Overseas Movement: Movement to France



December 15th the Division advance detachment left Camp Butner and embarked from New York on December 20 aboard the SS Washington. Landing at Southampton England on January 7, the group moved to Camp Barton Stacey, near Basingstoke, and then to the South Coast resort town of Bournemouth. The original orders had called for the main units of the 89th to disembark in England, and complete further training there. But the bloody days of the Bastogne Bulge were not long past, and even then the progress of the Allied armies against the Westwall and before Aachen was painfully slow. It was no surprise, therefore, when the orders were changed and the 89th was directed to land in France. Accordingly, after a two-week stay, the advance detachment embarked at Weymouth aboard an LST, across the Channel to LeHarve, went up the Seine River to Rouen, and rushed to Camp Lucky Strike.

Meanwhile, the enormous job of readying the Division for the trip overseas had been accomplished in November and December. Everything from Field Manuals to heavy cannon went through the assembly line, and the boxes piled up on top of one another; crew loaded them on to trucks and hauled them away to the railroad yards. Meanwhile married men hastily settled their affairs in town and packed their wives off home. Of those 89ers that returned from holiday passes on or after Christmas Day (including your webmaster), the majority were quiet and thoughtful.

The holidays over, officers lectured their men on the requirements of military censorship. Division insignia were removed followed by showdown inspections and a myriad of other unit and personal tasks were completed. The first units of the 353rd, loaded with full field packs, gas masks, steel helmets, blanket rolls, and weapons, stripped the familiar barracks clean for the last time, climbed aboard the trucks December 28. The convoys rolled across the camp to the railroad yards and to the waiting troop trains and shortly Train No. 1 was on the first leg of the longest and most fateful journey yet undertaken by the Division. Four trains left Butner every day, a total of twenty-five. Rolling along the eastern coast, twenty-four hours later the trains ground to a stop, the 89th piled out at its staging area, Camp Myles Standish, Massachusetts, near Boston. A huge, sprawling collection of long, low, one-story tar-papered barracks, it was organized like an immense assembly line, Each unit ran through the various processing steps on a time-table schedule followed by innumerable lectures, e.g., on use of gas masks, abandon ship drills, and War Bond allotments, followed by immunization shots against typhus, tetanus and typhoid.

The camp was filled to capacity and the troops ate in giant mess halls. On evenings, 89ers sought the distraction of service clubs, which were also over-crowded. Long lines were endured for making telephone calls, getting into Post Exchanges and movies, etc., and waiting was not helped by the snow and cold. During the six days at Standish, almost every soldier managed to get a twelve-hour pass. The majority visited Boston or nearby Providence. Back in camp, they climbed under blankets, or huddled around the coal stoves, discussing the imminent voyage. It was still hard to believe.

On the clear, zero cold morning of January 10, the Division packed up, struggled into forty-pound packs, and marched down icy roads to the trains. In little over an hour the trains pulled into Boston harbor. As the men piled out, Red Cross ladies passed out hot coffee, doughnuts and chocolate bars. Finally the command came, each man took a firm grip on his duffel bag, hitched up his pack and rifle, and stepped to the gangplank. Somebody called out his last name; he answered with his first name and middle initial, and up he went.

The entire Division, on board five ships, moved out late that day, and proceeded south to join its convoy (My buddy and I stood out on the stern and remained there until the last light of Boston faded away.]. Life on board was necessarily cramped. There was room for every man, but none to spare. Canvas and iron bunks were staked five and six high, with just enough room for each man between, with his pack, blanket roll, duffle bag, helmet, gas mask and rifle. Routine was strict: troops were allowed on deck only at certain times, and after dark smoking was permitted only in the latrines. Because of the huge number of men using limited facilities, only two meals were served daily. Over 5,400 89ers were packed abroad the convoy flagship, the Edmund B. Alexander, including the Division commander and his staff, and one complete combat team.

Although the food was satisfactory in quality, many found it difficulty in adjusting to two meals a day. Others soon found it equally difficult to hold any food down. The men kept busy with various games, matches, reading, playing craps, etc. Training continued throughout the trip. Abandon-ship drills were frequent. Air, fire and surface alerts were repeated again and again, and as the convoy plowed on into dangerous waters all aboard sprang to their stations quickly and efficiently. Although danger was always present, there was no notable enemy action. On several occasions, escorting corvettes and destroyers dropped depth charges, and their explosions could be felt and heard throughout the convoy. But the 89th luck held; no enemy materialized.

The convoy passed through the English Channel January 10 and anchored near the mouth of the Seine Estuary, within in sight of LeHarve. The Division started to disembark the night of the January 21. Unloading facilities has been thoroughly blasted by Allied bombers, and it was necessary to transfer the troops to LCTs. They shuttled from ship to shore quickly but delays in providing huge trailer-trucks caused many GIs to wait in the bitter cold before moving off. Getting their first good look at LeHarve as the trucks rumbled through the city, 89ers saw scenes of almost unbelievable destruction. Whole blocks near the waterfront had been completely leveled; scarcely a window was left unbroken or a house unscarred throughout the port.

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