From Paris to Paris for a journey of Remembrance

Alecia, Fred and Stephen share a moment with the generous local who became their unexpected guide through the historic sites of Normandy. His name remains unknown, but his kindness will not be forgotten.

Alecia Guevara-Matovu

Paris Independent Contributor

What began as a long-awaited family vacation to Paris, France quickly turned into something deeper - an unexpected journey of remembrance, gratitude, and connection to our Canadian past. Amid the cafés, museums, and postcard views, we felt a pull stronger than tourism: a responsibility to honour the young Canadians who crossed the ocean more than 80 years ago to liberate a land many would never return from. Visiting Normandy became the heart of our trip, one that changed us in ways no guidebook could prepare for.

Getting there, however, was not as simple as we first expected. With Air Canada on strike, our carefully laid plans nearly unraveled. With just over a week to spare, our agent secured alternative flights with Air France. We carefully planned each of our eight days, and Day 3—Monday—was meant for Normandy. Joining a tour group would mean getting up at 4 a.m. and travelling across the city to board a coach. Instead, we chose to explore on our own.

Before I go further, it's important to explain why Normandy was so significant to us. Paris is a city of magnificent urban planning, breathtaking art, and endless cultural marvels, enough to captivate any traveller for an entire trip. But our dear friends, Marie and Jim McGorman (especially Jim), speak often and emotionally about the sacrifices made by Canadian soldiers in both World Wars. Jim has personal family connections to those who served, and he is frequently moved to tears when recalling their bravery. His passion reminded us that the freedoms we enjoy today were bought with courage, youth, and unimaginable loss. For us, paying homage to our fallen soldiers simply felt right.

On most days, local buses can take you to the Canadian War Cemetery, Juno Beach, and the Canadian military museum. However, this was a Monday in August, a time when much of Europe is on vacation, making the usual travel options limited.

The day prior, at the train station, we purchased tickets after speaking (in English) with the information clerk, who directed us to Lisieux. Only later did we learn Lisieux is known for its Calvados apple liqueur, not its wartime history. A classic “lost in translation” moment! Thankfully, before disembarking, we spoke with the contrôleur, an SNCF staff member who checks train tickets. Our son Stephen, as the fluent French speaker, took the lead. After much discussion, the contrôleur informed us that we needed to get off in Caen instead, which would require an extra fare.Stephen explained that we had travelled from Canada to visit the three key historic sites. The contrôleur kindly searched on his phone and, sympathizing with our mission, warned that because it was Monday, only two buses would be running to the area. Then, with a smile, he told us his shift was ending, he lived in Caen, and he would personally drive us where we needed to go, once he stopped at home to change clothes. Without hesitation, we accepted and hopped into the car of a man whose name we still didn’t know.

It was a warm summer day. Our visit began at the Beny-sur-Mer Canadian War Cemetery, a beautiful and peaceful resting place for the young Canadians who gave their lives for a world they never had the chance to grow old in. The moment was emotional and humbling. We signed the visitor’s book of remembrance before leaving.

Next, our guide took us to Juno Beach, pointing out a German bunker embedded in the shoreline. Standing in the fine sand, he gestured toward the water, telling us the United Kingdom was just 77 km away across the Channel. As we listened, we tried to imagine how our soldiers stormed that same beach in heavy gear under fire.

We had hoped our final stop, the Juno Beach Centre, would help complete the story. However, our friend warned that if we visited the museum, we would miss the last bus and train back to Paris. We reluctantly chose to skip it, comforted by the two books Jim McGorman had lent us—Victory at Vimy by Ted Barris and Juno Beach by Mark Zuehlke.

By then, the depth of this stranger’s kindness was clear. He had given up his day to help us honour our Canadian heroes. We accepted his final offer to drive us back to the station. But on the way, we spotted the last bus of the day. He suggested we take it, and we hurried off, thanking him sincerely. When we boarded, there he was again, standing at the bus door to ensure the driver knew to drop us at the train station. We waved with emotion and called out, “Au revoir, mon ami!”

The second set of train tickets included his employee ID number. We hope to track him down, share our photos, and let him know how much his kindness meant – and of course, confirm his name!

As for Jim McGorman, you can find him every Saturday morning at Stacked in Paris. He’s there early, between 7 a.m. and 9 a.m. If you’re in the neighbourhood, stop in and say hello. He would be delighted to meet you.