In the days leading up to D Day, Dad was at Thorney Island, where he had joined the squadron which would claim his allegiance for the rest of the war – 609, West Riding.  The squadron were, by then flying Hawker Typhoons, affectionately known as the ‘Tiffie’
609 Squadron was part of the Second Tactical Air Force and played a huge part in the blanket bombing of the French coast in the early days of the Normandy invasion.  The Typhoon, originally designed to carry 12 machine guns, was modified for its war work to carry 4 cannons (two on each wing) and the capability to add high explosive rockets or drop bombs under the wings.
It was my Dad’s job, as an armourer, to arm the Typhoon with its deadly load and because of his work with the high explosive rockets, became known by the nickname Rocky, which he had proudly displayed on the back of his leather jerkin.  He never reached a higher rank than LAC (Leading Aircraftman), but he never had any great ambition in those days, other than to survive the war and go home unscathed.
On June 30th 1944 the squadron received orders to move overseas. On July 17th,  my dad joined the rest of the ground crew echelon embarking at Gosport onto a Landing Ship Tank (LST) to make the journey across the channel. The next day saw them disembark at Courseulles on the Normandy coast from where they proceeded in convoy to airfield B7 at Martragny, near Bayeux. Just one day later 609 squadron, together with 198 and 164 flew in to the airfield and the wing was declared fully operational.  At this time, the wing was under the command of WC Walter Dring. 
When Dad died in 2004, I found a newspaper cutting in his wallet.  It was a tiny scrap of paper reporting the untimely death of WC Walter Dring in a freak accident in Belgium before the end of the war.  That faded piece of paper had been with my dad for 60 years.  WC Walter Dring must have been quite a man.
It is only recently, after much reading and research, that I discovered my Dad had played a part in the Battle for Normandy and the push into Germany.  Whenever I asked him about the war, when I was younger, he always gave me the impression that he spent all his time in Normandy cycling from farm to farm sampling the local cider and Calvados!  Knowing how my Dad loved his bike and the occasional tipple, I just believed him!