I’VE had a chequered career (which means you pick up cheques wherever you can) and I’ve never been too fussy about who was funding my slacker lifestyle – hey, that’s how I got involved with The National in the first place. But long before I did, I fell into the semi-employ of a production company specialising in historical documentaries. As part of this ragtag group of dedicated imbibers stationed above a bar in Newington, we tried to convince Polygram, PBS, TimeLife, Discovery and the History channel that we could supply them with TV programmes. Incredibly, they believed us.

Among the extensive Second World War archive we were challenged to edit and repackage for a 1990s audience was footage of the Normandy landings, a major turning point in the war. The original footage was silent but the reality of the landings was far from it, and as I discovered recently, that wasn’t only due to the general chaos of war. There was a piper present.

Bagpipes were always used as a battle instrument and if you’ve ever been shut in a room with them you’ll understand why. After the First World War, the British Army had them banished from the battlefield, but when it came to D-Day, Lord Lovat, commander of the 1st Special Service Brigade, and himself a Scot, said he wouldn’t be having any of that British nonsense (I’m paraphrasing) and insisted on bringing along his personal piper.

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It followed that the only kilted man to arrive on Sword Beach on June 6, 1944, was 21-year-old Private William Millin from Shettleston, Glasgow, unarmed except for pipes and a traditional sgian-dubh tucked into his stocking. It’s hard to imagine the courage it must have taken to fire up Hielan’ Laddie and The Road To The Isles in the midst of the largest seaborne invasion in history, but “Piper Bill” as he was known did just that. “People were dying around him,” said one veteran, “and he was in the most alarming situation, so he must have been a very cool young fellow.”

The unit advanced from Sword to Pegasus Bridge where they came under heavy sniper fire. Once again, Lord Lovat ordered his piper to lead the men across. Millin duly obliged and 12 of his comrades were killed in the process. He said later: “It seemed like a very long bridge.”

Incredibly, he was not injured during these horrific events, and later, captured German snipers said they had not shot at him because they thought he was mad. But it wasn’t madness, it was a determination to inspire and motivate those around him and remind them of what they were fighting for back home. He wanted them to feel pride.

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After the war, Millin became a registered psychiatric nurse in Glasgow and over the following decades made several returns to Normandy. Following his death at the age of 88, a statue of “Piper Bill Millin” was erected near Sword Beach in 2013. His son John piped at the unveiling.

Coming from a generation which was spared the call to defend their country, I find this story almost impossible to comprehend. How would I have coped in these circumstances? I replayed the Normandy landings footage on YouTube, turned off the audio – commentary with added sound effects – and imagined the skirl of bagpipes. You should try it.