June, 1944
Barbara was brushing her teeth at 6:30 on the morning of June 6, preparing for another day of ferrying bombers. While listening to music on the BBC station she had her room radio tuned to at the Savoy Hotel, she and the rest of the world heard the news...
From Allied command headquarters in London came the words, "Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied naval forces supported by strong air forces began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France."
What Barbara and the rest of the free world had been waiting anxiously for since the beginning of the year finally had happened. The invasion of Europe had begun.
Over 7,700 planes and 4,300 battleships, cruisers, and destroyers had bombed or fired on the northwestern coast of Nazi-occupied France in the pre-dawn hours of "Operation Overlord" before over a million and a quarter Allied soldiers landed on the beaches. It was called the largest planned military operation in history, and upon its success lay the future of the free world.
The invasion had been especially anticipated during April and into May, when only the place, date, and details were subjects of speculation by everyone and everywhere in London. Most feared the city would be bombed day and night when the invasion began, and everyone would live in bomb shelters again.
By the middle of May, wondering and worrying had turned into impatience and the general mood became, "Well, let it start, and we will see what happens." By month's end, another corner was turned when nothing happened and, as if exhausted from anticipation, speculation all but ended. The invasion would come when it would come, and that would be soon enough.
When Barbara was dressed and on her way to the ATA assignment office, she was surprised at how nonchalant most Londoners were after hearing the news. To most, the Tuesday of the invasion seemed like just another day. Men and women went to their offices, did their grocery shopping, took the dog for its walk.
Her work also went on as usual, and after she delivered a fighter from its factory to an airfield near Portsmouth and the English Channel, she returned to London late that night to find the pubs near empty, the cinemas and theaters dark after closing, and few taxis or people on the streets. Long before midnight of D-Day, London was all but asleep.
Edward R. Murrow explained it for his radio audience in America: "The restraint of Londoners isn't apathy, of course. It's just Britishers being true to form." They realized the importance of the invasion, but as they had during the Blitz that had all but destroyed their city, their emotions were under complete control. They had to be, to deal with the present crisis or the one to follow it.