“5 June: Looks as if the big event is not far off; all day shipping in the bay has been passing the boom, outward, in a steady procession. By evening there is only our little group left, and without the Lunenburg, she having been sent out to another job. Just before supper we received the signal which told us in a few short words that the big job begins before dawn.... At about 2340 we were privileged to witness part of what must have been the most dramatic and beautiful spectacle of the whole war – the first of the great air armada, the vanguard of invasion, leaving the shores of England for Normandy. Out of the dusk, over the hills they came, flying low – bombers, troop transports, gliders in tow, in groups of 35 to 50. Each plane was burning red and green sidelights, white light in tail, and bright white Morse light under the fuselage; the combined effect of these made each group look like a cluster of brilliant jewels floating through space. Hour after hour, through the night, they roared off into the darkness; and the sight of them – the thought that here was history being made, found most of us with little to say.
A line of blockships were sunk at high tide to form a shallow breakwater.
“Gooseberry”, a line of blockships laid off the beach to form a reef before the rest of the Mulberry was assembled.
“6 June: ‘D-Day’. Formations of our aircraft still passing over until about 0400 by which time a good many of them had returned empty to base.... At 0700 the BBC gave the world the news it had awaited so long – that the landings had been effected on the coast of France, near the Seine estuary, and the first phase of the invasion was a success.... We now are told that we do not sail until tomorrow, and I guess most of us feel a bit of a letdown at missing the first act. However, since we know little of what actually went on over there, we might count ourselves fortunate to be still safe in harbour. In the evening, about 1950, formations of planes towing gliders began passing over, bound for France, and kept on continuously for three and a half hours.
“7 June: At 0700 weighed anchor, and proceeded out of harbour, with Baddeck (we are Senior Officer), and two tugs towing Courbet one on each bow, speed about three knots. Planes towing gliders again overhead; continuous activity in air all day, planes going to, and returning from France. Day uneventful otherwise; weather fine, but not very warm.... Our ship’s company had been put into two watches (known as defence watches) for dark hours and emergency of any kind. We closed up at our action stations tonight at dusk 2230. At the same time had to reduce speed, as we are ahead of schedule. About midnight some E-boat activity near, but not involving us. We have ships all around us, literally, and one just astern of us got an E-boat in the beam of her searchlight. When she opened fire we could see the fall of shot with the naked eye. Then after a moment of darkness something – presumably the E-boat – burst into flames which were visible to us for nearly an hour. There followed almost continuous explosions from the burning vessel, and we could see a ship standing by her.... On this and subsequent nights there was so little W/T and R/T traffic that we could never tell what went on around us, even within visual range.
“8 June: Shortly after midnight we began hearing the big guns near the beaches, the Old Man estimates our position as about 14 miles off the coast, and some of the reports or explosions made our little ship shake. About 0100 an enemy air attack on the beach ahead of us began, and they were soon dispersed by a very heavy A/A barrage. We saw one plane brought down in flames.... Considerable activity at sea in our vicinity during the dark hours preceding dawn – bursts of Oerlikon tracer and many star shells. At daybreak we were quite close to the shore, but it was hidden by mist. At 0800 the mist was gone, and we got our first look at the coast of France – what was visible through and over the ships of the great invasion fleet. Very little confusion; a great movement of small craft, but all the big ships – the men-of-war, hospital ships, supply ships, etc., seem to have found their places in the pattern and settled down to await orders from NCXF (Naval Commander Expeditionary Force). We cruised up and down the beach area in search of this or some other senior officer: Courbet having gone to her ‘berth’, our job is finished, and we do not know what we are to do next.
... Within the limits of the beach area we can see what appear to be three towns; our officers think the larger one is Ouistreham, and neither it nor the others appear much damaged. We can see tanks, trucks, and other vehicles moving up the slight incline from the beach as they leave the landing craft. Weather fair, but a moderate wind and sea is hindering landing of men and equipment a little. Some of our heavier ships – Rodney, Nelson, and some cruisers, are shelling the country back of the beach-head.... About 1330 a great column of smoke arose from one of the towns.... There are few signs from seaward of German resistance to the landings, except for several wrecked landing craft on the beach. Some distance off shore, but in shallow water, is the wreck of the R.N. ‘Captain’ class frigate Lawford. Sunk while at anchor yesterday, she broke in half amidships; the broken midships section now rests on the bottom, with the bow and stern above water. We learned later that there was little loss of life – and also that the cause of the damage was not known; just a heavy explosion that could have been mine, torpedo, or bomb.... We finally anchored near one of the Control ships which direct traffic; got orders from her to sail with Baddeck for Portsmouth; under way at 1515. Weather is deteriorating. Passed many landing craft and tugs with tows of various types bound for far shore. (This latter was the term for the French coast used in all official communications, and soon came into common usage.) At 2215 we passed the Nab Tower, receiving orders from the signal station there to anchor at Cowes. Anchorage full of merchantmen ready to sail.
“9 June: Weighed anchor at 0900, proceeded to Fleet Oiler Teakwood to top up with fuel oil. Returned to anchorage at Cowes about 1500, on two hours notice for steam – which means that the ship must be in all respects ready to put to sea within two hours after being ordered to do so.
“10 June: Saturday. Usual routine carried out – everything above and below decks cleaned and squared up in morning, ‘Make-and-Mend’ in afternoon. The new ‘revised’ type corvette Louisburg is anchored near us, and we were able to exchange visits with some of her crew. Very nice ship, not much like the older ones.”
Incidentally, Louisburg replaces the first corvette of that name, sunk in the Mediterranean in a torpedo-bomber attack on a convoy; Camrose was in the same group, as was Kitchener, the ship on which Iver Gillen was serving then.
“11 June: Prospect of a quiet Sunday spoiled by receipt of a signal in late afternoon ordering us to proceed out of harbour. Under way with Baddeck by 1140. We are to patrol Channel 56, one of the routes to the far shore, and escort part of the way any tugs with tows, or convoys, that come along. Weather fair – cloudy, with occasional rain. At dusk we picked up two pairs of tugs with ‘Whale’ tows (parts of the prefabricated ports) and stayed with them during the night. All during dark hours displays of starshell and tracer shells visible.
“12 June: About 0430 saw and heard numerous heavy explosions in direction of French coast and some A/A fire in same place; looks like many another air attack. Left our tugs and tows at daybreak. At 0730 came upon two more tugs with a Whale tow, having some difficulty with same. As near as I can describe them, ‘Whales’ were heavy sections of floating roads or ramps, buoyed up by big steel tanks; there were usually four or five sections in a tow, and in this case, the after two tanks had leaked and sunk. The towboat skippers said further towing was impossible, as one tank was already on the bottom. They could not just cut it loose and leave it as it