ONCE this group of brothers was 150,000 strong.
But yesterday only 15 WWII veterans were fit enough to return to Normandy to mark the 79th anniversary of the landings.
Normally these events are celebrated in decades, but with the 80th anniversary next year, no one is sure how many of these humble heroes will still be with us.
Though their numbers are few now, those who have returned to remember the Normandy landings — the Allied naval offensive on the French coast on June 6, 1944 that began the liberation of France — still have extraordinary ones to tell stories.
The magnificent seven who posed for the landings under the statue of three D-Day soldiers at the new British Normandy Memorial above the stretch of coast codenamed Gold Beach are between 97 and 100 years old.
Ken Hay, 97, from Upminster, Essex, told his incredibly moving story in a poem he wrote especially for the service organized by the Royal British Legion.
An 18-year-old private of the 4th Dorset Regiment, he came ashore in neighboring Juno Beach in the middle of the night on 23 June as part of the push through enemy-held France. On July 8, his unit was on night patrol when it was attacked.
He recalls how “all hell broke loose,” lying in the dark watching the tracers of enemy guns and saying two prayers.
He says, “The first was, ‘Lord, save me.’” The other was, “If a bullet gets me, please be quick.”
Nine of his comrades were killed and 16 escaped, including his brother.
Ken was among five prisoners who were used as slave laborers in a Polish coal mine in appalling conditions.
The following January, as the Russians advanced, the prisoners were forcibly removed. Many died and were left on the side of the road.
Ken choked back tears and read lines from his poem: “We walked a thousand miles and slept in barns at night. Eaten by fleas, dirty and neglected, we presented a sad sight.
“I’m not a World War II hero, I’m nobody by reputation. If you’re looking for heroes, just look around.”
The 138 limestone pillars of the Normandy Monument inscribe the names of 22,440 men and two women under British command who lost their lives in three months of the Normandy campaign.
Among the names is Dennis Circus, a 22-year-old soldier who was one of the nine dead when Ken was captured.
Ken says: “It feels strange. I can stand by his grave and say a prayer, but seeing his name brings tears to my eyes.”
Jack Quinn, 99, of Mablethorpe, Lincoln, was a mate on a landing craft tasked with picking up combat swimmers to blast mines protecting beaches.
He was also ordered to land on the beach at nearby Arromanches and take on a man and woman. He was later mentioned in despatches for his bravery.
On the morning of D-Day he saw a burning boat among the sea mines. He was told to ignore it but disobeyed and saved the French garrison. As he pulled away, the boat exploded.
The French awarded him the Croix de Guerre Silver Star for his heroism.
Henry Rice, 97, of Guildford, Surrey, was a signalman on the Landing Ship HMS Eastway, which arrived off Juno Beach on June 11.
Stan Ford, 98, served on HMS Fratton, ferrying men and supplies across the English Channel on D-Day and thereafter.
The ship was sunk by a small submarine off Normandy on August 18, killing 31 people. The explosion was so violent that the gun platform operated by Stan was blown off the ship, with himself on it.
He was rescued, but his injuries have required him to run with calipers ever since.
Alec Penstone, 98, of Shanklin, Isle of Wight, served on the escort aircraft carrier HMS Campania during the Normandy Campaign.
Reg Pye, 100, from Burry Port, South Wales, served with the Royal Engineers as a driver, transporting engineers, mines and ammunition.
A fortnight after D-Day, he spotted a 14-year-old girl staring at him as he ate his dinner – a slice of bread and jam and a can of sardines.
Reg, then 21, handed the girl bread and jam, who ran away.
The next morning he found that she had filled his cookware halfway with milk and left a handwritten note on the back of a picture of herself.
Since then, Reg has kept her photo in his wallet. Last year he tracked her down – then 92 years old – and they got back together after 78 years.
Richard Aldred, 99, from Cambourne, Cornwall served in Normandy driving a Cromwell tank of the 7th Armored Division in the Battle of Caen.
He and his tank were blown up near Benouville, and he recalls lying under a roadside crucifix with his surviving crew members. He says that they all said a prayer that day.
Marie Scott, 96, of New Malden, Surrey, was taken to Normandy by taxi drivers from the Taxi Charity for Military Veterans.
She recalled listening to the horrors of D-Day through her headphones as a 17-year-old radio operator at Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force in Portsmouth.
She says: “For me, D-Day was the point of my maturity. I could hear gunshots, cannon shots, machine gun fire, bombs falling, and then shouts and screams.
“I thought of the many young men who died on those beaches, and of course they died by the thousands.
“You are really sad. You can feel what a terrible waste of life.”
When asked if she’ll be back next year, Marie speaks for everyone who’s left and simply says, “I’ll do my best.” That’s all I can say.”
Were you on D-Day?
There are no official records of how many Normandy veterans are still alive.
Just 18 months ago, The Sun followed eight of them as the first to visit the £30million British Normandy Memorial in Ver-sur-Mer.
Today, half of them are gone, including George Batts, who did most of the work to build the memorial.
Next year marks the 80th anniversary of D-Day and a campaign has been launched to find as many surviving veterans as possible to participate.
Both the British Normandy Trust and the Royal British Legion are appealing to veterans to come forward.
If you know a D-Day or Normandy veteran, learn more at britishnormandymemorial.org or at the Royal British Legion under rbl.org.uk/Dday80.
Don, 103, cycles back to 1944
Almost eight decades after landing at Juno Beach on D-Day, Don Sheppard was back on a speed bike like the ones he used in Normandy.
The veteran, who turned 103 last month, climbed aboard the replica military motorcycle at an event held in his honor in Rettendon, Essex.
Despite protests from his children Jacqui, Jonathan and Joanna, Don, who had pioneered with the Royal Engineers, was determined to recreate the moment he posed for a similar photograph during the liberation of Europe.
Sadly all of his former regimental mates have died and he is now among the few surviving British D-Day veterans who actually stormed the beaches on 6th June 1944.
Don, from nearby Basildon, recalls climbing a rope from an American ship onto the landing craft.
He says: “Some boys fell into the water because the sea was so rough. The worst part was that the fire fell directly over our heads from both sides. I can never forget all the Canadian soldiers who landed first right in front of us.
“You got it really bad. I can remember so many faces of the men who died that day, the sound of rockets and 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 memorial 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 commemorating D-Day, including a replica beach and statues.
“It’s great what they’ve done here,” Don said. “For me and others who can no longer travel, this is the future.”