Friday 5 June 2009

65 years ago tonight thousands of young men massed in boats and landing craft off the shores of northern France for what was to become known as D-Day. This was to be the last throw of the dice, the last gamble of men and materiel on which the future of Europe would depend.

Over the years I have met some of those who were there at the time. There was Jim, who went ashore on Sword beach, but did not want to talk about it. There was John, who was not able to talk about it. And there was Len, who would tell you with a twinkle in his eye his tales of being becalmed off the shores of the Isle of Wight with his mobile press on which orders were to be printed. The wind eventually changed, and he and his bulky machinery arrived on D-Day plus 2.

For those of us who were not there, it's easy to glamorise these deeds of derring-do. We look only at the outcome, and forget the cost. Many years ago I visited a war cemetery in Normandy on a perfect summer's evening, as the sun was beginning to sink into the sky and casting long shadows from the granite gravestones. As I walked between the rows, I found tears rolling down my cheeks as I read the dates: 6th of June, 6th of June, 6th of June - over and over again. So many young lives snuffed out in just one day.

Not far from the cemetery there were children playing on the beach. They were kicking a ball to each other and squealing, as children do. Further on, a young couple were having a romantic evening walk, hand-in-hand. All of which seemed particularly fitting. After all, the battle was fought so that simple freedoms and innocent evenings on the beach could be enjoyed for generations to come.

Freedoms never come cheap though, do they? As a Christian I am signed up to follow Jesus, the man who said that there is no greater love than this "that a man should lay down his life for his friends". Tonight I am grateful to everyone who laid down his life for me, and I'll do my best to savour the freedom they bought.