Remembering D-Day
Today is the 80th anniversary of D-Day when over 150,000 allied troops landed on the beaches of Normandy from more than 5000 ships and landing craft in the largest seaborne invasion in military history. Many men who had been on the staff of our ancestor insurance companies before the war were involved in the D-Day landings and the subsequent Normandy Campaign. To mark the unveiling of the British Normandy Memorial in 2021, I researched and wrote a blog about members of our staff who were killed in the campaign, like 21 year old Frank Bond of Norwich Union, who was one of those parachuted in behind enemy lines as part of the invasion force, and Donald Forrest from General Accident’s Dunfermline branch who died when his invasion barge for the D-Day +1 landings was hit by a torpedo.
To mark this anniversary, I’ve been searching our records for information about some of the men who survived the events of June 1944 to return to their pre-war insurance roles like Ron Saunders and Geoff Winter who worked for Sun Life and were both linked to radar units which landed in Normandy at the start of the invasion.
Kenneth Starbuck and Theo Tweedy, who also worked for Sun Life, both landed on D-Day +3, and Geoffrey Merriman, who retired in 1986 as General Accident’s chief marine underwriter after 49 years’ service, was awarded a British Empire Medal for his part in the Normandy landings as a corporal in the RAF.
Andy Innes from Norwich Union’s Glasgow branch, a first-class rugby player and golfer who played international cricket for Scotland, was severely wounded in the fighting following the landings. The staff magazines regularly referred to his injuries, which cut short his sporting activities and impacted his health for the rest of his life. Another sportsman from Norwich Union’s Glasgow office was James McCreadie Foulds who took part in the landings as a rifle commander. He ended the war as a major and took his leadership skills back with him to Norwich Union where he was appointed manager for Central Africa in 1954. Another major, Bruce Peene (an inspector in Norwich Union’s branch in Hamilton Ontario in civilian life), wrote a letter referring to his D-Day experiences which appeared in the staff magazine in 1946: “Just a few lines to let you know that I arrived over here on the morning of “D” day and, as my C.O. was engaged with higher formations, I had the responsibility of my regiment for the first five weeks. It has been a full-time job for me, as I had no-one to take over my duties as second in command, but thank goodness that period is over and the Colonel is back with us again. The channel crossing was very rough and I was seasick for the first time in my life; I believe it was due to the dope I was given to prevent such a thing happening! However, I soon forgot about my middle-region discomfort, for we came under the fire of the German snipers and mortars; we turned our guns directly on some houses and strong points that had been left by the leading troops. Our regiment has been in every battle on our front to date, Canadian and British troops as well, and we are all very proud about the whole thing.”
We have three other contemporary reports written by members of staff about their experiences of landing and fighting in France. Although details were censored and there is obviously some effort to shield colleagues back home from the worst realities of war, these testimonies become ever more precious as the numbers of D-Day veterans dwindle.
William Barber from Norwich Union’s motor claims department was a keen sportsman and a member of the company’s hockey team. He landed on the Normandy coast at 11 am on D-Day and wrote a letter which appeared in the staff magazine in the winter 1944 issue: “That part of the coast where we landed is rather like Hemsby or Waxham in Norfolk — no cliffs but low marram covered sandhills and a wide stretch of sand when the tide goes out. The Hun was just over the sandhills which, fortunately, were just high enough to shield us from snipers if we were careful. We were due to marshal in a wood but that was not taken until D-plus-3, so had to make another exit. Then followed a somewhat strenuous period of almost 3 months amongst the dust and terrible roads of the assault area, during which I travelled about a good deal, up to Cherbourg and in the east as far as we had gone round Caen. Then came the break-through when our armies surged forward over the Seine and on up through France into Belgium. Once again I was fortunate, as a small party of us was sent on a special job in the wake of the front line and followed on right up to Antwerp and, several weeks ago, beyond the Albert Canal. It was very interesting and at times very exciting, and I have vivid memories of the expressions of joy and happiness in the liberated towns and villages of France”.
Leslie Trussell, who worked in the accounts department of the Sun Life head office in Cheapside, wrote about his experiences in Normandy for the staff magazine in October 1944: “I have put off writing to you in the hope that permission would be granted for us to divulge details of our experiences in the early part of the campaign, but so far nothing has been done in that direction, so my remarks will still have to be of a general nature.
I imagine that there was some excitement at home when news of the break out of the original bridgehead came through. There was some very grim fighting, and the scenes of the battles did not present a pretty picture when we came through. The Jerries had got hold of every conceivable type of vehicle in their attempt to get away, and the roads were piled up with wrecked vehicles. There were literally hundreds of dead horses lying about, and the smell was almost unbearable. It was heartbreaking to see towns and villages completely destroyed, with people searching the rubble for anything that might be left undamaged.
It was a relief to get away from the area of the original ‘‘pocket’’ and to see undamaged villages. At first the people were not particularly friendly, but later on they changed their attitude until eventually we were greeted enthusiastically in every town and village. At one place we were almost mobbed and I think I was kissed by the entire female population, or at least it felt like it.
People have showered gifts of fruit upon us — apples, pears, plums, grapes, peaches and tomatoes — until the truck looked like a travelling harvest festival.
There have been one or two patches of bad weather, but on the whole it has been quite good. This is not too bad a life in good weather, but it is perfectly lousy when it is raining. We had to use our ingenuity to obtain any protection from the weather, as nothing was issued officially. By scrounging odds and ends of waterproof material we have made a fairly satisfactory penthouse to sleep in.
The next time you have a stormy night, just think of me lying on the ground on a groundsheet and three blankets, with the rain dripping on me, and the wind whistling through every opening. More than once we have woken up to find that we were lying in pools of water. The only consolation is that it is a jolly sight worse for the P.B.I. [Poor Bloody Infantry]
Considering all the difficulties, the food is not too bad, but the fare is terribly monotonous. Our main meal is almost invariably either bully beef and tinned vegetables or a horrible tinned stew. Lately we have managed to augment our rations by bartering with the country people for eggs, etc. We usually have to indicate what we want by signs, as none of us speaks the language they use.
Some of us had a day trip to a famous city recently and I had a very enjoyable time. Many of the shops had good stocks, but the prices charged were fantastic. A cup of coffee cost about 2s. 6d.
It appears that the Germans are prepared to fight to the bitter end, and some of the newspaper correspondents are getting decidedly more cautious in their prophecies as to the probable duration of hostilities. Still, the position looks pretty good, and I hope we shall not have to do much campaigning in winter conditions.
I hope it will not be very long before I have an opportunity to see you all, but we have got to get this job finished first.”
Our final account belongs to Ron Willson who worked in the actuarial department at Sun Life before the war and retired from the company in 1973 after 45 years’ service. He was called up to join the tank regiment in 1940 and wrote the following to the staff magazine in October 1944: “Coming across on D-Day our greatest danger was from mines. Lanes had been cleared for the ships, but as the Captain drily remarked between chews at his gum, “you couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t still a stray one or two drifting about”.
The agony of suspense was repeated just off shore, when our landing was delayed until nightfall by bad weather, waiting off the beach while enemy planes were circling overheard amidst a display of fireworks better than Crystal Palace ever produced. For the first three weeks I fulfilled by usual role of wireless operator, and as that means loading guns as well, I had a fairly strenuous time, especially as sometimes 3 days would go by without any sleep coming my way.
Since those first three weeks I have had to take the part of tank commander. It’s rather strange that most of my more alarming experiences have passed me by without my knowing it at the time. If all had gone well on D-Day I should probably have been part of a lightning attack forcing inland, but the delay in landing caused change of plan. I learnt afterwards that the War Office had written the lot of us off, but thanks to the weather I am still alive today. On one occasion we were holding an important point and we noticed that the lorries had not come to replenish us for three days. Didn’t worry, as we had plenty of everything on board, but at the end of the third day I remarked that we were getting low on water. Next day the water truck came, so I thought nothing more. However, later I learnt that we had been cut off from our rear unit for three days.
About the same time, we were stealthily creeping (vehicularly speaking) into an orchard to hide for the night — one tank behind another in a long line, with guns pointing to the rear. Suddenly there was a terrific bump and flash, and I thought my tank had run over a live shell. No damage was done, so I dismissed the event — only for a few minutes, however, for I then discovered that the stupid chap immediately in front of me had accidentally “let one off.” When you realize that one of his shots at that range — about four yards — would probably go clean through about three tanks, and that this shot whizzed past within six inches of my head, you’ll understand why I nearly passed out with a sort of delayed action panic.
Before all the many mobile shower bath centres were established about the place, ingenious devices for bathing were common. The most luxurious bath which I have tried is that formed by digging a shallow hole in the ground, placing in it a clean waterproof sheet well overlapping the edge on all sides, heating water to taste on a wood fire, pouring same into sheet and stepping in. I was thus luxuriating one evening when some enemy mortar fire started coming over — you should have seen me dash underneath my tank for protection, just as I was, dripping . . . or perhaps you shouldn’t have.”
I can’t help but wonder how many more of the unassuming insurance men I see in staff photographs had hidden stories of courage and ingenuity in adversity having returned from the beaches to pick up their working lives.
