Ivan Culbert Gives Vivid Description of Normandy Invasion

This year marks the 80th anniversary of the start of the Second World War in 1939. We're also marking the 75th anniversary of the Normandy Invasion (D-Day), the Allied invasion of western Europe with the simultaneous landing of U.S., British and Canadian forces on five separate beachheads in Normandy, France. 

By the end of August, 1944 all of northern France was liberated, and the invading forces reorganized for the drive into Germany, where they would eventually meet with Soviet forces advancing from the east to bring an end to the Nazi Reich.[1]

Sergeant Ivan Hector Culbert of Lucan, Ontario fought in this historic battle.
 

Sergeant Ivan Culbert of Lucan, Ontario, Canada.

The photo above was taken during Ivan's service in Italy. It's the photo used in this London Free Press front-page article dated 26 August 1944, where Ivan recounts his experience during the Normandy Invasion in France.

Headline: Into Battle With the Canadians: London Soldier Gives Vivid Description of the Normandy Invasion.

Ivan describes the invasion in a letter to his former employer, E.J. Cossey whom you read about in this previous post. Ivan uses the word "Jerry" throughout the letter which was a WWII nickname for for the Germans.

I've transcribed the article, as follows. The first paragraph was written by a London Free Press editor, followed by Ivan's letter:

Just what it means to go into battle is vividly described by Sgt. Ivan H. Culbert, a former Londoner and son of ex-Reeve and Mrs. Myron Culbert, of Lucan. Veteran of the campaigns in Sicily and Italy, and now in the Battle of Normandy, which he describes as “the daddy of them all,” Sgt. Culbert tells about “this different kind of war” in a letter to E.J. Cossey, local merchant. In his hour-by-hour description word picture of the fight in Normandy, he told of being taken from the lines for special training, they being told they would soon “take part in one of the greatest drives yet made by Allied troops in France.” The events he tells of, he says, have taken place within “the past 48 hours,” and the letter is written on August 10.

It was “a new job for us foot sloggers,” he wrote, “this time we were riding well into enemy lines in armored vehicles. On the day before the big push, officers and men alike were brought together and were shown real photographs of the ground we were to pass over. Everything was wonderfully planned and each man knew what job he had to do.

With the aid of many tanks, air support and thousands of artillery shells, we were to push about four miles into the enemy lines, bypassing any resistance on either flank as we went along. We imagined ourselves as paratroops landing four miles behind Jerry’s line, taking up an all-round protection and holding out for 24 hours when other troops would push through us, mopping up those we bypassed as they went along, thus relieving our pressure from all sides.

I will now try to describe as far as censorship will allow, exactly what took place from about 1900 hours that same day, up to the present time, or the time those much looked-forward-to-troops arrived and passed through.

At 1900 hours on the day of the big push, I looked back on what seemed miles of armor. Everything was lined up some distance back of the start line. The men from several infantry battalions were sprawled out by their vehicles, some writing letters, some playing cards, and others reading books. There were, of course, some not interested in any of that and they lay snoozing in the shade of giant armor. Soon jeeps with a hot meal pulled up alongside us like barges beside huge ships. The men were fed and each given enough rations to carry him through the next 24 hours, a 24 hours of possible hell.

H-hour was set for 2330 hours, (11:30 p.m.), and we were to cross the start line at H plus 5. Those next few hours of waiting seemed like days. On every man’s face could be seen an expression of “I wonder how we’ll make it out.” There was no doubt in any of our minds as to whether we would reach our objective or not. We felt confident in those who planned this show and knew little could go wrong.

As time passed on I heard a rumbling noise in the air. My watch said 11, and I knew those bombers were on time. Before long that rumbling noise went from sky to ground. No less than 1,000 1,000-pound bombs were being dropped on targets over which we would soon pass.

This was followed by huge flashes to our rear and the glorious tune of artillery guns. Like a sprinkling can they poured shells over the enemy’s position and one would wonder how anything could ever live through it. I looked at my watch again, when I heard engines start up and the men began to pile in the vehicles. It was 2330 hours. Five minutes to go and we would cross the start line.

All of a sudden night turned into almost day. Searchlights from our rear provided this light to guide us. At almost the same time tracer bullets were fired high overhead to give us the right direction, and so it continued until our objective was reached.

The cross line was reached and by now every man was wide awake and ready to take on anything that got in his way. I’m sure everyone, like myself, had that certain nervous strain which one gets at times like this. At the same time we all felt confident that God would see us safely through.

Now if you will put yourself in Jerry’s place, sitting there in a trench with his machine gun or mortar and hearing that rumble of some odd thousand vehicles approaching, it would really make you wonder. So it did just that; Jerry was confused. As we rode further and further in we could see him wandering all over the place. He fired a few rounds but they were not accurate. Our shells continued to pass over our heads and advanced a few yards ahead of us, all the way along.

Simply to let us know he still had artillery left, a few shells from his side could be seen bursting around us; they were not accurate. All of a sudden, very near by a terrific explosion, then another, I put my hands to my ears to see if they were still there. We knew what it was immediately, nothing less than a Jerry tank, known to us as an 88. It’s very accurate and a weapon that does not give one much time to duck. He was trying to hit some of our thanks, or even a vehicle in which we were riding. Soon our own leading tanks got wind of its presence and not long after we saw 88 go up in flames.

It was no 3 a.m., so far so good. We knew we had passed by many Jerry positions and also that they would be looked after by the troops who were to pass through us later on. The moon, which was half full, was up by this time, and it sort of put our searchlights to shame. Our tracer guides continued to pass overhead and we wondered how much farther we had to go.

At a certain point before our objective we were to fan out, each battalion going to its allotted spot. Occasionally we were forced to stop, because of rough ground, and it was during those minutes of waiting to move on that my mind wandered back to pre-war days, wondering how soon those days would be back again. A fellow certainly learns to appreciate the finer things of life in times like these.

Two more hours passed, but not without excitement, until finally we began to fan out and we knew then were nearly there. Our objective was a huge piece of ground with trees and buildings, used by an airport to our right. Two companies dismounted and went forward; soon we were all in our allotted positions, and shovels were at work without hesitation.

Our next job would be to stop a counter-attack. Jerry always does try one whenever we stop pushing him back. The morning brought a heavy fog, an ideal morning for a counter-attack. Sure enough, an hour after we got there, word came through to stand by – he didn’t let us down.

Tired and all as we were, with the assistance of tanks and dive bombers, who were now up and at work, we held it off. Like a dog that has been scolded, he put his tail between his legs and beat it back.

From then until the time when those fresh troops pushed through us, everything went well. The enemy we passed in our rear gave us no trouble. They walked into our lines by the dozen.

Now that part of the show is over we are able to get some rest. Here we are as fresh as ever again, waiting for further orders for the next drive. Why Jerry hangs on, I do not know, he will surely crack before long.

I experienced many attacks with my old regiment in Sicily and Italy, but this one has been the daddy of them all. It’s a different kind of war altogether here in Normandy.

As far as the civilians are concerned, they seem to have sufficient food and clothing, unlike those in Italy. The fields of grain that escaped war scars are waiting to be harvested.

All for now, hope everything is going well with you. Hope to be back with you all again in the not too distant future, (signed) Ivan.

 - end of letter -

The article continues...

Joining the army five years ago, Sgt. Culbert went overseas one month after with the R.C.R. He was in France at the time of its surrender, in Sicily and Italy, as far as Ortona [Italy], and is now back in France.

Two days after writing this letter, Sgt. Culbert was wounded, and is now in hospital. His injuries were to his right thigh, which was pierced by shrapnel.

 

Ivan Culbert's name is included in this list of casualties. During the war, these lists were regularly printed in newspapers from coast to coast. Ivan recuperated from his injury, continued to fight, met and married his "war bride," Elvira Hutchings, and returned safely home to Canada.

Footnotes:
[1]Encyclopaedia Britannica, Normandy Invasion World War II.