Stories of those who went to Normandy on D-Day in 1944 are ones worth telling and remembering.
But some stories stand out more than others, and Battlefords residents will be regarding Floyd Johnson in a new light once they find out the extent of his activities delivering messages on motorcycles in northern France during the Second World War.
Johnson was the first dispatch rider to reach Normandy on D-Day 70 years ago, and was recognized by the federal government for performing his duties in difficult and dangerous conditions. He received the British Empire Medal for his work during the war with the Royal Canadian Air Force.
"I was called up to London and designated the number one dispatch rider for the invasion force," said Johnson.
"My instructions were to roam the area between the German lines and the beach front, every day, making note of our excavations being made, like bridges, or stripping the ground up to make an airstrip, and pinpoint it on the map as best I can, and try and not get myself captured or killed."
His role is described in a letter to the Governor General dated Oct. 13, 1944, signed by Charles G. Power, minister of National Defence for Air, recommending the British Empire Medal be awarded to "R.182785 Leading Aircraftman Johnson, Floyd Louis, Royal Canadian Air Force Overseas Headquarters."
It goes on to say:
"This airman was the first dispatch rider to reach Normandy for service with public relations officers in that field. He has carried out his duties in a highly commendable manner, frequently under enemy fire. He has been called upon to work long hours navigating routes which have been choked with traffic and in particularly bad weather. His work has been dangerous but with energy and determination he has maintained his runs up to schedule. His courage and determination to execute successfully the tasks allotted to him, despite exposure to enemy fire, are most praiseworthy."
Many Battlefords residents did not know the extent of Johnson's role in the war effort until recently, when this letter was discovered and forwarded to the News-Optimist.
A dispatch rider, or "despatch rider" as they were also called, is a military messenger used by armed forces to deliver urgent orders or messages between headquarters and military units out in the field.
Those duties were carried out on horseback prior to the 20th century, but by the Second World War motorcycles were used to perform this function and their use was commonplace.
Johnson, born in 1924, rode motorcycles throughout his life, long after his service in the Second World War.
Pictures of him with various motorcycles are visible in his home in North Battleford's Caleb Village. These days, though, he uses a motorized scooter to get around. His business card describes him as a "troubleshooter and inventor" - pointing to his creations over the years that stemmed from his mechanical expertise.
He was not yet 18 when he first enlisted in Saskatoon on Sept. 8 1942.
He trained and worked as an engine mechanic, working on aircraft, but still needed an AA license to go overseas. He was told about a dispatch riders' course he could take with the army at Camp Shilo, Man.
Completing the three-month course would allow him to go over to Europe immediately and join the war effort, rather than waiting until he had completed further trade qualifications.
"This is what we wanted, so that's what happened," said Johnson.
Not everyone has the skill set to be a dispatch rider. Being adept at riding a motorcycle and navigating the roads was vital.
The headquarters squadron in London deliberately sought out Johnson because they knew of his background and skill in riding bikes from a young age.
Born in Outlook, Johnson later moved to Mayfair where, at 12 years old, he had been "crazy" about the idea of riding on two-wheels.
He recalls someone who was quitting school just as he was starting school decided to take pity on him. That person walked five miles to his place after supper to help him learn to ride a bike.
Johnson became so skilled a bike rider, he competed in, and won, a number of bicycle races. That would later come to the attention of his superiors at Camp Shilo.
"So this guy is in the army at Camp Shilo. When I come there to take the dispatch riders' course, he tells my instructor that I'm a champion bicycle rider. And they took the trouble to phone Mayfair, Saskatchewan and talk to the postmaster and the reeve of the municipality to verify what he's saying, that I'm a champion bicycle rider."
"That's why London wanted to see me," said Johnson. "What can I say? Incidents happen that can change your life."
He received his initiation at Bournemouth and was stationed at Portsmouth, where he expected a motorcycle to be ready.
"They didn't have a motorcycle!" said Johnson. They had a number one dispatch rider, but no motorcycle, he said.
A motorcycle was finally found for Johnson to use, but it was located up in the northwest corner of England in a hangar.
"So they sent me by train all the way up there, a two-day ride in the train." Once he got there, he said nobody there knew anything about a motorcycle. Finally, someone pointed to one under a tarp.
"They've got this little old English bike, a Royal Enfield," said Johnson, who couldn't help but use expletives in describing it.
Johnson then took another two-day journey with the motorcycle back south to his base. On that route he had his first accident, hitting the ditch and flying into a cow pasture, landing in the hospital for nine days.
"My accident was due to two things - a lack of road savvy that you only acquire after driving for a while." The other issue, he said, was that he was not yet used to driving on the left-hand side of the road in England.
"You can imagine how much damage I was doing to my back, ligaments and so on." He also recalled being bitter that the person examining him told him to get right back to work in three days with light duties.
Allied troops began the massive invasion on the beaches of Normandy, France on June 6, 1944. According to the website of Veterans Affairs, "the task was formidable. The Germans had turned the coastline into a continuous fortress of guns, pillboxes, razor wire, mines and beach obstacles. Canadians were among the first into action and against terrible odds fought their way into Normandy from the Juno Beach landing area."
Some 14,000 Canadians, a number roughly equal to the current population of North Battleford, took part in that Allied invasion on D-Day. Of those, 359 were killed on D-Day.
"I went to Juno Beach on the 6th of June at 6:30 in the morning, D-Day," said Johnson.
"We got in 10 miles that first day, because the German lines had been driven back more than 10 miles. We took over an ex-German encampment. There were a lot of mistakes made - there was no place for me to sleep that night. I just had my kit bag."
He had no tent to sleep in, but "being a kid from the farm and being innovative," he built himself a "pyramid" out of straw bales until the rest of his group got there.
"You bet I was roughing it," said Johnson. "It was tough going, no showers, no nothing for the first while."
He had been the first of his group to arrive in Normandy. Johnson noted it took another three weeks for the rest of his group to get there from England.
Just getting to Normandy on D-Day proved to be a hairy experience.
"All the boats ahead of me got shot to hell," Johnson said. Somehow, however, he was spared.
"My ship came into shore, to beach, without being shot at. Another incident happened that changed the course of your life."
Johnson became accustomed to being on the other end of enemy fire, on the ground and from the air, for the next several months doing his dispatch duties.
Four times, he recalled, German planes fired at him. He avoided being killed by calling upon his extensive motorcycle training to avoid the gunfire.
It was often a split-second reaction, as Johnson would see the white puffs from shells hitting the road in front of him, and he would know he would have to hit the ditch. "You get the hell off the road as fast as you can."
In a defensive rider course, "they showed us how to throw the bikes down at 60 miles an hour and be safe," said Johnson.
He said the process was to turn the front wheel sharp to the left, hang on, and the bike would go down and swirl off into the ditch.
"German planes can only go down so low, and then they've got to take off or they'll crash. So you had a bit of a lull there where you could do this, spinning off into the ditch, and I did that four times - saved my own life."
Johnson also described being exposed to sniper fire on the roads. "I damn near got hit a couple of times," he said.
"They were usually up a church steeple. That's why every church steeple was shot off during the war," he said, "because that's where snipers took cover."
The roads themselves were also hazardous. "Roads full of bomb holes and shell holes," said Johnson.
Also, at night "[you] couldn't use your lights. You had to creep along in the dark. It wasn't always real black dark that summer, but nevertheless you couldn't use those lights."
The courage of performing his duties in the face of such dangers is noteworthy in its own right, but not to be forgotten was the importance of those duties. Johnson had a direct hand in getting many of the pictures and accounts of the Normandy invasion and the war effort to the outside world.
According to the Air Force Association of Canada website, an RCAF photo dated July 25 1944 featured the following caption:
Johnson, it read, was "responsible for carrying almost every word of what is happening with the RCAF-RAF in France to the outside world. He is the despatch rider who collects feature stories and news copy from allied war correspondents and public relations officers for fast mail and press planes, which fly several times daily across the channel. In his first month in France, Floyd rode over 5,000 miles of narrow, convoy choked Normandy roads."
The role of a dispatch messenger was vital due to the primitive state of communications at the time. The forces could not use radios because the Germans could intercept those messages, he said. The forces couldn't lay down lines in the ditches fast enough, either.
"Messages had to be carried by hand, and messages at that time were very important," said Johnson.
The hazards of Johnson's work finally caught up with him only a few months after he arrived in Normandy.
On Sep. 23, 1944, Johnson was involved in another, much more serious road accident about five miles outside of Brussels.
"I ran into the side of a truck," said Johnson. It pulled out in front of him with no warning.
He had been on an early dispatch, he said. The Germans had brought up Desert Fox and had broken through the Canadian lines within 23 miles of Brussels and his dispatch was an important one in relation to that.
The accident fractured vertebrae in Johnson's back and neck, and he was in hospital in Eindhoven for three months after the accident. His right knee was dislocated.
"That was the end of the war for me," Johnson said.
The collision was so bad, and the bleeding from the accident so profuse, Johnson considered himself lucky to be alive.
He recalls being brought to a field dressing station and described being left on the ground in a tent outside - left for dead, he said.
"I was dying, I was sure of that. But all of a sudden, it quit hurting," said Johnson.
"That was when God sent his angel to touch me and brought me back to life, because I was alive in the morning, and they loaded me into an ambulance and took me to hospital." He believes there had to be some "higher purpose" to his survival.
After his release from hospital, Johnson returned to Canada in January 1945 and on April 11, 1945 he was "honourably released." He spent time in Montreal working as a mechanic before moving back to Saskatchewan.
His British Empire Medal award was effective Jan. 1 1945, but Johnson was not formally presented his medal until a couple of years later at an investiture ceremony in Saskatoon.
The Governor General presented Johnson his medal, which he was able to display to the News-Optimist during his interview.
He also showed a ribbon and pin sent out to veterans in bomber command just recently from the minister of Veterans Affairs, meant to commemorate D-Day, but he was less impressed with that.
"They're all trying to think of ways and means to make themselves good fellows so we'll vote for them in the next election!"
This month marks the 70th anniversary of D-Day, the beginning of the invasion of Normandy that led to the liberation of Europe from the Nazis in the Second World War.
Johnson recognizes the importance of that date in history and the role he and his fellow veterans played in it.
Yet he was notably unsentimental about the anniversary, due to the heavy losses suffered by Canadians during that time as well as the dangers he experienced.
Johnson is content with D-Day being in his rear-view mirror. "I was there on D-Day. I don't need to go there again."
