CHAPTER TEN

D-Day plus three months to D-Day plus forty years




After one night at Bulford, the company went on leave. Howard drove up to Oxford for a reunion with his family and  a glorious rest. On the morning of  September 17, he relates, T got up and saw all these planes milling around with gliders on them, and of course  I knew that something  was on'. The planes  were headed for Arnhem. Howard knew that Jim Wallwork and the other pilots were up there, and he silently wished him good luck.

Howard did not know it, but Sergeant Thornton was also up there, with a stick of paratroopers. When Thornton was evacuated from Normandy, he had a quick recovery from his wound. Then, rather  than wait for the Ox  and Bucks to return, he  had transferred to the  1st Airborne Division,  gone through his  jump training, and was going  in with  Colonel John  Frost's 2nd  Battalion. Thornton fought beside Frost at Arnhem bridge for four days, and was captured with him.

Howard could hardly  imagine such a  thing, but none  of those gliders  overhead carried coup  de main  parties, not  for the  bridge at  Arnhem, nor  the one at Nijmegen. It  seems possible  that had  D Company  been available, someone would have thought to lay on  coup de main parties for  the bridges. If they had  been there to take the bridge at  Nijmegen, the American paratroopers would not  have had  to fight  a desperate  battle for  it. Rather,  they could  have set  up  a defensive perimeter, with the  strength to spare to  send men over to  Arnhem to help out. At Arnhem,  with glider help, Frost  could have held both  ends of his bridge, greatly simplifying his problems.

But it was not to be. D Company had not been pulled out of Normandy until it was an exhausted, battered, remnant of its old self, and evidently no other  company could  take its  place. Certainly  there were  no coup  de main  parties in  the gliders over Howard's head. He watched  them straighten out and then head  east, and he again wished them good luck.



In late September, 1944, ten days after Arnhem, Howard reported back to  Bulford and set out to rebuild D Company, brought up to full strength by reinforcements. Howard's job was to make the recruits into genuine airborne soldiers. He started with basics -  physical and weapon  training. By mid-November,  he was ready  to take the  recruits on  street-fighting exercises,  to get  his men accustomed to live ammunition. He selected an area  of Birmingham, arranged for bunks for  the men, and returned to Bulford.

On Friday, November 13,  Howard decided to spend  the night with Joy,  as Oxford was  on the  route to  Birmingham. He  brought with  him two  Oxford  residents. Corporal Stock and his new second-in-command. Captain Osborne, together with his batman. Although  Stock was  his driver,  Howard insisted  on taking  the wheel, because, although a good driver, Stock did not drive fast enough.

At about  5:30, just  as dusk  was falling,  they met  a Yank  convoy of six-ton trucks on a  narrow, twisting road.  They were on  a right hand  bend. Suddenly, with no warning, Howard  'saw this six-ton truck  in front of me.  He'd lost his place in the convoy and he was  obviously leap-frogging up, and it was all  over so quickly.'

They had a head-on crash. Howard was jammed behind the steering-wheel, and  both legs, his right hip, and his left knee were smashed up. Osborne suffered similar injuries, but the other two escaped with cuts and bruises.

Howard was taken to hospital in Tidworth, where he was on the critical list  for nearly six weeks. Joy made many  long journeys to visit him. In  December, using his  connections  with  the  Oxford police,  Howard  got  himself  moved to  the Wingfield hospital in Oxford. He remained there until March, 1945.



D Company went on to fight in the  Battle of the Bulge, then led the way  on the Rhine crossing and participated in the  drive to the Baltic. Most of  the glider pilots were at Arnhem, then flew again in the Rhine crossing.



When  Howard came  out of  hospital, he  was using  crutches. By  the time   his convalescent  leave was  nearly over,  so was  the war  in Europe.  But when  he reported for duty, he learned that the  Ox and Bucks were going to the  Far East for another glider operation. The  battalion commander asked Howard if  he could get fit in time.  It seemed the authorities  wanted to promote him  and make him second-in-command of the battalion.

Howard immediately started a training programme on a track near his home. On the second day of trying to run laps, his right hip seized up and the leg went dead. He had not allowed his injuries to heal properly, and the strain on the hip from the running caused  it to jam,  which stopped the  nerves running down  the leg. Howard went  back into  hospital for  further operations.  When he  got out this time, the war in Asia was over.

He wanted to stay in the army, make  a career of it, 'but before I knew  where I was I was kicked out of the army, invalided out. My feet just didn't touch'.

Howard went into the Civil  Service, first with the National  Savings Committee, then with the Ministry of Food, and finally with the Ministry of Agriculture. In 1946 he had an audience with the King at Buckingham Palace. On June 6, 1954, the tenth anniversary of D-Day,  he received a Croix  de Guerre avec Paime  from the French government, which had already  renamed the bridge. From that  day onward, its name has been 'Pegasus Bridge'. Later the road between the bridge and the LZ was named 'Esplanade Major John Howard'.

Howard served as a consultant for Darryl  Zanuck in the making of the film,  The Longest Day. Played by Richard Todd, he had a prominent role in the film,  which of course delighted him. He was  less happy about Zanuck's penchant for  putting drama ahead  of accuracy:  Zanuck insisted  that there  had to  be explosives in place under the bridge, and it was  he, not Howard, who prevailed at the  bridge on this occasion. In the film, the sappers are seen pulling out explosives  from under the bridge and throwing them into the canal. Zanuck also romanticised  the arrival  of Lovat  and his  Commandos, quite  falsely depicting  their  bagpipes playing as they crossed Pegasus Bridge.

Howard retired in 1974, and he and  Joy live in a small but comfortable  home in the tiny village of Burcot, about eight miles from Oxford. Terry and Penny  live close enough for  the grandchildren to  pay regular visits.  The Howards do  not travel much, but John manages to  return to Pegasus Bridge almost every  year on June 6. His  hip and legs  are so mangled  that he needs  a walking-stick to get around, and then only moves with  great pain, but all his enormous  energy flows out again when he sees his bridge, and greets Madame Gondree, and starts talking to those  of his  men who  have made  it over  for this  particular anniversary. Sweeney and Bailey are usually there,  and sometimes Wood and Parr and  Gray and always some of the others.



Von Luck spent the remainder of  the autumn of 1944 fighting General  Le Clerc's French armoured division. In mid-December he was involved in the fighting at the southern end  of the  Battle of  the Bulge,  and was  surprised at  how much the Americans  had  improved  since  February, 1943,  when  he  had  fought them  at Kasserine Pass. In the spring of 1945, 21st Panzer went to the Eastern front, to join in the defence  of Berlin. In late  April, by then encircled,  von Luck was ordered to break through the Russian lines, then hold it open so that Ninth Army could get out and surrender to the Americans. Before attacking the Russians, von Luck called what was left of his regiment together, and gave a small talk.

'We are here now', he began, 'and I think that it is more or less the end of the world. Please  forget about  the Thousand  Year Reich.  Please forget  all about that. You will ask. Why  then are we going to  fight again? I tell you,  there's only one reason you  are fighting, it is  for your families, your  grounds, your homeland. Always think  about what will  happen when the  Russians overcome your wives, your little daughters, your village, your homeland.'

The men fought until they were out  of ammunition, and von Luck told them,  'Now it's finished, you are free to go  wherever you want'. Von Luck himself went  to report to the  commander of the  Ninth Army, and  was captured by  the Russians. They sent him to a POW camp in the Caucasus, where he spent five years as a coal miner. In 1951 he moved to  Hamburg, where he became a highly  successful coffee importer.

Beginning in the mid-1970s, the  Swedish royal military academy has  brought von Luck and Howard together to give talks on Normandy battles and leadership.  They hit it off  from the first,  and have grown  to like each  other more with  each annual appearance. Today they could only be described as very good friends.  'So much for war', Howard comments.



Sergeant Hickman spent the  remainder of the war  in England as a  POW. He liked the country so much that when he was shipped home, he applied for a visa. It was granted, and he emigrated to England, changing his name to Henry, and got a job, married a British woman, and settled down. One day in the early 1960s one of his friends at work  told him that  there was a  British parachute reunion  going on that night, and as an old  paratrooper himself he might want to  attend. Hickman did. There he saw Billy Gray, the same man he had faced at 0020 hours on June 6, 1944, in front of the cafe, with his machine-gun blazing away.

Hickman did  not recognise  Gray, but  during the  evening Gray  pulled out some photographs of Pegasus Bridge and started  to explain the coup de main.  Hickman looked at the photos.  'I know that bridge',  he said. He and  Gray got talking. Later they exchanged visits, and a friendship developed. Over the years it  grew closer and deeper, and today they are intimates. They kid each other about  what lousy marksmen they were in their youth. 'So much for war.'



General Sir  Nigel Poett,  KCB, DSO,  had a  distinguished military  career. Now retired, he lives near Salisbury. Major Nigel Taylor, MC, is a solicitor  living near Malvern.  Richard Todd  continues to  pursue his  highly successful  acting career. Major Dennis Fox,  MBE, soldiered on for  ten years after the  war, then became an executive with ITV. Colonel H. J. Sweeney, MC, also stayed in the army until he was fifty-five; today he is the Director-General of the Battersea Dogs' Home near Old  Windsor, and the  head of the  Ox and Bucks  regimental veterans' association.

Major R. A. A. Smith, MC, became a director of both Shell and BP in India; he is now retired but runs tours to India. Colonel David Wood, MBE, soldiered on until retirement.  He organised  staff college  visits to  Pegasus, where  Howard  and Taylor would give lectures on what happened. Today David lives in retirement  in Devon.

Staff  Sergeant  Oliver  Boland,  Croix  de  Guerre,  lives  in  retirement near Stratford-upon-Avon.  Jack  Bailey  stayed  in  the  army,  where  he  became  a regimental sergeant major. Today he is head clerk in a London firm and lives  in Catford, near Wally Parr. Dr John Vaughan has a medical practice in Devon.

Staff Sergeant Jim Wallwork, DFM, worked  as a salesman for the first  ten years after the war. In 1956 he emigrated  to British Columbia, where today he runs  a small livestock farm on  the edge of the  mountains east of Vancouver.  From his porch, and from his  picture window, Jim has  a grand view of  a valley dropping away before him. The kind  of view a glider pilot  gets on his last approach  to the LZ.

Corporal Wally Parr  wanted to stay  in the army,  but with a  wife and children decided he had to get out. He returned  to Catford, where one of his sons is  in his window-cleaning business with him. Another son is a promising musician.



To my knowledge, there are no intact Horsa gliders flying today. Zanuck got  the blueprints and built one for The Longest  Day, but was told by the Air  Ministry that  the design  was inherently  bad and  the craft  not air-worthy.  Therefore Zanuck could not fly it  across the Channel, as he  had hoped to do, but  had to dismantle the thing, bring it over by ship, and put it together again in France.

The model of the  bridge and surrounding area,  the one that Howard  and his men studied so intently in Tarrant Rushton,  is today in the Airborne Forces  Museum at Aldershot.



Benouville has a few new houses, some development, but basically it is as it was on June 6, 1944. So is Ranville,  where Den Brotheridge is buried, under a  tree in the churchyard.

The Gondree  cafe remains,  changed only  by the  portraits on  the wall of John Howard, Jim Wallwork, Nigel Taylor, and  the others who came to liberate  France and the Gondrees.

Madame Gondree presides over her tiny cafe  in a grand fashion. To see her  on a June  6,  surrounded  by her  many  friends  from D  Company  and  from the  7th Battalion, chatting  away gaily,  remembering the  great day  however many years ago, is to  see a happy  woman. Before he  died in the  late 1960s, her  husband Georges made  many close  British friends,  Howard especially.  Jack Bailey went duck hunting with Gondree each year.

When asked to describe life during  the occupation, Madame Gondree lets loose  a torrent of words,  paragraphs or incidents  separated by heartfelt  cries of'Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!' She  still hates the Germans  and will not allow  them into her cafe today. When  Zanuck was shooting  The Longest Day,  he wanted to  have half -dressed  German soldiers  come leaping  out of  the windows  of the  cafe as  D Company charged across the bridge. Madame screamed, insisting to Zanuck that she had never, never had Germans sleeping in her house, and that he absolutely  must take that scene out of the script. Unlike Howard, Madame got her way. The  scene was dropped.

When Howard goes to the cafe today, he sometimes brings Hans von Luck with  him. Howard has told Madame that von Luck might look suspiciously like a German,  but that he is in fact a Swede.



The canal has been widened by some four or five feet. The chateau stands intact. The machine-gun pillbox that Jack Bailey  knocked out and John Howard used  as a CP is still there, forming the foundation  of the house lived in by the  man who operates the swing-bridge. The bunkers are all filled in. But the anti-tank  gun and its  emplacement, where  Wally Parr  had so  much fun,  remains. Three stone markers are placed on the sites where the three gliders crashed.

The river bridge is  a new one, built  since the war. The  canal bridge, Pegasus Bridge, is still there.