Sometimes, the cross over between Army and Navy got even more blurred, as borne out by the testimony of John Dunham.
Marine John Dunham, aged 20 in 1943, studied the theory of engines at HMS Northney II. He had previously been with a mobile company, trained to drive a Bren gun carrier. Driving a landing craft was quite different. He and his colleagues began to feel more at home when they were sent to HMS Northney III and went aboard them for the first time. Before this, Marines had never been expected to drive craft, but they were delighted to do so. After further training elsewhere, they picked up from Hove the craft they were to take to Normandy.
In training Royal Marines to take over the minor landing craft, a single craft was used to ferry each small group and their instructor to their moorings. It was very cold in winter. They were issued with duffel coats. On pulling alongside their craft, they had to jump; if they missed, they were in the water. Mr Stott did so once, he recalls; luckily he could swim.
Communications and signals was a key area where the success or failure of any operation could be determined. This is well illustrated in the story of Malcolm Robinson of Minehead, formerly of Royal Naval Beach Signals, Section No. 5 (referred to here as B5).
Beach Signals section served in several parts of Hampshire, including the Isle of Wight, Cowes, Calshot and Crondall. There is also the story of the Dieppe raid and the Hardelot raid and an extraordinary tale of fully armed sailors ready for the Normandy invasion having a meal at a Lyons corner house café in London. In addition to Malcolm’s own experience, he has collected the experiences of several others in his Beach Signals section, including the signals station set up by them on one of the Gooseberry block ships. He records the hardships they endured during the Great Storm, owing to their situation, in spite of which they coped efficiently with all the signals traffic there for about six weeks. It also gives a good idea of what it was like on and near the Normandy beaches following the Allied invasion.
Malcolm was a Leading Signalman of the Royal Navy, born at Leigh-on-Sea, Essex. He had enrolled in the RNV(W)R - Royal Naval Voluntary Reserve: the W stands for Wireless - in June 1939 and had served two years in a minesweeping trawler. In April 1942, together with others, he was drafted to HMS Dundonald II, near Troon, Ayrshire, where, he says, “We discovered that our purpose in life was to land with advance troops on enemy beaches and there establish communications between the beaches, assault ships and landing craft. We were kitted out in khaki battle-dress, army boots and gaiters but retained our naval headgear. A motley crew we must have looked! After two weeks’ induction into the mysteries of Combined Operation [mainly square bashing], we were moved to Cowes in the Isle of Wight where a force was being gathered to carry out large scale raids on France.
“A considerable number of naval communications personnel, signalmen, telegraphists and coders, were involved, under the command of Lieutenant P Howes, DSC RN (later Rear Admiral), routine activities being carried out under Sub Lieutenant R S Evans, who had trained as a Beach Signals Officer. St. Nazaire and Bruneval, both very successful operations, were in the past. Dieppe was yet to come. Meanwhile, life in Cowes, with billets at the former holiday camp at Gurnard, was very pleasant, and thoughts of what the future might hold did not greatly trouble us.”
The Hardelot raid’s purpose, according to the obituary of Major Gordon Webb, who had taken part in the raid, was to secure some advanced equipment from a radar station said to be situated there, but in the event, the recall was signalled prematurely by accident, making the raid abortive. According to Major Webb, as the Commandos were returning to the boats they were fired on by the boat party. Only then did Webb recall that the leading Commando had a stutter and could not articulate the password! Fortunately no-one was hurt.
Malcolm considers this raid, much hyped by the press although it achieved nothing worthwhile, counted as “useful experience for the real thing.” The account below is simply, he says “a one-person experience of a very minor event in the history of RN Beach Signals.” (A later commando raid did capture examples of enemy radar equipment, together with one of the German radar operators. News of any raid which resulted in Allied troops landing in Occupied Europe at the time was a morale booster for the British population, which had since Dunkirk expected the Nazis would invade UK shores.)
“One afternoon in early June 1942, I was on the promenade with a friend, a regular telegraphist, survivor of the sinking of the cruiser Barham, when Sub Lieutenant Evans approached and said he had a job for us ‘on the other side.’”
They each thought he could only mean on the mainland, just across the Solent. “How stupid can you be?” he adds.
They were soon on their way, with several other telegraphists, in an ‘R’ (Eureka) boat which took them to one of the Belgian or Dutch cross-Channel ferries which had been converted to carry ALCs (later known as LCAs).
“We then realised that something was ‘on’. Briefing must have been minimal. We were told that a Commando raid was to be carried out near Boulogne and which craft we would be in. When we hit the beach, for what would have been a dry landing, it quickly became apparent that we had picked the wrong spot, because as the ramp was lowered, machine-gun fire erupted from both sides and tracers could be seen crossing just in front of our bows. The German fire was very accurate and to step out into that would have probably been suicidal. Consequently, the ramp was hastily raised and the boat officer, a sub lieutenant, decided to pull off, presumably with a view to trying a less unfriendly spot.
“However, we appeared to be well and truly stuck. Situated starboard side, amidships, I was keeping my head well down, the more so as my aerial seemed to be attracting attention from the German gunners. The ‘subby’ instructed me to radio that we were stuck, which I did, only to receive the terse response: ‘Pipe down!’”
By this time, Malcolm says, mortar shells had been added to the machine gun fire. They started to come “uncomfortably close, and it may have been this that prompted our kedge winch into effective action, because, at last, with the help of the engines astern, we managed to ease off the beach.” (This winch pulls on the kedge anchor cable and helps the craft to back off a beach.)
“By then it seemed that everyone else was withdrawing, so we also headed seawards. As dawn broke, an MGB [Motor Gunboat] or ML [Motor Launch] came alongside and took off the commandos, leaving the subby, coxwain, motorman and myself. We were offered a tow, which we accepted gratefully, but the speed of the MGB was too much for us; we had to cast off, otherwise we would soon have been bows under. Suddenly we were alone, with not another craft in sight.
“Then, acting as self-appointed lookout, I spotted over the starboard quarter several ominous-looking fast craft approaching. I called the subby’s attention to this with the words: “Don’t look now, sir, but I think we’re in for trouble!”
“Now, what I did not know then was that the Royal Navy had one flotilla of steam gun boats, commanded by Peter Scott. Much to our relief, we spotted their white ensigns. They hauled alongside, checked that we were OK and steamed off, leaving us to our own devices. It was a pleasant trip after all, one small ALC all by itself, bright sunshine, calm seas, not a plane or ship to be seen and incredibly no trouble on the way.
“We beached at Hastings to find reporters and photographers waiting. I ducked down to ensure my mother would not be shocked to discover what I was doing. She thought I was shore-based. Well, I suppose I was, in a manner of speaking! Even so, the camera caught the top of my head - evidence I treasure because it proves that at one time I had a reasonable head of hair!”
Malcolm, for a short period prior to the cancelled Dieppe operation, was in Calshot. His paper about the activities of his beach communications team, A Job on the Other Side, is quoted from, along with extracts from his letters to me and to Maurice Hillebrandt.
“The above operation in which I took part (Bristle/part of Lancing), was the Hardelot raid of 4th June 1942 - and morning papers of 5th June bore banner headlines in the London Evening Standard, which reported “Commandos