It is hard to imagine. As I walk out onto the sand expanse of Juno Beach in Normandy, I feel like I am treading on hallowed ground, greeted not only by the tranquil beauty of this coastline but also by the poignant echoes of history. The ocean is calm today, small waves curl softly on the gently sloping shore.
This was not the case in the early morning hours of June 6, 1944, when 14,000 Canadian troops stormed this 10-kilometre stretch of sand, part of a D-Day landing force of more than 156,000 Allied soldiers. I shut my eyes and I try to get a sense of the sounds of that day – of aircraft overhead, bombs exploding, the crashing waves, landing craft dropping their doors, men jumping into the surf, bullets whizzing by, the cries of men. This peaceful setting would have been a whirlwind of chaos.
On that “Longest Day,” the Canadians would suffer 1,074 casualties, including 359 killed. In all, the battle of Normandy would claim more than 5,000 Canadian lives. The Germans knew they were coming.
The Normandy invasion was launched earlier at the American landing beaches to the west but the Canadians assigned to take Juno Beach and the harbour town of Bernières-sur-Mer had to wait for a rising tide to get across offshore shoals. They faced a beachfront well-fortified by German machine gun posts and gun batteries. Despite dreadful casualties during the first wave, the Canadians succeeded.
I feel a little sheepish. My own journey to Normandy has been a whole lot easier. My pil.