'I am my father's son'



Book Extracts

In the 60's and 70's I can recall listening to classic albums for the first time. The initial impact was subsequently reinforced by repeated listenings over the next four decades. It was inconcievable that we would listen to an album once and then place it on a shelf to gather dust - yet almost without exception we do this with the books we read !

Some of my friends and family have read my book either in one sitting or over the course of a couple of days, I suppose in some ways I should treat that as a sort of compliment but I am very much aware that on average the amount of information we absorb is between 10 and 25%. Therefore, perhaps we should read every book or article between FOUR and TEN times !

With this in mind I plan to reproduce extracts from my book, with additional insights over the coming few weeks and months. If you are reading the words for the first, fourth or tenth time I hope you recieve something fresh and inspiring.

Barry Parr - October 2007


Role Models

Here I compare the 1966 England World Cup football team with the members of John Howard's 'D' Company.

I have tried to analyse the popularity of the Ox and Bucks boys compared to other units and the only analogy I can draw upon is to equate it with another historic clash between Germany and England and that is the 1966 World Cup final at Wembley. Please hear me out. I realise D-Day was far more important and of course brave men were killed. The point is that John Howard in his modesty often said that he was merely the right man in the right place.

For John Howard read Alf Ramsay, a modest man, who in my opinion was nowhere near the best manager England ever had but was in the ‘right place at the right time’.

Bobby Moore the captain becomes Den Brotheridge, the consummate professional and leader of men that was cruelly taken away before his time.

At the centre of the defence Big Jack Charlton becomes Big Jack Bailey, solid, no messing and dependable.

The ‘Hero’ Geoff Hurst the scorer of the first ever Cup Final hat-trick is Wagger Thornton, the hero ‘sharp shooter’

Gordon Banks is Ted Tappenden whose ‘goal’ is to send messages.

The little ‘whipper-snappers’ Nobby Stiles and Alan Ball are Wally Parr and Charlie Gardner, full of energy and mischief running around like ‘blue-arsed flies’.

Finally Martin Peters, a West Ham player described by Alf Ramsay as a player ’ten years ahead of his time’ is Bill Gray, a life long Hammers supporter who, when I met him at the 60th looked ten years younger than the rest of ‘em!

As an after-thought, Jimmy Greaves, who in my opinion was the greatest England goal-scorer of all time but was cruelly dropped for the final, reminds me of the men that were withdrawn at the last minute and missed the action and may have regretted it for the rest of their lives.

There we have it – a football team that captured the nation’s hearts in 1966 and another team that won us over in 1944 – there were probably better outfits before and since, but these are the boys that hold the limelight and that’s life!

Dean Croucher

This is a section of my book which describes the march that Dean Croucher and his friends completed in order to raise money for the British Legion.

Thanks to the Internet my circle of friends interested in the events at Pegasus had grown steadily. The most notable was a guy named Dean Croucher. He could have lived anywhere in the country but fortunately he was only round the corner in Bromley. I have met many people whose knowledge of D Company puts mine to shame – as I mentioned in the introduction, my only qualification is that I am my father’s son – so when I listen to people like Dean I am in awe.

The first time Dean visited he arrived with stacks of information and loads of questions. I was particularly impressed with a document he had produced that not only had the seating plan of all three gliders but he was also in the process of compiling a named list of each occupant and a brief personal history of each individual. He was going over to Normandy for the 60th anniversary and was hoping that I could arrange a meeting with some of the D Company boys. Dean is an elite firearms officer, protecting the occupants of No. 10 Downing Street and he had persuaded some of his fellow officers to come with him and do a series of sponsored marches for the British Legion and the Normandy Veterans Association.

Dean Croucher (far right) with his mates

Meanwhile back in Normandy for bikers read ‘Old Bill in uniform’. Dean Croucher and his mates had planned for months a week long sponsored walk through the lanes of Normandy at the 60th anniversary to raise funds for the NVA and British Legion.

Although I knew the two groups, bikers and coppers, through different channels I knew they had a common bond and by a strange coincidence they began their journeys in France at the same place –Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer. Who knows, that first night they may have been drinking in the same bar – one mention of Wally Parr or D Company and the bond would have been made.

For bikes read feet. The boys began the week by cementing relationships with the mayor and local gendarmes. Dean and his crew all worked as elite firearms officers standing guard outside 10 Downing Street and the Houses of Parliament, so it seemed appropriate to present the mayor with a bottle of whisky from the House of Commons and a Metropolitan police helmet. I hope for the Mayor’s sake he didn’t think he had to drink the booze out of the helmet!

The plan was to do a variety of walks each day dressed as London Bobbies and then return back to base and take a rest. These guys were all as tough as old boots – but in Dean’s case it was new boots that let him down, as after a couple of days he had to give up walking and drive the support van because he was in agony with blisters.

In all they raised over £1700 for the two charities, I enclose a section of the diary they produced afterwards – Sunday June 6th seemed a typical day!

We all got up at 06:30 hrs to get uniforms on. At 08:00 we left for the Bayeux Cemetery. We noticed lots of Gendarmes at nearly every road junction. As we arrived we sneaked in behind a black Range Rover (VC 15) that appeared to be carrying someone important. Lots of veterans were coming up to us to comment on how nice it was to see British Bobbies, and how safe they felt. We met the military security at the cemetery and were given a perimeter hedge to stand in front of. Brian and his Special Branch knowledge got us introduced to Geoff Hoon the Defence Minister. As we approached him many of the veterans began to clap and cheer us. There was delay in the arrival of President Chirac. A lot of the veterans needed seats in the heat and were constantly given water. As the two helicopters arrived with HM Queen and President Chirac the down draft caused dust to engulf us and nearly blew off our helmets. We witnessed the ceremony and sang hymns. As the Queen spoke with the crowds at the end, Paul and Peter were seen in the BBC coverage. We shook hands with Tony Blair and the Duke of Gloucester. Then refreshments at the NAAFI where we met Conservative leader Michael Howard who donated some cash to our charity walk. We heard that Ronald Reagan had died. After the ceremonies at Bayeux we went to Jerusalem Cemetery where a 16-year-old soldier was buried. In the cemetery we met with a coach party from the Nottingham NVA (5 Branch). They collected donations for our fund raising. We then drove to the Tilly-sur-Seulles cemetery. We saw French children waving to us as we drove along the road. Peter whilst giving directions in the mini-bus during the day said. “Right o’clock”. Peter met Air Chief Marshall Hodges. On the way back to the apartments we saw a fly past with a Lancaster, Dakota and two Spitfires. Later during the evening some of us went to the beach in Saint Aubin. Dean was dared to run in the sea naked, which he did much to the amusement of the locals. By the end of the day we had collected a total of £210.’

This is just a thumbnail sketch of what the boys did – a day that was an exercise in not only ‘name dropping’ but also ‘trouser dropping’! The following November Dean invited Gary, Diane and I to a presentation evening where he put together an excellent video show and presented two good sized donations to representatives of both the NVA and the British Legion. Well done boys – it is guys like you that make the future secure.



Biting the Bullet

In this section I am dealing with the reality and horror of war, the first two excerpts were not only told to me personally by my Father but were also used in Stephen Ambrose's book 'Pegasus Bridge'. In addition, the story about the action taking place on Pegasus Bridge was given in a BBC interview by my Father to Anthony Carthew on the Bridge in 1984 to commemorate the 40th Anniversary of D-Day.

Since reading the extracts below my friend, Dean Croucher, gave me this link to an interview my father gave.





‘I stopped and looked across the bridge just for a brief second. Looked at the Very light being shot up, then I turned and one of the dug-out doors half-opened and closed again, I shot across the roadway – by this time I had a No.36 grenade; the pin out, into the dug-out opened and shut the door. The explosion went off, Charlie Gardner came in, I opened the door again and he just machine gunned inside. On to the second dug-out and the same: in with the grenade, bang the door shut, explosion; smash it wide open again Charlie finished them off. As we came back past the first dug-out suddenly there was a moan or something from inside and I pulled out a 77 phosphorous. Took the cap off, gave it a twirl, undone the tape and jumped in and that went off’.
Grenade, machine gun and phosphorus – when D Company attacked you, they meant it!

A few minutes later Dad found himself on the other side of the Bridge....

Both sections of D Company were in earshot of each other’s action – my Dad having done his business with Charlie Gardener continued onwards looking for more Germans to take out. As pill-boxes and trenches were silenced the sound of gunfire began to slowly decrease. Chaos receded into relative calm as No.1 Platoon gathered itself and men began to ask the question – ‘where’s Danny?’

Again we now enter the world of historic legend – a place where in modern history every quotation is dissected. For years I thought that Den Brotheridge died in my father’s arms. I was wrong. Again I quote my father’s own words: ‘He was lying about twenty yards from the café in the middle of the road. I thought he was a German at first and then I stopped and realised, came back….. I cradled him in my arms. Danny was not just our platoon leader but our mate. There was blood everywhere - the first thing that went through my mind was - what a terrible waste’. In fact Brotheridge was taken to Doc Vaughan’s post and despite the doctor’s gallant efforts passed away shortly afterwards.

As the son of Wally Parr I claim the right to say that Den Brotheridge’s death was not a ‘terrible waste’ - but an unfortunate consequence as a result of crushing a tyrant that threatened our very freedom. Of course I respect my father’s comments and no doubt I would have said the same if a close friend of mine had rested, dying in my arms. As Dad cradled his comrade, nearby the first incident of ‘friendly fire’ occurred in the invasion of Europe on the Orne Bridge. Tod Sweeney’s section had heard a patrol approaching their position. They called out the code letter ‘V’, expecting the response to be ‘Victory’. When the response was negative they opened fire and cut down the four men approaching. On examining the bodies they discovered that one of them was a captured and gagged British Para – undoubtedly many more ‘friendly fire’ incidents would happen – a flying bullet has no way of recognising nationalities.

Many years later after a night of drinking and reminising I asked Dad to share his deepest thoughts:

Years later, during a quiet intimate moment with Dad, I asked him to describe the real horrors of war, to forget the glamour and the glory and get down to the nitty-gritty.
For a while he just stared at me - then he lit up a cigarette and poured himself a large one.
‘There are no atheists in a slit trench,’ he began, ‘when the bullets fly and the mortars start dropping you cry out to God. You tell Him if He gets you out of this mess when you get home you will be a good boy, go to church and even run for Pope. Yet amid the carnage and madness sometimes you detach from it all and start cursing - you find somebody or something to blame. Where's the supplies?...Why doesn’t the bloody radio work?...Why can't I have a decent cup of tea and where's all the bog paper gone? Stupid thoughts that have nothing to do with survival. Then the mortars land nearer and although you are already laying flat on your face in the mud, you dig down even deeper - somehow you manage to embed all your fingers a couple of inches further into the ground and you kid yourself that along with your metal helmet you have somehow made yourself a bit safer. After half an hour eternity the barrage stops - you turn to your mate on the right. “Okay Harry?” He nods with weary eyes. Then you turn to the guy on your left. “Joe are you alright?” There's no answer, you look at the back of his neck, a piece of shrapnel has entered turning the mud blood red - you turn him over, his eyes stare heaven-ward and you thank God that for him, it is all over, the pain has gone. Then you realise, that you aint really scared of death - what did the Good Book say: “Greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for his brother.”
He ain't going to Hell, this is Hell right here, this moment on Earth. No, what you really fear is getting wounded - going blind or losing an arm or a leg or suffering for days or weeks before you finally cave in.’
Dad stopped talking, he drew one last drag from his cigarette and finished off his Whisky.

You can get a copy of Barry's book from Amazon or W.H.Smith by quoting ISBN 1-4251-1073-8 or by clicking here to order directly from the publishing house.




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