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This is Tony Colgan's account of his D-Day experiences:

On D-Day I was 20 years old. I was a private in the army and drove a Bren gun carrier carrying 3'' mortar. I was part of the 50th Northumbrian Division and landed on Gold Beach at 9.30am.

During the run-up to D-Day we knew there was something big going on - we were down in the back end of Southampton, near Shirley, and every lane, every road, every place where they could park a vehicle or a piece of equipment was filled, absolutely chock-a-block.

I felt extremely apprehensive about what was going on, because of course you knew your life was on the line - but you had no choice in the matter. We all knew there was a good chance that we wouldn't survive the experience, but I don't think anybody worried about it too much. We didn't want to do it, but we were chosen and we had no choice in the matter.

On D-Day there were long lines of craft of all sorts going over to France. I was on a Landing Craft Tank (LCT) which carried about half a dozen Bren gun carriers. There was a lot of noise of aircraft flying over, and other boats around us. It wasn't a convoy, just a mass of craft - but an orderly mass, I must say. When I was on the LCT I had absolutely no doubt that our mission would succeed.

Part of the second wave

Coming onto the beach we could finally begin to see what was really happening. We were in the second wave and all hell was breaking loose on the beach. There were shells going off, and the beach was packed with tanks and all the paraphernalia of war. We went straight onto the beach, there was no delay for us. The beachmaster, who was almost always a naval lieutenant, directed us to the exit of the beach, where we had to assemble. The initial attack had already gone in, so we were the second wave and our aim was to push forward.

We assembled with a company of infantry on bicycles, who could move quietly along the country lanes of Normandy. They were followed by six Bren gun carriers, carrying Bren guns, anti-tank guns, six-pounder and ten-pounder and three-inch mortars. A truck brought up the rear of the column. We went on very well, there was very little happening. I saw one dead man, lying on a bank, and one dead German - that was about all.

About an hour or so into the journey we saw six fighter aircraft (our own, thank goodness) coming over. They were flying abreast, and the one nearest us didn't like the look of us. He peeled off and dropped his bombs at the end of our column, wrote off our truck and then machine gunned the whole column. I could see the spatter of the bullets as they passed about two feet from my face. He missed everybody, thank goodness. We ended up somewhere near Bayeux. That was the end of a very apprehensive day.

I still can't believe how lucky I was that day, because so many people died there. In the Hampshires, I think, we lost 200 men. As the years go on your memory does tend to cloud a bit, but I can remember looking at the beach and seeing so much going on, hearing all the noise, and saying to myself: you will not survive this day. I was quite convinced that that was it, but it didn't particularly worry me, it was just a matter of fact thing.

If we hadn't won that day, the world would have been a completely different place. But there was no question that we were going to win. There was an overwhelming amount of equipment opposing the Germans, who were already on their back foot. Germany couldn't possibly survive the war. It had to be us who won.

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