Signalman Harry Read

	Training for D-Day with the 6th Airborne Division.
	This page: D-Day, Normandy and home to England.
	Poems by Harry Read.

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Map issued to officers of the 6th Airborne Division.

The Division was moved into a concentration area, Harry's area was in Down Ampney, Oxfordshire, where they had no contact with the outside world.

Shortly after we arrived in our field and had settled into our tents we were assembled to learn the strategy of the campaign and to learn the precise parts we were to play. It was a very sobering experience. Whatever feelings of exultation any of us might have had were punctured as we were briefed.

It was clear from the briefing that very substantial casualties were expected on the landing itself. No wonder our section had such a generous supply of wireless operators! The casualty expectation looked to be in the region of 50%. If others thought as I thought, the prospect of a safe return home was diminishing by the minute but, having put our lives on the line there was no thought of backing out, we would sell our lives dearly. We were all in the same boat and we trusted each other to do our jobs well.

We were supposed to take-off on the night our fourth June and were all geared for that. I think it was during the afternoon that word came to the effect that the weather conditions were severe and the campaign was put off for another 24 hours. At least, it gave a lot of men another 24 hours of living. The next day, the fifth, we boarded the transports and were driven to the airfield.

The RAF treated us very kindly. If I remember aright, they gave us a slap-up meal of bangers and mash after which we trooped out to the airfield where all the aircraft were lined up awaiting us. They looked very, very impressive. They were American Dakotas - C47s.

I am guessing that it was about 10pm when we emplaned having been hanging about for a very long time. Getting a whole brigade into aircraft and airborne is a time consuming task but, eventually, we roared off the runway and were airborne. Getting a fleet like that into formation before heading for the battlefield was time consuming also and, after stooging round and round seemingly for hours, we set off for France. Our time of destiny had arrived. An interesting moment came when the pilot spoke on the intercom inviting us to look down to view the coastline informing us that we were passing over Poole Bay. In retirement my wife and I live in Bournemouth and often, when sitting at ease on the beach I hear a piston-driven aircraft flying over and, immediately, in my mind I am sitting in a C47 looking through a small window at the white waves as they struck the beach just after midnight on that far-off day.

Quite how long it took us to reach the French Coast I do not know, but we had the command to stand, hook up our parachutes and check the chute of the man in front. Our aircraft lurched drunkenly upwards and we wondered what had caused it. Over the intercom came the pilot's voice telling us that he had released two large anti-personnel bombs 'just to keep the enemy's heads down'. We were reassured but he might have forewarned us. The aircraft moved into a significantly slower, steady course, the red light came on, then the green and we were moving as quickly as possible to the exit. We were so cluttered with kit that we needed help to reach the door and get out and the despatcher did not fail us. The roar of the engine increased as we left the plane and we were battered by the slipstream before our chutes opened - our war had truly begun.

The descent was interesting. There was no throat-swelling fear, just the awareness of what had to be done. The sky was alive and alight with shells, tracer bullets, and noise from the explosions and yet we felt - I felt - an air of detachment. In the distance an aircraft plunged to the earth in a ball of fire and then, I landed. If that is the right word to use because between me and the land was a couple of feet of water. It was an unexpectedly soft landing.

Harry jumped at 01.20 hrs on 6 June.

I had landed in the area, west of the River Dives that the Germans had flooded with water to discourage airborne troops. It was a successful ploy on their part. When daylight came we could see the silk circles on top of the water indicating that a parachutist had descending and drowned before he could free himself from his harness. It was a salutary sight.

The plan outlined to us in the concentration area was that, on landing, we would look for a strong green light and rendezvous on it. Lights there were in plenty but not one that looked remotely like a rendezvous light. I thought I had better move through the water in the general direction of our flight. Picking up the heavy wooden-sided accumulator I had jumped with, I put it on my shoulder and fell straight into a trench full of flood-water. With much difficulty I extricated myself remembering that, before flooding, the Germans had dug trenches across the land to add further hazards to their defences. Another few paces and again, I virtually disappeared and had to scramble out. This was to happen frequently but, on the third occasion, I concluded that the accumulator had become a pointless burden so I tipped it back into the ditch and continued walking. We had landed fairly near to a village called Robhomme but we were further east than we should have been, hence the flooded area.

Shortly after this I met another man from my aircraft. He was a member of the defence platoon and I knew him only as Paddy. We plodded on together for a while and met another little group that had an artillery Captain in charge. It was still quite dark and when they said which way they were going Paddy and I were not impressed and continued our own way. We waded through water both deep and shallow. Occasionally we were shot at, but we must have been bad targets as we continued towards Robhomme. In the afternoon we came to a knoll with a few trees offering shelter. We valued the opportunity to dry out a little, have a meal and keep under observation a farmhouse that looked as if it might be valuable to us. When we had witnessed no movement for a time, we walked towards the farmhouse - again we had to go through some water, and when we reached the door, Paddy knocked while I covered him with my Sten gun. The door opened and the warmest of welcomes awaited us from the farmer and his family. In the large living room there must have been twenty to thirty other airborne troops present, as was the village priest.

The priest had just arrived and counselled us to stay put. To move in any direction would, in his judgment, be foolhardy. He told us that nearer to Robhomme there was another group of Paras. He promised to contact them and tell them about us. We slept well that night on the straw in the barn and the next day the priest returned to say that someone would come to us from that other group and give us instructions. The priest had not been gone long before a Sergeant came along - a Sergeant who was very anxious to let it be known that he was in charge - but the message was that later that night someone would come for us, would lead us to the other group and that all together, we would journey to le Mesnil which was the proposed place for the headquarters of our 3^rd Parachute Brigade. In due course, we made our way towards the other group and we were formed up into a single file. The people they didn't particularly trust with firearms - namely we headquarters lot - they stuck in the middle while the infantrymen were fore and aft and we made what seemed to be a very, very long journey during that night.

It was a potentially hazardous journey because every now and again the column shuffled to a halt and there was gunfire either front or back. Then the command came to advance and we would go past a vehicle containing the bodies of the Germans who had just been killed.

Early in the morning - five or six o clock - we linked up with our own units. Paddy and I just walked into the 3 Para Brigade headquarters both of us amazed at the small number of men there. We had expected a greater number. Chaps I didn't know wonderfully well, even though we were in the same section, greeted me like a long-lost brother. I guess we lost at least a third of our men - not all killed, of course. Some would be wounded, some prisoners, some 'just missing' and one or two like ourselves straggled in after us. The losses were not good and that radio set we had packed with such care and were supposed to operate never did appear. We lost so much equipment it was unbelievable.

Our Brigade Headquarters was set up in a farm - a working farm still despite the fact that it was now in the front line. The Signal Office was in a small barn, next to it was a larger barn that was used as a mortuary and next to that, a large barn which became a Field Hospital where a team of medics, tirelessly, compassionately and skilfully attended to the wounded. A field just down to the right became a temporary burial ground. In our cramped, dark and somewhat smelly Signal office we had our field telephone exchange and the Brigade wireless set.

The Brigade Commander was Brigadier James Hill and I remember him well. When, in August we were able to break out of our entrenched position, I was one of those assigned to work on the roving set that accompanied the Brigadier. So, I either trudged along behind him with one those wretched voice-only wirelesses on my back or, when we had the luxury of the jeep the we used decent set installed in the rear. The Brigadier was a very brave man and a superb soldier.

Being in le Mesnil was not easy. There had been a lot of hard fighting before we could be established there and we were under almost constant attack. Ours was the situation where when you manned the trenches at dusk you were amazed that you were still alive to do so, and you had the same feeling of surprise when you manned the trenches at dawn. Every day was a bonus. We took an awful pasting at times and our Para Battalions around us which had also been reduced dramatically in size by the drop and the subsequent fighting, performed miracles. They were quite magnificent. Holding our compact position for a number of weeks was fraught with danger. The Germans knew that if they could break through our defences they could do serious damage to the whole invasion force. With our limited and light arms we had to keep a well-equipped enemy at bay, and so it continued, week after week. After we had been in le Mesnil for about ten days we were withdrawn from the line exchanging places with the 5^th Para Brigade. They occupied a magnificent old chateau in Ranville and we learned that the 5^th Para were very good at digging trenches. Their 5 star trenches were a luxury compared with our less well-dug holes. When, however, we returned to le Mesnil another ten days or so later, it was to find that, courtesy of the 5^th Brigade, we too had 5 star accommodation. And so the war of attrition continued.

In the August we broke out of our defensive positions - perhaps that is not the right way to describe it - the enemy withdrew and we helped them move a little faster. The withdrawal was due to the defeat of the German armies in other parts of France. Our position was rather like a hinge and on it the liberating armies swung in a large, victorious arc across the country. It was at this time that I was alternating being with the Brigadier in the jeep or back-packing the lighter, more mobile wireless set.

Brigadier Hill, second from left. Brigadier Hill has also been interviewed and has placed material at the Centre.

I recall one occasion when a Battalion was out of contact with us and it was assumed that their wireless set was not functioning. Brigadier Hill wanted to make contact with the Battalion and he, his ADC and me with this wretched replacement set left our positions to find them. The enemy was defending the top of a hill and the road ran straight up it from bottom to top. It seemed as though the Germans were firing their deadly 88 guns straight down the road at us. I felt that, if we stood up, they would take our heads right off. We made our way up the hill through the wood at the side of the road and I stood in amazement as the Brigadier and his ADC stopped, produced a map and, with shaded torches began working out the route to the out-of-touch Battalion. They stood as though they believed themselves to be indestructible even though every time the shells whizzed past we all went to ground. Unfortunately, when I dived and hit the ground the wireless set hit me. In the end, we linked with the Battalion and the working set was exchanged for the defective set.I Where the jeep came from I do not know, but, for the that return journey a jeep appeared and, with bodies perched everywhere, including the Brigadier, ADC and me we returned to our lines. For most of the journey, the Germans occupied one side of the road and we the other.

Shortly after that episode and having advanced fairly swiftly in the wake of the fleeing enemy, we were pulled out of the line for the purpose of doing another drop that would enable us to trap large numbers of enemy troops. As we understood it, we were to drop on the other side of the Seine thereby preventing the enemy from retreating across the river. However, such was the speed and momentum of the advance, that it became clear our role was no longer required and plans were made to return us to the UK. Having landed on 6th June we returned via the Mulberry Harbour to Southampton and then to Bulford. We were given privilege leave immediately and, while we were on that leave, the spectacularly brave and glorious, albeit unsuccessful, exploits of the 1^st Airborne Division took place at Arnhem. What heroism they showed!

Harry was sent to the military hospital in Shaftesbury. The medical staff decided against an operation on his leg as they were unsure how to treat some of the injuries caused by parachute jumping. Instead, they downgraded him medically to B7 and returned him to the Signals Holding Battalion in Thirsk for general duties.

...which bored me stiff. After a winter spent messing around doing this that and the other I thought there might be some wisdom in returning to the Airborne Division if I could get my A1 medical rating back. I also needed to get a trade rating too because my general duties service had lost me my operator status. When I tried to set in motion my return to the Airborne Division I was told that my medical records had not followed me to Thirsk. In the meanwhile, I applied to take a driving course, this being one of the shortest and most useful courses to take, and I was sent to Catterick for this purpose. My medical records never reappeared even though I asked repeatedly for the appropriate procedures to be initiated. But events were moving swiftly: the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the war in the east was over and, in effect, the Army had no further need of my services in a fighting capacity.

I was posted from Catterick to Stromness in the Orkney Islands as part of Scottish Command Signals and, when the Orkney units were closed I was posted to Edinburgh still as part of Scottish Command Signals. I was demobilised in June of 1947. My demobilisation was from the City of York where, almost five years earlier, I had enlisted. A delightful touch, I thought.

I don't think any of us could see beyond D Day - certainly not among we younger fellows. From our late teens we had been conditioned to do everything in relationship to that great occasion. We used to listen to Vera Lynne singing her nostalgic, morale-boosting songs and we shared the yearnings of everyone for days of peace and normality but I certainly had no view beyond the war itself and being active in the war. But as I look back I see how formative those years were. I think to be in the Paras, as with the Commandos and other special units, you learn to endure, to just keep going when other people stop. You learn that you can always do a bit more, push yourself harder, make even bigger demands upon yourself and that becomes engrained in your character. You have the confidence of knowing that you have faced up to the biggest physical demands that the military can make of you, and you have passed. That's helpful. You know that you took part in one of the biggest battles in the Second World War - a definitive battle - and it gives you confidence for just about everything else in life. I am very grateful for the time I spent in the 6^th Airborne Division: grateful and proud.

When the subject of hardship in war came up, I often said, partly expecting to be misunderstood, "Well, of course, I had a good war." And so I had! I wasn't wounded, I was scarred neither in body nor in mind. I wasn't like the chaps in the Far East who suffered unbelievably at the hands of vicious, twisted, sadistic men. I was never incarcerated in some awful prisoner of war camp. I was never on a death march. I was in the war without any of those things happening to me and, in an odd kind of way, I am glad of the experience although I would never like it to be repeated. As far as I am aware, the experience has harmed me not at all.

Shortly into my military experience I backed away from my Christian faith but, strangely enough, when I went on D Day, I took a pocket Bible, with me. The more I think about it the more unreasonable a thing that seemed to be. It was not until mid 1945, when I was beginning to think seriously about the future, what I would do, the kind of person I wanted to be, that I began saying to myself things like: "You don't really like the kind of person you are becoming. You are capable of living a better kind of life than this, a more worthwhile kind of life, unless you do something soon you are not going to be a very nice person to know." I remember saying to myself: "Maybe the faith that your Father had, which you have rejected is the faith that you ought to take up again." Those insights coincided with going home on leave and my brother was home on leave from the Middle East at the same time. My brother hadn't lost his faith, and I looked at the wholesomeness of his life, the quality of it, I realised that I had to change. It was while I was doing my driver's course at Catterick that I made my return to the faith.

	Training for D-Day with the 6th Airborne Division.
	This page: D-Day, Normandy and home to England.
	Poems by Harry Read.