My late Great-Grandfather fought at Juno at the ripe young age of 19. He was part of the Queens Own Rifles of Canada that landed at Bernienes on the morning of June 6.
He shared a bit of his tales as I got older and before he passed. Their section of the beach primarily was left undented from the pre-landing bombardment. He told me that he was the fifth man out of his landing craft, with the first two comrades getting hit immediately as the ramp went down, the other two in front maybe only made it a few feet out of the craft before they too were hit.
Kind of lucky and eery in a way, but he told me with such a dead stare that the only reason he didn’t get hit in that moment was due to him tripping over his dead friends in front of him. In his words, “I somehow made it off that beach and into the town without a scratch”
He was good man. Was later wounded in Holland and spent the final months of the war in a hospital in England. He returned home, raised a family, and a successful in the concrete industry in the Toronto area for most of his life.
Today I remember his sacrifice.