80th Anniversary of Victory in Europe and Victory over Japan

Baroness Ramsey of Wall Heath Excerpts

Friday 9th May 2025 Lords Chamber

[Baroness Ramsey of Wall Heath (Lab)]

My Lords, it is a pleasure and an honour to follow the noble Baroness, Lady Porter of Fulwood, and all noble Lords, with so many moving speeches about the sacrifices of family members—I am thinking particularly at the moment of Uncle Vernon. It was also a pleasure to hear the excellent maiden speech by the right reverend Prelate the Bishop of Peterborough.

My speech is about family, in particular my father Jim Ramsey, who died, sadly, in 1990. I am wearing his cap badge and carrying one of his medals—I know we are not allowed props, but I hope noble Lords will forgive me—as my mother did when my sister and I went with her to Normandy in 2004 to commemorate the 60th anniversary of D-Day. I also want to mention her brother, Patrick Cafferkey, who flew in Wellington bombers, as well as his wife Winifred and my father’s sister, Jenny, who both worked in munitions factories in Lancashire during the war, coming home after long, arduous shifts with yellow faces.

My dad joined the Westminster Dragoons aged 18 in 1941. I am grateful to the regimental association and know that it will be watching this debate. He was a gunner in the track and tank corps, responsible for maintaining the flails on the tank that blew up land mines ahead of the infantry. He landed on D-Day and took part in the liberation of Bergen-Belsen—never to be forgotten by him—which I spoke about in my contribution to the Holocaust Memorial Day debate recently, and in guarding Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin after peace was declared.

Sadly, I never recorded him speaking about his war years, so all my memories are from normal, everyday conversations with him, usually as a result of us children asking him questions. He prefaced anything that he said in response to our wows and exclamations with his assertion that his—to us, extraordinary—experiences seemed completely normal at the time, as everyone was in the same boat.

He wrote these words in an exercise book for my mum to type up for a local sixth-form student who had asked him about D-day:

“At the beginning of May 1944, A Squadron Westminster Dragoons was stationed at Thorpeness in Suffolk. We had to waterproof our tanks. Every inch of the outside had to be brushed and all of the nuts and bolts, openings, escape hatches and gun ports were sealed and made waterproof. It was boring, dirty work and took a fortnight. It was unnecessary in the event for we landed dry-shod.


On trains, we transported the tanks to Sussex, where we were put under armed guard and not allowed out of the area where we lived in tents. We could write no letters. We were given new clothes, paid in French francs and taken into a hut, which was very heavily guarded, and shown a map with mythical names. It was a map of Normandy. I remember the town hall had the code name ‘Poland’ and was to be taken on the first day. We were sworn to secrecy.


We set sail in the dark of the night of 5 June and, when morning came on the 6th, we were not alone. There were ships as far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon. Normandy came into sight and we got ready. We had a motorcycle strapped on the back of the tank and a motorcyclist riding on the turret. I offered to share the gunner’s seat with him, but he declined. He joined me quickly when something flew past his head. Shells were falling round us and a ship near us was hit.


Our B and C Squadrons had landed with the first wave three hours earlier. We were to push inland with the tanks of the Staffordshire Yeomanry and ordinary Shermans. We went past the village of Hermanville. We had landed on Queen Beach and were crawling through open fields a few hundred yards past the town when tanks behind us began to blow up. Three flails and a half-track were knocked out by anti-tank fire on our right. We carried on some distance until we halted on the bridge. We waited for the advance, which never came. We stuck thereabouts, guarding the flank until five in the afternoon. A great mass of four-engined bombers and gliders came in on our left to reinforce the original airborne drop on the River Orne. Quite a number were shot down, and one Stirling crashed close to us. Next came a report that 40 Tiger tanks were heading our way. We feared the worst. I have since read that these tanks were stopped by an anti-tank screen, which the British had posted on their line of advance.


At last, it began to grow dark, and all the tanks withdrew to form a laager further back. We filled up with petrol and ammunition and made a cup of tea. I was on guard for two hours. I heard three single German planes up above, and so much flak was sent up from our bridgehead that all three were shot down on fire. We were up at first light, at about four o’clock. D-day was over, and D+1 had started”.


He wrote this on the same piece of paper about the months that followed:

“We had bread for the first time a month later. I slept in a bed again on Christmas Eve in Brussels, where I had 48 hours leave from Holland. All the infantry who landed with us were killed or wounded within a few months. Several infantry divisions were disbanded later. I was really glad not to be in the infantry”.


Every Remembrance Sunday, my dad took us, his children, to the war memorial, and toasted fallen and injured comrades in Calvados from Normandy. Today, dad, my sister Alison and I will toast you, Uncle Pat, Auntie Win and Auntie Jenny for everything you and so many other brave men and women, including from the Commonwealth, did for us.