Four D-Day veterans living in Ireland share their vivid memories of the action and emotion of the dramatic occasion with Shane Hegarty
Brother Columbanus Deegan
Now a Franciscan friar in Waterford, Brother Columbanus Deegan joined the British army after being rejected by the Irish army for being "too skinny". After serving in RAF Bomber Command, he joined a unit whose mission was to salvage crashed aircraft or aircrew. "They gave me a Harley Davidson. Coming from Dublin, where I didn't even own a bicycle, I thought this is it."
They were sequestered in advance of D-Day. "We knew where we were going because we were paid in French francs for our pay day. We had a gambling session and there were fellas who became millionaires overnight not knowing how much they were worth."
Deegan, now 80, watched the invasion from beside tanks on a bobbing landing craft. "The reason I'm here is that I didn't go in on the first wave. I went in after that day, when it was nice and comfortable. We were held back because we had to wait for the signal that the beach was clear enough for this stuff to go in. That was obviously very nerve-wracking, because you were seeing the chaos going on. Big battleships were firing right behind us, and you were sure they were going to hit you. I'm sure you could actually see the shadow of these big shells going over. They were huge. Then there was stuff coming back at you. And we also had the RAF going in and bombing the daylights out of them as well. Between them all, it was bedlam."
When he landed, he feared mines, shells and even his own side.
"There were a couple of tanks coming behind and if they felt you were in the way they'd just go over you. It's easy in retrospect, but a lot of these guys were panicking. It was their first time under fire. So it got to a stage when it was self-preservation.
"There were people going up and down collecting the bodies, and you were seeing all of this you just wanted to get out of here and find somewhere safe."
He spent the rest of the war working his way through Europe on his bike, being present at several major battles and "never firing a shot in anger".
He was greatly affected by the concentration camps. "It justified it for me, even though I'm a total pacifist now."
Deegan was one of three friends from Usher's Island to go to Normandy. They had vowed to meet up again in Dublin, but he was the only one to return.
"For 40 years I never talked about it. I closed the door on that part of my life, simply because I didn't want to dwell on it. I found there was a negative vibe all round, that I had left the country in its hour of need and taken the Saxon shilling. I was very disappointed that there was no recognition for all these beautiful young Irishmen."
Then he was invited to Normandy for the 40th anniversary. "I remember walking on Sword beach on my own and thinking that I owe these guys something, I need to be a spokesperson for them. I've been doing that more or less ever since." He is in Normandy this weekend.
William Clarke
William Clarke still lives in the Clonsilla house in which he was born. He joined up at 19. "I'd always say it was because of adventure, but I saw the Jerries blitzkreig the low countries so quickly, and then, when they went into Russia, it began to look like they were going to take over the whole lot. So I began to realise I might as well do a bit."
Clarke, now 80, joined RAF Bomber Command, loading and cleaning the guns of the Lancaster planes. "I went for a place as a rear gunner on the aircrew, but I was always hopeless at mathematics. They gave me a few fractions, and told me to go away and do them. But I never had the liking for them. I'm lucky I didn't get through. The life expectancy for the rear gunner was six trips. Sometimes they'd come back and they'd be in bits. You'd have to hose out the aircraft."
A corporal, he volunteered for a servicing commando unit whose purpose was to establish forward airstrips. There had been rumours, but he finally realised D-Day had come when the letter from Eisenhower to the troops came around. "It's hard to remember my feelings nowadays. I don't think I was terribly scared." He says he regarded it as an adventure.
Closer to shore, he climbed aboard a landing craft. "It didn't seem to be far off the beach. All hell was breaking loose, of course. Our warships were firing overhead. I can't understand how I can still hear. We didn't have anything in our ears then."
He landed on Juno beach, where the first wave of Canadian troops had earlier suffered heavy casualties. "All I remember is the water up high and trying to keep going with my weapon up. Then I saw the bodies floating around. I was mostly scared of the barbed wire and the mine clearers had a flail thing that went along to get the mines off. But it seemed to be pretty safe to us by then because the tanks in front of us were advancing, so we had them to follow."
He surveyed the scene. "There were all those boats. It was a magnificent sight, alright. It was hard to see water."
Another memory stands out. "The first supplies we saw coming over was bread. The French were glad to see that." He fought house to house at Caen, before being transferred to Asia. After travelling a lot, he eventually settled in Dublin. He says his background seldom caused problems. "One fellow once asked me did I have any trouble with my neighbours, but they weren't that narrow-minded."
Bernard Gregory
Born in Manchester, Bernard Gregory was the youngest of six brothers to fight and survive the war. He was conscripted in 1943 at age 17 and eight months, ending up in the Royal Engineers.
"We were sappers. Mines, obstacles, retrieving things out of the sea. You name it we moved it," he says.
They prepared in secret.
"We moved through the night, sleeping in hedgerows so nobody could see us, 'til we got to a secret camp in the south of England. We weren't allowed to write home, and to kill time we played darts on a tree, with a penny as a bull. We did that for hour after hour."
He finally realised he was bound for France when he boarded a ship on June 2nd.
"Once we got on the boat we had an idea, but by then you couldn't tell anyone."
Now 78, on D-Day, he was 13 days short of his 19th birthday.
He watched the naval bombardment from a landing craft. "I think that frightened me more than anything." At about 7.30am he landed on Gold Beach.
"We were on a landing craft with tanks on and we were at each side of them and once we got there our American crew just said 'go', and we were off it. I was up to my waist in water. I'm small now, so it's a good job it wasn't a high tide. You had to push yourself through the water. The uniforms had been impregnated with DDT and they were issued before you left to stop lice and disease. You weren't allowed wash them or iron them and they were all creased, so it was like wearing a suit of armour."
His job was to clear mines, even during the chaos of the battle. "We had to probe with a little rod. If you hit something solid, you just cleared the sand with your hand to find out where the fuse or detonator was. You were a target. Everything flying at you left, right and centre. There were snipers and they even had a go at us with the big guns from Le Havre. It seemed to nullify you so much you just got on with it."
Pushing on to the country roads, he was greeted by a 15-year-old girl and her family. "Her brother nearly got shot, because he was waving at us and some of the soldiers thought he was the enemy." He is still in contact with her today.
He served in Europe until the end of the war. After marrying an Irishwoman he moved to Dublin in 1950, where they still live. He has great respect for Irish veterans. "I had no choice, I had to go. The fellas here, they volunteered."
He is in Normandy this weekend as part of the UK government's Heroes Return programme, although it originally wouldn't subsidise Irish veterans. "I asked why and they said, well they didn't contribute to the British lottery. And I said, what the hell has that got to do with it? They couldn't contribute more than their lives."
Joseph Brazil
'I volunteered. No-one pushed me into it," says Dubliner Joseph Brazil, now 85-years-old. "I joined the army in 1941, I think. I went from here up to Belfast. I joined just because I wanted something better. Some adventure, is that they way to put it? You were ready to go. We never know what would have happened if Hitler had of got in. I think he was a terrible man."
He was a paratrooper with the 6th Airborne Division, whose crucial role was to capture or destroy Normandy's bridges. "Before the day we were in some place for a fortnight or more, all the time waiting for to go. Then it was postponed for 24 hours in account of the weather. You had a padre to say a few prayers or whatever. You said to yourself, well this is it now, what we've been waiting for. We'll do our best. Everyone was scared."
He jumped in the early hours of D-Day, in darkness and under fire from anti-aircraft guns. He saw action at the famous Pegasus Bridge at Caen, and the lengthy battle for that town. While the details have faded, other images have not. "It was very hard. When you see war pictures on the screen, there's no comparing the real thing. They try to make it real, but people who saw it there really know. Others were wounded and that, but not me, although I did have some narrow escapes. The only thing I can say to myself is I was lucky and I'm glad to be living to the age I am."
He was demobbed in Austria in 1946, but doesn't forget those who didn't make it home. "I did think about it a lot at first. After going through the lot and coming home, you had more time to think about it. You had things on your mind. You'd sleep and get things coming up in your head. I mostly thought of my mates Tyrell and Kavanagh. I never saw the two of them again after that day. I didn't know they had been killed because of the fighting and the way things were all scattered. But I went back to France six months ago and I saw their graves."
He has some souvenirs of his service, although they are incomplete. "I had a couple of medals and I used to put them in an Oxo tin. But when moving from house to house I lost the blooming things. I'd love to have them medals back again."
Veterans seeking information on Heroes Return can contact the British Legion at 01- 6713044