I’d been planning attending the 75 years celebration for D day for a year.
My interests are so varied, the truth is you can’t do everything and June always seems to have something I want to do. This June was out for Alice to arrange anything – it was my month. Originally I’d planned going to Normandy on my 1943 Ariel and meet up with old time customer Pete Morgan who also does Dispatch riding everts. But this year has been non stop work there was no chance of getting the Ariel done on time.
As the year progressed, I was reading about the 75th drop of parachutists by up to 30+ Dakotas, Id only ever seen one Dakota before, and only a few weeks ago saw another with my old mate Acker when we went on a Scooter trip for a tour of the Battle of Britain memorial flight at RAF Conninsby when Id gone and cocked up the wrong dates for annual German and Zundapp Bella rally and we were there a week before!
As time came close, I was checking the weather and it looked grim for the drop on the 5th, the more I looked the more I thought, do I really need to do this and stand in a field in Normandy for no planes to fly over and no paras to jump. Works still crazy busy and could have done with the time trying to keep customers happy, but this was once in a life time to see. Like 100 years of the TT, 100 years of Zundapp and lots of other interesting adventures I’ve done over the years, it couldn’t be missed. I asked around and couldn’t find anyone to come, every one was busy or had plans – especially when it was – sit on the back of my BMW all that way!
I read all year, digs were full, camp sites were full and ferries were full. Then it came to me – I’d ask my good French friend Bubu if he would like to meet up, something we had tried for months and hadn’t managed. And low and behold, the timing was good for him, not only that but by luck he got us a Gite 4 miles from the centre of everything! Fantastic!
Now Bubu has been a very good friend for a number of years. We first met in Spain at a 24 hour Scooter race, he introduced himself and told me he had one of my tunes and actually named his race team from my company, one week later we were staying at his place and showed us Mick Jaggers house around the corner a month later he was at my house for my 50th weekend!
Last minute as usual, it was a case of up early, shoot off down the A1 on the Bmw, grab some breakfast and coffee to get me on that long 500 mile trip. It was cold for June with nearly all winter gear on and made good timing to Cambridge by pass, where it started – average speed cameras for miles and miles and miles! Thats enough to wear you out and you’ve hardly started the journey. But it was a means to an end, this way I had to pass Duxford air field where the Daks were to set off the next day to Normandy – with luck I would have seen some practice drops. But no – I didnt see anything, the wind was too strong and nothing in the air!
Dam, it was a plan to pull off and have a quick look, but by now Im running late and had to crack on. Then youve got to get around the M25 which always takes time you never have and your put back again! Just when you think its an easy 50 miles to the tunnel there’s average speed cameras again for miles and miles and miles! And by this time it was bucketing down – bouncing off the floor! By the time I was at the tunnel Id miss the train! By the time I was on the train it had taken 7 hours of travelling – don’t you just love driving in the UK – NOT. But it’s always a means to an end either Doncaster to Hull ferry or Doncaster to Folkstone for the tunnel and then Europe……. and nice roads and not as much traffic.
Looking at the weather it just didn’t know what to do, it was just like 75 years earlier. I kept my winter gear on and set off into France for another 250 mile stretch across northern France to Normandy – but the weather was now a hot 25 degrees! After a good ride I couldn’t stand it, I was near passing out with heat, so stripped off and back to summer weather gear and back on the road again.
Miles later, the biggest Blackest cloud was appearing and heading my way. I just had time to pull over, pull up and close all the vents and set off – then it started – First, the hale stones that hurt! Then the worst rain I have ever driven in. There was so much water on the road I couldn’t see the road markings, cars put on their hazards and slowed down and most pulled onto the hard shoulder. One biker pulled over and jumped into the back of a car! I was driving in 3rd at 40 miles per hour – I couldn’t see anything apart from the white water rivers filling up the massive grates at the side of the road. I just pointed straight ahead and hoped for the best, I needed to catch up some time. The temperature had dropped from 25 to 16 degrees in a mile!
But I wasn’t wet, my designed jacket kept me totally dry again!
250 miles later I was only 10 minutes late – 12 hours of hard – non stop driving and found our nice French gite, down a nice French street, in a nice French village with a nice French lady with my nice French friend Bubu waving from the window.
Sorted – a quick shower and out, driving four miles through nice little French villages to find my old customer Pete Morgan at his camp site! Campsite he said! It was like a massive Butlins hidden down a nice French street in a nice French village – but we didn’t find him. From here another little four mile ride through nice French villages to Pegasus bridge – I told you we were smack in the middle! Every where you looked there were US Jeeps and dispatch riders and tourists driving through the nice little French villages taking in the 75th celebrations. Each lamp post had a banner of the fallen or survivors of D Day and most houses had flags from the UK, US or French flags.
Pegasus was packed, even though it was now late, both pubs were over flowing with re enactors, flags and vehicles. Me – I was with my nice French friend so was dressed in my period French railway workers clothing pretending to be the resistance! From here it was a nice little four miles drive into Caen to find late night food and drinks. As usual we were the last to leave with gallons of nice French beer to head home and hit the bottle of very nice French Brandy in the nice little French Gite in the nice little French village.
After all the bad weather predictions, on the 5th the main day looked ok, but the skies were Black, you just didn’t know what was going to happen. My good friend Jimmy Dennis was on look out in Chatham to give me an idea if the drop was cancelled. We headed off to the drop zone but not before visiting Fort Hillman to look around the army campsite and see the German emplacements and you can’t be in France without taking in a nice Plat Du Jour!
As we found Sannerville the village of the drop zone it was manic, cars, bikes, Jeeps and people everywhere. No signs, you just followed the hoards of people through the nice little French streets to the fields and drop zone. It was nice to see the Brits parked down one street with loads of Austin Healey sprites and Frog eyes, just as we heard that sound of a Merlin.
‘Bubu – listen’ – then the Spitfire shot over the roof tops, climbed and disappeared over the drop zone where it was entertaining the crowd. Seconds later four Hercules passed over low and we saw the paras dropping. It wasn’t long and we were on the field, there were people scattered every where you looked at every vantage point watching the Hercules flying around in circles and coming back over the drop zone to toss a few more fools in blankets tied round string falling to the ground. This was the modern army doing the drops, round and round they went. Before we knew it, we were in the same field as the Paras packing away their shoots. We were that close, there was hardly any one to stop us. There was some poor English guy helping out, he did try but gave up, spectators were in the fields as the Paras were landing all around us – to say wow wow wow is an understatement, we were there in the middle of it what a buzz.
Fantastic, as it died down for the next drop, we could talk with the young paras if we want, but Bubu the smooth talking French Bastard that he is, armed with his camera was chatting up the very nice English army ladies and taking their photos. As it calmed down a bit the very nice British beer came out to celebrate. As I’m telling Bubu the story of the beer the lone Brit trying to create some order heard me and told Bubu ‘You’ve got to listen to a Yorkshire man over beer they know what they are talking about’!
And that summed up the good atmosphere that was all around us.
To get more photos we walked around the fields to the other side of the drop zone, just as a Dakota dropped some more Paras, then again, then again. By the end of the day the joke was ‘once you’ve seen one Dakota youve seen them all’ and once youve seen one ‘Para jump youve seen them all’.
We’d got it perfect, the paras were dropping all around us, luckily for us, we’d discussed going back to the the other side of the field where we’d started but we were glad we didn’t – the older Paras who had jumped were walking up to our position, shaking hands, with family and friends and ex paras there for support. There were Paras in wheel chairs and older Paras. They wore full period jump suits and trousers and even hob nailed boots. Which owning a pair I felt for their feet as they hit the deck at 20 miles per hour! I watched one guy hit the ground so fast it made a thud, he just stood up and rolled up his shoot!
Every one was buzzing, I was buzzing and shaking it was so hard to take in, all that planning for years and it was finally their turn, they had followed the footsteps of the Paras 75 years earlier! Then another Dak flew over and dropped what looks like little poops, one after another, after another. One Para dropped straight into the crowd behind us much to the applause on the ground. Another fell in the field to the side of us. Bubu been Bubu was talking to a French Para helping out to tell us the last drop were women and indeed it was a woman who had just dropped in the corn field. She was no higher than the wheat and couldn’t pull the shoot towards her and volunteers ran to help out.
I kept checking my phone for information, there wasn’t much – no one knew what was happening, people were chatting and laughing and telling stories everywhere the humour was great – the atmosphere was great. People scanned the horizon with binoculars. The drop time had passed but no one left. The clouds were as Black as you couldn’t imagine, the heavens could have opened any minute. The rain expected on the drop time had come and gone and no rain. Apart from I nearly passed out from the pain in my bladder from the British beer everything was floating around on the wow factor. The bladder got the best of me, there was no hedges or toilets and when youve got to go youve got to go, if its in front of ten thousand people you get to a point where you dont care. When I returned Bubu he said I looked a lot better, you was going white!
Then Jimmy Dennis texted Daks in the air. Jimmy couldn’t come with me he had promised two old servicemen he would be with them at the Tea party arranged at the old peoples home where he works. Then Jimmy texted ‘Daks over head heading your way’.
By now the crowd were getting excited something had just lifted another notch!
Then there was a noise, two planes circled the field, not WW2 planes but modern. Our new found French Para mate said ‘its the Red Devils’. They were climbing and climbing round and round going higher and higher above the drop zone into the clouds. As they disappeared, miles away there was a spec, a dot on the sky line, then another, then another and another. Still too far away to see they started circling us, it was the Daks staying away until they all had grouped in position.
Then…..
From no where dropping out of the big Black cloud above us – the Red Devils appeared just like an alien invasion! They were just tiny dots, you could just see the parachute and the Red smoke trailing behind. It looked like hundreds of Black bombs slowing descending to earth. One fell so fast it looked like he was in trouble only to right himself and stand upright near enough on the smoke flair on the ground! As we looked up the next Para opened a massive union flag and the cloud roared! God that brought a lump to my throat, Id never seen the Red Devils before it was so surreal and a high light of the day. He slowly landed the flag right by the ground and the crowd applauded again, then slowly one by one the rest landed, including a 97 year old vet landing two up!
Still the fields are full of the paras that had landed, some were stood around in groups near us. Others, were helping police the fields for safety. Some of the younger ones were still there doing their duty from the first drops. I didn’t see any injured, I didnt see any panic or running, it was just so laid back. Non of the Paras were allowed to jump with guns, but saw the French army patrolling in a laid back way, there was no police, they were patrolling the parameter of the fields but out of sight. The drop zone was organised by the British. Over the day I heard accents from around the world – British, French, Americans and Aussies and some I couldn’t place and even Germans.
As the fields cleared, all eyes were on the little Black spots miles away.
Then it went so quiet, the whole crowd stopped talking in anticipation, the wind had dropped and it was like the calm before the storm……. then there was a small light heading our way, then another behind, this was it!
Dak number one came and dropped 10 of its contents, then another, then another I counted 12 Dakas again flying around with run after run coming our way! Before you knew it the sky was full of canopies dropping all around us, most landing in front of us, but as on the day some 75 year ago some dropped too late, I couldn’t see but it looked like they were dropping in the nice little French village, in the gardens, streets and looked like on the roofs! Wave after wave, came one after another, it was too much to take in. The crowds talked in gasps. As with the Red Devils falling out of the Black cloud one high light was looking around at the beaming faces of the old Paras, they were so proud to see and be part of this once in lifetime experience. I was shaking, god knows how they felt having done the jump!
And with the last drop it was all over, the Daks disappeared and it went quiet. We had been in that field ‘the drop zone’ for more than five hours, it felt like five minutes – it was too much to take in. The thousands headed off and slowly the once very busy French village turned into a very nice little quiet French village once again. After a short walk, we plonked our very tired arses in the car seat and it rained – there was a god that day!
Another short four mile drive through the nice little villages and we sat in a restaurant swapping photos and memories! All I can say is I was certainly in shock at what I had seen, it was an emotional time. As we sat in our house finishing off the French Brandy bottle – it was a case of f@@k, f@@k, f@@k I’m still shaking – what a day, god knows how the 300 Paras felt that day?
As it turns out a mates mate Dave who did the jump stayed 3 days on the beer it was so good for him – I can only imagine!
The next day I was off again having said my farewells with my good friend Bubu. Most of the main roads were shut because Macron, Trump and May were turning up and then there was the parades – I just managed to drive over Pegasus bridge again before it was shut heading to the motorway – how I like the French motorways – no traffic – good roads and a nice speed limit – I don’t even mind the tolls!
But back in England – nothing has changed its just the same horrible experience and another 12 hour ride – knackered!
What an experience of a life time, for the spectators and everyone involved and thoughts go out to our boys 75 years ago!
