Normandy sunrise

I’ve been to Normandy many times but today was the first time I had stood on a deserted Omaha beach at sunrise and wept.

The day was going to be busy. There was a lot to fit in. I had a group of high school students with me. We were going to “do” Omaha beach , the cemetery, the Pointe du hoc and then hot foot it to the Mont St Michel.

I hadn’t expected that moment on the beach to be quite so special. Perhaps of all my visits, the most moving, the one where I felt an almost overwhelming connection to the men lying in the cemetery on the cliffs above.

The students, all boys, were around 17 or 18 years old, a “band of brothers”. Noisily, we got off the bus but as we walked down onto the beach each boy fell quiet, each one looked out to sea, each one moved away from the group into their own space. There was complete silence. I looked at the boys and was overwhelmed by the sight of these American lads standing on the beach quietly searching the horizon, quietly coming to terms with what it means to sacrifice a young life for country, for others, for freedom. I turned away tears in my eyes and looked down the beach almost seeing other young American boys from another time racing across the sands, running for their lives.

The beach was still, the waves lapped gently onto the rippled sand, the sun came up, it was beautiful and peaceful. One boy picked up a stone and threw it into the sea. Immediately the spell was broken, a bunch of young boys began to play on a beach, running, jostling, shouting, goofing around.

The boys in the cemetery above us had not died in vain.

This generation was free to be young and carefree on a beach in a place called Normandy in a country called France.

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