THE wise words of reason, the unshakeable beliefs passionately declared, and the occasional rants published on this page are all things to all people - and long may they be so.

They have the capacity to impress, to anger and amuse.

But, most of all, they reflect a society that is - within broadly common sense legal boundaries - free to speak its mind.

In our midst, there's an increasingly small number of men and women to whom we owe a debt of gratitude for that being the case.

This weekend, the memory of what they did to earn our eternal thanks should be clear in every mind in the country.

The story of Ray Bishop's brief horror on Sword Beach, 60 years ago on Sunday, might read like a Boy's Own tale to the vast majority whose family lives haven't been touched by the Second World War, Korea, the Falklands, the Gulf or the Balkans. But it isn't.

That was the day his luck ran out. It could have been much, much worse than the shrapnel wound that halted him 100 yards into France.

He'd already survived the assaults at Sicily and Salerno with little more than a scratch, so if odds had been laid on him making it through a third time, they'd have been long.

And let's not forget, that had all happened by the time he was 21. The thought that prompts is an obvious one.

The next time an old timer says he "fought for you", don't dismiss him.

If he says that the children of the 50s, 60s, 70s and beyond "don't know they're born", believe what he says. By comparison with Ray's generation, they don't.