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Some years ago, at a medal ceremony, someone said, 'I see you’re a D-Day Dodger.' He was referring to the fact that I was sporting the Italian Campaign medal. Seeing my expression, and in order to prevent a punch-up, he was obliged to explain to me that some of the army that remained in Italy during the Normandy landings called themselves the D-Day Dodgers, sung to the tune of ‘We are the Ovaltinies’. I, in turn, explained to him that I had been Royal Navy and didn’t hang about on land too long. After 3½ years in the Mediterranean area I returned to England from Brindisi in Italy at the beginning of 1944. What followed next entitled me to join the Normandy Veterans’ Association, but in my mind I did not consider that I was justified in doing so - the anticlimax of my part in the proceedings left me feeling unqualified.

In May 1944, I travelled to Southampton and was billeted in one of a row of terraced houses, from whence we marched to manoeuvres, exercises and meals. Our extensive training led us up to 6 June 1944. So once more I was with squads of RN ratings without contact with the outside world, except for the occasional printed card, which we were allowed to sign to prove to the folk back home that we were all right.

The routine was simple: toughening-up exercises in full kit and rifles, which included theoretical and practical street fighting within the confines of the cordoned-off district that the RN had taken over. When it came to the nitty-gritty of real bayonet drill, I recalled being previously ‘criticised’ for ‘insisting’ that my stance for maximum balance and thrust (or punch as used in the ring) — with the rear foot slightly ‘fore and aft’ - was far superior for effect than the splayed, flat-footed, off-balanced approach being taught. When I say 'insisting', I mean I kept slipping back into my old ways, and when I say 'criticised' you probably know what I mean. It’s a long way jogging round a parade ground with pack-a-back and a rifle held aloft. I also often wondered why the powers-that-be didn’t teach more left-handed training of hand weapons. As I recalled the previous occasion, and the outcome when I had questioned the official service procedure, I did not question; just kept it in mind should the occasion arise: which, fortunately, it didn’t.

When we practiced street fighting in Southampton, prior to D-Day, I sussed out that, as a right-hander, it was safer to patrol on the left-hand side of the street, as at corners I offered less of a target before bringing my weapon into action. At corners on the right-hand side one has to be fully exposed before being fully active. I stand to be corrected by anyone who survived the ordeal.

There were briefings too. Throughout our days of training, the streets of Southampton gradually became lined with army and navy vehicles as we continued with our rigorous routine. There was a great feeling of expectancy around us until the final briefing, 4 June, as we prepared ourselves for an early call the next day.

I joined the ship HMS Kingsmill, which was to transport army and navy personnel and to give fire cover during the oncoming invasion. Weather and sea conditions prevented the execution of the plan - a terrible thing, to be beaten at this stage by the elements. Twenty-four hours later, however, despite the uncertainty of the situation, we sailed in the early hours with an armada of vessels of every description crammed with troops. The extent of the armada was only evident as the first light before dawn allowed the eyes to take in the full picture in the English Channel.

We closed to a strategic position, allowing our troops and necessary personnel to transfer to the landing craft for the last stretch to the beach. I still had not been kitted-out, and as the last of our troops disembarked and we took up station to keep in signal contact with our group organising Gold Beach, it became more evident, as the days passed, that I was being retained aboard and wouldn’t be required to land. As more troops were ferried across to back up the successful landing, and with our part of the landing completed, we sailed for England, and I returned once more to Chatham.

My admiration for those who really participated in the landing and the aftermath is the reason that I could not consider myself a Normandy Veteran.

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