At the amphibious operations in Sicily and Italy, some Allied aircraft were destroyed by our own naval guns. As the Normandy invasion approached, General Dwight D. Eisenhower saw a danger in trigger-happy, inexperienced gun crews of the DEMS (Defensively Equipped Merchant Ships), since there would be an air umbrella of 4,900 fighters and 5,800 bombers in the sky on D-day, supporting the invasion.
Someone said to him: “You know there are some 35,000 old stiffs in the country who really know one aircraft from another—like a countryman knows a pheasant from a partridge. He does not have to look to see which has a long tail; he knows instinctively. Why not attach some of these fellows to the DEMS gun crews?” This man was thinking, of course, of The Royal Observer Corps.
I was chosen to organize what was to be known as SEABORNE, with a title, Officer Commanding Seaborne.
I was given a two-room office at the Royal Observer Corps Headquarters adjacent to Fighter Command at Bentley Priory, and a small staff—an assistant, a typist, and a clerk—and told to get on with it.
Recruitment was just staff work. All I had to do was to send out a memorandum calling for volunteers to report to the area headquarters, of which there were four: Scottish, Northern, Western, and Southern. The area headquarters sent the memorandum down the line to the group headquarters, of which there were 34, and the group headquarters down to the observer posts, of which, from memory there were 330. The response was magnificent. There were about 1,700 volunteers, and I took the lot, so long as they had one eye to see with and one leg to stand on.
The R.O.C. was comprised largely of stout-hearted crocks who couldn’t get into the Services on account of age, disability, or being in essential occupations. The next thing to do was to set up intensive aircraft identification schools—we had many expert teachers—and I appointed a Commander Cook to run the schools. There was a series of three courses; we had too many to handle at one time.
With General Eisenhower behind the whole scheme, I found myself with powers I never had before, and certainly have never had since. At Bournemouth I commandeered two hotels for classrooms and administrative spaces, and any other demands were instantly met.
Approximately 700 of the 1,700 volunteers passed through very severe tests. For example, they had to identify 85 per cent of air-to-air pictures, taken at different angles, of some 300 aircraft, flashed onto a screen for only two seconds.
As the R.O.C. was a civilian corps, I had to get the status of those going to sea with the invasion fleet changed from civilian to combatant. The Air Ministry said: “Yes, we can take them into the R.A.F., but once in, we have no machinery to take them out again until the cessation of hostilities.” Someone suggested that I try the Admiralty, as they made their own rules and regulations. I had a meeting with a very senior admiral who said: “We would like to do that. Your observers can volunteer for one or two months’ service and we will create a rank for them—Petty Officer Aircraft Indentifiers—they can retain their uniforms.” The uniform was a battledress similar to the R.A.F. with black berets. I got a flash SEABORNE similar to the paratroopers’ flash AIRBORNE approved by the King.
The DEMS Headquarters would post them to the DEMS ships, which were mostly Liberty ships of prefabricated construction, and built in America.
I must have been one of a very few who knew that D-day, a marvelously well-kept secret, would occur within ten days. It happened like this. We had reached the stage where, within 10 days, the service period of those who volunteered for one month’s service—about half of the volunteers—would terminate. I asked DEMS Headquarters what I was to do. Would my one-month men be required to remain on, or should I recruit again from the discards? I doubt if DEMS could really have answered. Anyhow, they were certainly not going to get involved by hazarding a guess and told me that if I really wanted to know I must ask Allied Naval Command Headquarters of the invasion force on the South coast of England. Security was intense, and I had to be armed with many passes to get through to them.
I was received by a Staff Officer. He said to me: “I want you to understand clearly—and I mean every word I say—if any leakage of what I am going to tell you is traced to you, you will most certainly be shot! You may tell your CO (Air Commodore Findley Crearer, commanding the Royal Observer Corps) but nobody else.” This really scared me, because if there was leakage from any source it might be pinned on me. There was no guarantee that my CO might not be indiscreet. I heaved a big sigh of relief when the invasion was launched.
I had two things in mind when I applied for a trip to the beachheads. First, I wanted to see how the organization I had set up functioned in practice, and secondly, I was tremendously keen to see one of the beachheads. There were five. From East to West the code names were SWORD (British), JUNO (Canadian), GOLD (British), OMAHA and UTAH (American).
The intensive buildup of forces, equipment, and stores continued for a long time after D-day. To make this trip I was entirely dependent on the favor of the Headquarters Staff of the DEMS. The senior member of the Staff was a Commander, Royal Navy (Retired). He could drink gin like water, sometimes putting away six double pink gins at a local pub in a very short space of time before lunch. It was so vital for me to woo him, as there was really no justification for my trip, that I used to drink level with him, slipping one into a flowerpot or whatever came to hand, when he was not looking. One day I could not avoid taking the full dose, and just managed to reach my parked car before I was violently sick on the road. I then got into the car and slept for two hours before driving home. I had got what I wanted; but it was made clear to me if I got killed or wounded there would be no compensation, as I was sailing as a civilian at my own request.
I sailed in an American-crewed DEMS ship, a Liberty ship. We sailed for GOLD on D-day plus 10. The food was marvelous after our rigid rationing in England. Sailing down the Channel at night I saw an engagement between German E-boats, and our motor gun boats—the whole action brilliantly illuminated by star shells. We had one casualty on D-day. POAI Percy Heading was wounded when a DEMS ship was hit by German shell fire.
I spent a lot of time with our POAIs, one on watch at a time, to find out firsthand from their experience how the scheme worked out. One told me that the gun crew very much resented their presence at first, but one day one of the gun crew said, “If you are so bloody clever, what’s that?” He was looking at an aircraft on the horizon appearing no bigger than a gnat. The identifier said immediately “Mustang,” which produced a loud guffaw. When the aircraft passed overhead and it was a Mustang, the gun crew was considerably shaken, and afterwards they had great respect for the identifiers’ talent. The identifier told me: “A Mustang is very easy. You don’t need to see any details; you just know them from the way they sit in the air.”
I had strict instructions that I was not to go ashore in France; but, on arrival at GOLD, it all looked so interesting and exciting you can guess who was sitting on the top of the first tank to be hoisted out into the LOT (Tank Landing Craft) alongside. There was a “Mulberry” there, a most ingeniously constructed artificial harbor made by sinking huge reinforced concrete caissons—once they were in position—to form the dock walls. I had seen these caissons being towed along the South Coast of England. They looked most strange, as they appeared to be rectangular in shape and were high out of the water. No one knew what they were.
I thumbed a lift to Bayeux and was in a shop buying a Camembert cheese when who should I see but my cousin, John Moore, a well-known author, who was serving in the Fleet Air Arm. He said: “What in the world are you doing here?” I replied: “Buying a Camembert cheese, like you!” He asked: “How did you get here?” I said: “Easy—I thumbed a lift up from the beach.” He said: “You clot, don’t you realize all traffic is coming up from the beach and nothing is going back? It is lucky for you that you met me; I have transport and am going back now, as I am stationed on the beach.” So he drove me back.
The next thing was to get myself on board my ship, which was riding at anchor about one mile out, and sailing in a few hours’ time. I went to the beachmaster’s tent and asked for a launch to take me out. He said: “Utterly impossible. I have only a few launches and they are all fully engaged.” It was a pretty desperate situation for me, as I was not legally ashore, but desperate situations call for desperate measures.
There was an assault craft at the water’s edge manned by American sailors. I tried to look imposing with my R.A.F. (actually R.O.C.) battle dress, wings, and a row of six medal ribbons. I said firmly: “I want you to take me out to that ship,” indicating my DEMS ship. One of the sailors said: “Can’t do that boss. We are waiting for General So-and-so.” I said: “I know that. I have just come from the beachmaster and he told me. He also told me that the general had been delayed and that you would have time to take me out first,” and then with a flash of inspiration, I produced a piece of paper from my pocket and said: “And there is my authority.” It was a bill from my shoemaker! The sailors fortunately did not look at it and said: “Oh, that’s different!” and took me out to my ship. I cannot imagine what the general said when he found his assault craft missing, nor can I imagine how I could have rejoined my ship otherwise before she sailed.
When I was on board and had time to think I wondered how it happened that American sailors were at GOLD—a British beach. Then I remembered that I had heard that one of the American beaches was to have a Mulberry also, but bad weather had prevented them from building it, and that they had towed their concrete caissons along to GOLD, to amplify the harbor building there. Possibly the general was an engineer general, there in connection with the Mulberry, but, of course, that was only guessing.
When we were docking in London, a flying bomb fell into the berth next to us with a tremendous explosion. A ship had just pulled out of that berth. I slept between army blankets, and the ship proved verminous. After getting home I found I was just crawling with crabs. A chemist in Horsham gave me a jar of blue ointment and told me on no account to try to pull them off—the heads would remain in my skin and fester. With so many troops in the district, he must have had a good sale for his blue ointment!
For organizing SEABORNE and other work connected with the Royal Observer Corps, I was awarded an O.B.E. (Order of the British Empire), the first distinction for the Corps.
The award was more than an honor to me and my eagle-eyed, stout-hearted crocks. I took it to be a salute to all old war horses everywhere.