Bob Watts had no doubts that the tank landing craft on which he served, was the first ashore at Juno Beach on D-Day. And he had a special job to do.

“At the bows there was a cubby hole in which was a big lever,” he said. “My job was to pull the lever down, and that would lower the front of the landing craft with its ramp.

“When it came to it, I thought: ‘That’s nice. I’m at the front of the ship facing all the bullets.’

“I wasn’t frightened at the time. You were concentrating too hard on what you were doing. I heard the command: ‘Ramp down!’ I pulled the lever, and it wouldn’t budge. I thought it must be jammed.

“But then it went, and I heard the ramp go.”

Bob, originally from Walthamstow, but living in Welling when I met him, had seen plenty of action before he joined the Royal Navy in 1942. He had been a firewatcher during the London blitz, including on the roof of St Paul’s Cathedral.

“I had worked for the London Electricity Board since I was 16, so in the Navy I became a wireman,” he said. “I was appointed to this LCt (landing craft tank), and because I had been in the cubs, and knew morse code and semaphore, they made me second signalman as well. I was also second coxswain.”

The craft went to the Isle of Aran, Scotland, where the crew of 16 practiced beach landings. Then it travelled through the Caledonian Canal and down the East Coast to Newcastle, where tank decks and ramps were fitted.

“There would be two Centaur tanks on these elevated decks,” he said. “As we came into the beach, they would be fired over the top of the doors to help clear the way for the infantry on board.”

When the craft eventually arrived at Southampton, the crew had no doubts that something big was happening. Troops were everywhere and there were ships of all kinds in the harbour.

“While I was on guard duty, I noticed that our stern was sunk quite a bit below the waterline,” he said. “I reported it, and we found we had a leak in the engine room. They mixed up some cement and put that over the damage. So, we went across on D-Day on a boat with a cemented-up hole in it.

“On came the army boys, mainly Canadian infantry plus a few Royal Marines to drive the tanks. It was really crammed. We set out on the fifth of June, just as it was getting dark. The weather was terrible.

“We had a little cockney lad on board who we called Bright Eyes. As we set off, he came out with a rifle and shouted: ‘Right you German bastards where are you. We’re ready for you.’ It made us all laugh and lightened the tension.

“I remember thinking: ‘You won’t get any closer to your fellow man than this.’ The comradeship was marvellous.

“The Normandy coast came into view, and we went past HMS Warspite and a big American ship, and then held back for a bit, waiting for the time to land. Suddenly, the 16inch guns of the battleships opened up right over the top of us. My helmet was blown forward over my eyes.

“I saw on the beach a big pillbox with enemy soldiers inside having a go. Then boomph, the whole thing was blown up.

“We went in and after the door went down, the tanks went off first. Then the infantry followed in a well-rehearsed snakelike fashion. I could see a fair number of bodies out there. It was a quarter to seven and I can safely say we were the first landing craft on that section of beach.

“The flotilla followed us in, with more soldiers pouring out of them. I thought it was marvellous the way things were organised on the beaches. It was so controlled. They had laid mats down so vehicles wouldn’t get stuck. There was a signpost up telling everyone where to go. And there was this redcap (military policeman), with his helmet on, directing traffic like it was Picadilly Circus.”

The plan had been for the landing craft to reverse off the beach and then be deployed ferrying troops, equipment and supplies in from larger vessels anchored offshore. But as she was coming out, she hit a mine, and the engine-room was quickly flooded.

It meant being stranded on the beach for a day, a sitting duck for dive bombers which came in later. “Bombs exploded all around, but we weren’t hit,” said Bob. “You could hear the scream of these aircraft as they dived. The landing craft next to us did catch a bomb and three men were killed.

“Some of the landing craft coming in behind us couldn’t get close enough in. They were dropping men in water that was almost up to their shoulders. What with their boots, their packs and their weapons weighing them down, if they slipped, they couldn’t get up again.

“We saw this and did what we could to help them. Eventually we put a line out for them to cling to. But some were drowned.”

The damage to the craft was repaired, once again with cement, and she was towed offshore, and anchored while the engines and generators were fixed. Then they carried out the work intended for them, ferrying men and supplies from ships to shore. However, no-one had thought about supplying the crew with something to eat.

“We were famished and had to scrounge food,” said Bob. “Like a fool I got a tin of Libby’s milk and drank it straight down onto an empty stomach. It made me so ill I was taken to a hospital ship, an old cross-Channel ferry.”

He must have been quite seriously ill because he was taken back to Portsmouth, and then transported to a hospital at Greenock, Scotland.

But more adventures lay ahead for Bob Watts.