Old Brutonian, John Gadd, was a boy at King’s during the 2^nd World War, and later in life he wrote his memories of those days, including an account of a remarkable experience:

June 5^th, D-Day minus 1. A staggering sight...

In early June 1944 it was half-term and I and a friend, Terence O'Hara, were staying at my family's home in Bournemouth. On June 5^th and for many days before, there had been a huge amount of military activity in the Bournemouth area.

I don't know why I went down to Overcliff Drive early that morning. Almost certainly someone must have rung me the night before to tip me off that there was something to see, but there was only one bicycle available so off I went about 7am before my guest was awake. There was a manned roadblock halfway along Meyrick Road and no view of the sea was possible. But I knew the houses along Gervis Road well and turned left, parked my bike by a wall, slipped through someone's garden and so on to the Overcliff. Fortunately, there was no-one near my exit point and I walked up to the rail - and saw the most astonishing sight I shall ever see. The whole bay from Studland to Hengistbury Head was covered in hundreds of grey ships. Little tenders plied between them, and I think I remember big naval vessels - warships even - further out in the bay. For the next three minutes I stood there in amazement, watching history being made. Then I noticed some men approaching.

I walked quietly back through a gate trying to look as if I lived there, and soon got back to my bike. Unfortunately, a policeman spotted me. 'Now I'm for it,' I thought. The officer asked for my name and address and where I had been.

‘Just to have a look,’ I replied.

‘Now listen to me,’ said the policeman. ‘You are to tell no-one what you have just seen. I'm letting you go this time, and you are to go straight home and not even tell your mother, your sisters or your brothers what you have witnessed - not until tomorrow, anyway.’

I made to leave but the officer had not quite finished. ‘Wait a minute. What does your father do?’ he asked. ‘He's in the army. Royal Engineers. He builds bridges.’

‘Is he out there?’

‘No, I don't think so.’

‘Two things,’ the policeman continued. ‘First, the lives of those out there depend on your keeping completely silent about what you have seen. Men's lives, remember. It's just as important that you keep completely quiet about this as what your father does for our King and Country. Not a word to anybody! Can I trust you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Bridges, eh? That's the biggest bridge you will ever see in your life.’

It wasn't until later that I realised the meaning of that last comment. I went home bursting with pride and longing to tell my story. But I kept my word, and it was not until very early the following morning, June 6^th, after a noisy night outside, I said to Terence ‘Quick! Get up! You’ve got to come down to the seafront somewhere and I will show you the most amazing sight you have ever seen - it’s the invasion!’ So we legged it for Meyrick Road under dozens of planes flying out to sea. No roadblocks. No police. We walked up to the rail where I was yesterday. Nothing! The Bay completely empty except for a couple of grey ships.

The D-Day armada which I had witnessed was already in action on the Normandy coast.

For the few non-military people who were able to witness them, there were similar sights in Poole Harbour and at Weymouth, Portsmouth and other south coast ports.

It still amazes me that the Germans didn't find out about such a vast invasion force. I have never managed to find a photo of that staggering sight in Bournemouth Bay on D-Day minus one.

Account written by OB, John Gadd and compiled by Andrew Leach King's Bruton Archivist

Photo above from an article in the Bournemouth Echo.

#KSBArchives #KSBOldBrutonians #OldBrutonians