This past summer, I travelled to France. While there, I took a trip with some friends to Juno Beach in Normandy, the spot where Canadian soldiers landed on D-Day. It was not at all what I expected.
I grew up looking at pictures in history books: black and white photos of dark, blustery beaches and men in uniforms storming the shore from ships with guns, trucks and tanks; young men carrying other broken men with bandages and wounds.
They were photos full of fear, sadness, pain and death. When that is all you've seen, that is, in a sense, what you are prepared to see.
We walked along a boardwalk out to the beach.
Pale green sea grass and tiny yellow flowers covered rolling sand dunes. We came out on to a beach that seemed to stretch forever. Cliffs off in the distance made for picturesque scenery. We sat on the warm sand and ate a picnic lunch. I walked along the beach and collected shells while a crazy woman swam laps back and forth against the waves.
Walking back towards the banks from the beach, I realized the sand dunes cover the backs of bunkers, which open up to the sea.
Wild blackberry bushes are slowly devouring them, but they are still there because no one wants to forget. We explored one of the bunkers left open for tourists and then, before leaving, we stopped off at the visitors centre so I could find a postcard with a Ken Bell photograph to send home to my Dad.
It was a lovely way to spend a day. I know this is not what soldiers experienced when they visited the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. To those soldiers, I send out a thank you. Thank you for making it possible for the rest of us to experience the beautiful beaches of Normandy this way. I will not forget my visit there, and the French have not forgotten yours. I have never seen so many Canadian flags hung from the eaves of houses and shops as I did in Normandy. They love us there, because of you.
