D-DAY 65: A hero's (last) return
When Sue Ashan took her father back to the Normandy beaches in June 2009, she had no idea just how emotional the trip would prove to be
In memory of Harold Dudman, died 6 June 2009.
Some months ago, I heard a brief item on the news saying that the Big Lottery Fund was going to pay for any veterans of the Normandy D-Day campaign to make the trip to France for the 65th anniversary commemorations. They called it the ‘Heroes Return’.
My father, Harold Dudman, had landed at Sword beach in June 1944, as part of the REME 11th / 29th Armoured Division. As he was never one to talk about his wartime experiences I was not sure if he would be interested in going, but he surprised me by being very excited at the prospect.
We booked places on an organised tour arranged by Poppy Travel. My mother, Lesley, came too and I also invited my friend, Pauline Hart-Chaplin, and her father, Harry Hart, to join us. Although Harry had not fought in Normandy, his younger brother, Bill, had been killed there, so it was a chance for Harry to go and visit his grave.
Harold, 86, and Harry, 89, were like two excited little boys getting on our coach in London on 4 June. They headed straight for the back row and laughed and joked all the way to Dover! We crossed the Channel by ferry and then continued in our coach to Caen in Normandy.
There was a wonderful atmosphere on our bus with an interesting mix of people. We had quite a number of old soldiers and members of their families, while others were taking the trip because of their interest in the history of D-Day. There were also some serving soldiers and Legion members onboard. Everyone got along very well and by the time we arrived it felt like we’d known them for ages.
I was amazed at the reaction all the veterans got from the local people of Normandy. Even the young people have been brought up to appreciate what these men did for them. They wanted to shake their hands and thank them. Some people on the pavements would even salute as we drove by in our bus.
Friday 5 June was a wonderful day. It turned out to be my dad’s last day but I know he could not have wished for better.
The weather was warm and sunny as we set off. Our first stop was at Ranville War Cemetery. We watched a re-enactment of the parachute drop that began the Normandy invasion, followed by a service of remembrance complete with marching bands.
From there we moved on to Pegasus Bridge, where there was a real carnival atmosphere. We had lunch at the café Gondree, which was the first building in France to be liberated. My dad was wearing his old regimental tie and was thrilled when some serving soldiers from his regiment recognised his tie, came over, shook his hand and chatted with him.
Our next stop, which was totally unscheduled yet turned out to be the most poignant moment of our trip, was part of Sword Beach. My dad had twice before visited Normandy but had never recognised any parts of the beach that he had seen, yet when we reached this particular stretch, he instantly knew it to be the exact point at which he had landed in 1944. He could recall so much from that day and told us lots of things about it that I had never heard before. It obviously meant a great deal to him to have seen it again. He told Pauline later that day that he had waited 65 years to see it. I’m so glad he did.
Following dinner that evening came a surprise announcement from our tour guide – we were all invited to have lunch with Prince Charles and Gordon Brown the next day after we had attended the service at Bayeux Cathedral. Everyone was very excited at this.
My dad decided he would have a shave that night so that he could be ready for the early start for the big events the next day. He went up to his room and I took him and my mum a cup of tea to have before they went to bed. They went to sleep but sadly my dad did not wake up again, having passed away at 3am on Saturday 6 June – the anniversary of D-Day.
The rest of the tour group continued as planned in the morning but mum and I stayed behind at the hotel. We were in a total state of shock but were still required to start making some necessary arrangements. Thankfully, we were lucky to have some people who helped us at this dreadful time, without whom we would have been completely lost.
We had been due, later on that day, to attend a ceremony at Arromanches where D-Day veterans were to be presented with a badge as a gift from the people of Normandy. Several people suggested that we ought to still attend this, in order to accept my dad’s badge on his behalf. They felt we may regret it later if we did not go and so we decided to attend.
Security was heavy in the area as so many dignitaries attending. For a while it looked to be impossible for us to make the journey to Arromanches. However we had not yet appreciated the talents and determination of Anita Cosseron, who made several phone calls to obtain a pass from the chief of police, which allowed us to pass through every road block between Caen and Arromanches.
Anita drove us right to the square in Arromanches where the ceremony was taking place.
I was totally overwhelmed at her kindness. She did not need to do that for us. When I said as much to her, her reply was ‘He helped us. I want to help him.’ She truly felt she was repaying a debt.
With the heightened security, the police would not allow Anita to park her car and so she was forced to drop us off and leave. This left us, again, at the mercy of my limited French, and so we needed help to get in to the area where the presentations were taking place.
I noticed a group, speaking English, who I mistook for officials as they were wearing name badges. I explained what had happened and asked if they could help. One of the men took mum and I, talked to the police on the gate, and got us entry to the restricted area. He took us right up to the Mayor of Arromanches who then presented my dad’s badge to my mum.
I did not get this kind man’s name. All I remember is that he lives in Keyworth in Nottingham and that he was not an official at all – he was on a trip like us! I would love to have the chance to thank him for his help and am currently trying to track him down.
We watched the remainder of the ceremonies, in the pouring rain before meeting up with our tour group and returning to our hotel. Everyone was so kind but we realised it would be quite impossible for us to remain with the tour for another two days. That evening we made arrangements to return home the following day.
Mum and I returned to England, leaving my dad safe in the care of Anita. He was eventually brought home six days later and his funeral took place on 26 June. Although it was a terrible time for mum and me, we have no regrets at having made the trip. In many respects it seems that destiny played its part, and that things were actually meant to happen this way.
Of course, we are missing him dreadfully, but we shall always have such great memories of how happy he was on that last day and how thrilled he was to, at last, be able to find ‘his beach’.
We take enormous comfort from that.
