THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 5, 1994 TAG: 9406030256
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 10 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ASHLEY MORGAN
DATELINE: 940605 LENGTH: PORTSMOUTH, ENGLAND
You can't pick up a newspaper, turn on the television, or go anywhere these days without being confronted by it. The preparations have been going on for months, and weeks of scheduled events are now under way.
{REST} Monday marks the 50th anniversary of the D-Day invasion of Normandy. It was a momentous day in history that changed the course of World War II. And Portsmouth, England, played a key role in what was code named ``Operation Overload.''
A question had been on my mind during all the recent D-Day hype, but I thought it would seem stupid to ask, so I didn't - until recently.
We stopped in the Golden Lion pub in the village of Southwick just outside Portsmouth, and I finally went ahead and popped the question.
My companion is a bit of a war historian, so I thought he was bound to know the answer.
He's also a friend of longstanding, and knows better than to call me stupid. All I wanted to know was what the ``D'' in D-Day stood for.
``It's not such a stupid question,'' he said.
That's when I knew he had no idea.
The Golden Lion, which is just down the road from Southwick House, which was Gen. Eisenhower's D-Day headquarters, became the unofficial ``officers mess,'' as well as a social gathering places for many American soldiers.
Edwina Williams, now 83, was a barmaid at the Golden Lion during the war years.
``That's how I came to meet Montgomery and Eisenhower,'' she said. ``The two of them would take their drinks into the corner and chat, sometimes poring over documents. It never dawned on me that some of the most momentous decisions could have been made in the pub.''
Perhaps even the significance of the letter ``D.''
Well, Edwina is retired now and no longer works in the pub, but surely there was enough history within its very walls to answer my now-momentous question. We certainly found plenty of people in the pub well over the age of 50, and there proved to be no shortage of answers.
A guy sitting at the end of the bar said with great authority that the ``D'' stood for ``duration.'' He was far to young to have been around at the time, so at best could only be a student of the subject, but my friend obviously took his reasons as encouragement.
``I don't think he's right, you know. I'm sure it stands for `disembarkation.' ''
And he eventually convinced himself by repeating it several times. A fair old bit of disembarkation did take place on that day in 1944 when a total of 7,000 ships and 11,000 aircraft were mobilized after Ike gave the go-ahead. Three million men of the combined allied forces landed on the beaches of Normandy. But somehow it still didn't quite ring true.
A chap, who was at the bar with a large party of OAPs (old age pensioners) didn't know himself, but was most helpful.
``I haven't got a clue, love, but I'll make inquiries. I'll find out for you.''
And sure enough the answers came fast and furiously.
Decision. Delivery. Declaration.
By now we had half the pub at it, and I no longer felt so stupid.
When the gentleman to our right said he'd been in the military all his life, I felt we were making progress.
``Military operations are timed to begin on a certain day. The days leading up to it are referred to as ``D minus one,'' ``D minus two,'' etcetera. And the days after it are ``D plus one,'' ``D plus two,'' and so on. I think it was something that came from the Americans, but I'm guessing. The Americans decided what happened, broadly speaking.''
That seemed to make sense, after all, Eisenhower had been supreme commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force, and I was hardly going to argue with a Brit who was giving credit to my own good countrymen.
Meanwhile, my friend, Colin, had turned it into a crusade. He already had begun to doubt his previous declaration of ``disembarkation,'' and I knew then we wouldn't be leaving without the truth.
He was deep in conversation with the party of three behind us. Dorothy felt certain it was just an expression, but added that her husband would know; Bruce had been in military intelligence with the Royal Air Force during the war. Unfortunately for me, Bruce had stayed home to watch the Grand Prix on television. But that didn't stop Dorothy.
``I want to know now. I'll go ring him up,'' she said, and promptly went down the road to a phone booth.
I'm sure poor ol' Bruce didn't appreciate the interruption, but good ol' Dorothy came back triumphant.
``The `D' stands for `day.' What's your next question?''
The best part was, for all his military intelligence, Bruce still had to look it up.
I can't fault him, though; I'm sure his mind was on the car racing.
Anyway, I got a simple answer to my simple question, and it turned out to be quite a good P-day - Pub Day.
by CNB