The rest of that day is history. Personally, I spent it praying for the invaders … and, like the rest of his official family, aching with sympathy for our apprehensive Boss.
Gen Eisenhower stood the appalling strain for another day. Then, in the early morning of June 7 it was 0720-H, just twenty-six hours after H-Hour he left for Normandy’s beaches. I fled to the lonely comfort of our trailer-headquarters. Working on the General’s “fan mail” never seemed so difficult, so unimportant; but it helped smother worries.
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Nov
30
2009
Oct
29
2009
Suddenly the plane shot upward, roaring away from the airfield. We all smashed back against our seats. Maybe the wheels won’t come down, someone said in a small voice. Snuffy Nixon, the navigator, stuck his head in the cabin and broke the silence. Don’t worry, folks. I just got mixed up in my figuring and picked the wrong country. Not France ! we cried. No, said Snuffy, it’s not France. But it’s not England, either. He grinned over at me. This is Kay’s home. We almost landed in southern Ireland !
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