In May 2025, I travelled to the Netherlands and the United Kingdom to take part in the 80th anniversary commemorations of Liberation Day and Victory in Europe Day. I wasn’t there as a dignitary, just a Canadian, the son of two Royal Air Force veterans, and a proud member of the Royal Canadian Legion. But what I witnessed, and what I felt, will stay with me for the rest of my life.
Both of my parents served in the Second World War. My mother as a nurse in a burns ward, my father also in the RAF. Like many Canadian families, ours has a long tradition of military service, reaching back through Korea, the Boer War, and even the Victorian era. I went overseas not just for them, but for all those who served, those who died, those who returned wounded in body or mind, and the families and nations that bore the cost.
The Dutch people showed a depth of gratitude that is difficult to explain. During the Apeldoorn Liberation Parade and the national ceremony in Wageningen, I was met by cheering crowds. Children waving flags, elderly citizens, and young families clapping with heartfelt sincerity and tears. I was handed flowers and thank-you cards simply for being Canadian. I saw more Canadian flags flying in the Netherlands than I often do on Canada Day.
At Groesbeek and Holten Canadian War Cemeteries, more than 7,600 Canadians are buried. The ceremony at Groesbeek, broadcast across Canada, was powerful. But it was the small gestures, the silence, the flowers laid by schoolchildren, the presence of generations who have not forgotten. That truly moved me.
On May 4th, I was honoured to be invited to lead the Nijmegen Sunset March, a daily silent walk commemorating the Allied soldiers who fought for Dutch freedom. Leading that march on Liberation Day, across a bridge those soldiers died to secure, was one of the most solemn experiences of my life.
Afterward, a Dutch couple came up to me in Nijmegen, went out of their way to shake my hand and thank me for coming, for making the effort, spending my time, and standing in honour of what Canada did for their country. It caught me off guard. Like so many moments on this journey, I found myself choked up.
In the UK, remembrance was equally powerful. I spent three days in London where VE Day 80 was commemorated across every neighbourhood, flags on homes, veterans in the streets, families pausing to reflect.
On May 8, I attended the Service of Thanksgiving at Westminster Abbey. I sat 15 rows behind the entire Royal Family, Their Majesties King Charles III and Queen Camilla, the Prince of Wales, and others. It was a moment of profound dignity and international unity.
The next day at the National Memorial Arboretum, I stood before the Canadian memorial and thought about the legacy we’ve carried forward—not just in war, but in peacekeeping and humanitarian service.
One moment from the UK has stayed with me above all. After I shared my story with a retired British soldier, the service of my family, the journey through the Netherlands, the ceremonies, and the deep emotions, he paused, looked me in the eye, shook my hand, and said quietly, “Your parents would be proud of you.” Then he added, “You weren’t just representing them. You represent Canadians who served, and the families who carry on their legacy.” I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, eyes full. In that one exchange, he gave voice to everything I had felt: honour, humility, and a sense of responsibility. It made me realize I had not just walked in remembrance, but maybe something else.
This wasn’t a holiday. It was a journey of remembrance, of personal and shared history. I didn’t go as an official representative, but I was proud to be there as a Canadian. The Dutch haven’t forgotten. The British haven’t either. And we shouldn’t either—not now, not ever.
We carry these stories because they matter. And we return, when we can, not for ourselves, but for those who never made it home.
As they say each evening at the Menin Gate in Ypres, Belgium—a tradition that has continued daily since 1928—
“When you go home, tell them of us and say:
We gave our tomorrow, For your today.”
We will Remember Them
