A Soldier’s Reflection in France, by Lacey Zukewich

Posted on by CBF Students - Étudiants FCCB

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I am very proud to be Canadian, and especially proud to be a serving member of the Canadian Forces. When I first discovered that I had been selected to attend this scholarship study tour, I was filled with excitement and joy. I would finally be able to visit the area where my own grandfather fought, and where thousands of my fallen comrades paid the ultimate price for my freedom.

I was not expecting to feel any sorrow. In fact, as soon as I stepped off the plane and my feet touched the French soil, I felt my chest expand with pride. I felt honored to be gracing the same earth as those soldiers who came and went before me. Joining the military is not for everyone. There is a reason why hardly any young Canadians chose to join these days – and that is because it is the most challenging thing you will ever do in your life. It can break you just as easily as it can build you up. You will do things you never ever thought were possible. You will fail in epic proportions, only to be lifted up by your brothers and sisters in arms, who really become your family. You will never feel as true a love, as you do when you realize that you would take a bullet for any one of your section mates and wholeheartedly lay down your life for your friend and for your country, if it was asked of you.

This overwhelming sense of pride and honor carried me through the first few days of the tour, preventing me from recognizing the slow encroaching pain and sorrow I was inevitably going to feel. When I first laid eyes on the French cemetery outside of Arras, I felt as though I had been kicked in the stomach by a horse. My initial reaction was pure anger and disbelief. I literally stormed around the entire cemetery, unable to take in the sheer number of graves. I descended slowly into a state of depression, thinking about my own home unit and the guys I have grown up and trained with. Imagining all of us, in a matter of minutes being slaughtered on these slopes was almost too much to bear. I am not a religious person by any means, but I found myself in a very odd spiritual state – cursing the extreme loss of life and praying for all of the souls, especially those in the mass graves, of the fallen men. Many of them were my age or younger. They never got a shot to grow up, go to school, find someone to love, get married, have children. Life was stolen from them. The finality of death was suffocating.

I haven’t felt pain like that in a long time. It brought back the persistent ache of loss of losing close friends and family in Afghanistan. I was completely overwhelmed and taken off guard, and was extremely embarrassed that I was having such difficulty reigning in my emotions, especially as a soldier. Thank god for Bruce Moncur, a fellow study tour participant and Canadian soldier. While I cannot recount in this blog post the words that were shared between us, as they are personal and belong only in that space and time, I can say that having a fellow Canadian soldier to talk to about my anger, frustration and pain was exactly what I needed. Thank you Bruce, first and foremost for your service to my country, and second for being the best friend a soldier could ask for.

Of course, there is so much more to share, but to be frank, I just don’t even know where to begin – I think I need some more time to process everything I have seen and experienced before publically reflecting on it. What I can share is that this battlefield tour has invigorated me to continue to pursue excellence in my military career, as well as my personal civilian life. As an intelligence operator, it is my job to “clear the fog of battle.” To provide essential and timely information and analysis to the commander so that he can make the best, most informed decisions for the troops on the ground. Mistakes are not allowed. Mistakes cost lives. In both the first and second World Wars, the fog of battle was thick and unforgiving. However, we as a trade have learned from those terrible losses and resounding victories – and are determined to use that knowledge to better serve our combat arms.

No one is perfect – but I can sure as hell strive to be, every second of everyday. I owe it to those who died so that I may live, to serve my country to the best of my ability. And when I feel tired and defeated, I will remember the age-old army saying “there’s plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead.” To the thousands of young men buried in the French soil, it is your time to rest. Rest in peace, perfect peace.

Editor’s note: Lacey Zukewich is pictured above with the memorial to Major John Howard, VC, near Pegasus Bridge.

A Commitment to Remember, by Eric de Kroon

Posted on by CBF Students - Étudiants FCCB

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Late in the afternoon of 6 June 2013 I was standing in the centre of Beny-Sur-Mer Canadian Cemetery. The sun was warm on my face and a cool breeze, which rustled through the leaves of the nearby maple trees, tugged at my hair. Despite the day’s beauty and tranquility, my mind was divided and confused by the emotions I was experiencing.

Standing amongst the graves of approximately three thousand Canadians, men who had died during the D-Day bridgehead battles, I felt a profound sense of sorrow. Reading the names on the stones, the ages of those who had died, and the personal epitaphs chosen by family and friends I felt incredibly sad. I realized that too many of those buried had died as young men, barely adults, and that they had lived lives as individual and precious to them as mine is to me. They had loved and had been loved. I wish I could have known each and every one of them, but I can’t. My only consolation is the hope that perhaps they have found some sense of everlasting peace.

Despite these somber thoughts, I was simultaneously struck by feelings of honour, duty, and pride, which became indistinguishable from one another in my mind. I was at Beny-Sur-Mer, along with fellow members of the study tour, to attend the annual commemoration of the D-Day landings, which took place sixty-nine years ago. Like the commemorative ceremonies we had attended earlier in the day along Juno Beach, I expected to be no more than an observer for the one at Beny-Sur-Mer. I was wrong. Prior to entering the cemetery, I was approached and asked if I would read the Commitment to Remembrance. It was an incredible, though quite unexpected, honour. When my turn to speak during the ceremony came, I said the following words:

They were young, as we are young,
They served, giving freely of themselves.
To them, we pledge, amid the winds of time,
To carry their torch and never forget.
We will remember them.

For me, speaking those words before the living and the dead, meant I had made a binding promise. I committed myself to remember and never forget those who lived, endured, and died while serving under Canada’s name. This duty I have voluntarily undertaken is immense and requires nothing less than devotion. I have become responsible for a memory which, although immaterial and intangible, must be shared so that it might transcend time and place. Where artifacts and relics fade and disintegrate, remembrance could last forever.

As I write this blog and think about the Commitment to Remembrance, I can’t help but recall something I was told earlier in the day by a veteran. The moment happened just outside a restaurant in Bayeux, where members of the tour group, including myself, were enjoying our mid-day dinner. We were seated outside enjoying the sunshine and delicious French food. Just a few tables away sat a veteran who, like me, was enjoying a light lunch with his traveling companions. When the veteran had finished his meal and stood up to leave I, not willing to miss the opportunity to thank a Commonwealth veteran of World War II, approached him and, while shaking his hand, I thanked him for his service.

The veteran asked in a British accent if we, referring to the people I was seated with, were Canadian. I said yes. He asked if we had been to Beny-Sur-Mer yet. Unsure if he was referring to the town situated on the coast in the Juno Beach sector or the cemetery, I replied that we were going to the cemetery that afternoon. Then the veteran peered into my eyes, his own were blue and red rimmed, and, while grasping my hand, he said: “Be Proud of Them, Be Proud of Them.” After explaining that he was at Juno Beach on the 6 June 1944, the veteran turned and walked away.

The veteran’s words can be interpreted in many different ways. Without a doubt I am proud of the military service rendered by Canadian men and women throughout Canada’s history. Yet, I also think that the veteran’s words are intimately tied to remembrance. To be proud of something necessarily demands we remember it. Being proud of something and remembering it acknowledges that that thing holds some form of significance. The sacrifice of Canadians, no matter the conflict, is not insignificant. It deserves to be proudly remembered. Today, I made a commitment to never forget. Will you?

Editor’s note (by Graham Broad.)  There were three “Eric’s” on this year’s tour. Each rapidly acquired a nickname to distinguish one from another. Eric de Kroon was dubbed “Eric the Wise” on the second day. Having read this post, you can see why.  GB

Experiencing Dieppe, by David Suatac

Posted on by CBF Students - Étudiants FCCB

Today was the second and final day dedicated to Operation Jubilee, the August 19th, 1942 Canadian raid on the French port of Dieppe. In the morning we visited the beach at Pourville where the South Saskatchewan Regiment and Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders disembarked. Although operations went slightly better here compared to the rest of the sector, both regiments ended up having to retreat. By that time, the operational failure of Dieppe had been so drilled into the soldiers’ heads that this particular defeat did not stand out.

What did stand out, however, was our next stop.

The Dieppe Canadian Cemetery was one of the most emotional parts of the tour for all of us. In the vast majority of cemeteries, the dates inscribed on the graves vary widely. It is a poignant testament to the calamitous events of that day that nearly every headstone sported the same date. The human loss was further exemplified by three excellent presentations. I often marvel at what my fellow students were able to uncover about their chosen soldier and how powerful it can be to bring them to life once again in the act of remembrance. The realization that I could research and resurrect any one of those soldiers at that cemetery was especially profound. It adds a whole new dimension to the discipline.

Katie Domansky giving her soldier presentaiton.

Katie Domansky giving her soldier presentaiton.

I have also noticed that we go through many emotions during student presentations about fallen soldiers. When I presented my soldier, however, I experienced an unexpected one: pride. As I discovered his life’s story the sadness of his passing receded from my mind and I could not help but become engulfed in the extraordinary accomplishments of an ordinary individual thrust into a difficult situation. I was enthralled by his bravery and his devotion to his family. He was a good man and I was proud to play a role in keeping his character alive. Now it is up to us to keep all of them in our thoughts and in our hearts.

I read an excellent epitaph on the base of a grave in that cemetery: “We all loved him. We still do.”

Indeed, truer words have never been written.

Knowing Your Limits, by Colleen Molloy

Posted on by CBF Students - Étudiants FCCB

As the tour goes on, I am continually amazed by all that we have done, seen, and talked about. For me, I have most enjoyed my fellow participants’ soldier presentations. I have been absolutely blown away by the amount of dedication and research my travel companions have put into them and they have made me both proud and grateful to be a part of this tour. They’ve shared stories of soldiers that I would probably never have had the chance to hear about and have taught me lessons that no history textbook or university lecture could ever convey. So, to you all, I give my wholehearted thanks for making this trip so special and memorable.

Colleen Molloy at Vimy

The more I learn though, the more I am reminded of how much I can never fully understand about the World Wars and the men who fought in them, no matter how much I study or how detailed the soldier presentations are. When I reflect on my own presentation, I realize how much I struggled to recreate the life of my own soldier, Robert Galloway. He was only 18 years-old when he enlisted and 19 when he died. How was I supposed to know who he was when maybe he hadn’t had enough time on this earth to figure it out? I realize now the immense divide that exists between me and the soldiers of the World Wars. No matter how much we uncover, there is really only so close we can get to them, because they remain untouchable in more ways than one. They not only lived in a different time, but they made choices and sacrifices that in 2013, seem inconceivable. These soldiers left their families and their homes in Canada to fight a war thousands of miles away. Some were older when they left and some were very young, but no matter their age, they put their lives on the line to ensure that we could have a future, even if they didn’t know it at the time. It is hard to understand what this felt like and even harder to know how we could ever appropriately thank and commemorate them. However, my companions have shown me that with a little determination and a strong understanding of the historian’s craft, we can gain a glimpse into who these soldiers were and what their war experiences were like. Letters, personal files, and pictures can serve as a window into these men’s lives and, perhaps for many, the most significant thing they ever did: serve their country.

Another aspect of the tour that has struck me is the enhanced perspective that is gained by walking the land and trying to retrace the soldiers’ footsteps. Upon arrival in Dieppe, we visited Blue Beach (Puys) which was a part of Operation Jubilee. Although it is a peaceful and quaint city now, in 1942 it was the scene of a Canadian raid which was accompanied by heavy casualties. Of the 6000 soldiers who left the English Coast, 5000 were Canadian, making Dieppe one of Canada’s first significant contributions to the Second World War. The landing on Dieppe was the only large scale assault on the coast of German occupied France prior to the Allied landing on Normandy. At the time, the belief was that a seaside assault would allow the Allies to test the feasibility of seizing a harbor. Of the 554 men who left for Blue Beach, only 65 made it through, a toll that unfortunately seems fitting given the immense challenges facing the soldiers. They arrived 35 minutes late, losing the element of surprise. Many destroyers were ruined before they could even make it out of the water and a tall seawall topped with barbed wire greeted the men who did manage to make it ashore. Now, I certainly don’t need to visit Dieppe to learn these facts because I can get this information from a good history textbook. However, the latter will not accurately convey to me the unpleasant feeling of the rocks against your feet as you stand there, looking up at a massive seawall trying to understand how these men made it into the city. As we explored the beach, many of us struggled over the rocks, slipping and getting our feet caught and we only had our backpacks and cameras to carry. In 1942, Canadian soldiers would have been fully equipped, trying to coordinate an attack in an area that gave them every disadvantage. Again, although I can never know what it felt like to be there, the land conveys, without any need for words or explanations, how incredibly difficult the task of a Canadian soldier was on August 19, 1942.