The biggest vanishing trick I ever saw, was 75 years ago today.
Three-quarters of the population of our small town in Dorset disappeared overnight.
The day before few if any civilians were allowed beyond the boundaries of their villages, but because I was an army cadet, and therefore in uniform, we were allowed to visit the Tank unit at Bovington Camp, where the “new” Churchill tank was on display. I was more interested in the older Sherman, that had chains hanging down in front, which revolved as the tank moved over mine fields.
On the way back home, about a 25- mile ride, we saw in every hedgerow, on every grassy bank, in the lanes leading off of the roads, on every road and street each way that we looked there were G.I.’s. They smoked, they played card games, they drank coffee, they did not wander away from the trucks more than a few feet, some lay on the grass, others were writing letters, the usually buffoonery was hushed, they were grim, silent and serious. Many realized they would never see this or any other countryside ever again. In a few short hours, their worst fears would be upon them.
The following morning, my mates and I gathered down at the corner of our street, there was an uncanny silence … no shrieking sound of a jeep hurtling around the corner, not a sign or trace of them anywhere. Our town was deserted. There was a breeze that blew across our street, a small white scrap of paper scurried by, one of the boys rushed out and grabbed it. It was an empty Philip Morris packet. In these years between, under my breath, I had often cursed those Yanks for lots of little things, but that day, on June 6th, 1944 , they saved my life, they saved many lives, they gave their own. Now as my own life span enters its final phrases, I think of them, and I am grateful.
Noel Pugh