| "... I had to forget my worries and get on with it, as I was in command of 130 men and we were heading for the landing beaches in Normandy". At eighty years of age, Major Albert Mitchell has been kept extremely busy recently. As President of the 99th branch of the Normandy Veterans Association, he has been organising their anniversary tour. Albert is married and had one daughter, Rosemary, who is has also married into the military. Albert, from Tittensor near Stone, wanted to tell his story because he felt it was a " story that had to be told to be believed ... it is hard for anyone in 2004 to realise what soldiers were asked to do in 1944 ... Riding to war on a bike - can you believe it!??".
Have you ever looked back at the White Cliffs on the south coast of England and wondered if you you would ever see them again? Well, that happaned to me in the middle of June 1944, when I was just 20 years old. But I had to forget my worries and just get on with it, as I was in command of 130 men and we were heading for the landing beaches in Normandy. Although in the main spirits were high and there was little concern for what the future may hold, I noticed from the look on the soldiers' faces that there was a certain amount of apprehension as the French coast came into view. Was it to do with the enemy or the battles that lay ahead, I wondered? No! That would come later. But at that moment in time all the soldiers were worried about was the fact that each one of them had to get to dry land and not only with all his arms and equipment, but also a bicycle. The landing operation consisted of getting off the troop ship into a landing craft by way of the scrambling net and as there was a slight swell running at the time, judging the exact moment when to jump required a certain amount of skill and a great deal of luck, especially with a bicycle strapped across your chest. I am pleased to say that with the exception of one bicycle with a buckled front wheel, all soldiers made the beach safely. Now it was only a matter of mounting our bicycles and riding off into the French countryside to a predetermined map reference. Our cry to the Germans was "please do not run away faster than we can peddle" and what followed, of course, is a story for another time. 60 years later I can say I did see the White Cliffs again and thanks be to God, I'm here to tell the tale. | 
