I have intended, for some time now, to put down in writing my overwhelming gratitude for the experiences I had with my dad, Neil, and brother, Sean, on our trip to France in April. Perhaps you remember me talking about our “classic father/brother trip to Paris” Spring break getaway that every young girl takes. Whenever this trip comes up in conversation with a stranger – my hairdresser, for example, or the TD customer service lady who I warned not to cancel my VISA if she saw a troubling amount of patisserie charges – I received the “Oooooh, city of love – who are you going with?” question. I was happy to answer, “Oh, you know, my dad and brother”, and watch for that split second of surprise. But the response was always positive. “You know, that’s really sweet, actually.”

And it was sweet. When I got home, I have to admit I had a bit of separation anxiety after spending every moment with them for ten days – and, trust me, they were jam packed days. We were lucky to have a thorough itinerary mapped out for us by Neil. My dad is the kind of person who not only never gets tired of learning, but is able to RETAIN all of the learning. Sean and I would often (too often) tease him about how incredible it is that he can go from talking about the siege of William the Conqueror’s uncle’s castle to what kind of tunneling systems were used in the trenches of World War I. “How could you possibly know that?!” we’d ask. On one such occasion, fed up with our praise, or perhaps just us, he said, “Oh please, for someone who really knows about these things, I’m just a chump”. I wonder what that makes Sean and me.

Our days would usually start at the crack of dawn because Neil was impatient to start the learning. “No rush!”, he’d say. “But I’m just going to take a walk around the block while you two get ready. I’m totally easy about take off time.” This was less than truthful. On one particularly early morning in Normandy, while Sean and I were snug in our beds, Dad discovered The Bayeux Commonwealth War Cemetery by chance, took a full measure of everything it contained and was excited to share his findings, all before 8 am. He’s the only person we know who will say he’s just getting fresh air and then return to our sleepy faces with a new and even more fully enriched understanding of World War II.

The Bayeux cemetery memorializes the nearly 2,000 Commonwealth soldiers who have no known grave after dying in the Battle of Normandy. On the cemetery’s memorial is marked a poignant Latin phrase that encapsulates the complicated millennial-long relationship between Britain and France: “We, once conquered by William, have now set free the Conqueror’s native land.”

The Bayeux Commonwealth War Cemetery Memorial.

So, to be fair, Dad did make a great discovery. It was one of the thousand findings that he contributed to our trip, while ensuring that we covered as much ground as possible during our coveted time there. The reason for our visit to France, to begin with, was to visit the gravesite of my dad’s Uncle Kenny, who was killed at the age of 21 during the Battle of Normandy in 1944. He is buried in a beautiful cemetery just outside of Caen, surrounded by vibrant yellow canola fields.

Kenneth Murphy enlisted in the XII Manitoba Dragoons after hearing that his older brother Billy was MIA. Billy was part of the RCAF and, though his family didn’t know it at the time of Kenny’s enlisting, Billy’s plane was shot down near the Dutch coast in January 1943. It was his crew’s first mission. Both boys never returned to their Albertan farm, their parents, or their four adoring sisters, Mil, Theresa, Maynie (my Grandmother), Pat and their little brother Tom. Many members of the extended Murphy family have made the trip to Kenny’s grave, including my Grandma several decades ago.

Bretteville-sur-Laize Canadian War Cemetery.

There was something comforting in the way such care was taken to create a serene space for the soldiers’ resting places. Every cemetery we visited had fresh flowers planted at each grave, or small wooden crosses with poppies made by French schoolchildren. We would watch as men on lawn mowers weaved their way along the stones on sunny weekday mornings. Looking through the guest book at Kenny’s cemetery, we saw notes of love from people all over the world, at least one message for every day of the week. We signed our note of thanks from the Hills and Murphys.

Over the next little while I hope to write more about all the main sites we visited, including Beaumont-Hamel, Vimy Ridge, Dieppe, Omaha and Juno Beach. I also plan to highlight some interesting facts I learned while Sean led us on his private tours of the Musée d’Orsay and the Palace of Versailles. Enlightening. Did you know, for instance, that our cousin Rob painted one of the ornately decorated palace ceilings using, and I quote, “only one colour. And NO ladder”?