Eighty years ago this week, instead of poring over an issue of this august organ, millions of people across Europe would have been huddled round their radios to hear that D-Day - the invasion of Europe - was ongoing.

They would have sat open-mouthed in the understanding that, at last, the end was in sight and the darkness of the previous five years was about to be illuminated by an audacious military operation.

It would take another year, but eventually World War Two would end and the continent would be free of tyranny, a process of liberation which started on the beaches of Normandy eight decades ago today.

It is my good fortune that as a journalist I was dispatched to Normandy to cover the 50th and 60th anniversaries of the landings, where I met many great men who had been there on the day itself. It was my privilege to record their stories, for those who live today in peace and freedom, thanks to them.

When I was there, all I was concerned with was making it back to the satellite truck in time to feed my pictures and interviews back to Glasgow and getting one over on my journalistic rivals. Their concerns were of life and death.

I have returned many times as a tourist and enjoyed the sights and sounds; nothing beats a walk along Gold beach knowing what happened there. That is not just voyeuristic military tourism. That is reaching out and touching history.

I have been lucky to have been on many battlefield tours around the world. Each is special in its own way, and each has played a part in world history. But the D-Day beaches saw a momentous event, and the beginning of the end of the war.

Shrouded in secrecy, the Clyde played its part too. Shipyards along the river were busily engaged in building concrete structures, although nobody knew what they were nor why they were needed. It wasn’t until shortly before D-Day that these huge hollow constructions were floated down the river, past Helensburgh and out to sea.

Shortly after the first waves of troops and tanks went ashore, these concrete caissons were chained together and dragged into position on the beaches to form what were called Mulberry Harbours, providing shelter for the invasion ships from heavy seas. Some are still there today.

And while the concrete still survives, and many of the tanks, weapons and aircraft still survive, sadly the years have advanced to the extent that very few of those brave men who stormed the beaches that day, still live. I was lucky to have met many on my trips to Normandy. We owe them so much. We must never forget.

Anniversary or not, we must always remember them.