GI Limey: A Welsh-American in WWII - Couverture souple

Clifford Guard was born in Swansea, south Wales, in 1923. He left school aged fifteen, in the middle of the great depression, and joined the merchant navy. He was a young man in search of adventure. ********************************************************* On the outbreak of the Second World War he became involved in the transatlantic convoys. He later found himself in New York when America entered the war and joined the US Army s 3rd Armored Division. He was nicknamed Limey by his comrades. Shortly after the Allied landings on D Day he would see action in France, Belgium and Germany, as the war entered its final stages across northern Europe. It was a time of his life that he would never forget as he forged lifelong friendships on the frontline. After the war he completed nine months in the army of occupation before returning to New York to follow the American dream and build a better life for himself. ********************************************************* GI Limey, written alongside Swansea-based journalist and writer Geraint Thomas, is a story about the bond that keeps soldiers together, through the danger of combat and the decades after. Clifford examines how war shaped his identity, one defined by two allied countries an ocean apart. ******************************************************** This book is dedicated to all the brave men I served alongside in the Second World War especially Ralph Trixie Trinkley and Henry The Greek Kallas and in commemoration of all the true heroes who never made it home, including General Maurice Rose, a real soldier s soldier. ****************************************************************************************************************** Prologue Off Omaha Beach, June 23, 1944 Spearhead US Army 3rd Armored Division ******************************************************************************************************************* Our landing craft hit the beach at the break of dawn. My squad had been ordered into our half-track, in the belly of that vessel, half an hour or so before. There was no talking; everyone was dead quiet, no doubt saying a silent prayer or two. I was alone up in the turret with only its .50 calibre machine gun for company; the other guys were down in the well. We could hear the roar of the artillery, coming from the battleships behind us, and shells racing overhead to zero-in on the area above the beach, which was now the killing ground. I thought to myself, What in hell can we expect when we land? I was pretty numb and somewhat disorientated. We were at full speed going in, around 12 knots, because with two dozen or so half-tracks and tanks on board we weighed close to 5,000 tons and it was important that the nose of that craft nudged as far up the beach as possible to avoid the wet sand, which would bog the vehicles down. I can still remember the shudder as she hit and we knew there and then that, after 18 months of hard training, this was it. When those huge bow doors opened up I could see a slab of menacing sky, slated with rain, with streaks of early light trying to break through the gloom the weather, even in June, had been so damned terrible we had spent the best part of two days waiting off the coast for it to settle down enough to allow us to go in. It was bitterly cold but I didn t really feel it, as I was too anxious. I was keyed up. This is the real thing, I thought, I hope to God that I come out of this half-way decent. Looking back, if we had known what hell would visit us over the next eleven months or so, and the price we would pay for meeting it head on, I doubt we would have driven onto that beach. But we had signed up to the US Army determined to put a stop to the evil which was raging against the world. There would be no going back until we had finished the job that lay ahead and too many of us would never see home again.

Clifford Guard first entered my consciousness in August 2011 when I was handed a copy of a feature from the US-based Muskegon Chronicle called Limey, Trix and The Greek, which detailed how the friendship of three close buddies helped them through some of the Second World War s bloodiest campaigns. Just over a year later I met him in person when I was asked to report on the unveiling of a plaque commemorating those American troops who were stationed in Swansea ahead of the D-Day landings. I shook his hand and asked if I could write his life story. For the next two years most Sundays saw me making my way down to Mumbles to sit with Clifford, in his room overlooking the sea for an hour or so, listening to him unpick a life as far removed from the ordinary as they come. Seldom did I fail to be moved and humbled through listening to this modest old soldier recalling the exploits that saw him and his pals freely risk their lives in the name of democracy and freedom. What has been impossible to replicate on these pages are the haunted looks, silent tears and painful pauses where Clifford has been lost in far off moments that have not dwindled down the years just think back to traumatic times in your own life and you will understand how, sadly, some of his experiences have been far too easily recalled. Clifford speaks bluntly at times about his thoughts and feelings and uses the vocabulary of a soldier on the line, however, he is merely telling it like it was back in the day. The reader needs to realise this rather than take offence; any derogatory comments are directed at those who were trying to kill him. It is important to state that GI Limey is not a history book but the memoir of a 92-year-old retired US soldier and while every effort has been made to ensure it is factually correct the reader must realise that Clifford has reached back over 70 years in recalling much of his narrative, so please forgive any inconsistencies. That said, his service and the battles he fought in are a matter of public record and Clifford stands by his testimony. I do not doubt the word of someone who has built his entire life upon the foundations of honour, truth and duty. Throughout the whole process of writing this book Clifford has maintained that he is no hero, the real heroes never came home he recalls with sadness. Commendable words but I also class Clifford Guard a hero he freely placed his life on the line for the freedom we often take for granted today and while, fortunately, he did not fall in battle, he has carried the torment inside ever since. Read his story and make up your own mind but I for one salute the man who I am privileged to have been able to come to call my buddy and thank him for his service. Geraint Thomas --Geraint Thomas, Prologue