ALBERT HALL from Countess Lane, Radcliffe, was called up on August 21, 1939, and, following basic training, served with the Royal Artillery, the 50th Northumbrian division and the 53rd Welsh Division.

My D-Day began on October 23, 1942, in El-Alamein. From there, we travelled through Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, then Algiers. After stopping at Enfidaville we then travelled all the way back to Egypt, some 2,000 miles by road.

After two weeks rest and some training, we boarded the Orontes and set sail thinking we were bound for home. This idea was forgotten, though, when we were issued with armaments in the Mediterranean sea.

We landed at Sicily on July 10, 1943, at Avola. Then on to Mister Bianco, down to Catania, Giardini Taormina, Messina and back to Syracosa, to board the Duchess of Bedford for our voyage back to Liverpool.

We ended up in Witton, a small suburb of Ipswich. After another two weeks leave we found ourselves in Winchester: the Mountbatten estate, Romsey. Our next destination was Southampton.

We boarded landing craft on June 4, 1944, ready for our planned arrival on June 5. Our crew were Americans who gave us great food four times a day, and they had genuine tea and coffee available any time. The poor lads on the other launches didn't know what they were missing. We eventually landed at first light on June 6, 1944, in or around Arromanches.

The first soldier I saw was putting up a tent. Jokingly, I asked him if he intended to stay for long and got a reply that can't be printed here. He also told me that when I got over the hill behind him I might be a customer of his: he was setting up a first-aid post.

After heavy fighting, we eventually reached the Bayeux-Caen Road and dug in at a crossroads. Some of our lads were filing past and I noticed from their insignias that they were South Welsh Borderers.

My brother-in-law was in that regiment. I shouted "hey, is Harold Grimshaw with you lot?" To my utter astonishment the reply came: 'he's over there in that field'.

I could hardly believe what was happening. In all this melee, and after each travelling thousands of miles, my brother-in-law stood in a field 150 yards away from my post!

My sergeant was kind enough to let me go over to Harold. I explained that his wife had insisted I kept an eye on him, and we exchanged jokes and chatted for a while.

Harold was a lot less fortunate after that. He was shot and taken prisoner soon afterwards. I didn't see him again until after the war.

We started making our way inland and saw a "thousand bomber raid" on Villiers Bocage. Through Falaise (a particularly nasty slaughterhouse) and through Market Gardener.

We were the first across the Hitmegen bridge (another fiasco), then down to the Ardenes and back to Nijmigan, through the Reichwald forest, and into Hamburg to finish.

Sixty years later, only "invited dignitaries" are to be allowed on the beach because of limited space. It's funny how there was plenty of room for us 60 years ago, and not a dignitary in sight!