Because D-Day was probably the biggest event in my teenage life, I decided once I’d become a best-seller that I really ought to write the story about a couple who were involved in the actual event. I wrote the book, Avalanche of Daisies, in 1998 when I was 67, which was quite a long time afterwards, but I had kept diaries at the time, because like everybody else in England then, we knew how important it was and I take my hero ashore on D-Day +7, when the weather was appalling.
‘There was a strong sou’wester blowing as the 131st Brigade embarked for France. They’d been delayed for more that twelve hours because of heavy seas. It was as cold as November, the sea was slate grey and extremely rough and the sky bruised by rainclouds, blue-black, oppressive and threatening. Tough weather for tough work.
The Channel was an impressive sight that afternoon. There were ships as far as he could see, some, like theirs, heading out of harbour and rolling heavily, some returning, their prows carving white parabolas of foam, warships, sleek and grey and bristling with guns, landing craft like enormous square-mouthed barges.
Steve had never seen such a fleet, let alone imagined he’d be a part of one. And once they were out in mid-channel, he’d never seen such a vast army either. Deck after deck packed with khaki vehicles and loaded with men in full kit, their helmets catching the light as they bobbed and shifted like a great harvest of steel flowers.
It took a very long time before they reached the French coast and by then most of them were feeling so ill, they simply wanted to get back on dry land, no matter how dangerous it might be.’
They were heroes, every single one. And it is only right and proper that we should be honouring them on this day, eighty years later.
Beryl Kingston Blog 