Some years ago, 25 in fact, we went on holiday to Northern France in a Gite near St Pois in Normandy. There was the four of us, Mrs O'Blene and two daughts and we were going for a long fortnight, (because we'd had a huge refund on the previous year, as the drains all blocked, the gas shower nearly killed a daughter, and the place was a shambles so we had a huge refund, but that's another story).
As the D Day events were in full swing, we were watching quite a lot of TV which showed the Pegasus Bridge celebrations, and the Landlady of the Cafe Gondree was on the box most evenings before we embarked via Newhaven for Dieppe.
When we visited, we noticed that the whole area is in fact quite low-key, even quietly reverent, and the sight of the old swing bridge parked in a field close by, almost as an after-thought, made us wonder at the way the 'invasion' was accepted, and that the good people of France had noticed that the Brits and the Yanks were indeed pretty adventurous people after all.
We felt uncomfortable at the museum in Caen, because that was a bit too navel-bliaring, (sic) but the simple narrative coming from the Pegasus Bridge, and the lovely lady, Arlette Gondree whom we immediately recognised, was that this was all a simple anecdote to a huge event, but a signal warning to oppressors, that nobody ignores the 'state' of the nation, however their duplicitous 'politicians' think otherwise.
It's a delightful place, and well worth a few minutes reflection on bravery, strength and fortitude; not the layabout-leftie-loser renta-mob trash so loved by the bbc, corbyn etc.
I saw two Spitfires overhead yesterday morning. It was a sight to be bottled and kept for ever, and the sound of the Merlin engines just crackled the heavens. A neighbour was inside her house, and she even heard it all and rushed out to cheer!
What a sight to behold!