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My father, Raymond Phillips, served with the 3rd Reconnaissance (Recce) Regiment (8th R.N.F.) having joined them from the 10th Battalion Northumberland Fusiliers, during World War Two. He spent most of his time in France where he was wounded on 6 August 1944, when involved in an attack, and held, by German troops in the Burcy region of Normandy. He kept the bullet, which my mother still has, as a reminder. He was hospitalised and eventually sent home. A bit of humour here is that the army doctor ticked him off for ‘bleeding on the floor’. Over the years this bullet did the rounds of schools as his sons and grandson proudly showed the bullet off as part of their projects. After his convalescence he returned to C Squad where he served time in Palestine until his demobilisation.

Up until his death just over a year ago, my dad visited Normandy for the anniversary of the D-Day landings every year since it started.

Two years ago he and my mother marched down Whitehall on Remembrance Sunday proudly wearing their medals.

Having visited France every year, his last visit being in June 2002, the day before he was due to return home, he suffered a fatal heart attack. His friends and comrades had to leave him there and return home the following day. It took 10 days before the French authorities released his body enabling him to come home and be laid to rest. Red tape seemed to get in the way all the time. So it is somewhat ironic that a country my dad visited so often to remember his dead comrades let him down, especially as he had died there on his annual D-Day visit.

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