The beaches of Juno Beach, Normandy stretch for many kilometres across the northern coast of France. Miles away, across the Channel, is the southern coast of England. The beaches are calm and quiet on these cool September mornings, glassy seas lapping on seaweed-littered sand.
Standing on those quiet beaches, thinking back to what it must have been like for the thousands of soldiers, sailors, and airmen who had trained for many months in 1943/44 for D-Day – the invasion of Europe by the Allied forces – was a very moving experience. We thought of Bob’s uncles, Tom and Dave, who were there during those years. Dave was eighteen, Tom was twenty, when they enlisted voluntarily in the Canadian army, as did all of Canada’s troops until the very last stages of the war. Thinking of them, I thought about my own boys at eighteen. Yes, they were tall and strong, their voices had deepened, they had even started to shave, but neither they nor any of their friends could have rightfully been called “men” at that age. They were kids.
Row upon row of crosses in the war cemeteries throughout Europe bear witness to the fact that the two great wars of the twentieth century were fought on the ground, in the air, and at sea, mostly by boys younger than twenty. We must remember that this was true of the German forces, too. Their teenage soldiers and ours, who had to grow up in a big hurry, were fighting for causes that they may have fervently believed in, but probably did not fully understand.
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Bob’s Uncle Tom had trained for many months to be part of the Canadian assault forces that landed at Juno Beach on June 6, 1944, but by sheer luck and the vagaries of war, he missed it by a day. His brigade was delayed due to a shortage of ammunition and supplies, and this probably saved his life. He landed on the beach on June 7, a day late, driving a truck off a massive landing craft. His job that day was to pick up the bodies, the casualties of the day before. He was a member of The Queen’s Own Rifles, which suffered 143 casualties that day. Both Tom and Dave survived the war and came home.
Today, the scars of the battle and the ruins of the German defence system can still be seen at Juno Beach. There are bunkers, observation posts, tobruks (metal structures housing machine guns), and tetrahedrons, rusting but still in place. Canadian university students, who go over for a four or six-month term, staff the museum there. They offer guided tours of the bunkers, and are wonderfully knowledgeable and engaging.
A lifetime of Remembrance Days, with special church services, special school assemblies, flag waving, poppy wearing, wreath-laying, trumpet playing, veterans telling their stories, two-minute silences – does not equal the impact of standing on those beaches where it actually happened. Walking on Juno Beach – and Sword and Gold Beaches (British), and Omaha Beach, and Utah Beach (American) – visiting the memorials, the ruins, the museums, watching the grainy footage of events as they took place, movies that were continually playing in all the museums – all I could think of was, “How could this have happened? How could the nations of the world have allowed it to happen, not once but twice in the same century?” The total number of casualties in the Second World War, worldwide, is estimated to be 70 to 85 million men, women, and children.
With bowed heads and gratitude in our hearts, let us remember them. May they rest in peace.
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