government some time
          ago. The dining room serves as our mess, the lounge as
          our club.
          
          The mess is in a large room furnished with antique
          furniture. Some of the pieces date back to the 16th
          century. It is lighted by gas, supplemented by candles. So
          impressive is the scene in the evening that we voted to
          have dinner in dress uniform, which makes a really
          beautiful picture.
          
          Diary, February 7, 1944
          
          Tonight Mr. Perry, manager of one of the village banks,
          came over to our lounge just after dinner. It was about
          a welcome they are planning for the battalion. We chatted
          about it for some time, settling some of the questions
          which had arisen. We also talked about our two peoples.
          He said the townspeople have been frequently
          disappointed by the attitude of the hospital. It seems the
          men have failed to keep engagements for tea - and all too
          frequently. So much so that he fears the populous will
          not invite our men.
          
          He invited me to go over to his club for a game of
          "skittles." The game is similar to our bowling, except the
          pins are further apart and a heavy solid ball is used. The
          bowling club dates back over a hundred years.
          
          Although I dealt with a number of people in Axminster,
          the only ones with whom I became friends were the
          Perrys. John Perry was the manager of a bank across the
          street from the George Hotel. He and his wife Rita soon
          offered me and Lt. Bill Sydnor the hospitality of their
          home, which was to the rear of the bank. This began
          with tea and finally extended to our taking showers there
          in the middle of the night.
          
          Diary, February 12, 1944
          
          Mr. Perry, with whom I am arranging some work with the
          city, took me by his home last Monday evening, when we
          were on our way to a game of skittles. As we were leaving
          the house, his wife said, "John, do go by the club and
          see what sort of trick they have planned for you. I'm
          consumed with curiosity."
          
          Then, as we walked along the street, Mr. Perry explained
          to me that the day our troops had arrived, his pet
          bantam, Belinda, had disappeared. He advertised on
          posters and such for her, but without results.
          
          This became quite a subject of gossip in the town, and
          now he felt the members of the Conservative Club were
          planning some joke on him. And they were. For when we
          went into the club we found a poem pinned on the
          bulletin board.
          
           Who pinched Belinda?        We, said the Terrace Lodgers. 
           I said the Yank -           Now go and tell P.C. Rogers, 
           From the back of a bank,    We saw her die.               
           I pinched Belinda.                                        
                                       All the bantams in the town   
           Who saw it done?            Were so sad and said "nuffin" 
           Not even the Yank's mate    When they heard John's Belinda
           Who was watching the gate.  Was filled up with "stuffin"  
           No one saw it done.                                       
                                       Moral - Never introduce your  
           Who saw her die?            "bird" to the Yanks!          
                                                                     

          Mr. Perry was somewhat embarrassed at first, but when
          I got a hearty laugh out of it, things relaxed somewhat.
          
          For several days nothing more was heard of the incident.
          However, when over to the Perry's home the other
          evening, I saw this sign on the door:

                                   RIP                               
                   The Admiralty regrets to announce that            
                                HMS BELINDA                          
                is now overdue and must be considered lost.          


          A BRIEF VISIT TO LONDON, WITH UNEXPECTED CONSEQUENCES

          Dear Folks, February 17, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          Just returned from my first trip to London. I went there
          Tuesday and returned Wednesday.
          
          Arriving there about 5:30 pm, I went to where Betty
          Baker, of the American Red Cross, works. She took me
          over to the Jules Club, where I got a room.
          
          We then went to the Strand Theatre, where we saw the
          English version of "Arsenic and Old Lace." It was really
          very good. Then we went to La Belle Muniere, a
          restaurant, for dinner.
          
          The next morning I walked about the city, just getting
          oriented. You, no doubt, have heard that London was
          badly bombed. Well, you can't imagine even what these
          people went thru unless you have seen some of the
          results.
          
          Love, John
          
          My letter home about my trip to London did not reflect
          its consequences. Tommy was stretching things to
          authorize it. I put it to him, however, as a reward for my
          hard work in getting ready for the battalion's arrival.
          Given this nudge, he agreed that I could go, on the
          condition I remain only one night.
          
          As luck would have it, when I was walking through
          Waterloo Station to catch my train back to Axminster, a
          familiar face loomed before me. It was Col. Richard S.
          Marr, Chief of Staff of the 4th Division, who had headed
          the advance party. Had I not been in this group, he
          would not have recognized me. As we passed, he nodded
          and said, "Good afternoon, Ausland."
          
          Tommy subsequently received a memorandum from Col.
          Marr, asking what I was doing in London. I do not
          remember what he replied, but nothing further came of
          it.
          
          The Betty Baker I refer to in my letter had been a Red
          Cross representative at the hospital near Axminster. For
          many officers in our unit, it became the center of much
          of their social life. I was very fond of a particular nurse
          but became impatient when she persistently broke dates
          with me. I only learned later in Germany from a doctor
          in another unit that this was because she found him
          more interesting than me. He did not take as literally as
          I had her plea that she wanted to remain faithful to her
          husband in the US.
          
          During my visits to the hospital I also got acquainted
          with officers from the 1st Division. Since they had seen
          combat in North Africa and Sicily, they were not looking
          forward to our landing on the continent. As luck would
          have it, they landed on Omaha Beach, where they ran
          into terrible German resistance and had heavy casualties.
          
          Diary, February 23, 1944
          
          I am slightly aware of, within myself, a sincere hope that
          invasion will be unnecessary, that either the weight of the
          Russian forces or our air attacks will yet beat the
          German to his knees.

          Dear Father, February 28, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          Thursday we had a USO show which featured James
          Cagney. He told a few gags, danced, and sang the hits
          from "Yankee Doodle Dandee."
          
          He stayed around town for about five days, eating all his
          meals at our battalion officers mess.
          
          After the show, to which we took John and Rita Perry,
          Bill Sydnor and I went over to their house.
          
          Love, John
          
          During one of our visits to the Perrys, five year old Anna
          presented Bill Sydnor with a bouquet of flowers she had
          picked in the garden. Since we were going somewhere
          else that evening, Bill was uncertain what to do with
          them. He ended up putting them behind a large vase on
          a table in the entry hall.
          
          The next time we went to the Perrys, Anna met us at the
          door, holding the flowers, now wilted. With a tear in her
          eye, she said, "Oh, Uncle Cinders, you are a naughty
          boy."                                              


          ASSAULT TRAINING AND PRACTICE LANDINGS ON SLAPTON SANDS

          Diary, February 28, 1944
          
          Today we made a motor march from Axminster, via
          Honiton, Exeter, Crediton, Barnstaple, and Bronston to
          the ATC (Assault Training Center).
          
          Diary, March 1, 1944
          
          We witnessed today one of the most potent displays of
          fire power any of us have ever seen. It was by a 30 man
          assault section in an attack on a fortified beach position.
          
          All this was done with live ammunition. Only the closest
          coordination prevented the men from killing each other.
          A beautiful team, just what we need to hit the coast of
          France.
          
          Dear Dad, March 7, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          Still we go on writing and still you fail to receive our
          letters.
          
          Being overseas is enabling me to save a little money. If
          enough stacks up, I should be able to finish college in
          none too bad style.
          
          Yes, in case you wonder, I still intend to go back to
          school when I get out of the army. However, I'm sorely
          tempted to spend a few years over here in between.
          Frankly, the people, their habits, and the country agree
          with me.
          
          The people, at least in our village, are quiet, easy going,
          and polite. Things are built solidly. There is little "hell
          raising" and a strong emphasis on "living."
          
          Love, John
          
          Diary, March 11, 1944, Braunton Camp, England
          
          Capt. Mercer, liaison officer with the 2d battalion, got
          hurt on a landing craft the other day. As a result, I am
          to be liaison in the forthcoming "hedgehog" exercise. We
          went through a dry run of it this morning.
          
          This afternoon another battalion went thru it, firing live
          ammunition. It was a good show. A group of our men
          gathered around the headquarters tent to watch it, so I
          made a little class out of it and explained the problem as
          it went along.
          
          Dear Folks, March 23, 1944, Somewhere in
          England
          
          Today was Rita's birthday - 32. Bill Sydnor and I went
          over to see her for a bit this evening. John dragged out
          a quart of port and we all drank her health. I was
          somewhat amazed at Rita's age, since one would take her
          certainly to be under thirty.
          
          Oh, yes, we bought some flowers for her. We sneaked
          into the house this afternoon and put them into a vase.
          When we came back this evening she had the room fairly
          decorated with them.
          
          Love, John
          
          Diary, March 26, 1944
          
          As the time to invade the continent draws nearer, one
          can see everyone is getting tense. No one says much
          about the operation to come. Perhaps not many of them
          think much about it - at least realistically. Of course it
          is hard for those of us who have not seen combat to
          realize what it is really like. Therefore we seem not to
          know enough to be frightened.
          
          You feel an acute wish that certain parts of our training
          were more complete. But in the second breath express
          the opinion that as a whole we are pretty well prepared.
          
          Certainly morale is higher than ever before. Recent
          demonstrations of our coordination on problems has given
          everyone a fairly secure feeling.
          
          In all there is a sincere desire to get on with the job so
          as to bring it to an early successful conclusion.
          
          Let's hope we don't forget that a better world will only
          come if we create it. And that first we must reconstruct
          what we have destroyed.
          
          This was my last diary entry, because we got orders not
          to keep them and to surrender any we had for
          safekeeping until the war was over. To my surprise, the
          army kept its promise, and the diary showed up at my
          parents' home. Later, when I finally got around to
          opening the green box, there the diary was, waiting for
          me. It has been both interesting and informative to watch
          myself a half century later.
          
          The entries in the diary and my letters, however, only
          vaguely reflect the intensive training we went through
          during our months in England. We made a number of
          practice landings at Slapton Sands, a beach on the south
          coast of Devon similar to the one we would land on in
          France.
          
          Since I rarely get seasick, these operations were a lark for
          me. Others found them more unpleasant. After their
          landing craft hit the beach, they would crawl onto the
          sand and collapse, exhausted.
          
          During the final practice landing, Operation Tiger, we
          used live ammunition. This could have been fatal for a
          few of us. The landing craft I was on landed an hour
          early. After a brief discussion, we decided to remain on
          the beach and hope someone would see us before the
          firing began. To have moved inland could have been even
          more dangerous.
          
          As the first wave approached the beach, a fast boat sped
          up. An officer shouted through a megaphone, "Don't fire.
          Don't fire. There are personnel on the beach."
          
          Others were not so lucky. German torpedo boats attacked
          several of our landing craft, with the loss of over eight
          hundred men. In addition to this tragedy, there was
          concern for awhile that several of the officers who had
          been briefed on Overlord may have been captured. There
          have in recent years been press reports about the secret
          burial of a number of dead at Slapton Sands, in order to
          hide what had happened. What is more likely is that this
          incident was at the time simply handled with the usual
          wartime secrecy. In addition, given the failure to provide
          adequate protection for these vessels, the military had
          little reason to draw attention to what happened.       


          PLANS FOR FUTURE, TROUBLE, AND A DISTINGUISHED VISITOR

          Dear Dad, April 8, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          When the fighting is over, most of the others will be in a
          hurry to get home. If I feel as I do now, I'll try to stay
          on the continent or come back to England. There will be
          much work to be done after the war. Just being in the
          army has been an education. Being on the staff has been
          even more. The latter has demanded a thing I find
          extremely difficult, being diplomatic. My superiors all find
          my work thorough and exact, but I know they often wish
          I would act with more tact.
          
          Come the invasion, we shall turn in our best solution
          and hope it is good enough. And I hope that we shall be
          wise enough to make unnecessary any repetition of this
          calamity during our lifetimes. We must look beyond our
          frontiers and realize that we are our brother's keeper and
          that to forget that is to invite disaster.
          
          Love, John
          
          Dear Folks, Easter Sunday, Somewhere in England
          
          After the Easter service I went over to our dining room at
          the hotel. There I found Betty Baker, of the Red Cross,
          a friend of mine who used to be at the hospital but is
          now in London. She was down for the weekend.
          
          We had dinner and talked for several hours. She is
          secretary to the man who will head civilian war relief on
          the continent. Thus, she had some interesting things to
          say.
          
          At mid-afternoon Bill Sydnor and I bicycled eight miles
          to a nearby town. We loafed around for awhile and
          peddled back, to arrive just in time for dinner.
          
          All in all, it was a very pleasant day.
          
          My love, John
          
          Dear Folks, April 11, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          Well, things can't always run smoothly. A couple of the
          battery commanders are unhappy with me....
          
          Love, John
          
          I do not recall why one of the battery commanders was
          unhappy with me but remember all too well why the
          other was. Captain Vernon P. (Junie) Burns was the
          senior battery commander. I was not aware of this when
          assigning buildings to the batteries and did not give him
          the best. He made it clear to me that he resented this.
          
          In addition, I was unsure of myself in my role as a staff
          officer and was sometimes officious in dealing with the
          battery commanders, who were senior to me.
          
          Shortly before the invasion, Burns gave me hell and said,
          "I am declaring war on you." I was not sure what he
          meant by this and never found out, since his landing
          craft hit a mine on the way in to the beach.
          
          Several years ago, I saw Burns again at a 4th Division
          reunion and reminded him of this episode. His reply was,
          "Did I say that? Well, we were all nervous about the
          coming invasion." A short time ago, I learned that he had
          died.
          
          Dear Folks, April 12, 1944
          
          We had a "distinguished visitor" today, who was making
          a tour of the units in the division. We had batteries
          scattered all over taking various types of training so he
          could see us.
          
          My first camouflage demonstration was from 0830 to
          0915. When it was over, the troops left. Ten minutes later
          the VIP (very important person) arrived. Later I learned
          that I should have kept the troops there until he arrived.
          But since no one told me this, or when he was to arrive,
          I scarcely could get excited.
          
          Nevertheless, he made some comments on camouflage, we
          talked very briefly and he moved on.
          
          Tonight we went to a nearby town to hear a talk by this
          same individual. Quite interesting.
          
          All my love, John
          
          In retrospect, the casualness in my letter seems strained.
          The VIP was General Omar Bradley, who would command
          US forces on Operation Overlord.
          
          In addition to visiting units in the field, so the enlisted
          men could see him, he addressed all the officers from the
          assault divisions at a meeting in Exeter. This was risky,
          for one German bomb could have delayed the invasion
          several years.
          
          During his speech, General Bradley commented that we
          were indeed fortunate, since we would have a front row
          seat on the greatest amphibious operation in history. At
          first, there was silence. Then, someone began to laugh,
          and a nervous roar of laughter swept over the room.
          General Bradley looked puzzled and then went on with
          his speech. A professional soldier, he simply did not
          understand that we civilians were less enthusiastic about
          war than he was.                                        


          PREOCCUPIED WITH MYSELF, I DID NOT TAKE MY FATHER'S
          ILLNESS SUFFICIENT SERIOUSLY

          Dear Folks, Undated letter
          
          Bill Sydnor tells a funny one. One day he was forward on
          a problem, observing. From the gun position they asked
          for his location. He sent them the coordinates over the
          telephone. Finally he had repeated them three times.
          "Hey, what's the matter down there. Can't you
          understand English?"
          
          "Yes, but I don't have a pencil and am writing the
          numbers in the sand. It's a slow job."
          
          My best love, John
          
          Dear Folks, April 13, 1944, Somewhere in
          England
          
          Visited Rita Perry, who is ill. She was stretched out on
          the couch. I took her wrist and said, "Well, how is your
          pulse this evening?"
          
          "Getting faster now no doubt," she replied.
          
          Love, John
          
          Dear Folks, April 20, 1944
          
          While in Tiverton, I went out to Margo Southey's house
          and visited with her for an hour. She is being checked by
          her doctor for a possible appendectomy, consequently she
          is not working. She
          is looking quite well - and I might add very beautiful in
          her civilian clothes.
          
          All my love to you, John
          
          Dear Folks, May 1, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          While in a bivouac area not too long ago I met some very
          interesting people. Our C.P. (command post) was located
          on the lawn of a large country estate.
          
          The owner was Col. Wellesly, former commander of the
          Duke of Wellington Regiment, and one of the Iron Duke's
          descendants.
          
          I had tea with him and his wife, and we had a very nice
          chat. Neither had been to America and were quite curious
          about it and what we thought. He was a loquacious old
          devil but very pleasant. She was quite sincere and said
          that she wished I could stay and talk longer.
          
          By the by, here's something I've long intended to tell you.
          If, by some ill fate, I'm ever captured, the best thing you
          can send me is food parcels thru the Red Cross. They
          could tell you at the proper time. Also, send me lots of
          cigarettes. I won't smoke them, but they will buy a lot
          of favors in the prison. About two or three cartons a
          week would do a lot of good. You can remember that,
          just in case.
          
          All my love, John
          
          Dear Dad, May 3, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          You'll never guess whom I've met here in England. It was
          Mr. A.W. Porter, your superintendent friend from Lashio.
          It was thru a friend of mine here, Mr. John Perry,
          manager of a local bank.
          
          I spent the afternoon with him, talking to him, his wife,
          and son - and having tea.
          
          After leaving Lashio, he made his way north and thence
          over to Calcutta. He was in charge of several thousand
          women and children evacuees, many of whom died on the
          trek.
          
          My best, John
          
          Dear Dad, May 9, 1944
          
          A four motored bomber? Don't your planes have anything
          better to do over there than carrying gold-bricking majors
          around?
          
          Mother says though that you are getting somewhat better.
          Hope you recover as soon as possible.
          
          Glad to hear that Bud has been brought to civilization
          again. He certainly deserves it after such a long tour in
          the South Pacific.
          
          Love, John                                              


          THE WEEKS BEFORE OUR DEPARTURE FOR THE CONTINENT

          Dear Folks, May 14, 1944, Somewhere in England
          
          The favorite English joke right now is that "Americans are
          overfed, overpaid, overdressed, oversexed, and over here."
          
          My love, John
          
          As one might expect, the reaction of the average
          Englishman to having so many soldiers dropped on them
          was mixed. They were glad to have our help in defeating
          the Nazis, but they would be glad to see us move on to
          France. (None of us could have anticipated at the time
          that England would remain a gigantic base, from which
          a number of military operations would be launched, for
          the next half century.)
          
          Although the English are good at hiding their feelings,
          occasionally they crept out. Margo Southy wounded me
          by commenting that the main reason they disliked us was
          because we were so arrogant.
          
          A barber put it more humorously. "Yes, as Winnie said,
          you send us the tools and we'll do the job. You know
          what the tools are, don't you? Well, sonny, you're one of
          them."
          
          On the whole, however, the people with whom I came in
          contact could not have been more kind and helpful. As
          the time for our departure came nearer, John Perry said
          to me, "John, I know that one of these days you will be
          leaving, and you will not be able to tell us. I want,
          therefore, to tell you how much we have enjoyed knowing
          you and to say goodbye."
          
          He was right in saying that we would leave without
          telling anyone. In fact, I had a date with Rita to take her
          to the movies the night we left Axminster.
          
          After the war was over, I visited the Perrys several times.
          After John's death, Rita and I have continued to
          exchange Christmas cards, and I visited her in 1992
          during a visit to Devon. I have also kept in touch with
          their daughters, Anna and Suzy, who now live in London.
          
          Dear Folks, May 22, 1944
          
          You ask if I'd heard from Bud since he left Tarawa. Yes,
          several letters.
          
          We had a rather unfortunate thing happen to us recently.
          Maj. Springer, battalion second in command, was in an
          auto accident and broke an arm.
          
          Lt. Ed Cissel, a very good friend of mine, will return to
          the battalion now from division artillery.
          
          All my love, John
          
          This letter would have been written from the assembly
          area to which we moved shortly before boarding our
          landing craft. The loss of George Springer was an
          untimely blow to the battalion. He wept at the prospect
          of not making the landing for which he had trained so
          long. George was an excellent officer. Out of respect for
          his advanced age (he was in his thirties), we called him
          "Pappy." He did not return to the battalion. We saw him
          again at a reunion in Augusta, Georgia in 1980, when
          many officers and men from the 29th Field Artillery
          Battalion attended a 4th Division reunion. In 1992, I
          received word from his niece that George had died.
          
          I was among those few officers in the battalion who were
          briefed on Operation Overlord while we were still in
          Axminster. Before going into the briefing room to learn
          about the invasion plans, Tommy suggested we each try
          to guess where it would be. I do not remember what my
          guess was, but it was wrong.
          
               Shortly after this, Tommy asked me to take a driver
          and an armed guard and go to division headquarters at
          Tiverton to pick up a copy of the operational plan. There
          were also maps and foam rubber models of the beach
          area. Before I departed with these, an officer instructed
          me that I should under no circumstances let anyone get
          control of them. He also gave me several incendiary
          grenades. If anyone tried to stop us and take the plans,
          we were to shoot first and ask questions later.
          
          Happily, no one tried to stop us, and I breathed more
          easily when we got back to Axminster. After we got to our
          assembly area, where security was complete, we briefed
          everyone in the battalion on the operational plan. 

          * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

           Finally, June 4 arrived, and we boarded trucks to take 
           us to the landing craft in the River Dart. In order to 
           get to them, we had to cross the river on a ferry.     
                                                                  
           As we boarded the ferry, an Englishman was counting    
           us. Always curious, I asked him why he was doing this. 
           "Because, son, we are going to charge a shilling for    
           each of you, against Lend Lease."                      
                                                                  
           Thus having a front row seat on the greatest amphibi-  
           ous operation in history was not entirely free.     
