I took the envelope from my inside pocket and took the letter out from in it, unfolded it and began to read:
Dear, George
Thank you for your last letter, I hope that you are well. I took the children to the harvest festival in the church hall last week; they did enjoy it so much. They have taken the railings from around the church and the park to melt down, to make bullets for you soldiers.
They say that if the war continues come next Easter the children will be evacuated away into the country side, I don�t think that will happen, they will only bomb London as the Germans already have done, won�t they? Well that�s where the Government and the Royals are isn�t it? We have blackout curtains at the windows and no naked flames outside are aloud at night time, not even a cigarette, or the Wardens will have you arrested. I think that�s silly don�t you?
Rationing is a problem but we have all pulling together and we are coping well now. The town has started a Home Guard; all they have done is take all the railings down and taken down all the road signs for miles around.
We are thinking of you all the time. Mr Grimes says that you job is still here for you when you get back. I know that you cannot tell us where you are or what you are doing but I am sure the war will be over soon and you will be home safe.
Love
Agnes
The sergeant shouted �At the ready�. The smell of diesel was unbearable, as the engines noise of the landing crafts engines became suddenly almost unbearably louder, as they frantically revved to deafening pitch: drowning the prayers that the Clergyman stood at the front of the craft was saying, he put away his Rosary and Bible into one of his breast pockets, tightened the straps of his helmet and picked up his gun. The dog collar showing slightly now was the only indication that he was of the clergy. I folded letter placed it in the envelope and put back from whence it came. Clenching my riffle in front of me I looked at those around me; some visibly shaking some with a tear in their eye, others saying prayers. Very much different from the hundreds of times we had practiced at Yarmouth, then there was only our Billets to go too, a laugh and a joke, a couple of beers. But this was no practice.
Water now is coming over the sides of the craft, I start to move my feet to keep warm and stop getting the cramps, well that�s what they told us to do in training. Gripping my riffle tightly my hands now shaking, my knuckles are now white. We are still going round in a circle, which is good, when the circle breaks, then we are going in. Others were now stamping their feet. Nobody is giving acknowledgement to anybody else, no eye contact exists. When suddenly everybody looks up as four Spitfires and six Hurricanes fly low overhead, I can see the pilot�s face of one of the aircraft. This could be it. The RAF usually attacks the German beachheads just before a landing or so I have been told. The craft is now jolting and rocking, packing all of us close together, water pounding in from all sides; my clothes are hanging heavily on me, it is hard to move, there is a warmth in my wetness, I feel sick.
Look at my feet now covered in cold water up to the ankles. Water moving with the crafts jolts, there is something in the water, looking again its vomit, yes vomit, trying but not able, not able to stop myself, but vomit down my front, the remains of the mornings breakfast. Wish I were there now, eating my breakfast that is. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve daring not to look down again, when the craft turns left sharply, throwing others and me against its side, squashed by those falling on us. There is no sound, there is no pain. The chap next to me is tucking what looks like his crucifix back into his tunic.
There is a flash of colour high to the right, everyone looks, is it one of our planes? It�s passed. All eyes forward again. The chap next to me is leaning on me, please don�t lean on me; somebody from behind gives him a nudge, then another, his body goes limp and begins to fall to the floor, our bodies so tightly packed together not allowing the chap to move. Glancing to the floor, water, blood and vomit. Looking directly forward the light at the front is now illuminated, it won�t be long now. Clouds of thick black smoke bellow in front high into the blue sky. Where are the birds? There are no Birds. Do French birds speak French and English speak English and if they do will they all learn German if the Germans win. God I�m going mad, probably the smell of the diesel. Could die for a cig, no that�s the wrong thing to say. The thought of crossing myself if I could move I would, but I�m not a religious person. An aunt of mine once went to France, I wonder if it was here. Well somewhere abroad anyway.
With a thud; the for an instance there is a deafening silence, the engines come to a halt; then sound of shells exploding, machine gun fire, riffle fire. Flames now can be seen amid the black clouds of smoke. Swaying too and throw the craft now seems somewhat out of control. The door is now been lowered, without trying, unable to resist we move forward, the chap next to me falls to the floor. All of us nearby look at each other not knowing what to do, then look away with the knowledge that nothing can be done. He�s somebody�s son.
After some spluttering the tanks engine is started, the fumes making us violently cough. Without warning there is serge forward as the craft digs its self into the sand, then thrown back again. What happens next seems robotic, as if in ones sleep, we move forward our training has instilled that. The door drops the tank moves forward; I have never had somebody shoot at me, I have never shot at any body. I am scared of what is about to happen.
With a splash the tank drops into the water its guns and cannon firing what seems adlib. We are still slowly moving forward to the front of the craft; not at will but as if in automatic motion, I don�t know is it the subconscious of the crowd, or just plain fear? The sergeant went first, firing his gun at I don�t know what, it was as if a thousand and one whistles were been directed at us, these were no whistle it was the sound of bullets moving through the air. When the Clergyman fell to the ground it was then I had a clear view of the beach, it was pandemonium, wrecked vehicles as though in a breakers yard, bodies lie on the ground motionless, limbs missing stomachs torn apart and blood so much blood. In the water among the floating corpses dead fish float, whilst on the shore men take cover among the corpses to fire at an invisible enemy. Medics run along the beach in the aimless pursuit of attending the wounded. The noise of shells exploding mingled with the shouts of men, frustrated men. Some try to run but there�s nowhere to run to
.
The rest of the days events has been a complete blank to me ever since, dearly I have tried, but in vain. My memory returns, although somewhat sketchy in the early evening. Fatigued and dirty, eating tins of tuna in the ruins of what was the Town Hall with others, hardly a word spoken. The darkness lit my the flash of occasional artillery fire in the distance, which broke the silence apart from the occasional nearby sniper fire; from the what remained of pockets of Germans left within the town. I remember thinking �thank god I�m still alive�. Again my mind goes blank.
From the morning of the next day from there my memory becomes clear. But that is another tale.
Since that day I have had nightmares of that fearful day, less frequent now than before. The rest of the war I can remember, if I wish to. But when I ever I find the letter that Agnes wrote all those years ago, as now the memories of being in that landing craft are as clear as though I was still there. Thoughts of what if it would have been me and not the chap at the side of me; no children, no taking the grand children to the harvest festival; that has been an important event for Agnes and myself since my return. What direction would Agnes�s life had gone.
