I had the privilege of visiting France in March with a group of Grade 8 students. We covered a ton of the countryside and were awed by natural landscapes, local architecture, tourist hotspots, and historical sites. This was my first trip to France and leading up to my time there I had reached out to local military museums, searched the internet, and gathered information from family records about my Grandpa’s service during World War II. Grandpa didn’t really talk about his time during the war but he wrote down that he served with the Regina Rifles, D Company and spent time in France, Belgium, Holland, and Germany.

The Regina Rifles’ efforts were significant to the success achieved on D-Day at Juno Beach. Made up of mostly young men and farmers from Saskatchewan they received the nickname The Farmer Johns. This nickname became a term of respect as their service just over 80 years ago helped to turn the tide of war.

On the night before my group visited Juno Beach my friend found a few detailed articles specific to D Company’s efforts and experiences. We poured over the journal style information and journeyed through the D Company’s 65 days following the landing at Juno Beach. What a staggering load these young men carried and the next few days felt like I was walking in their footsteps. We visited Juno Beach, explored the towns that were liberated by the Regina Rifles, and reflected on the great losses suffered in the pursuit of peace.

When you hear the stories and read of the horrors it makes sense that my Grandpa didn’t share much with his family. He made it home after over three years of service and resumed life as a farmer and rancher. Most of the stories of my Grandpa’s time during the war are because of other people’s words pieced together with a couple family memories, some jotted down service notes, and a couple soldier’s paybooks.

Eighty years prior to my time in France young men, not much older than those teens I travelled with, fought to get out of the water and take control of the beach. It was poignant to stand on Juno Beach and watch as the teens I was with ran out into the surf and explored. There was reverence but mostly a lighthearted joy in them as they played together in this historic spot. I shed tears and said my thank yous that day for my Grandpa, and the many men and women, who fought to make Juno Beach a place where teens can now play in the sand and waves.

I’m a proud Granddaughter of a Regina Rifle. I am forever grateful for the articles, museums and memorials that gave me a new vision of my Grandpa’s service. These documents and sites continue to honour the sacrifices of so many. I write these words as a small contribution to keeping these memories alive. Lest we forget.