My tribute to 11th November.

Tired, I stood up from my desk, removed my glasses and cleaned them for the sixth time. Since Anna's death, I have lived alone. Her smile, her cheerful way of thinking, still haunts me. On my way home, I spent an hour having a drink at the station. As I stared at the hordes passing, a poster took my interest. I made an instant decision. The next morning, I booked a return train journey from London to Paris and on to Bayeux. Visit Normandy and enjoy its gastronomic delights.

With my rucksack and a copy of the rough guide packed, off I went. I dozed during the uneventful journey, and apart from a short stop in Paris, I arrived on time.

Why I chose to visit war graves is beyond my understanding. After a good breakfast, I along with a mixed bag of visitors boarded the waiting coach. The weather stayed dry and bright with blue skies. Where I stayed was idyllic, and I followed the tourist trails detailed in the guide. First on the programme was the Jerusalem War Cemetery, the smallest, containing 49 graves. During the day, we saw many more, ending our tour at the American Cemetery overlooking Omaha Beach. The view of nine-thousand crosses in perfect rows stops you in your tracks. It would be best if you had time to remember the young men who gave their lives as they charged across an open beach.

I stood at the side of one grave and read the inscription: Private David Allan, Age Nineteen.

A young man, dressed in World War II combat attire, appeared and stood alongside me. With head bowed, he said, "What a frigging waste."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"Boys, laughing happy boys, their lives squandered, tossed away like garbage. Those poor sons of bitches landed on the most fortified beaches. The Germans controlled the high ground, which commanded the approaches. Their guns focused on our men before we set foot on the sand. Dug-in-pillboxes, each with three machine guns, littered the beach. Their defence force strafed the beach from every angle. Moreover, what did the top brass order us to do? Take them out by direct assault. Have you any idea how many men died to capture one pillbox?"

For an instant, he stopped, his expression solemn, and tears ran across his cheeks. As an added extra, a battle-seasoned German infantry regiment waited in the rear. For them, it was a turkey shoot. Half of our troops died before they left the landing craft. Have you ever tried to swim in a full combat kit? You drop to the sea bed and have sixty seconds to get it off before you drown."

"Thousands of soldiers ran scared shitless onto a corpse-strewn beach. Men vanished, blown to pieces. By sheer dogged determination, a few managed to get a foothold. Many sheltered behind fallen buddies. Most died after gaining, if they were lucky, a few precious yards. The obscene thump of mortars and the harsh chatter of machine guns and no cover cut men to pieces. Exploding mines and shellfire deafened and took their toll. Total mayhem; line of command changed and disappeared as fast as a jackrabbit with its ass on fire."

I thought this soldier must have served in Vietnam. The carnage he described was from memory. I listened, mesmerised as he kept the conflict as taut as a strained anchor chain.

"Imagine the sea turning red with the blood from countless mutilated bodies. Shells hit those paper-thin landing crafts, ripping them from stem to stern. Those poor bastards inside never realised they were dead. They didn't get any respite, but they took the beach." He waved his hand towards the rows of crosses. "The price of victory is here."

"The enemy fought well. Their losses were as great as every boy soldier, and ours had a mother who grieved. In the end, no enemies exist in a cemetery."

The way he told the story placed a different slant on the history books. No glory, no heroes, only boys dying.

When he finished, I said, "Thank you for your vivid insight into a most horrific battle." I walked away with tears streaming from my eyes.

I rejoined the group outside the chapel.

"You stood by one grave for a long time," said our driver.

"The young man dressed as a soldier told me a story which grabbed my attention. It would have been rude to leave."

He oddly looked at me.

At the hotel, the driver pulled me to one side. "Are you okay? I'm sure you saw something this afternoon, but from where I stood, you were alone."