In 1984, long before the days of mobile phones and instant messaging, Paul Middleton found myself on an unforgettable journey through Normandy with a convoy of Swedish military vehicle enthusiasts. What began with a vague invite through the MAFVA model club quickly turned into a misadventure involving a converted ambulance, missed ferries, and some very necessary French. This is the story of how vintage trucks, international friendships, and a dash of diplomacy came together for the 40th anniversary of D-Day — a ride through history that was anything but ordinary.
By Paul Middleton | 4 min read
In 1984, my life was very busy. As a result of meeting a Swedish member of the model club I belong to (MAFVA, or Miniature AFV Association), I received an invite to travel with Swedish military vehicle enthusiasts on the D-Day tour. This was the 40th anniversary, so quite significant.
Both myself and Spike Judd, a retired REME mechanic accepted. We arranged to meet up with the Swedes on Southsea Common, Portsmouth where all the vehicles were gathering. Crossing the Channel was going to be in a chartered ferry organised by Pete Gray, the leading name of the time in vehicle preservation. Bearing in mind that this was before the internet and mobile phones, so comms were a bit ‘vague’.
Just before the trip I was reminded that I was committed to a training weekend with my T.A. Signals unit, but thought I’d be OK to get back in time…. WRONG! Whilst I was away Spike had received a message that we needed to be in Portsmouth on the Sunday night, I got home to find he had already set off in his converted Morris LD ambulance ‘Agent Orange’.
A quick check on railway timetables saw me dash off to Cambridge station for a journey down to the South coast. I finally arrived and met up with both Spike and Hans. We then found that Hans had not actually arranged us a ride… So we traipsed around the Swedish group with Hans begging us a seat. We ended up with a nice family who were driving a GMC ‘Deuce and a half’ truck. Great! A couple of beers, then we dossed in the van.
An early start to ‘lose’ the van and we boarded the ferry. Neither of us spoke any Swedish, but fortunately most of our fellow travellers spoke pretty good English. On disembarking in Cherbourg we found ourselves travelling in an enormous convoy, complete with motorcycle outriders and packet commanders to keep everyone on route.
The operators had allowed other vehicles on to ‘our’ ferry and we were left watching the ship sail off. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
That afternoon we arrived at Bayeux and arrived at the booked camp site. Only problem was, the site had been overbooked, and there was no room for the Scandinavian contingent.…. And so, by virtue of my (ef)fluent French, I was elected translator while we figured out where we could go. June is not a good time to find a camp site in France, especially with large military vehicles.
However a friendly French couple took pity on us, whisked me and one of the Swedish ladies to their home offered us drinks and began phoning round for us.
After successfully finding us a place we moved the convoy there and set up. In celebration we had a party complete with a sing-a-long (funny that the Swedes knew all the English songs…). Spike and I contributed a few bawdy songs which were highly appreciated! I pitched my tent… and found I did not have a sleeping bag! Hey ho, a kit bag served….
The next morning saw all the vehicles gathering on the beach at Arromanches which offered plenty of photo opportunities, and the chance to blag a ride in different vehicles. We also had a parade through Bayeux at some stage which was great fun. Then it was 6th June and we had arranged to watch the official parade on the beach. Not only were there several levels of security checks (Ronald Regan was there), but also anti-aircraft guns! Considering they were marching on sand, the different military contingents did well, with the British Light Infantry and the Norwegians being the best.
On the way back we arrived at the Cherbourg ferry terminal to find that the chartered ferry was already full. The operators had allowed other vehicles on to ‘our’ ferry and we were left watching the ship sail off. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, as many from our group had to reach connections to get home. The ferry company staff were not interested, so we had a meeting, where various options, including a kinetic conversation, were suggested.
I was ‘voluntold’ to go speak with the bureau along with a few other aggressive looking types (It was a long time ago!). As expected, much Gallic shrugging of shoulders, along with the French equivalent of ‘DILLIGAF’ (Look it up). I then quietly suggested that it would be a terrible shame if all our large military trucks and armoured cars were left parked across the entrance while we waited for them to fit us in to other ferries.
…a minion was sent off to fetch ‘Le Patron’. This guy sized up the situation pretty quickly, and did not want the grief the ‘Rost Bifs’ had on offer.
After some muttering and a few more veiled threats, including making notes of their names and cameras being waved about, a minion was sent off to fetch ‘Le Patron’. This guy sized up the situation pretty quickly, and did not want the grief the ‘Rost Bifs’ had on offer. We were promised the next boat which would be in three hours. When pressed he also offered free phone calls to those needing them, and discount in the shop.
Once on board we all began to relax, and I went off in search of lunch. I found Major John Howard, who had led the glider borne force at Pegasus Bridge holding court in the restaurant. He patently answered questions for over an hour, and was quite meticulous in his details. A fine end to a great trip. Was it really forty years ago?
Featured images: Paul Middleton’s private photos
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