DURING OTWAY’S DESPERATE struggle at the Merville battery, the situation ten miles to the southwest at Pegasus Bridge could not have gone more swimmingly for the British.
At about ten minutes till one, the low, droning sound of a large number of aircraft engines mingled with the crump and crash of mortars and artillery. Thus Major John Howard knew that the airplane noise signaled the imminent arrival of more paratroops—elements of Brigadier Nigel Poett’s 5th Parachute Brigade and Lieutenant Colonel Richard Geoffrey Pine-Coffin’s 7th Parachute Battalion—getting set to jump over DZ “N,” just east of the Ranville Bridge. It was one of the day’s more accurate drops, although not without mishap.
Major Bill Collingwood, the jumpmaster in his plane, was standing over the exit hole of the Albemarle waiting for the green light when suddenly the plane was rocked by a German shell. Collingwood fell out of the hole and his static line became wrapped around his leg, dangling him beneath the craft like a fish on a line and slamming him around violently in the hundred-miles-per-hour slipstream. Someone at the back of the stick yelled, “Cut the bugger loose,” but the number-two man, Private Dan Collis, threatened to shoot anyone who tried. Eventually, the men of the stick managed to pull the shaken major back into the plane. The men jumped but Collingwood and the crew flew back to RAF Odiham, where he immediately found a ride in the next wave of paratroops leaving for France.1
There were also lighter moments. Lieutenant Nick Archdale of the 7th Parachute Battalion recalled, “We weren’t over the coast a minute or two. Just before I jumped I threw out a stuffed moosehead, which we’d purloined from a pub in Exeter and was planned to put the fear of God into any German it hit! Then out we went.”2
Brigadier James Hill was jumping with his brigade and also had an odd gift for the Germans. “In camp, to keep the Canadians amused, I’d had a football with Hitler’s face on it in luminous paint. Everyone knew I was proposing to drop this along with three bricks—which they gave me with some rather vulgar wording painted on them—onto the beach to astonish the enemy. So there I was, as brigade commander, standing in the door of the aeroplane with a football and three bricks! As we got over the beaches, out went the football and the bricks and myself.”
Hill landed in one of the flooded areas. “I had tea bags sewn into the top of my battledress trousers, so while I was trying to get out of this lake I was just making cold tea! The way we got out was that we each had six-foot ropes with a wooden handle at each end for tying things up. As we met up with others, we linked up with these toggle ropes because if you went into a deep ditch and you weren’t tied to someone, you drowned, and there were many drowned that night. After a four-hour struggle we got out, more or less on the edge of our DZ.”3
Bricks, soccer balls, para-dummies, and mooseheads weren’t the only unusual things that were dropping into Normandy on D-Day. A number of “para-dogs” were also making the trip. Trained to jump from the air-craft with their handlers, these animals were called upon to undertake guard, mine detecting, and patrol duties once on the ground. Their acute hearing and sense of smell provided an “early-warning system” that un-doubtedly saved many lives. While a number of the dogs were used by SAS teams, several also accompanied 6th Airborne forces.
One of the most well known para-dogs was Bing, a German Shepherd assigned to the Scout Platoon of Lieutenant Colonel Peter J. Luard’s 13th Parachute Battalion, which used several dogs—Bing, Flash, Monty, Ranee, and Bob, the latter a captured German dog. It is not known how much, if at all, the dogs enjoyed parachuting. Some seemed enthusiastic, but Bing sometimes had to be encouraged to jump with a helpful nudge to his rear. Several of the dogs were dropped into Normandy in June 1944, and later over the Rhine in March 1945. Bing landed in a tree in Normandy and remained hung up there all night. The animal was a pitiful sight, badly wounded in the neck and eyes. But once he was released from his parachute, he stood guard uncomplainingly at a vital section of the battalion’s front.
The Canadians also had a para-dog, named Johnny, that jumped into Normandy with his handler Peter Kawalski. Otway’s 9th Para also had a para-trained German Shepherd—Glen. He and his handler, nineteen-year-old Private Emile Servais Corteil of Watford, Hertfordshire, A Company, 9th Para, took part in the Normandy landings. Sadly, both Corteil and Glen were killed on D-Day.*4
AT THE ORNE bridges, as Howard and his men listened to the growing roar of hundreds of airplane engines overhead, they smiled at the thought that soon reinforcements would be reaching them. An impressive number of British troops—over 2,000 of them—had or would arrive in the eastern invasion area.5
The 7th Para jumped. Richard Todd recalled, “Although I had forty jumps under my belt, I had no experience of dropping under fire. But I remember looking out and seeing the tracer bullets zipping past us. I thought what a pretty sight it was with all the colored lights. I didn’t think about the risk to my life—I just jumped.” A few seconds later, he crashed down in a cornfield a half mile from the bridge with German gunfire ripping the air around him. “As soon as we were on the ground our dropping zone was covered with enemy fire. Being first out of the first plane wasn’t my idea, I assure you, but immediately I could see I was lucky. My plane had benefited from the element of surprise. We’d come under a lot of enemy fire but nothing compared to the flak the other planes behind were getting. Looking up, I saw whole planes full of para-troopers being brought down. We lost a lot of men that way. One, Tony Bowler, was one of my closest friends. Tony’s plane was one of those that came down, complete with all its twenty paratroopers.”
Todd decided that hanging around on the DZ was definitely un-healthy, and so he started off. “Luckily I dropped right by a track that led straight to our rendezvous,” he said.6
GATHERING THE JUST-ARRIVED paras into some semblance of a fighting organization was now the next problem for unit commanders. To solve it, many of them had brought with them English hunting horns—little brass instruments traditionally used by the gentry on their horse-mounted fox hunts to rally the hounds and excite them for the chase. Now these same bleating horns were used to rally the troops and excite them for battle. As Cornelius Ryan notes in The Longest Day, “Across the moonlit fields of Normandy rolled the hoarse haunting notes of an English hunting horn. The sound hung in the air, lonely, incongruous. Again and again the horn sounded.” The camouflaged paratroops rallied to the sound and prepared to march into battle.7
The roar of the planes faded off into the dark as the plaintive calls of the hunting horns rang faintly in the damp air. At the Ranville Bridge Major Howard breathed a sign of relief when he saw Brigadier Poett’s tall figure striding toward him with one man—the rest of Pine-Coffin’s 7th Para was some distance behind, the victims of an inaccurate drop. Pine-Coffin had made it to the RV only to find but a portion of his battalion assembled there. Realizing that half a battalion was better than none, Pine-Coffin set off with the force for the bridges. They arrived at about 0140 hours. The battalion commander noted, “Many of the Battalion got their first sight of a dead German on that bit of road and few will forget it in a hurry, particularly the one who had been hit with a tank-busting bomb whilst riding a bicycle. He was not a pretty sight.”8
There were more gruesome scenes along the way. Richard Todd re-called seeing the corpse of a German officer torn in half near his staff car along with his driver. “It was the first time I’d seen a shattered dead body like that,” admitted Todd. “I remember thinking, ‘Poor sod.’ It meant no more than that.”9
The medical officer caught up to Todd on the march and asked, “Can I come with you? You see, I’m not used to this sort of thing.” Todd noted that the doctor was a bit unnerved after having seen “a German with his head shot off, but his arms and legs were still waving about and strange noises were coming out of him.”
With bullets and shells whizzing over the battalion as it double-timed down the road, Major Nigel Taylor, commanding 7th Para’s lead company, was as relieved to arrive at the bridge as Howard was to see him. After Howard briefed Taylor on the situation, the latter deployed half of his company into Bénouville while Todd took his platoon to Le Port to block the road from Ouistreham.10
“It was a rough night,” recalled the injured Jim Wallwork. “We pilots did what little we could, and although we were not normally chummy with the Parachute Brigade, we made them very welcome about 0300 hours that night. We did mention their rather late arrival and said that the battle was won, though neither was true.”11
By 0300 hours, the expected German counterattack still had not materialized. Except for the tank at the T–junction that was still burning, everything was relatively quiet. Then Howard received a radio message from Sweeney that Pine-Coffin and his advance party were approaching the Ranville Bridge from LZ “W.” Howard went out to meet him and brief him on the situation. Pine-Coffin then moved into Bénouville and set up his headquarters at the Café Gondrée. Howard pulled D Company back from the perimeter and assembled the men between the two bridges, where they could serve as a reserve company if needed.12
The German counterattack that the British kept anticipating did not occur, although harassing mortar and sniper fire regularly kept the paras’ heads down. In the meantime, some of the paras had figured out how to fire the anti-tank gun in a concrete pit next to the bridge, and launched a few shots at a nearby concrete water tower from which sniper fire was coming.13
During the morning a flight of Spitfires flew over the bridges, and noting that recognition panels had been spread out on the ground to indicate that the area was in British hands, did a few victory rolls. One of the planes made a pass and the paras saw some sort of object dropped from it. After going out to retrieve it, they discovered it was a bundle of that morning’s London newspapers. Hoping that the papers would be full of detailed news about the invasion and the decisive roll played by D Company, 2nd Ox and Bucks, the men groaned with disappointment that the invasion was not even mentioned.14
A NUMBER OF other gliders had been coming into Normandy in the darkness to deliver supplies, weapons, vehicles, and additional troops. The largest lift consisted of sixty-eight Horsas carrying elements of the 6th Airborne, along with four Hamilcars packed with heavy equipment—forty-seven of the Horsas and two of the Hamilcars eventually landed in France.15
One of the Horsas held General Gale. His glider made a safe, albeit bumpy, landing and collided with a hedgerow. There were no injuries but Gale’s jeep could not be extracted, so he and his staff began walking to the Château du Heaume at Le Bas de Ranville, where he had chosen to establish division headquarters. Along the way, Gale found transportation: a horse grazing in an open field. It was on horseback that he encountered Brigadier Poett, who informed him that 5th Brigade had achieved all its early objectives. D-Day in the British sector was apparently off to a fine start.16
An even larger lift took place during daylight on D-Day, when 250 gliders—carrying 7,000 men of Hugh Kindersley’s 6th Air-Landing Brigade—were towed to Normandy. Any German soldiers viewing this aerial spectacle must have been in awe while shaking in their hobnailed boots.17
IT WAS NOW 0700 hours on 6 June—the time the paratroops had been told the seaborne forces would begin attacking Gold, Juno, and Sword beaches, but no battle sounds could be heard from the coast, three miles to the north. Pine-Coffin noted, “We had overlooked the fact that H-Hour, 7:00 A.M., was the time at which the guns would be fired and not the moment when we would hear the explosion of shells. Actually, the ships were some distance out in the Channel and the shells took a measurable time themselves to reach their targets, and the sound of the explosions took further time to travel the three odd miles to battle position. It was a full minute after seven when the sound was heard. The noise, when it came, far exceeded all expectations and was quite indescribable both in intensity and duration, but it was music to the Battalion and spirits rose with the rumbling of it. The sense of fighting a lone battle passed completely—even fatigue was forgotten. The big show had begun and now it would only be a matter of time before the seaborne troops arrived on the scene and the battle for the bridge could be regarded as completely won.”18
TO SHOW HIS gratitude for the liberation of his home and homeland, Georges Gondrée went out into the garden behind the café on D-Day and dug up ninety-eight bottles of champagne that he had buried in June 1940 to keep them from the Germans. Very soon the scene at the café was one of great celebration as M. Gondrée began pouring free champagne for all the Brit paras. Upon hearing of this, Howard ordered all of D Company to report sick at the aid station in the café so that they could get their well-deserved reward. Georges continued to serve complimentary drinks to the British troops throughout the day until the supply ran dry.19
GERMAN SNIPERS REMAINED a constant menace throughout D-Day, especially once daylight came and made it easier for the marksmen to see their targets. Pine-Coffin noted, “The part of Le Port nearest the canal was never completely cleared of snipers, who made life a precarious affair in the area of Battalion Headquarters. As soon as one was cleared from one place, others would appear elsewhere, even to return to the same place. They were not very original although their courage could not be denied. The church tower was a particularly popular spot and was un-doubtedly a first-class choice, if rather an obvious one on the part of the sniper to use it. No sooner had one been silenced, usually with a Bren gun, than another would start from the same place.”20
THERE WAS MORE good news as morning turned to afternoon. Private Eric Woods was on guard near the Bénouville Bridge when, from off in the distance, came the faint skirl of bagpipes. He turned to a fellow soldier. “Do the Germans play the bagpipes?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” said his mate.
The sound of the pipes grew louder as the Green Berets of Lord Lovat’s force, advancing from Sword Beach, neared Pegasus Bridge at about 1300 hours. The pipes were being played by Bill Millin, and he had played them off and on ever since their landing craft came ashore at Ouistreham, even while under enemy fire.21
The story of the Commandos’ and Lord Lovat’s arrival at Pegasus Bridge has been surrounded in myth, probably perpetuated by the movie, The Longest Day. Historian Neil Barber, author of The Day the Devils Dropped In, noted, “Lovat did not lead the first Commandos to link up with the Airborne Forces in Le Port [north of Bénouville]. This honour fell to No. 3 Troop of 6 Commando, led by Captain Alan Pyman.” Barber said that many accounts of Lovat’s arrival have him apologizing for being two minutes late. In correcting this bit of mis-history, he said, “Pyman met Brigadier Poett and Colonel Pine-Coffin, and it was Pyman that made the statement about being two minutes late. There is no doubt in this. The statement is clearly documented in the No. 6 Commando War Diary, and I have spoken to members of the Troop who were actually there, who confirmed it. The Commando veterans have always known that Lovat was not there first to get there, and not the first across the bridge.”22
Millin said, “We got to Bénouville. I had to stop again because we were under fire there and we couldn’t get down the main street. We were taking shelter behind the low wall to the right of the entrance to the village, and [Lieutenant-]Colonel [Derek] Mills-Roberts of No. 6 Commando [part of Lord Lovat’s 1st Special Service Brigade]—he was across the road looking round his side of the wall—came dashing across to me and said, ‘Right, Piper, play us down the main street.’ He wanted me to run. I said, ‘No, I won’t be running. I will just play them as usual.’ So I piped them in, and they all followed behind me and through the village.”
At about this time, with snipers still active, Corporal Killean, a 7th Battalion PIAT gunner, received permission from Pine-Coffin to take a shot at the Bénouville church steeple, from which fire had been coming. A single missile blew away twelve snipers who had been in there. Millen was piping “Blue Bonnets Over The Border” again. He said, “Then a shell hit the church on the left and we all stopped, and two Commandos ran into the church to see if it had hit the snipers there. I looked round and the Commandos were throwing hand grenades in through the windows of the houses. Then I continued along the road and there was a lot of white dust with the noise and the explosions and everything. So at the end of the village, I stopped there and then Lovat [AKA Simon Christopher Joseph Fraser] came up to me and he said, ‘Well, we are almost at the bridges. About another half a mile. So start your pipes here and continue along this road and then swing round to your left. Then it’s a straight road down to the bridges.’”
Millin started piping again and continued along the road, his eyes looking nervously for any sign of snipers. “I had begun to become conscious of snipers by this time…. Turned round left and then I could see the bridges about 200 yards down the road and a pall of black smoke over the bridges and the sound of mortars bursting. So I kept piping down the road.”
Millen said, “Lovat passed and this Airborne Officer approached us and Lovat and the officer shook hands and started to discuss the situation. Then Lovat came to me and said, ‘Right, piper, we are crossing over.’ So I start walking, put the pipes up. We can hear the shrapnel, whatever it was, hitting the metal sides of the bridge. Well, when we got almost to the other side I started up the pipes. Coming off the bridge, I stopped again because Lovat put his hand up, the indication was to stop. So I stopped, swung the bagpipes on my shoulder and he said, ‘Another 200 yards along this road, piper, there is another bridge but we won’t have the protection that we have here because it’s not a metal-sided bridge, it’s railings,’ as he called them, ‘and when you get there, no matter what the situation, just continue over. Don’t stop.’”
“So I struck up the pipes and marched merrily along the road and he was walking behind me and others strung out behind,” Millen continued. I was still playing ‘Blue Bonnets Over The Border’ and we came to the [Ranville] bridge. I could see across the bridge, and there were two Airborne chaps dug in on the other side and they were frantically pointing out to the sides of the river that it was under fire, sniper fire, and whatever. So I then looked round at Lovat and he indicated to me by his hand, carry on across. So, I kept piping, but it was the longest bridge I ever piped across! I got safely over and shook hands with the two Airborne chaps in the slit trench.” As Lovat and Piper Millin continued on to the east, the unit came under mortar fire. “We all jumped into a ditch,” Millin said, “and we could hear the shrapnel coming through the hedge, and this is the spot where the pipes were injured. Not seriously, though; they could still be played.”23 With 7th Para now at the bridges in force and the situation seemingly under control, Lovat and his Commandos marched on to the northeast to see if they could be of assistance at the Merville battery, not knowing Otway and his men had already departed that location.
Except for sporadic sniper fire and occasional mortar rounds, the British troops at the two Orne bridges spent the rest of D-Day without being seriously harassed. As evening fell, the 2nd Royal Warwickshires that had come in at Sword Beach reached the bridges. Howard briefed their commander and handed over control of the bridges to them. Howard then marched D Company off to Ranville to rejoin the rest of the 2nd Ox and Bucks that were now there; Pine-Coffin’s 7th Battalion would follow.
Pine-Coffin noted, “Thus ended the first day of action for the Battalion. It had been a particularly full day and had cost much blood and sweat, but the objective had been achieved and it was a comforting thought to reflect that, during the whole twenty-three hours of operation, not a single German other than prisoners had set foot on the bridge. With the arrival of the seaborne forces, the west side of the Divisional bridgehead was secured firmly and the whole Battalion was freed to face the other way and rejoin the rest of the Division.”24
And even though D Company had not yet made the newspapers, Howard and his men were justifiably very proud of what they had accomplished.* Their coup de main operation had come off in textbook fashion with minimal casualties to their own forces. They just hoped that the rest of the invasion had gone so well.