The sub-title of this story may well puzzle those not well versed in the extraordinary names given to the special pieces of equipment produced in order to carry out the Invasion of 1944. A "Rhino" was a raft, but of a size that made it look like a floating car park. It was comprised of a large number of pontoons made of steel and each one was big enough to take a fully loaded ten ton lorry. The pontoons were shackled together loosely so that the whole rig rose and fell as the waves passed underneath.
At first sight the individual pontoons seemed to be floating comfortably high out of the water, but when fully loaded there was no more than an inch or two of freeboard. The "Rhino" on which I rode was about the size of a first class football ground and it was powered by two enormous outboard motors, each housed in tiny wooden sheds at the stern. The motors were, in fact, the only indication of where the stern was. The crew of two men were from the American Construction Battalion, known as the "C.B.s", a title they carried with considerable pride and which they thoroughly deserved, as will become apparent later.
This story starts in the north-east of England where the Division was spread around the countryside in the vicinity of the City of Hull. We had been there for several tedious weeks after arriving from North Africa. My boredom was relieved, for a few marvellous hours by the unexpected arrival of my wife, looking very fetching in her W.R.N.S. uniform. All leave had been cancelled at the decoding centre at Bletchley Park where she was stationed. However, having good friends to cover for her and disguised as a civilian she somehow managed to turn up at the other end of the country to brighten all our lives for a few hours, before returning to base, her absence undetected. She particularly impressed our French Lieutenant, not only with her uniform, and he referred to her thereafter as "Your English Rose". This was a very particular compliment because he was well known for his spectacular conquests.
It was not long after Jan's visit that we were told to be ready at 5 a.m. the next morning, with all our gear aboard and engines running. The whole Division moved off promptly and, apart from ten minute stops every hour we kept moving until, in the dark, we drove into a large wire-caged enclosure somewhere near Dorchester.
We were fed and had a few hours sleep before moving off again for the quays near Southampton. There, our liberty-ship, the "Oliver Wolcott" was one of many similar vessels stretching as far as the eye could see.
An American Petty-Officer told me to leave the key in the ignition and go aboard. As I walked up the gang-plank my home for the last six months swung dizzily past my nose and sank out of sight into the hold. At least we were on the same ship!
On board, the American way of life was very apparent. I followed my nose to where the delectable smell of good coffee led me. In a spacious dining-canteen I was offered an enormous meal of rather unfamiliar content. Beyond was a comfortable area to lie down if one wanted to. I decided to relax for a minute or two before exploring the ship; and woke up about six hours later!
We were obviously at sea and I made my way on deck. Dawn was breaking and the coast was just visible to the left, or perhaps I should say `to port'. The immediate impact of the rest of the view was of a seascape full of ships. It took a second or two to realise that, apart from the quantity of ships, the odd thing was that they were all going the same way. We were going very slowly and it was some hours before we met a similar mass of shipping coming from the north. Each great convoy turned east and we sailed slowly towards the French Coast.
When I awoke next morning we were anchored in the lee of an enormous structure which I later realised was the "Mulberry Harbour". We were close enough to be deafened by the noise of hammering, riveting, diesels and shouting. From the shore there was a constant rumbling of gun-fire but the early morning mist prevented us seeing anything clearly. Our extremely hearty breakfast was interrupted by the sound of the anchor being raised and we moved, alone this time, slowly westward along the French coast of Normandy.
We had evidently been anchored off the most easterly of the four invasion beaches. We could just see through the mist the activity at the next two as we sailed past. We then moved much nearer to the coast and anchored off the most westward landing area known as "Utah". Offshore, just visible in the mist, were two American battleships which fired their huge guns every-so-often leaving our ears ringing. We were now near enough to the beach to see great activity. Tiny figures and vehicles were moving everywhere, making the beach look like a disturbed ant-hill. Apart from the battleships the only war-like signs were an occasional puff of smoke rising inland and, from time to time, aircraft flying over. They usually came and went so fast it was not possible to distinguish their nationality but the gunners seemed to assume they were German and fired everything available into the air.
As soon as the anchor had splashed into the sea a large area of what I had assumed to be seaweed began to move towards us. It was our "Rhino" coming to collect us. It was moving very slowly and some time elapsed before I could distinguish the two tiny engine sheds at the stern. A friendly sailor on the "Oliver Wolcott" told me there was plenty of time to go down to the mess room and collect anything eatable; "Stuff your pockets, you won't get anything on that thing!"
At last the strange vessel was secured alongside and the public address system told all passengers to assemble on the port side. We were instructed that, when ones own vehicle appeared out of the hold, one had to scramble down the boarding net hanging over the side and report to the "C.B." who would be waiting. To my consternation my ambulance appeared first. I had hoped to learn from the efforts of some of the others, but it was not to be.
In fact, once over the ship's rail it was not very difficult but both hands were needed, hence the instruction that nothing was to be carried. The "C.B." waiting for me was a laconic, friendly man clearly relieved to find that I was English. He said I was to drive, bumping and rolling over the deck to where the other crew member was standing with two bats in his hands, similar to those used by aircraft handlers. I was to drive to the bow within inches of the edge of the first pontoon. Finally, when correctly placed it was explained that if the first vehicle was right, all the others would follow easily whatever language the driver spoke (hence their relief to find I spoke English).
It seemed to take hours to get that vast area fully covered with all our transport. I became an honorary member of the crew, running with messages between the two "C.B.s" All the other drivers were strictly confined to their cabs for obvious reasons and the majority were showing greater or lesser symptoms of sea-sickness.
Finally the last vehicle was deposited squarely in the last space. The "C.B.s" had, of course, done it all many times but even so it was a neat operation. The "Rhino" untied and started away, but the final clever touch was the use of the last mooring rope and the "Oliver Wolcott" herself to turn us round, slowly and carefully, to face the right direction.
Once we were away from the protection of the ship the wind and waves became many times fiercer. Those who were sick became sicker and the whole effect was of an endless earthquake. The vehicles were not tied down in any way and all of us, except the "C.B.s" were terrified. Most of us would have preferred to face the Germans any day.
However, after a while it dawned on us that we were not going to sink, at least not yet. Then disaster struck. A wave, bigger than the others, sloshed over the pontoons and one of the engines made a despairing series of misfires and died on us. The "C.B.s" took this in their stride, one going to the expired engine with a bag of tools, the other to pore over the survivor to coax more power out of it. An hour later and it was clear that we were not going to make that part of the beach where the landing party were waiting. In fact it seemed doubtful if we should make the beach at all. There was an appreciable westward current carrying us away and again we felt fear for our survival.
Once again the stoical lack of concern by the "C.B.s" brought relief to all. Their first move was to brew coffee in the shed of the engine still roaring away. After being given a cup I was asked to go round selecting, as the "C.B.s" said, "a reasonably intelligent fellow" in each area, preferably one not too sick. I was to release him from confinement in his cab and instruct him to tell all the others that everything was under control, but we would be a bit late.
Privately, I asked if everything was under control. "Oh, sure", was the reply "providing this good lady goes on performing." That was said with a hearty slap on the petrol tank of the still functioning engine. It seemed that the tide was due to turn soon and there was a possible beaching area which we could just about make.
Meanwhile the beach party had been moving along, keeping pace with us, and eventually the "Rhino" ground to a halt on a strip of beach just wide enough, with nasty looking rocks each side.
Now came the disembarkation and obviously I had to go first. The Senior "C.B." told me that the trick was to keep my eyes firmly on his bats in the driving mirror. He would keep me on the ramp and would give me a signal when I was to transfer my gaze to the bats of the beach-master. The one thing I was not to do was to look at the water. When on the sand the beach-master would be replaced by a jeep with distinctive black and yellow stripes on its rear. I was then to follow that jeep and not stop until instructed. It all sounded so unlikely to work but the calm and clear instructions gave confidence, and work it did.
My only regret is that I had no opportunity to say thanks to the "C.B.s", the beach-master and the jeep driver who finally, hours later, delivered me and a large part of the division, following behind, into the rapturous welcome of Sergeant Chef Larreur. He executed a magnificent stage bow and said, "Monsieur Woodcock, welcome to my native land." The French do have an ability to make a simple event into a great occasion."
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