The Longest Day

In 1994 when my daughter Natasha was almost sixteen she wanted to study French in summer school- in France.  So her school made the arrangements.  For seven weeks she would live with a local family while she took classes en francais at l’ Universitè de Caen.

And when she was finished with academia she would have a chance to travel to beautiful places in the Loire valley and end up Paris.

It was going to be la vie en rose and I was very excited for her.  It all sounded so ooh la la and glamorous.  But there was something about the city of Caen that rang a bell.  The name nagged at my memory.

Caen? Caen?  Why did that name sound so familiar?  I knew about tripe a la mode de Caen.  (A delicacy I assiduously avoided all throughout my own Gallic travels.)  And I recalled the famous marble that came from that region.  But there was something else…

And then it hit me.

The city of Caen is in Normandy- only eight miles from the beach.

Fifty years to the day, Natasha was headed right into D-Day.

Caen was located right between Juno and Sword beaches.  During the invasion on June 6, 1944, these beaches were primarily stormed and ultimately taken by British and Canadian troops.

Under the command of British Field Marchall Sir Bernard Montgomery the Allied troops marched and fought their way the entire eight miles inland to seize the then German-occupied town.  And it took them almost six bloody weeks to go those eight miles.

By the time they got there, the town had been smashed to smithereens by Allied bombing raids.  Caen was a smoldering ruin.

And today, as I think about my daughter’s long-ago summer trip into that rebuilt city, I can’t help thinking about all those other kids who went to Normandy fifty summers before her.

There was a lot of blood spilled in that effort known as D-Day.  Thousands of Allied soldiers were killed, wounded or reported missing in action in what was the largest military invasion in history.

Boys not much older than Natasha fought on that same beach where she later suntanned. So many died so she could go to summer school in peace.

And, at the end of her summer sojourn, my child came home.  So many other mothers’ children didn’t.

Supreme Allied Commander General Dwight D. Eisenhower led Operation Overlord- the invasion of Normandy.  Before it began, he spoke to his troops.

“You are about to embark upon the greatest crusade toward which we have striven these many months.  The eyes of the world are upon you…” he said.

Sixty-nine years later, those eyes have grown old and dim.  So many of our D-Day veterans are now gone to their rest.

So to all of those young boys who went so bravely to Caen before, on this anniversary let me add a mother’s heartfelt thanks.

Natasha’s D-Day summer was a thrilling adventure.  And she couldn’t have done it without all of you.

Let Freedom ring.