The moment the sun sets over the English Channel at Bernières-sur-Mer, they start toward the cool water: hundreds of French locals, many with their pant legs rolled up, most with flowers in their hands.
At this ceremony – largely advertised by word-of-mouth in neighbouring villages – French residents plunge in, some to their waists, and cast their blooms into the water in memory of the Canadian men who, 80 years ago, emerged from these waves to liberate their towns.
Roses, poppies and daisies ride the swells to the sound of bagpipes, the sombre tones bouncing off the façade of the first building in Normandy liberated by Canadian troops: Canada House. It has been draped with Canadian and regimental flags.
For many, it’s a solemn and thoughtful close to the weeks of celebration that overtake Normandy every year in June. Mayors, police officers and children are among those this year enduring the cold to pay their respects.
In her hands, Josette Au Petit holds an empty basket, just a few orphaned petals in the bottom. Earlier today, she cut all the flowers from her garden nearby to hand out to attendees – 30 or 40 blooms, she says. “I’ve never seen so many people.”
Nicole Thorel lives nearby. She has never been to Canada but on this night, each one of her family members has brought a sunflower. “Canadians helped us when we needed you,” she says, voice shaking. “We do this to thank you.”
Canadians are here, too. Mingled in the crowd are 70 members of the Queen’s Own Rifles, the Toronto regiment that was the first Canadian group to land on the beaches at Bernières-sur-Mer on June 6, 1944.
Their black uniforms stand out against the pale sand as they, too, unlace their shiny shoes and stride into the water in memory of the 61 Riflemen killed on this beach 80 years ago. Many have tears in their eyes.
“Stepping on the beach, smelling the air, it’s emotional,” says Master Corporal Thomas Lee, an active infantry reservist. “It’s an immense honour to be here.”
Pascale Fournier has come from Quebec City to ensure Canada’s contribution isn’t forgotten. He stands on the wet sand strewn with shells and seaweed in a uniform of Le Régiment de la Chaudière, which fought here on D-Day.
He points up toward the shore town, 50 metres from the water. “There, and there, and there,” he points. “Imagine those are German gun emplacements, and they’re shooting at you. And you’re told to run right at them.”
He looks around and takes a deep breath. “That’s what they endured. You don’t get more real than this.”