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- Margaret Filsell
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- 14 November 2004
It was a beautiful day that Sunday in early June 1944. The weather was so perfect that our whole evacuated family, including aunts and cousins, complete with baby, set out from the Cornish village of Tywardreath for the beach at Polkerris. The older members of the family were lucky, being transported in my father's family saloon, with the special petrol ration he had been allcoated to protect my 'delicate' health after near-death from pneumonia. I was deemd healthy enough to walk the 3 or 4 miles from the village and around the cliff with my friend and younger family members.
Some time during the afternoon we were aware of some strange craft approcahing the harbour. Up they came on to the beach and the American occupants jumped out and went round asking everyone if they'd like to come for a ride. Naturally we all waded in and soon, packed standing into the middle, were being whisked off around the bay. Just as we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves a whistle sounded from somewhere in the distance and the crews took us back to the beach, helped us out and disappeared post haste in the direction from which they had come. To this day I don't know whether other people on other Cornish beaches had the same experience. I've never met any, then or now. I don't know either, whether the crews had official approval for the jaunt.
A few days later news came of D Day I don't remember anything else about the time or listening to or reading the news, but the trip in the landing craft was special and now I often wonder what happened to those young men - which beach they were destined for and whether many of them made it. I hope they did.
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