D-Day: Invasion, review: a fantastic account of the humble heroes who fought on the beaches

When it comes to history documentaries, Channel 5 has its pet subjects. The royals. The Victorians. And the Second World War. Its head of programmes, Ben Frow, has explained the strategy: “We’re not niche. We know that our viewers like British history. We give them really good, rewarding history, so that they will think, ‘I know this story but I hadn’t thought about it this way.’ And let’s put it on in prime time.”

D-Day: Invasion was a prime example. The first of two episodes (concluding tonight), took a familiar subject and gave it urgency by taking us through the action minute by minute. The result was a documentary done supremely well. Instead of stuffing the show with talking heads, as so many of these things do, the producers stuck to just two experts: Sir Max Hastings, the military historian, and Dr Onyeka Nubia, a university academic. Together with solemn narration by Tim McInnerny and simple graphics laying out the invasion plan, they provided a clear and detailed picture.

And then there were the veterans, proudly displaying their medals and recalling that day with vivid detail: not just the terrible memories of men drowning under the weight of their backpacks, or being blown to smithereens the moment they set foot on the beach, but of other things they remembered with absolute clarity after all this time. Kenneth Cooke of the 7th Battalion, The Green Howards could still tell you what he had for breakfast that morning, as a 19-year-old about to face combat for the first time: “Scotch porridge – with salt, not sugar, terrible stuff – a mug of tea, a corned beef sandwich and a small tot of rum to give a bit of courage”.

For the soldiers no longer with us, their children appeared on their behalf. Mike McKinney, said to be the first American on Omaha Beach, saw his best friend die. “He never made friends after that,” said his son.

Margaret Brotheridge’s father, Lt Den Brotheridge, was part of the glider-borne advance, taking the Germans by surprise at Pegasus Bridge. He became the first Allied soldier to be killed in action on D-Day, two-and-a-half weeks before Margaret was born.

The heroism, no matter how many times you have heard it told or seen it played out in Hollywood films, was humbling. Stanley Taylor, then a 20-year-old corporal with the 1st Battalion, East Yorkshire regiment, put it best: “We had a damn good set of lads.”