Delivering the Goods to the Normandy Beaches in 1944 By Frank F. Farrar Captain Farrar began some time back to recall the actualities of his time at sea. Pre-eminent among his memories is his time as Chief Mate of the Liberty ship Cyrus J.K. Curtis, chartered to the British Ministry of War Transport in World War II. He remembered particularly the first of several trips his ship made to the invasion beaches at Normandy, in France, where a huge armada of all sorts and conditions of ships brought Allied armies of British, Canadian, and American troops ashore (with a sprinkling of exiled Poles, and others exiled by the Nazi occupation) to liberate the Continent of Europe. '?ls this undertaking was probably the highpoint in my seagoing career, memories of those days are indelibly imprinted on my mind," he notes-and what memories they are! They give a vivid sense of camaraderie and the independent ways of these merchant mariners, and their feeling for the cargo they carried, the young men (and not-so-young Colonel) whom they would unload on the beaches, and who would go on to win the war in Europe. The old man and I were sitting in the saloon right after lunch speculating on our destination. " Norway," I insisted , " Bunk," he snorted. " South of France, I know what I'm talking about. Every piece of evidence points directly to the South of France." " What evidence? Nobody in this country will even tell you what day it is." "Nonsense," he shouted , " I know!" Before we could settle this matter we were interrupted by the entrance of a distinguished, commanding figure in immaculate British Army uniform . " Captain McGirr, I presume. I'm Colonel Grey, in command of the troops just now embarking on your fine ship." The Captain shook hands with him and introduced me. "Right-0, Mister Mate." We sat down , ordered tea, of course, and the Old Man , about as subtle as a Sherman tank, started to pry about our destination . Real sneaky, he took the indirect route. "South of France, of course, right , Colonel?" No dice. The Colonel deftly fended off our questions with one answer--''All in good time, chaps." I went out on deck , midships, by the gangway. British troops in full battle dress and full packs were streaming up, heading fore and aft. Directing them was an enormous soldier roaring out orders. As each trooper passed him they instinctively ducked. I said , " Hello Sergeant." " Sergeant Major," he shot back. " Yes sir," I squeaked. He looked and acted just like Victor McGlaughlin, only bigger and uglier. I learned later that a Sergeant Major in the British Army was far more important in the scheme of things than a whole squad of Generals. The invasion had to be the best kept secret of the century. The longshoremen weren't even allowed to go home. Shortly, a British pilot came aboard in full uniform and again the familiar " Fore and aft, all hands" echoed through the ship. The pilot backed the ship out of her berth and down the river we went. When we got down to the mouth we anchored right off the seaside resort town of Southend. We lay there all day, the troops cooking tea and pissing over the side. Sometime about midday swarms of planes started passing overhead , all heading east. Flying Forts they were. They passed in the hundreds, and still they kept coming. I'm not exaggerating, the sky was black with them. All afternoon and far into the night they never stopped. Somebody was sure catching hell. 46
Colonel Grey was taking his meals with us in the officers' saloon . During supper he said that he could now tell us the plans and suggested I summon all the officers. When I returned with the Engineers , three Radio Officers, Purser and Gunnery Officer, the Colonel had set up a large detailed map of the Baie de La Seine, which stretched from Le Havre, on the left, to Cherburg, on the right. With a pointer he ticked off the code names of the assault landing beaches: Sword, Gold and Juno for the British forces; then down near Cherbourg, Omaha and Utah for the Americans. Pointing to a seaside village in the Sword area called Gray Sur Mer, he said , " That's where we go ashore. You, Captain , will anchor your vessel as close ashore as depth of water permits. I have proper navigational charts for you and your officers to study." At last we had " the Word" ! Norway, South of France indeed! Then the Colonel got down to details , displaying the charts that showed the narrow mine swept channels down the coast of England to a point off the Cliffs of Dover where we would turn left and head across the Dover Straits to the French Coast, then left again, parallel to the coast to Sword . He emphasized that we would be in company of twenty-odd ships in columns of two down to Dover, then in single column going across . This was because the swept channel was very narrow. Going back to my cabin I reflected on all I had heard. The constant roar of those Flying Forts still passing in the hundreds gave me a great deal of comfort. Our schedule was such that we were to be crossing the Straits of Dover during the dark hours and arrive off the beach shortly after daylight . This time there was no feeling of elation as I engaged the windlass and heaved up the anchor. Down the Coast we steamed in two columns abreast. I assumed that we were all bound for Sword but never found out. I remember watching a ship in the next column through the binoculars . The jerry cans of gas stored on her forward deck were afire. It was blazing all around the vehicles, and I was concerned that their ammo might blow. She very quickly dropped out of line and disappeared astern. We never heard what became of her. Soon enough we were down to Dover and started over in single file led by a little minesweeper. There were minesweepers on each side of us, too; chugging along sweeping as they went. While they had their big sweeps out they couldn 't make much speed, so we had to slow down to their speed . Damned if the little temporary marker buoys didn 't have dim lights on them! These Limeys had really done some fine planning for this show . The slow dark hours crept by and the tension increased . I stayed on the bridge with the Old Man as the watches changed through the night. It being the month of June dawn came early. Four o'clock in the morning, and the sky was just beginning to lighten. Gradually the scene around us took shape. I looked out of the wheelhouse window , and never have I seen, or expect to see again , such a sight! From one horizon to the other; in front , astern, on both beams , the sea was packed with ships-thousands of them . I hadn't realized that our column wasn ' t the only one. They stretched on both sides of us for miles, all steaming east, each with its minesweeper escorts. We were all dumbfounded, as the vast scope of this undertaking at last sank in. Blinker lights were flashing on every side. It seemed like utter chaos, but there was order to it all. Ships' masters had done their homework well. On and on we steamed. With the coming of daylight that old feeling of being naked and exposed swept over us. What about enemy planes? E-boats? Mines? They were the worst. Hit a SEA HIS1DRY, SPRING 1985