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For the soldiers, the heroes’ welcome they received that day was unforgettable, though tinged with the realization that they still had a job to do. Ted Mordecai would have relished the mugs of beer that a joyful innkeeper was handing out but he was ordered to refuse and settle for a cup of ersatz coffee instead. A clear head was needed for the march to Arnhem. But this was still a moment to savour. A soldier bent down and beckoned Anje to come up and sit on top of his tank. Embarrassed and shy though she was, she did. ‘We all shout and dance and we are so gay, all of us. A woman is running backwards and forwards getting the signatures of all the English soldiers for her guest book. She takes pictures of everybody. A friend of my mother’s comes along, her arms full of orange flags, which she distributes to us, and we wave them and laugh and are so happy. But still …’ She could hear shooting, some of it quite close. Ignore it, she told herself. ‘We don’t think about taking cover or going away. Why should we? The jubilation grows and grows.’ For now, the Oosterbeekers could sleep easily, for the first time in four years, ‘calmly and quietly and without apprehension’, as Kate ter Horst put it. In her house the secret trapdoor to a hiding place did not have to be left open, ready for a hasty retreat. ‘No raids to fear. We need not sleep with half an ear open for the ring at the door. Tonight my husband is safe. There are no Huns any more.’

No Huns any more? That was not Andy Milbourne’s experience as he tried to make progress towards Arnhem through the woods and country roads north of Oosterbeek. Things hadn’t got much better since he had fled from some unexpected and frighteningly accurate machine-gun fire on the edge of the landing zone. Now more machine-gun nests and hidden snipers were blocking the way forward. The airborne battalions had a number of designated routes into Arnhem but some were proving far from easy to progress along. What had begun as a confident march to a quick victory was, for the likes of Milbourne, turning into a crawl, down on the ground ‘Indian style and cursing furiously at the grenades and other implements of war hanging from my belt and digging into my flesh’. It was all he could do to erect the tripod he was dragging behind him, clamp the legs tight and mount his machine gun. He let off a burst of bullets – ‘my first at Arnhem’ – and ducked as it was returned, with interest. ‘The very blades of grass were being nipped in two.’ He gave the rest of the platoon covering fire as it charged and silenced the enemy gun.

But this was just one obstacle of many in their way. It was becoming evident that virtually every bush and clump of trees would have to be cleared – and all the time the minutes were ticking away if they were to get even close to Arnhem and their objective. Success in this operation had always depended on everything going like clockwork. There was little margin for error. Yet right from the start it was going wrong. They were also taking casualties. He saw two medics bending over the body of ‘one of our boys’ prone in the middle of a crossroads. He was beyond help, and all they could do was remove his ID tag and leave the body. As dusk fell, the fighting in those nightmarish woods continued, getting fiercer all the time. ‘Groans and shrieks of pain filled the air. Everywhere we turned or moved, we were swept with a withering fire. Dead lay all around, wounded were crying for water. As best we could we attended to the wounded, at the same time pumping everything we had into a determined and reckless foe.’ Nor were the Germans simply digging in and defending what they held. They were also coming out aggressively on the attack. ‘Time and again they overran our positions and had to be driven out with bayonets.’ His gun got so hot that he burnt himself when his bare flesh accidentally touched it.

Fred Moore’s progress was less bloody but just as slow. Fits and starts. Taking cover. The sound of furious gun battles ahead. ‘This was not according to plan.’ He looked at his watch and realized they were already behind schedule. ‘We should by now be advancing rapidly through the outskirts of Arnhem and joining up with the other battalions as we neared the objective.’ Instead they were stuck in the woods – and woods, moreover, in which there was no clear battlefront but different bodies of men, some German, some British, moving uncertainly through the darkness. He saw and heard the enemy in the undergrowth to his left, but made the wise decision to let them go. To engage them would sacrifice precious time and lives – the two elements on which the Battle of Arnhem, now beginning to be fought in real earnest, would pivot.