In the summer of 1940, just days before his 19th birthday, Lloyd Williams jogged down the trail from Brockton Oval where his Meraloma Rugby Club had just defeated UBC 17-6 for the City Championship.
Lloyd, described by the newspaper as a "frecklefaced, six-foot school boy," had contributed nine points during a game dominated by his unerring kicks. Observers also noted that playing on the wing, Lloyd had to defend against Howie MacPhee - the bronze medalist in the 100 metre dash at Hitler's 1936 Olympic Games. Nevertheless, even under the threat of all that speed, Lloyd had performed his defensive responsibilities quietly and efficiently - as usual.
Teammates knew that on the field, especially for the toughest games, Lloyd could be counted on.
After the game, Lloyd hiked with a teammate toward the electric tram on Georgia Street. Lloyd felt good about their trophy, even though he was also distracted by thoughts about the war in Europe, wondering how he would be involved one day. As they walked past the split-rail fences on the meadow guarding Stanley Park's buffalo enclosure, they saw a squad of young men doing calisthenics on a field near the Vancouver Naval Depot. An all-round athlete in rugby, football and basketball, Lloyd watched with interest as the chief petty officer came over. "Afternoon boys. Want to join the navy?" Lloyd's pal said, "No thanks," but Lloyd surprised himself by answering, "Maybe." When the recruiter found out he had just graduated from Kitsilano High School with senior matriculation - the equivalent of first year university - he was signed up for officer's training.
Arriving home, Lloyd's father asked where he'd been. "Well, I joined the navy," came the answer - full of enthusiasm until his mother ran crying from the room, and his father - a veteran infantry sergeant in the First World War - swore at him for the first time. "Bloody fool."
Lloyd then began to worry about Bette, his high school sweetheart. What would she say? But like most young women of that time, she was expecting it.
"Well, they called me soon enough for an interview at the Coal Harbour Naval Depot in September. (I was) just a wet-behind-the-ears kid, and really surprised at how fast I was in and out. Some of the new recruits were in the office for 20 minutes. It took me only two or three, and I began to think that why I was accepted so quick was because of rugby. Commander John Grant was chairman. He was, it turns out, the headmaster at Brentwood College as a civilian, and had seen me play.
"About his only question was, 'Why navy?' and without even thinking, I told him the truth. 'Because I love the sea.' Well, the next thing I know, I'm in. Then I get lucky again. The fellows with names from A to P went to Royal Roads. The W for Williams got me assigned to the Naval Depot in Vancouver. So I had more time near home with my Mum and Dad and Bette.
"I reported to the barracks every day where they taught us about signals, gunnery and navigation, and marching - lots of marching. One thing I remember clearly is what the chief petty officer told us: 'Gentlemen, you're going to become officers. You won't know too much, so just turn to the nearest non commissioned seaman and say, 'Carry on.'" "Then we were sent to Royal Roads on January 1, 1941 for further training. Mainly it was learning how to do everyone else's job, to know what was going on. We were going to find out that the only real teacher was experience.
"By April, the war was going badly. One hundred of us had graduated with the rank of sub-lieutenant, and the commander read a request from Britain's Royal Navy for volunteers. I didn't have a clue, but wanted to go to sea, and put up my hand."
As many before him had done, Lloyd waved goodbye to his parents and to Bette at the CPR station, then took that long train ride to Halifax. From there it was across the U-boat infested North Atlantic to England where Lloyd was assigned to Combined Operations Special Duty involving army, navy and air force. There was lot to learn.
Put 'on loan' to Combined Operations as a sub-lieutenant, Lloyd was assigned to armour-plated landing craft assault ships, and the naval commandoes, a unit that preferred to work in the dark hours after midnight. "We practised a lot of night landing on Welsh and Scottish beaches. Stalin badly needed a European Front to ease the pressure on Russia. But we weren't ready yet."
Lloyd's first landing took place in November, 1942 on North Africa's Oran Beach. His landing craft was part of a major troop convoy bringing the troops who would eventually force Field Marshall Rommel from North Africa, and back up Churchill's "End of the Beginning" speech which followed victory at El Alamein.
With the Oran landing a success, and more experience gained for early hour beach landings, Lloyd's unit was sent to the next assignment aboard the passenger vessel Clan MacLintock which was torpedoed near Spain at 4 a.m. With chaos on board among an untrained civilian crew, Lloyd jumped into the water where he was pulled into a lifeboat as the stern of the passenger ship rose high above the water before her final plunge. There were crew members still clinging to the ship.
"We called to some sailors to jump. But they wouldn't. Could they swim? I don't know. They went down with that ship. Very sad."
Reorganized once again in Tunisia, Lloyd's crew put assault troops through practice landings to gain vital experience in 'overboard procedure' and problems connected to stumbling ashore in the dark. Their assignment was to land at Marzamemi on the southeast coast of Sicily just south of Syracuse.
"This was supposed to be a calm spot on the Med but a force four wind turned into force seven. The night was black and the sea rough. Everyone on the (landing craft) sat on their little benches soaked and throwing up. Poor God damn soldiers.
"Imagine having to fight after that. And yet, the bad weather had one good effect. The enemy was certain that a landing could not be made. We scored a touchdown."
As the momentum of war swung slowly in favour of the Western Allies, German resistance toughened, so that every advancing step up through the island of Sicily was hard earned.
The next point of attack was up the west coast of the Italian peninsula at Salerno. "Unfortunately a German general had calculated that this would be Montgomery's strategy. So a hard-nosed army was waiting for us."
Approaching Salerno, on Sept. 8, 1943 - four years since war began - the British division Lloyd was carrying had problems with a staunch defence. The U.S. Rangers at Vietri also took a big hit, but hung on for days.
"The Salerno landing was vigorously opposed, and came near to failure altogether. Nevertheless, now that we were ashore, Italy capitulated. Germany was on its own in the south, and defending tenaciously. They were in fact the last German unit still fighting at war's end in 1945."
With their invasion experiences analyzed, the Allies were finally nearing the launch of their masterplan called "Overlord" which would turn June 6, 1944 into a day remembered as the largest military operation in history, and one of the most important events of the 20th century.
"There was a long time waiting, but everybody knew an invasion would happen somewhere along the northern coast of Europe, but when? "We were anxious for it to begin. We'd learned a lot and we were pretty good. Most of us were in our early twenties, so there was lots of fun. We were very close - lifelong friends. But we knew what was coming."
Lloyd's new assignment as boat officer put him in charge of a large infantry landing craft with two officers and 20 crew; four Oerlikon 20 mm cannons, and bunks for 130 soldiers. On the morning of June 5, 1944 everyone was ready and tossing about on a stormy English Channel so bad that the event was cancelled.
At 4 a.m. the next morning, June 6, with this massive organization of troops and equipment running out of time, the word came -"This is not a drill."
Lloyd piloted his ship loaded with English troops down the mineswept channel called 'Piccadilly Circus' toward Gold Beach; Canadians went to Juno Beach on his left, more Brits were at Sword Beach farther east, and American Rangers were at the western beaches - Omaha and Utah.
The bow of his ship hit one of the four million mines Rommel planted below the water line.
"We stuffed a mattress in the hole. But ran aground, and one poor bugger had to drag a rope to shallow water so that the boys who couldn't swim had a handhold to get ashore. He did his job."
On that memorable day, Lloyd and his crew began a dozen more trips back to England for men and supplies and a return to the beaches where the Allied Armies had forced their way onto occupied Europe.
Following the D-Day victory, Lloyd took his landing craft to Belfast for refitting, and then was given a three week furlough to Canada.
Determined to make good use of the 21 days - significantly shortened by the six-day train ride to Vancouver - he asked Bette to marry him and after five years of waiting she said 'yes.' They eloped to a Victoria hideaway, thus beginning a 66-year partnership which eventually included three kids: daughters Jane and Martha and rugby-playing son, Dai.
Following demobilization, Lloyd went to the University of British Columbia. However with marriage and children arriving, he soon took a job with H.R. MacMillan as a lumber salesman until, in 1951, he was offered a position with the largest saw manufacturer in North America. He never looked back.
His civilian contribution to rugby as President of the B.C. Rugby Union was much appreciated, and his family life flourished.
But he has never forgotten D-Day and the men who went ashore.
"We were all so young and full of adventure. But there was a job to do. I remember what a hell of a thing for the guys we dropped off. Poor God damn soldiers. Wading ashore under gunfire. Wet, sick, cold, scared. How can you forget that?"
