THE LIBERATION OF HONFLEUR
If you should ever get the opportunity to travel around Normandy, then do find the time to call in at that picturesque harbour town called Honfleur which is situated on the left bank of the Seine Estuary opposite Le Havre
I am sure you will not be disappointed as you sit outside the many bars and cafes on the harbour frontage and watch the world go by..
I look forward to my annual pilgrimage to Honfleur with equal pleasure, not only to re-new my friendship with many dear friends, but to take part in their Liberation festivities and to pay homage to our comrades that fell in battle to liberate their town.
The ceremony takes place on the 24th August and last year the good citizens of Honfleur unveiled a special monument in the centre of the town in the memory of those who lost their lives and are now buried at Honfleur.
As I stood by the Memorial reading out the names of our fallen comrades, my thoughts returned to that hot August day in 1944 when our Division, the 6th Airborne, broke out from the Normandy Bridgehead and advanced on a broad front towards the Seine. We crossed the river at Touques with some difficulty as the bridges were blown. However, at Touques, our Platoon Commander, Lt.(Stinker) Reeks was able to commandeer some civilian transport in the shape of an old fire engine and a Citroen lorry which we took to be a milk truck as it was painted white. The old khaki colour was considered too dangerous for civilian vehicles. With the Lieutenant wearing the Chief's Firemen Helmet we set off with orders to make for Honfleur which at that time I had even heard of….
After some minor skirmishes and delays we arrived on a hill just outside Honfleur at around 5 p.m.
We all had a gut feeling that Honfleur would be heavily defended by the enemy, even though they appeared to be in full retreat, because of the port and harbour facilities for landing supplies.
As we were only platoon strenght (24) with light weaponry, we felt pretty vulnerable as the Division was miles behind us due to our civilian assistance with transport. The Officer then made his brave decision . I always remember his words. " We will just have to walk down this hill into the town and see if they are going to defend it" he said. This was a fairly logical assumption to make I suppose, the only fault in his thinking, was that as I was lead man in No.
1 section, I would probably be the first to find out the enemy's intentions before he did! I made a last minute plea to our Platoon Sergeant, the late Wally Edgar , that - "perhaps we could wait for some tanks", but Wally replied, "Jim , you have the honour of leading the whole Division into Honfleur and if you live to tell the tale, someday you will be proud of that" .He was absolutely right of course but on that hot August evening, I wished I was anywhere else in the world.
We started walking down the hill in single file but well spread out giving the grass verges a wide berth with their skull and crossbones signs. They were probably bogus signs, but one did not venture to close to find out. It was deathly quiet and my eyes searched the houses on each side for the hidden machine gun or anti- tank weapon witch would quickly cut us to pieces, but there was no visible sign of life. I was beginning to hope that the town was completely abandoned, but then as we neared a cross-road there was movement ahead. Two small faces appeared around the buttom of the small wall .
I hit the deck and looked at the faces through the telescopic lens of my rifle and saw they were children. Then they disappeared to be replaced by other faces, adult faces and undoubtedly French.
I stood up so that they could see my Airborne uniform. I must have looked a fearsome sight with a dirty unshaven face, crossed bandoleers over my chest and a grenade pined to each lapel. To help reassure them, I should out "Anglias, Anglias". Then they all came out from behind the wall, crying and laughing at the same time. We ran towards each other quickly and embraced. I think the feeling on both sides was one of immense relief that we had last without serious loss of bloodshed and ruinous damage to this historic Normandy town. I cried out -" Where's the Boche" - and they vaguely pointed in the general direction of Le Havre. There was much back slapping and kissing and the first half dozen soldiers were carried forward on a wave emotion around the corner on the harbour front. That was my very first view of Honfleur and a sight I shall never forget. The sun was sinning on the water and the port was full of small boats bobbing on the rising tide. On the harbour front were a number of market stalls with traders selling all manner of fruits and flowers. I was truly delighted to witness such a picturesque and peaceful scene. All through the battles of Normandy over the last three months we had witnessed the untold horrors or war with towns and villages flattened and the stench of death all around us. But here in Honfleur we discovered for the first time what a peaceful France really looked like, and the celebrating citizens were a joy to behold as they poured out of their houses like, and shops cheering and shouting "Anglias Soldat". It was a truly magnificent moment amidst the harsh realities of total war.
Suddenly this peaceful scene was rudely shattered. The enemy had decided to give us a timely reminder that war was not yet over by sending a salvo of shells and mortar bombs.
Soldiers and citizens alike scattered to take cover. I dashed into a nearby clothing shop and ran upstairs to the first floor window overlooking the harbour expecting a counter attack. I was followed by my friend Jimmy Gilbey from Lancashire who took up a position at the other window. Then the heavy artillery from Le Havre opened up and I heard the unmistakable whine of a shell heading straight towards me. I barely had time to duck below the window sill when I was covered in glass .An explosion was followed by a strong smell of burning. It took me a few moments for me to understand what had happened. A large shell had come right through the window above my head, struck the left hand casement window a glancing blow, smashing the glass, then went on to bury itself in the headboard as it glowed white hot, then red and began burning the wood. It was probably an armour-piercing shell from the big port guns at Le Havre which had hit the soft furnishing and failed to explode. A few centimetres to the left and it would have demolished the whole building with us in it. Jimmy Gilbey at the other window was amazed that we were both still alive and remarket, "I knew I'd be lucky I was born on the 13th " . This turned out to be a remarkable coincidence as I was also born on the 13th in fact on the same day. Of all the soldiers present, he chose to follow me into that building, sharing the same supposedly unlucky birthday. Poor old Jimmy's luck finally ran out six months later on a snowy hilltop in the Ardennes. He was bringing up the rear of a fighting patrol when a German sniper took him out.
Except for the artillery bombardment there was virtually no more enemy activity around Honfleur and town was secured for the citizens hopefully for ever. Four of our comrades made the supreme sacrifice and are now buried at St Leonard Cemetery, Honfleur. Each year we place a wreath on the graves after a short service by the French with the Last Post played and flags are lowered in homage
So ended a momentous day and the beginning of my long association with the town and its friendly citizens. I have even named my house "Honfleur" in case I forget. My great friend M. Jean AUBERT whose famous father drove the milk lorry that day, brings his lovely wife Monique, to stay with us and French hospitality is reciprocated when we travel to France. Many other friendships have been formed as a result of these visits even though the language still defeats me.
I suppose Father Time will eventually curtail my annual visits across the channel, but until that day comes, I hope to make every effort to go back once more. I usually make for the harbour front where there is a nice little bar which was once a clothing shop. As I sit on once of the outside tables, sipping a cool "Stella" beer, I look up at that window where I nearly lost my life and think to myself how extremely lucky I was to survive that day and all the long hard battles that followed across Europe. I was able to have a wonderful family life with children and numerous grandchildren, whilst so many many others were not so lucky- even though they were born on the 13th .
James N. CORBETT
Ex. 19 Platoon, "D" Coy.
12th Devons.
6th Airborne Division.
