After a few weeks, by which time it was becoming obvious that an invasion of France must soon be coming, I reported to Adastral House in London, to see what they had in mind for me. I was ushered in to see this P1 chap in personnel, and he said: ‘Oh dear, what do we do with you I wonder?’ It never ceased to amaze me that nobody ever knew what I should do. How they worked I had no idea, but it was almost inevitable that nothing was marked on my card. If I had stayed at home, would anyone have ever noticed?

The man looked through his papers, trying to come up with some gem that might interest this fighter pilot sitting in front of him. He assumed I did not want to sit behind a desk for a while, and nor did I want to become an instructor to the latest bunch of pink-cheeked would-be aces. I concurred to both counts. Continuing with his list of vacancies, me feeling like a chap on the dole going to a job centre, he finally spotted something. ‘Here’s something,’ he ventured, ‘Air Marshal ________ wants a PA.’ He looked up smiling, until he saw the look on my face, and then his took on a defeated air. I knew the name of this air marshal, someone not particularly popular, and could find no enthusiasm at the thought of being his tea-boy. The man’s finger continued down the list of jobs.

Suddenly he brightened up again and said: ‘Ah, this sounds interesting, how about this?’ Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Tedder, who at this particular time was the Deputy Supreme Allied Commander, and second in command of all Allied forces under General Dwight Eisenhower for the coming invasion, was quite insistent that the Royal Air Force should get their fair share of publicity. He had found when he was a commander in the Mediterranean, that the army always seemed to get all the kudos and publicity from the public relations men, newspaper journalists and so on, so he wanted the RAF to get a more equal amount of coverage this time, in what it did and achieved. The invasion was going to be a big event, no doubt about that – certainly the biggest invasion the world had yet seen, and he wanted to be assured that the RAF’s part in it was fully covered. His idea was to have a small, separate RAF PR unit formed, which would represent and report news to national and local newspapers, Reuters, and so on, concentrating purely on RAF and flying matters.

My P1 man said they were looking for three or four chaps to take on small groups of these people, show them around, introduce them to bods in the know, and ensure they got all the good stuff on the news front to do with what the RAF were doing. Those selected would, of course, know how things got done etc, and be able to guide the press boys on what they should cover and what questions to ask. In short, they should ‘know the form’.

Well, this sounded a very interesting project, with some freedom of action, so I said: ‘Thank you very much’. He looked pleased to have filled the vacancy, so promised that he would get things organised and underway.

Within a few days it had all been sorted and I joined the new outfit, which was called the Air Information Unit, on 29 April, in London. I was introduced to all the war correspondents who had been recruited into this RAF unit, and wearing blue uniforms with the words ‘war correspondent’ on shoulder flashes, we began our task. For the next few weeks we went around in small teams to all the depots, airfields, aerodromes, bases of all description that had anything to do with air force matters. Everyone we met and everywhere we went, were busily proceeding towards invasion. My team’s task was to get interesting stories to report on by interviewing pilots and aircrew and ground personnel so they could register them, via a censor, to newspapers, magazines, and so on. My job was to guide them to the chaps I felt would be the most interesting to talk to and to act as a sort of chaperone while also making certain they didn’t do anything or go anywhere that would be secret or classified.

This went on throughout May and into the start of June. It was a fascinating time as can be imagined with all these preparations in full swing. Day by day it became obvious that the ‘big event’ was not far off. The weather in early June of course, did not give us any great hope that D-Day was in any way imminent but as we know now, it was really a case of sooner rather than later because of tides and trying to keep the lid on everything before it became obvious to the Germans that things were so well advanced.

Talking to some of the pilots involved in the pre-D-Day sorties was enlightening. The Typhoon squadrons were all engaged in trying to knock out German radar stations all along the French coast, but not favouring any particular spot, thereby continuing to keep the enemy guessing as to where actually the troops would storm ashore. I did learn that a couple of radar sites were deliberately not hit nearer the Pas de Calais area, for the planners wanted these sites to pick up on low flying aircraft – Lancasters of 617 Squadron, the famed Dambusters – on the night and morning of D-Day in order to give the impression that something was happening in this narrow part of the Channel. The Germans always expected an invasion around Calais, and it was imperative to make them believe their suspicions were correct in order to keep men and armour away from Normandy.

We also noted that all Allied aircraft were suddenly daubed with black and white stripes round wings and fuselages, a tactic to ensure people on the ground would be able to identify immediately a ‘friendly’ aeroplane. This would be especially needed with so many aircraft flying over what was to be a vast armada of ships, for as RAF aircrew will tell you, the navy boys were quite good at shooting first and asking questions later.

By this time I had more or less settled on a team led by myself, with Alan Tompkins, the aviation correspondent to the then Sunday Despatch, a chap called Scott, who, strangely enough, worked for The Scotsman, and Bill Turner who was a photographer for the Sunday Pictorial. It was a nice compact little team and we were issued with a huge Humber Estate car which enabled us to move around pretty freely. We also had special passes that got us into most places no matter how sensitive, so obviously Tedder had made it clear to all his commanders that we special press teams were to be given all the help and access we needed. It had also been explained to us, that we would be required to head over to France with the invasion forces, as soon as it was safe enough to do so. I suppose you could say that this piece of information was both exciting and not a little thought provoking. Invasions usually meant a lot of noise and gunfire, with people getting killed all over the place. The side arm of one automatic pistol I was issued with did nothing to allay these anxieties. It is one thing to be brave and ‘gung-ho’ sitting in a Spitfire, but quite another when faced with a fully armed blond Nazi storm-trooper coming at you.

We were in the Tangmere area on 4 June and things were obviously hotting up. Lots of aerial activity but then Tompkins was recalled to his office for some reason so we were in London on the 6th, when the news that D-Day had arrived, broke, and that Allied forces had landed in Normandy and all appeared to be going well. So we returned to the south coast to get more stories and to await our call to embark for France. We were certainly not top priority and in any event it was no use going over before airfields and airstrips had been built and established.

Our little unit set up camp in the New Forest north of Southampton to await embarkation. All was going well until the 18th when disaster struck. As is well known, a man-made harbour, codename ‘Mulberry’ was being constructed at Arromanches-les-Bains, by the beach, with Bayeux just inland, and to the north-west of Caen, to facilitate the landing of the tons of supplies and thousands of men needed to back-up the initial invading force. Back in August 1942 the Allies had tried to take the port of Dieppe and hold it for a day, to see if such a plan to capture a French port was feasible. That exercise had proved costly, and so the D-Day planners had decided that rather than capture a port, they would create, build and float over, the makings of a prefabricated harbour.

On the 18th, however, a storm blew up which gathered strength and raged unabated for three days. It was the worst June storm in living memory. It not only destroyed part of the harbour but drastically reduced the flow of supplies and men. From 15 to 18 June, some 35,000 Allied troops had been landed but this fell to just 9,000 on the 19th. Similarly, stores of some 25,000 tons during the same period, dropped to just 7,000 tons. This in turn led to a back-log of shipping along the south coast ports, unable to put to sea. So after waiting for another week or so, we were finally told to up-sticks and move across to Essex.

Here we were set up in another tented camp until the 29th when we eventually got the call and set off for Tilbury docks where we were put aboard a tank landing ship, (an LST), and that night we sailed off alone to make rendezvous with a lot of other ships at ‘Piccadilly’. This was a codeword for a designated spot out in the English Channel where ships for France congregated before heading off to Normandy in convoy. Reaching France we were off-loaded on Gold Beach about 2 am in the morning, driving jeeps, and drove on to a small village called Creulley, which is just north of the road between Caen and Bayeux. It was here the PR set-up had made its base.

By this time, General Bernard Montgomery and his forces were supposed to have fought their way beyond the town of Caen, but strong enemy resistance had made this impossible and they were still firmly stuck outside this pivotal piece of real estate, so we were reasonably safe where we were, and just up the road was the RAF’s 83 Group Headquarters, 2nd Tactical Air Force (2nd TAF). 83 Group provided the tactical support for the British Army, and was commanded by Air Vice-Marshal Harry Broadhurst DSO DFC AFC. The group had mostly Typhoon fighter-bombers, armed with either bombs or rockets. These, and all other squadrons operating behind the front lines in Normandy, were using rapidly prepared airstrips in just about any flat farmland surface they could find. Landing strips had been bull-dozed flat and runways were made out of PSP (pieced steel planking). This marvellous stuff enabled an airstrip to be operating within hours sometimes, but the only drawback in Normandy was the sandy soil. Whether anybody had realised the problem this was to cause I don’t know, but it certainly gave engineering officers a headache. This sandy soil, this disturbed sandy soil, was blown all over the place from the blast caused by propeller slipstreams and the sleeve valve engines of the Typhoon’s Sabre engines were particularly vulnerable. I understand that Normandy sand was used in the manufacture of sandpaper because of its wonderfully gritty nature, so little wonder engines suffered. There was another problem too. Whenever aircraft started up and prepared to take off, a huge swirl of this abrasive dust would rise over the area of the ‘strip’, so that the Germans could spot it from miles away given the flattish landscape. This would lead to some immediate shelling by the Germans. With the RAF’s usual dexterity someone came up with a special air filter for the Typhoon within about ten days, so the engines got some protection, and as the Germans were pushed further back, the shelling lessoned appreciably.

We settled down in the grounds of a French château – which was nice – and there was a large castle on an adjoining hill. We got ourselves sorted out and began doing our job again. After checking in at 83 Group HQ, we then began to visit the various airfields and airstrips. Rather than names, these airstrips had numbers, such as B.1, B.2, etc. B.1 for instance was Bayeux. Arriving at some airstrip or other we would introduce ourselves to the officer in command, and then meet the squadron commanders and his pilots to get the latest stories about their operations. Some of these airstrips were right on top of the front lines. I recall one such place we visited, where the Typhoons were taking off in a direction away from the battle front in order to get some height before turning to dive into action, either firing their rocket projectiles (RPs) or dropping bombs from under their wings. We could stand on these airstrips, watch them attacking, and within a short space of time they were landing back to re-arm. As they taxied across the airstrips, airmen would jump up onto the wing-tips in order to guide the pilot to his dispersal area, for what with the dust, limited space, and the fact that the pilot could not see anything directly ahead of him because of the engine cowling, he would be unable to do so without hitting something.

Without any real forward movement from Caen, the RAF were running out of places to create more airstrips, for there were plenty more squadrons ready and waiting to come into the bridgehead area. I remember there was a Canadian Spitfire wing nearby that we also visited. It was obviously pretty exciting to watch all this activity going on and my team were busily recording their stories and wiring them back to their editors, while Turner was snapping away with his cameras at everything in sight.

Later we were also able to get to 84 Group’s people once they arrived and I have to say that both RAF groups were very helpful. If something big was in the offing we were informed and were able to sit in on the pilot’s briefing sessions. They always let us know what was in the wind so that we could ensure good news coverage at home.

Often we were up with the advancing army units, watching from an even closer perspective our fighters and fighter-bombers hammering away at enemy troops, armour and strongpoints. One day we had set ourselves up near Carpiquet before the break-out from Caen, waiting to watch what promised to be a spectacular air strike go in. Because we were so advanced we were given an army sergeant and two of his men to keep us out of trouble, so with Alan Tompkins and Bill Turner, there were just six of us.

We had hunkered down in a ditch behind a hedgerow at the edge of a field, when, no more than 150 yards away, we spotted about 40 German soldiers, steel helmets, guns, jackboots, the lot. Tompkins got terribly excited and turned to the sergeant and said in a whisper: ‘Look, Germans, why don’t you open fire on them?’ The sergeant, not impressed by Alan’s enthusiasm and heroic outburst, remained unmoving and like his men, continued to keep their heads well down behind the bushes. Alan was still keen to engage the enemy, or should I say, for the soldiers to engage the enemy. Finally, the sergeant said, turning his head very slowly to look at Alan straight in the eyes: ‘Sir, we have three rifles, three bayonets, a couple of hand grenades, while your flight lieutenant as his side arm and a few bullets. There are forty or more Jerries over there, armed to the teeth and looking for trouble. They all have guns, perhaps some with machine guns, belts into which I can see a number of grenades sticking out, long bayonets, pistols, and goodness knows what else. I don’t really think we want to upset and disturb them, do you? It wouldn’t really be a fair fight.’

Tompkins let this little bit of logic sink in as his eyes continued to follow this troop of enemy soldiers as they continued to trudge along on the other side of this field. You could see his mind working and good sense penetrating into his brain. Slowly he began to nod his head in agreement with the sergeant’s undoubted wisdom, then said: ‘No, sergeant, you’re probably right.’ Turner and I were glad and more than a little relieved when he said that.

Mr Scott was a lot older than either Alan or Bill, and not in the best of health so he began to be less involved in our work and rarely came out with us. He probably shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but it did him credit that he did at least try and in the beginning didn’t shirk his perceived duty. Bill Turner only wanted to take pictures and wasn’t really fussed if it was of an aeroplane, a soldier or some bombed-out building, but Alan had been in the army in World War One and had actually learnt to fly up in Newcastle in the 1920s. He had suffered a rather nasty crash which had banged up his face somewhat but at least he knew something about aviation. He was quite an extrovert, a big man with a large beard.

In early July Montgomery was going to make a full-scale assault to take Caen and he asked ‘Bomber’ Harris, CinC of Bomber Command, to bomb the place. We were warned about this so we drove to a good point from where we could watch the proceedings. We had a grandstand view as all these Avro Lancasters came in at dusk and they absolutely plastered the place. I don’t think it was very well thought out because the amount of debris and fallen masonry that was generated did not make for an easy assault by Allied tanks. But it was all spectacular from my team’s point of view.

However, the British and Canadian troops picked their way through the rubble and by 7 July, held about half the town, the Germans still holding on to the eastern half. Monty made another effort to break out, attacking round the eastern side of Caen in Operation Goodwood. This operation was planned for 18 July and on the 17th we and lots of other people were called to a special briefing by the great man himself. I remember it as a beautiful sunny day and we were all assembled outside his caravan set up in a field near his headquarters. Once we were gathered in this open area he made an appearance and in front of a large map, indicated what was about to happen, his pointer tracing the way things were planned to go.

Basically, Bomber Command was to bomb along a line to the north-east of Caen including the large industrial area of Colombelles and to continue some miles south and west of Cagny. Following this, the American Air Force would bomb along a similar line to the north, thereby creating a corridor along which the tanks would advance more or less unopposed. Armed with this information, my team packed our bags and drove out towards a good spot that night, which was on a little hill, in a farmhouse building, and then waited for the fireworks to begin.

Bomber Command came in about 05.30 am on the 18th, followed by the Americans. The Lancasters did a remarkable job, but it was really quite frightening to sit only about a mile from this and witness all those bombs coming down. As Tompkins said, ‘God help all those people down there.’ Although the bombers did a good job the Germans recovered quicker than expected. The Allied tanks were delayed in getting into action and after a day or so, the attack stalled and the great break-out had not been achieved but in the end it came and the army moved forward.

The next eventful occurrence was when the retreating Germans were caught and decimated in the Falaise Gap. We helped cover this too, and some of the pictures and newsreels we saw of the slaughter were terrible. A lot of Germans died there, a perfect killing ground for Typhoons and light bombers.

And so followed weeks of attrition, the Germans defending every inch of ground, the Allies advancing slowly and at great cost, towards their final objective, the town of Falaise. The RAF, particularly the Typhoon squadrons, were constantly in action, attacking with bombs and rockets, or strafing with cannon, everything that moved in the German sector, plus actions in close support of the army. Whilst all this was happening the Americans had broken out in the west through St. Lô and Avranches, while General George Patton’s 3rd Army was now rampaging through Brittany and had reached Le Mans. He now turned north, heading for Falaise in order to link up with Montgomery’s forces.

We of course were observing all this from a reasonably safe distance behind the battle front, or so we thought. One day in mid-August our luck almost ran out. We had been informed that Bomber Command was to saturate the German positions ahead of an attack by Canadian and Polish troops. It was a beautiful sunny day if somewhat misty as we waited a few hundred yards behind the start line for the bombers to come in. We soon heard, then saw them thundering in, an awe-inspiring sight. It seemed to be going well, bombs exploding amongst the German positions, but suddenly all hell broke loose. Some of the bomber crews started to bomb short, and their ordnance had fallen directly on to the Poles waiting to go into action. Soon the dead and wounded were being brought back past us. It was a most unfortunate incident. However, although badly shaken, the Poles went in and achieved their objectives. Stout fellows, the Poles.

There has been a lot of controversy over the last few years about ‘friendly fire’ and rightly or wrongly, any commanders or even countries are unwilling to accept blame or any responsibility. Not so with the head of Bomber Command, Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris. He wrote immediately to General Henry Crerar, the commander of the 1st Canadian Army, expressing his regret and saying that action was being taken to ensure this sort of thing didn’t happen again. True to his word, Harris had some of his pathfinder crews demoted and took their prized pathfinder badges away from them.

By now, however, the Allies were closing the gap and on 22 August the encirclement was complete, the Canadians and Poles meeting up with the Americans at Falaise. The Battle for Normandy was over.

I sometimes feel the scope, size and ferocity of the Battle for Normandy is underestimated. We read with horror of the carnage of the First World War, the slaughter on the first day of the Somme offensive, 1 July 1916, of losses around the towns of Ypres and Passchendaele. Equally awful were the casualties at Stalingrad in 1942-43, the loss of life during the siege of Leningrad and so on. But Normandy was a war of attrition lasting for 77 days, between the landings and Falaise. The casualties speak for themselves. The Germans lost 450,000 men, 240,000 of whom were killed and 210,000 taken prisoner. The Allies lost 240,000 of whom 36,000 were killed. It is also estimated that some 100,000 French resistance fighters and civilians were killed or wounded. The victory came at a great cost, but it destroyed the German army in the west.