D-Day: Canadians At Juno

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D-Day: The Canadians at Juno
by Joe Katzman at June 3, 2004 06:39 AM

Juno Beach MapThis post is part of Blackfive's D-Day 60th Anniversary Blogburst Salute. Citizen Smash also points out that June 3rd is the 62nd Anniversary of the decisive Battle of Midway in the Pacific Theater.

June 6, 1944. The Americans had Utah and Omaha. The British had Gold and Sword. But Juno Beach, an 8 km stretch of coast backed by small seaside villages, was an all-Canadian assignment. They performed brilliantly, driving deeper into France than any of the other landings - and engaging the 21st Panzer Division before it could crush the American beachhead at Omaha.

This is the story of one of the Canadians at Juno: Jim Wilkins, B Company, The Queen's Own Rifles:

"...Oh yes we're going to get some help from a squadron of the 1st Hussars tank regiment. They're going to land before us and take out the pillboxes and machinegun nests – it didn't happen.The 45 boats start in – at about 1500 yards we can see the wall in back of the beach. It looks to be maybe 8 feet high. We are told to stand up.

Beside us was a ship that fires L.C.R. rockets. The forward deck is cleared and pointing up are maybe a dozen tubes or mortars at a 45 degree angle. All of a sudden they fire a salvo – great clouds of smoke and flame engulf the boat. Ten minutes later they fire again. You can follow the rockets by eye as they curve upward. We watched one salvo go high over the beach just as a Spitfire came along. He flew right into it and blew up. That pilot never had a chance and was probably the first casualty on Juno Beach. Overhead we can hear the roar of large shells from battleships, cruisers and destroyers. Beside us is a boat with pom poms (anti-aircraft) guns shooting away at church steeples and other high buildings which had observers who where spotting for the German ground troops.

Soon we are only 500 yards from the beach and are ordered to get down...

Minutes later the boat stops and begins to toss in the waves. the ramp goes down and without hesitation my section leader, Cpl. John Gibson, jumps out well over his waist in water. He only makes a few yards and is killed. We have landed dead on into a pillbox with a machine gun blazing away at us. We didn't hesitate and jumped into the water one after the other – I was last of the first row. Where was everybody? My section are only half there – some were just floating on their Mae West's.

My bren gun team of Tommy Dalrymple and Kenny Scott are just in front of me when something hit my left magazine pouch and stops me up short for a moment. The round had gone right through two magazines, entered my left side and came out my back. Kenny keeps yelling come on, come on – I'm coming, I'm coming I yell to him. We are now up to our knees in water and you can hear a kind of buzzing sound all around as well as the sound of the machine gun itself. All of a sudden something slapped the side of my right leg and then a round caught me dead centre up high on my right leg causing a compound fracture.

Canadians land on Juno Beach By this time I was flat on my face in the water – I've lost my rifle, my helmet is gone and Kenny is still yelling at me to come on. He is also shot in the upper leg but has no broken bones. I yell back, I can't, my leg is broken – get the hell out of here – away he goes and catches up to Tommy. Poor Tom, I've got ten of his bren gun magazines and they're pulling me under. I soon get rid of them and flop over onto my back and start to float to shore where I meet five other riflemen all in very bad shape. The man beside me is dead within minutes. All the while we are looking up at the machine gun firing just over our heads at the rest of our platoon and company and then our platoon Sargent and friend of mine, who had given up a commission to be with us was killed right in front of me.

Finally I decided that this is not a good place to be and managed to slip off my pack and webbing and start to crawl backward on my back at an angle away from the gun towards the wall about 150 ft away. I finally made it and lay my back against it. In front of me I can see bodies washing back and forth in the surf. Soon, one of my friends, Willis Gambrel, a walking wounded, showed up and we each had one of my cigarettes which surprisingly were fairly dry. Then he left to find a first aid centre. A medic came along and put a bandage on my leg. I had forgotten all about the hole in my side. Then two English beach party soldiers came along carrying a 5-gallon pot of tea. "Cup of tea Canada?" yes sir – and they gave me tea in a tin mug. It was hot and mixed 50/50 with rum. It was really good."

There would be hard fighting ahead. In Caen. In France. In the Low Countries of Holland and Belgium. But a foothold had been gained, at last, on the Continent. At last the world could see the beginning of the end.

June 6, 1944. And it was evening, and it was morning. The first day.
 

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