On the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Second World War, Mike Buckingham spoke to two Gwent servicemen whose lives were two of millions which were altered on that day when Britain and France declared war on Nazi Germany.

IT WAS the day that almost made him spill the beer.

Frank James was working at Lysaght's and collecting ale for the men working in the intense heat of the furnaces when he heard on the wireless the call for reservists to report to barracks.

"I was in the 1st Monmouthshire, a Territorial Army unit, and knew very well it meant me," said Mr James, 90.

He met his brother Burleigh, also at Lysaght's, and quit their jobs - collecting their wages the following day.

Looking back Mr James, of Stelvio Park Court, Newport, recalls feelings of expectancy, excitement and fear.

To these feelings was soon to be added a romantic dimension, as September 3 was when he had a blind date with an Edna Roberts, later to become Edna James, who died in 2004.

"Being called up at the beginning of a war and meeting the woman who is to be your wife of sixty years at the same time isn't the sort of thing you easily forget."

As the German Army, soon to eject the British Army from the beaches at Dunkirk, surged across Europe, Mr James donned his First World War pattern uniform and equipment.

"There was a sense of unpreparedness. People didn't think it was going to last."

When he went to Lysaght's there was a hitch with his money: "Captain Harding who was the mill manager and who'd been in the First World War got to hear of it and said 'Come with me boys, and we'll get it sorted out.

He added 'Don't worry, you'll be home within six months'.

"It was the longest six months I've ever been through and involved fighting with a crack German SS unit" Mr James smiles ruefully.

South Wales Argus: How the Argus reported the news

The Argus front page on 3rd September 1939

While the rest of the battalion was marched to France, Mr James was assigned barrack duties before being transferred to the Royal Welsh and then 60 Training Regiment, Royal Armoured Corps, where he learned to drive three-ton lorries and tanks.

He was posted to 4/7 Royal Dragoon Guards at Banbury, Oxfordshire, and was driving lorries as 1944 and D-Day approached.

On the day of the greatest amphibious invasion in the world's history - June 6, 1944 - Mr James and his lorry were aboard a landing ship waiting to drive ashore.

"One thing that always sticks in my mind is the German prisoner who was badly wounded and who died. On D-Day plus One we went ashore straight onto the beach.

The German's body was put in the back of my lorry and we buried him in a field in France."

It was the first war casualty and German he had seen.

"I was in A echelon, the job of which was to get fuel and ammunition to the tanks which involved coming within mortar range. We only had canvas-covered lorries so to hang around would be fatal. Once we'd re-supplied the tanks we were out of there."

The petrol-driven tanks were called 'Tommy Cookers' by the Germans because of how they exploded.

"After a while we began to work like machines ourselves, but you never knew when you were going to get it. You just got on with the job and tried not to think about it."

As the Germans made a fighting retreat through Europe, Mr James' unit was bivouacked in a wood and having breakfast when pandemonium broke out.

They had to re-supply Sixth Airborne, which involved crossing a bridge.

"We were attacked by an SS unit and the next thing I knew guns were firing off and 33 of our wagons were in flames.

"We took a pasting but we did stop them getting to the bridge. Being confronted by the SS is a pretty terrifying experience."

But even the tenacious SS and skill and courage of the Wehrmacht were unable to staunch the flow of Allied men and armour.

After going through Belgium and Holland, Mr James was in Bremerhaven, North Germany.

"I was getting ready to supply the tanks as usual when somebody shouted 'Don't bother. The war's over!’ "I shouted back not to be so daft but they were right."

He returned to Wales and Lysaght's before later going to Alcan in Rogerstone.

He retired from the Family Loaf bakery where he worked for 15 years.

The fellowship of his veterans' society is nowadays Mr James' main form of relaxation. He attends regimental functions and has returned to the D-Day beaches to pay homage to the fallen.

Meeting the girl who was to become his wife and being called up for war - all in virtually the same instant - has imprinted September 3, 1939 on Mr James' memory.

The couple had five children, 5 great-grandchildren and seven great-great grandchildren: "Like any other couples we had our arguments," Mr James smiles: "But it was nothing like having to fight the SS before breakfast!"