As a little lad my family was living near Tilbury Docks in Essex. I vividly remember the days leading up to D Day because of the number of troops everywhere. Virtually every road had columns of tanks, lorries and guns lined up, it seemed as though every piece of open land was covered with tents and jeeps and light trucks were whizzing about like bees on a summers day. Then suddenly they were all gone and the sky was black with aircraft with their distinctive black and white banding. My father, an old soldier from WW1, could easily recognise the signs of a big push and it didn't take a genius to guess what that would be, all we didn't know was when. For the next few weeks following the disappearance of the soldiers I had to suspend whatever I was doing and sit quiet as a mouse when the evening news came on and Dad sat there with an old school atlas trying to follow the progress of the action. When ever I hear the opening notes of Beethoven's Fifth I have a mental image of him sitting, frowning over that battered old book.