Unlike that death-ridden June day in 1944, when thousands offered their lives for world peace, the sun shone brightly yesterday as war veterans and their families took their places in the Anglican Cathedral to remember those who participated in Operation Overlord.

Who knows what mixture of memories went through their minds as they sat quietly in the front pews, medals gleaming on their aging chests. Perhaps it was the words of the English poet Laurence Binyon: "They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them.'' As indeed did the men and women from all walks of life who filled the central pews from east to west, among them the Speaker and the deputy speaker of the House of Assembly, the Minister of Tourism, accountants, widows, businessmen, secretaries, clergy, visitors, young mothers -- all drawn to the gothic precincts to commemorate those who gave them peace.

Some were dressed in suits and regimental ties, many wore the telltale gear of the retired -- casual shirts, shorts or slacks and sports shoes -- while vacationers carried the distinctive whiff of sunscreen lotion on milk-white limbs jutting from cut-off jeans and tropical shirts. Bald heads fringed with grey far outweighed the blonde and brown, spectacles proliferated, and shoulders were gently rounded. Yet, to a man, they stood proud -- and tall.

A far cry from the stench of death and cordite, the blood-soaked waters and shell-pocked sands of Normandy, these seniors joined with those too young to comprehend their pain and heroism in singing the wrenching lyrics of O God, our help in ages past and Eternal Father, strong to save. They listened thoughtfully to lessons from the books of Hebrews and Wisdom read by D-Day veterans Mr. Frank Farmer and Mr. Martin Smith, and prayed for "the brave and faithful dead, for those who mourn, who are on active duty, and for the peace of the world''.

Above the innocent mewling of an infant in its mother's arms, they heard Bishop William Down, resplendent in red and white, recall his war-torn childhood near Aldershot, Hants.

It was a service of simplicity and understatement, but touching for all that.

Oddly, there was no bugler to sound Taps, no regimental honour guard, no colour guard in the Warriors' Chapel -- none of the overt military trappings played out in other allied countries on this day.

In Bermuda, the link with Normandy -- apart from the D-Day survivors -- was more subtle. Integral in the fabric of the Cathedral is the smooth, buff stone imported from Caen -- a city flattened in the path of the advancing allied forces as they pushed inland from the beaches of hell in June, 1944.

There was symbolism too.

As the noonday sun blazed through the soaring stained glass windows behind the altar, the central figure of Christ upon the cross reminded the congregation not only of the ultimate sacrifice, but also of the hope of eternal life.

Appropriately therefore, Bermuda's tribute ended with the hymn, Mine Eyes have seen the coming of the Lord with its triumphant chorus, Glory, glory, hallelujah.