D-Day veterans tell their heartbreaking stories of bloodshed and bravery on 79th anniversary of the landings
ONCE this band of brothers was 150,000 strong.
But yesterday just 15 World War Two veterans were fit enough to return to Normandy to mark 79 years since D-Day.
Normally these events are marked in decades, but by the time next year’s 80th anniversary comes round, no one is sure how many of these humble heroes will still be with us.
Though their numbers are now small, those who returned to remember the Normandy landings — the seaborne Allied invasion of the French coast on June 6, 1944, that began the liberation of France — still have extraordinary stories to tell.
The magnificent seven who posed under the statue of three D-Day soldiers at the new British Normandy Memorial above the stretch of shore codenamed Gold Beach for the landings are aged from 97 to 100.
Ken Hay, 97, from Upminster, Essex, told his incredibly moving story in a poem he had written specially for the service, organised by the Royal British Legion.
As an 18-year-old private in the 4th Dorset Regiment he came ashore on neighbouring Juno Beach at the dead of night on June 23, as part of the push through enemy-occupied France. On July 8 his unit was on night patrol when they came under attack.
He recalls “all hell breaking loose” and lying in the dark, watching the tracer bullets of the enemy guns, and saying two prayers.
He says: “The first was ‘Lord save me’. The other was ‘If a bullet does get me, then please let it be quick’.”
Nine of his comrades were killed and 16 escaped, including his brother.
Ken was among five captured and sent in appalling conditions to work as a slave labourer in a Polish coal mine.
The following January, with the Russians approaching, the prisoners were force-marched away. Many died and were left at the roadside.
Choking back tears, Ken read lines from his poem: “A thousand miles we trod, and slept in barns at night. Flea-bitten, dirty and unkempt, we were a sorry sight.
“I’m not a World War hero, I’m no one of renown. If you are looking for heroes, just cast your eyes around.”
On the Normandy memorial’s 138 limestone pillars are the names of 22,440 men and two women under British command who died in three months of the Normandy campaign.
Among the names is Dennis Circus, a 22-year-old private who was one of the nine killed when Ken was captured.
Ken says: “It feels strange. I can stand at his grave and say a prayer but when you see his name, it tears me up.”
Jack Quinn, 99, of Mablethorpe, Lincs, was coxswain on a landing craft whose job was to take in frogmen to blow up mines protecting the beaches.
He was also ordered to land on the beach at nearby Arromanches and pick up a man and a woman, and was later mentioned in dispatches for his bravery.
On D-Day morning he saw a boat on fire among the sea mines. He was told to ignore it but disobeyed and rescued its French crew. As he pulled away, the boat blew up.
The French awarded him the Croix de Guerre Silver Star for his heroism.
Henry Rice, 97, from Guildford, Surrey, was a signalman on landing ship HMS Eastway, which arrived off Juno Beach on June 11.
Stan Ford, 98, served on HMS Fratton, taking men and supplies across the Channel on D-Day and afterwards.
The ship was sunk on August 18 by a midget sub off Normandy, killing 31. The explosion was so powerful that the gun platform Stan was operating was blown off the ship, with him on it.
He was rescued, but his injuries left him walking with callipers ever since.
Alec Penstone, 98, of Shanklin, Isle of Wight, served on the escort aircraft carrier HMS Camp- ania during the Normandy Campaign.
Reg Pye, 100, of Burry Port, South Wales, served with the Royal Engineers as a driver carrying sappers, mines and ammunition.
A fortnight after D-Day he spotted a 14-year-old girl staring at him while he ate his evening meal — a slice of bread and jam and a tin of pilchards.
Reg, then 21, handed the bread and jam to the girl, who then ran away.
The next morning he found she had half-filled his mess tin with milk and left a handwritten note on the back of a picture of herself.
Reg has kept her photo in his wallet ever since. Last year he tracked her down — by then aged 92 — and they were reunited after 78 years.
Richard Aldred, 99, of Cambourne, Cornwall, served in Normandy driving a Cromwell tank with 7 Armoured Division in the battle for Caen.
He and his tank were blown up in action near Benouville, and he remembers lying under a roadside crucifix, alongside his surviving crew mates. He says they all said a prayer that day.
Marie Scott, 96, from New Malden, Surrey, was taken to Normandy by cabbies from the Taxi Charity for Military Veterans.
She remembered how, as a 17-year-old wireless operator, she listened to the horrors of D-Day unfold over her headphones at Supreme HQ Allied Expeditionary Force in Portsmouth.
She says: “D-Day for me was my point of maturity. I could hear gunfire, cannon, machine gun fire, bombs dropping, then shouting, screaming.
“I thought of the many young men dying on those beaches, and of course they were dying in their thousands.
“You do feel sad. You feel what a dreadful waste of life.”
When asked if she will return next year, Marie speaks for all those who are left and says simply: “I am going to do my best. That’s all I can say.”
WERE YOU IN D-DAY?
THERE is no official record kept of how many Normandy veterans are still alive.
Only 18 months ago The Sun accompanied eight of them who were first to visit the £30million British Normandy Memorial at Ver-sur-Mer.
Today half of them have gone, including George Batts, who worked hardest to have the memorial built.
Next year sees D-Day’s 80th anniversary, and a campaign has been launched to find as many surviving veterans as possible to attend.
The British Normandy Trust and Royal British Legion are both appealing for veterans to come forward.
If you know of a D-Day or Normandy veteran, find out more at britishnormandymemorial.org or with the Royal British Legion at rbl.org.uk/Dday80.
Don, 103, bikes back to 1944
NEARLY eight decades after landing on Juno Beach on D-Day, Don Sheppard was back on a despatch bike like the one he used in Normandy.
The veteran, who turned 103 last month, climbed aboard the replica military motorcycle at an event in Rettendon, Essex, held in his honour.
Despite protests from his children Jacqui, Jonathan and Joanna, Don, who had been a sapper in the Royal Engineers, was determined to recreate the moment he posed for a similar snap during the liberation of Europe.
Sadly, all his former regimental comrades have died and he is now among just a few British D-Day veterans still alive who actually stormed the beaches on June 6, 1944.
Don, from nearby Basildon, recalls shimmying down a rope from an American ship into the landing boat.
He says: “Some guys were falling into the water because the sea was so rough. The worst bit was that there was fire from both sides coming right over our heads. I can never forget all the Canadian soldiers who landed first, just ahead of us.
“They got it really bad. I can remember so many of the faces of the men who died that day, the sound of the rockets and the shells. Every detail of what happened is still there. We must never forget that.”
Don now needs a wheelchair and can no longer visit Normandy or the D-Day monument at the National Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire.
So yesterday’s poignant service at the newly opened Living Memorial, just a short drive from his home, was ideal.
It includes exhibits to commemorate D-Day, including a replica beach and statues.
“It’s marvellous what they’ve done here,” Don said. “For me and others who can no longer travel, this is the future.”