This week and next The Northern Echo is serialising the story of Sergeant CHarles Eagles, 79, from Sunderland, who landed at Normandy on D-Day.

Part 2: Landing on D-Day

IT would have been about 9am or 9.30am, but time didn't matter any more. It was D-Day. Overhead, we could hear the drone of the heavy bombers. From beside us came the rumble of heavy gunfire from the battleships and cruisers.

In the hold of the American ship, I was feeling very queasy. Sweat was standing on my forehead and I thought I was going to be sick.

My nausea was caused by the rough swell of the sea mixed with the terrible smell of the hundreds of bodies - members, like me, of the 9th Battalion of the Durham Light Infantry - that had been crammed in the airless hold for days.

The temperature had been rising constantly, and now I was so tempted to rip off my oilskin and my waders because the heat was unbearable.

And my nausea was caused by the apprehension of what was to come.

But then the magic words were roared at us: "Move it, men."

I can still remember the smell of the fresh air as we hit the open deck - it was wonderful!

My queasiness left me and I felt tip-top. I wasn't scared, just excited.

The lads were in great form, drinking in the cool fresh air and joking as only Geordies can.

The NCOs bellowed, but it didn't matter. We moved like a well-oiled machine as we had practised everything so often.

The skies that morning were misty and the seas were full of thousands of boats of all descriptions.

From that distance, we could see the shore and a few puffs of smoke, which were followed a few seconds later by a heavy shudder.

As we drew closer to the beaches, all hell let loose. The noise was deafening as the shells from the battleships pounded enemy positions a couple of miles inland.

When we were a couple of hundred yards from shore, we scrambled over the side of our ship, down rope-ladders, ran over another ship and were packed, shoulder-to-shoulder like sardines, into an LCI (Landing Craft for Infantry).

Lt Jack Williams gave me a grin as big as a Cheshire cat. "This is it, laddie," he said.

I could see wrecked vehicles littering the shallow waters and the beach. To the left, tanks, complete with flails, were clearing a path through the mines. Odd puffs of mortars erupted in the sand. Groups of men made their way, snakelike, off the beach. It seemed surprisingly organised. And the noise was horrendous.

I came to with a jerk as the LCI grounded. The magic words again: "Move it, men."

We surged forward and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of our leading lads disappear from view.

Then I stepped out, and I dropped under the cold water. My hand slipped down to my belt automatically and my backpack was away. I felt a strong grip on my tunic as I found my feet on Gold Beach, and Lt Williams hauled me up with a big grin: "Take it easy, laddie."

We scrambled ashore, scrabbling out of our horrible waders, only to be told to grab a folding Paratroop bike.

We formed up in our various sections and drifted off the beach, pushing our bikes through the barbed wire on to a small track and eventually into a narrow countryside road.

What a comical sight for any German observer we must have been, like Fred Carney's army!

The order to mount bikes was given, and we wobbled all over the place, packs and rifles rolling drunkenly around our backs as we tried to pedal for the first time since childhood.

It was a truly hysterical sight, these wobbly invaders claiming their first couple of hundred yards of enemy territory.

But then a shell dropped somewhere among us. We were showered with debris and dived into ditches.

It brought us back with a crack, and that was how our D-Day went; slow progress across difficult terrain, and every time we relaxed, a loud crack of sudden sniper fire woke us up.

Occasional tanks passed through us going forward; a few German prisoners walked the other way, hands above their heads or clasped behind their necks, going backwards.

But we moved forward on foot - our silly, wobbly bikes were quite literally ditched in that ditch by the side of the road.

* Tomorrow, Part 3: Mines and booby traps