I walked in the footsteps of WW2 hero soldiers on French beaches ahead of VE-Day memorial

THE wind swirls sand around my boots and gulls bounce overhead as I read the 47 Royal Marine Commando Memorial at the viewpoint in Port-en-Bessin, the site of a daring raid following D-Day.

It’s the end of my second day on a self-guided walking route along the D-Day beaches with Inntravel.

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It takes in Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword beaches along with museums, memorials, bunkers from the Atlantic Wall (Hitler’s coastal defences) and Mulberry harbour remnants left in the wake of history’s largest amphibious invasion.

I’d started in the west, crossing open fields that would have been flooded in 1944.

It was eerie walking alone in the low morning light; hedgerows rustled with birds and the breeze, and I pictured Allied troops cautiously pushing inland, possibly where I’d stepped.

The track met with country lanes, which gave way to the vast, wind-whipped stretch of Utah Beach.

The ferocity of fighting on these beaches, then mined and studded with obstacles, was inconceivable under the day’s sun, people sand yachting and horses harness-racing.

I spent an hour engrossed in the nearby Utah Beach Landing Museum, which set the scene for Operation Neptune, the code name for the landings on June 6, 1944 that would kick off Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion of Europe and the beginning of the end of World War Two.

The route took me from beach to clifftop and back again, through quiet villages to the sobering Normandy American Cemetery, where 9,000 US soldiers are buried.

The next morning, I continued along Omaha Beach, where D-Day saw US troops pinned down under the well-defended cliffs, ensuring it would forever be remembered as “Bloody Omaha”, later immortalised in Saving Private Ryan.

The route took me from beach to clifftop and back again, through quiet villages to the sobering Normandy American Cemetery, where 9,000 US soldiers are buried.

It’s a thoughtful pairing, walking and history; one where the countryside meets the coast, every passerby exclaims “Bonjour!” and evidence of what unfolded nearly 81 years ago is still visible.

Thanks to the comprehensive notes provided, you can do as much or as little of the history as you like, stopping at every museum, or none.

Walking solo, I listen to episodes of We Have Ways Of Making You Talk that correspond with each beach.

At Arromanches, the beach is littered with remains from Mulberry B, a frankly audacious engineering feat that saw two man-made harbours, partly constructed in England, towed across the Channel and assembled offshore following the landings.

While the 360° Cinema and Arromanches Museum are worth visiting, seeing the remains of breakwaters and pontoons you can touch at low tide might be enough.

I head back towards the port, meandering through fields of rippling young wheat to reach the battery of Longues-sur-Mer.

It’s the only place in Normandy where you can see original guns in situ, just as when captured on June 7, 1944 (along with a bunker featured in The Longest Day).

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I slide behind one of four giant naval guns and imagine the deafening sound that would have reverberated in the concrete casemate.

Striding past fields of radiant oilseed rape, a narrow path winds high on to cliffs before the port pops into view.

I settle into a bistro for the region’s famous fish soup, bisquey goodness with melted gruyère; a warming end to the day.

The beaches of Gold, Juno and Sword lie ahead where the British, Canadians and other Allies landed on that historic morning.

After scanning just some of the 22,442 names chiselled into the British Normandy Memorial, I walk down to the expanse of Gold Beach where British troops fought.

The path snakes alongside the sandy coastline, past shuttered holiday homes, through dunes and on to the interesting Juno Beach Centre.

Sipping my now-daily local cider, I reflect on the emotions that have ebbed and flowed on this walk.

Boots full of sand, I pass more bunkers before reaching Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer and the western edge of Sword Beach.

Sipping my now-daily local cider, I reflect on the emotions that have ebbed and flowed on this walk.

Dining on moules frites, I let my chips soak in the savoury broth while reading up on tomorrow’s target, Pegasus Bridge.

On approach the next morning, I hear bagpipes and a kilt-clad visitor re-enacting the famous moment Piper Bill Millin strode across the bridge.

Tracing the towpath, I reach Caen, then hop a train to Bayeux.

Having toured the Battle of Normandy Museum, I take my final steps of the trip, some 60 miles later, at the Bayeux War Cemetery, where more than 4,000 British soldiers are buried; it’s a fitting place to end my journey through their story.

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