“Miracle Survival Time”
Ron Mcgill recalls his friend Peter Glanville who took part in the D-day landings
Iwas just 13 years old at the time of the D-day landings and can remember the hordes of aircraft passing over our school at Roehampton in south-west London. There was also a continuous stream of military vehicles passing on the nearby main road to the south of England and many of them were crowded with our fighting men, all waving and cheering.
In my later life, I met up with many men who had fought so valiantly for the precious freedom we enjoy today. Among them was a close friend of mine, Peter Glanville, who I used to play golf with every Sunday. Peter once showed me his diary, and we had many discussions about that event, which he called his “miracle survival time”.
Peter had joined the Royal Navy in 1940 and subsequently volunteered for Combined Operations. In 1943, he began training as a yeoman/signaller and was stationed at Plymouth. He was then posted to a new type of vessel, a landing craft tank (LCT), stationed at the Hamble River in Hampshire.
Shortly before D-day, Peter’s commander called him into his office and said: “Glanville,you are the best signaller in our group, and I want you with me.” This was a pleasant surprise to Peter until he heard the chilling words: “We may not be coming back.”
I now quote from Peter’s diary:
“We weighed anchor at 0600 on 5 June 1944 and sailed down to the Solent where the nearby craft began to form into ‘cruising order’. The sight was quite wonderful to behold, truly thousands of ships of all shapes and sizes, packed with tanks, guns and men, setting off for the journey across the English Channel.
“We had all been briefed some 24 hours earlier so we knew what we were sailing into, wondering if we would ever see the shore of our homeland again and/or our loved ones. It was rough going with a heavy swell but not too bad in our LCT which was one of the larger landing craft which made good progress.
“At 0500 hours on 6 June we were just a few miles off our objective of Juno Beach and then we all formed into battle lines and headed for the coast at full steam ahead. The beach area was a mass of obstacles and mines.
“Our LCT’S target was just to the right of the village of Courseulles, which we had been warned would be heavily defended. We called to the soldiers that we were near the beach and told them to stand by to jump out – they quickly forgot how seasick they were and made ready for the assault. Our craft led the line of various types with reinforcement craft following in our wake – which must have been a daunting sight for the German gunners crouching in their defences for they had been pounded by the barrage of shells from the warships close by.
“Our LCT was hit by an exploding mine exactly as we reached the beach and lowered our ramp. Luckily, we had a shallow beach and grounded well for the soldiers to leap out and make the 100-yard dash for the shelter of the sea wall. These men were soldiers of our
Kent regiment and Canadians from the Royal Winnipeg Rifles and truly were the bravest of the brave. A group of 20 men made it to the sea wall and began lobbing grenades into the giant pillbox which was still firing at our landing craft. After 10 minutes, the pillbox was silenced.
“Back on our LCT, the mine had blown a large hole in the side but nobody was hurt and we managed to get the cargo of bulldozers, Bren carriers and Jeeps off safely. The naval barrage continued to give good covering fire and
we also had a few landing craft fitted with 4ins guns which managed to deal with the enemy pillboxes on the coast.
“With our troops gone it was time to back out of this hell with continuous shelling and machine-gun fire hitting the stranded craft. Our poor old LCT made a gallant effort to stay afloat as we cleared the beach but we all realised she was doomed. It was my job to keep flashing ‘Help’ as other craft passed us heading for the beach – but none could stop – one craft flashed back: ‘Sorry mate, cannot stop – have a date with Hitler.’
“Our LCT began to slowly turn over and very shortly our crew of six were all in the water. Luckily, a tug saw our problem and stopped to haul us all aboard – we were never so pleased to see another boat as that dear old tug whose crew had us wrapped up with hot drinks in no time. A few more hours and we were back in dear old Portsmouth. We had been the first in and we were the first back – so there were a lot of questions. We managed to get a good night’s sleep, fresh uniforms and then were all briefed that we would be taking another landing craft back with reinforcements the next day – which we did.... but landed them safely and although still under sporadic shelling, we returned safely to Portsmouth.”
This completed Peter’s diary extracts, but his landing craft duties were not over. Later in the war he was involved with the allied landings on Walcheren, an island off the Netherlands, which was another grisly affair but, somehow, Peter survived and was demobbed when the war ended in 1945.
Following Peter’s return to civilian life, he and his wife, Chris (an exwaaf ), had a long and worthwhile career running the sub-post office inside The Pilgrim’s Bookshop on
High Street, Guildford, Surrey. They set up home in Godalming, had three children and finally moved to Hindhead when they retired. They both took up golf, joining my club at Puttenham in Surrey and reached a good standard of play. Chris went on to be elected as the ladies’ captain in the 1980s.
Fate now took a hand and tragedy struck one Sunday evening when Peter slipped coming down his stairs and fell heavily. He was unable to move and, when the medics came, they immediately asked for a helicopter to take Peter directly to Stoke Mandeville Hospital. Here, he was assessed and informed his back was broken and it was life in a wheelchair from now on – news that he took with the utmost fortitude and swore he would battle on.
When the news of the accident reached the club members, there was an immediate whip round, and within three hours we raised £5,000 for the immediate needs of the family. Peter was finally discharged from
Stoke Mandeville after eight months’ treatment and began his new life in a wheelchair.
Joining my art class, Peter began to learn and produce some good work in oil painting. One day he said to me: “I feel I should go back to Juno Beach to remember my lost friends.” A friend of ours, Fred Wordsworth, immediately said that we would take him the following year, which was 2009 and the 65th anniversary of D-day.
Fred and I booked all three of us on to a civil service coach trip of veterans and relatives. We would be based at
Rouen but able to see all the places that Peter had in mind. Shortly afterwards, however, Peter passed away in his sleep – a merciful end for a very brave man. Fred and I said that we would still go as if Peter was with us, which in spirit we felt he was.
On the coach going over the Channel, I spoke with the driver and asked for half a day at Juno Beach and explained why. He immediately advised the other passengers who all said: “We will go with you.” On our second day, we got off the coach and walked to the sandy beach of Juno, passing the piles of rubble that had been the German pillboxes.
One of the huts there was flying the Canadian flag. An officer came out as we approached, learned about our plans, asked to join us and we all trooped to the middle of the beach – exactly opposite the position of the ruined pillbox that had wrecked Peter’s LCT on that fateful morning.
Fred and I made a pile of sand and placed a union flag on the top, plus a bottle of Peter’s favourite tipple – a bottle of beer from our local Hogs Back Brewery at the bottom. All our group stood silently and prayed for a few moments in memory of those brave men who had made that remarkable dash for the sea wall and, of course, our dear Peter. The officer saluted and we made our way back to the coach.
He told us on the walk back he was representing Canada for the returning crowds of veterans and then proudly said: “This group made the deepest penetration behind enemy lines – two miles on D-day itself.”
There were crowds everywhere that week plus masses of flags and bunting. We also had Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip touring the British and Commonwealth graves near Bayeux.
Our coach driver thought we would be wise to go in the other direction and we drove to the American cemetery that lies just behind Omaha Beach.
None of us were prepared for the absolute sea of small white crosses set in beautiful gardens. Here it really struck home what the American nation had lost in the fight to bring freedom to France and ultimately, the whole of Europe.
It was a humbling trip home to England for us all – but an event that Fred and I never ever forgot.