 the same procedure.
He was surprised there were not more casualties. He could see the stakes sticking out of the water with mines on top. He fully appreciated the decision to approach the beaches at low tide so that these very dangerous obstacles were visible.
Hit a mine
On the second day everything went smoothly. Completing his two journeys ashore, his flotilla was again winched on board. As it set off, however, it struck a mine, and grounded.
Every man made his way ashore as best he could. They had to hitch a life from other ships back to England.
Arriving back at base Capt Previté was delighted to learn that he had a few days' leave. He immediately set out for Dublin, and the train to Galway, hitching a lift to his home at Drimcong, Moycullen.
He had married Rosamund Hodgson, who was living at Drimcong, helping Michael’s father run the farm. Both his wife and parents had been listening to the news, on full blast, and following the invasion as best they could. They knew Michael was involved. They could not believe it when they saw him walk down the avenue.
After the war
After the D-Day landings, Michael was appointed to the Admiralty staff, and sent to Australia to train men for landings from the sea. He presumed it was probably in preparation for an invasion of Japan. However, after the atomic bomb it was all over. He returned to London and demobbed. His wife recalled seeing him walk in the door at Drimcong, but this time in a new brown suit, a gift from His Majesty’s government.
This suit became a fondly remembered token for both of them. “It was good quality material,” said Rosamund, “and it lasted years and years.”
NOTE: After the war, Michael and Rosamund operated a successful chicken farm, and were a familiar couple driving about Connemara selling eggsz. They ran Screebe House as a tourist and angling hotel, until their retirement.
Michael Previté was mentioned in dispatches, and awarded the Croix de Guerre from a grateful French nation.
Some amusing memories
Lord Michael Killanin, Spiddal House, Co Galway, arrived on JUNO BEACH on D-Day plus five. He pushed his new BSA motorcycle ashore. There was no fighting near the beaches by then. The battle had moved up the coast.
But he remembered his first sight of death on the old battlefield. A German shell had scored a direct hit on a British tank. There were still bits of bodies attached to the shattered metal. A piece of backbone had melted into one of the seats.
But Lord Killanin had amusing memories too. Most of his stories were hilarious.
He was in the 30th Armoured Brigade, which was attached to the 79th Armoured Division. He described himself mainly as a ‘backroom boy’, but he had experiences at the ‘sharp end’ at the battles of Dieppe and Le Havre which followed the D-Day landings. He spoke with amusement of working with Major General Sir Percy Hobarts who designed a whole range of fantastical armoured contraptions to deal with mines on the beaches. One example was ‘The Great Panjandrum’ - a giant Catherine Wheel designed to clear mine-fields, which had some calamitous failures in its experimental stage.
Lord Killanin was mystified that the whole Operation Overlord, the codename for D-day, was kept such a good secret. “For weeks beforehand I knew everything about it. Leading up to it I knew the exact date. Of course I didn’t know that a storm would postpone it for 24 hours. And when I was on leave I can tell you I was not a tee-total. I could easily have spilt the beans.”
His future wife, Sheila Dunlop from Galway, worked at Bletchley Park where, in great secrecy, German traffic signals were decoded. She also knew beforehand the date for the D-Day landings.
At Eton College Lord Killanin knew a William Douglas Home (whose brother Alec later became a British prime minister ), and was surprised to meet him again in the army. “He was totally unsuited for the army. He should never have been a soldier. He was a natural pacifist. He came up to me one day in France and asked me how he could make contact with the Germans as he wanted to end the war. He was a very eccen