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The dawn has never been more welcome to anyone than it was to the battalion on 6th June 1945; it is normally a dangerous time for troops in a defensive position and special precautions have to be taken then but, as the attacks had been going on more or less continuously all through the night, it was improbable that there would be a special one at dawn. There was nothing special to be done about it anyway as everyone was already on the alert. Soon after daylight all wearers of watches, and there are a great number in a parachute battalion, started glancing at them and comparing them with other people to see if they had lost or gained. All watches had been carefully synchronised before take-off and everyone knew the exact second at which the Second Front would open in earnest. It was a curious feeling to be in such a privileged position and, at the same time, an extremely pleasant one. The parachutist fights a rather lonely battle forming an island in enemy country and defending it against attacks from any direction; he has no real front or rear and gets the feeling that he is fighting the war all by himself, but now everyone knew the moment when all Hell would be let loose and when the enemy confronting him would be given something else to worry them - and what a worry too.

There were some wry faces when the watches pointed to 7 a.m. and nothing could be heard except the small arms firing and bursting of mortar bombs which everyone had got so used to. We had overlooked the fact that H hour, 7 a.m., was the time at which the guns would be fired and not the moment at which we would hear the explosions of the shells. Actually the ships were some distance out in the channel and the shells took a measureable time themselves to reach their targets and the sound of the explosions took further time to travel the three odd miles to the battalion position. It was a full minute after seven when the sound was heard.

The noise, when it came, far exceeded all expectations and was quite indescribable both in intensity and duration, but it was music to the battalion and spirits rose with the rumbling of it. The sense of fighting a lone battle passed completely, even fatigue was forgotten. The big show had begun and now it would only be a matter of time before the seaborne troops arrived on the scene and the battle for the bridge could be regarded as completely won.

The attacks on the battalion bridgehead continued to be launched and to be beaten off, but now they were beaten off more as a matter of routine than as part of a life and death struggle on which everything depended. It seemed impossible that they could break through now and confidence was higher than at any period since the drop. The enemy was very persistent though and although the attacks were driven off they were not so without casualties; each attack cost a few more and those that were still unwounded were beginning to feel the strain.

The part of Le Port nearest to the canal was never completely cleared of snipers who made life a precarious affair in the area of Battalion Headquarters. As soon as one was cleared from one place others would appear elsewhere, or even return to the same place. They were not very original although their courage could not be denied. The church tower was a particularly popular spot and was undoubtedly a first class choice, if rather an obvious one, on the part of the original sniper to use it. No sooner had one been silenced, usually with a bren gun, than another would start from the same place. Finally the permission of the CO was sought to use a PIAT on the tower itself; the permission was given and Cpl killeen with one bomb, blew the best part of the top of the tower clean off. Killeen was later interviewed by a BBC commentator on this interesting feat and, thinking