Howard went round to each glider, shook hands with the platoon leader, then called out some words of cheer. He had just spoken to the Wing Commander of the Halifax squadron, he said, who had told him, ‘John, don’t worry about flak; we are going through a flak gap over Cabourg, one that we have been using to fly supplies into the Resistance and to bring information and agents out’.
Finally Howard, wearing a pistol and carrying a Sten gun, climbed into his own glider, closed the door and sat down next to Brotheridge. He nodded to Wallwork. Wallwork told the Halifax pilot that everything was go. At 22.56 hours, June 5, they took off, the other gliders following at one-minute intervals.
At Vimont, east of Caen, Colonel von Luck had just come in from an exercise, and after a bite to eat sat down to do paperwork. In Ranville, Major Schmidt enjoyed his wine and his companion. At the canal bridge, Private Bonck thought with relief that there was only an hour to go and he was finished for the night. In the bunker. Private Romer groaned in his sleep, aware that he would have to get up soon to go on duty.
Sergeant Hickman drove eastwards over the bridge, identifying himself to Bonck. He was setting off for the coast to pick up the four young soldiers. As he passed the Gondree cafe, he regretted that the curfew was in force. He had stopped in at the place the other day and rather liked it.
At the cafe, the Gondrees went to bed. In Oxford, Joy Howard did the same. In London’s East End, Irene Parr stayed up. She could hear planes gathering, and it sounded bigger than anything she had ever heard before.
CHAPTER FIVE
D-Day: 0016 to 0026 hours
Wallwork struggled with his great wooden bird, swooping silently alongside the canal, below the horizon, unseen and unheard. He was trying to control the exact instant at which the Horsa lost her contest with gravity. Wally Parr glanced out the open door and, ‘God Almighty, the trees were doing ninety miles an hour. I just closed my eyes and went up in my guts.’ Wallwork could see the bridge looming ahead of him, the ground rushing up, trees to his left, a soft, marshy pond to his right. He could see the barbed wire straight ahead. He was going too fast, and was in danger of ploughing up against the road embankment. He was going to have to use the chute, a prospect he dreaded: ‘We didn’t fancy those things at all. We knew they were highly dangerous, nothing but gadgets really, never tested.’ But if he were to stop in time, he would have to use it.
At the same time he was worried about the chute stopping him too quickly and leaving him short of his objective. He wanted to get as far up the LZ as possible, into the barbed wire if he could, ‘not because Howard wanted me to, not because I was particularly brave or awfully skilled, but because I didn’t want to be rear-rammed by no. 2 or no. 3 coming in behind me.’
As the wheels touched ground, Wallwork yelled at Ains-worth, ‘Stream!’ Ainsworth pushed the button, the chute billowed out, ‘and by golly it lifted the tail and shoved the nose wheel down’. The whole glider then bounced back up into the air, all three wheels now torn off. ‘But the chute drew us back, knocked the speed down tremendously, so in two seconds or less I told Ainsworth, “Jettison”, so Ainsworth pressed the tit and away went the parachutes and we were only going along possibly at 60 mph.’
The Horsa hit ground again, this time on its skids, which threw up hundreds of friction sparks from the rocks; Howard and the other passengers thought these were tracer bullets,, that they had been seen and were being fired upon. Suddenly, Howard recalls, ‘there was the most hellish din imaginable, the most God Almighty crash’. The nose had buried itself in the barbed wire and crumbled.
The crash sent Wallwork and Ainsworth flying forward. They were still strapped in but their seats had broken loose and they went right out the cockpit and onto the ground. They were thus the first Allied troops to touch French soil on D -Day. Both, however, were unconscious.