A Journey of a Lifetime (That Started with Popcorn and Spaghetti)
If you had told me a year ago that I’d be standing at the base of Vimy Ridge, walking in silent remembrance through Bergen op Zoom, and sharing laughs over crêpes in Paris, I would have asked if you were mixing up my life with a Hollywood film. But this May, that dream became reality. Alongside 36 of my fellow students and four incredible teachers from Superior Collegiate and Vocational Institute in Thunder Bay, I set out on a journey across The Netherlands, Belgium, and France that changed my life.
As a 16-year-old IB Diploma Program student deeply passionate about history, culture, and global citizenship, this wasn’t just a trip—it was a living classroom, an emotional pilgrimage, and a launching point for my future studies in Human Sciences. It marked the 80th anniversary of the liberation of The Netherlands by Canadian forces during World War II—a once-in-a-generation milestone and a profound reminder of the role our country played in securing the freedom of others.
In November 2023, our school was honoured with a personal invitation from the Dutch government to represent Canada in the commemorative ceremonies. Just over 1,000 students were selected from across the country. We were among them.
The months leading up to our departure were filled with popcorn sales at lunch, community spaghetti dinners, writing campaigns, and school presentations. We weren’t just raising funds—we were raising awareness. I poured myself into this effort because I knew the weight of what we were preparing for. Spoiler: it exceeded every expectation!
The Netherlands: Landscapes of Memory
Amsterdam was our first stop, a city stitched together with winding canals, bicycles, and centuries of layered history. Wandering alongside the water and over stone bridges, I felt like I had walked into a painting—until the Anne Frank House grounded me with its aching truth.
I had read Anne’s diary as a child, but being inside the annex, a dream visit of mine for so long, made everything real. The steep staircase, the narrow rooms, the faded photos on the wall—they whispered of fear and hope coexisting under impossible circumstances. As I stood where she once stood, I felt the weight of her words all over again. It was quiet—hauntingly so—and in that silence, history was louder than ever. It wasn’t just about understanding the past. It was about carrying it forward.
From Amsterdam, we traveled into the picturesque region of Arnhem. The town square blended storybook charm with solemn legacy, especially when we stood at the John Frost Bridge—a central site of Operation Market Garden.
Later, at the Groesbeek Canadian War Cemetery and the Freedom Museum, I was struck by the deep gratitude the Dutch people continue to hold for Canadians. That bond isn’t just remembered—it’s actively honoured. In 1944–45, Canadian forces played a decisive role in liberating the Netherlands from Nazi occupation, fighting through harsh terrain, restoring crucial supply lines, and delivering life-saving aid during the devastating Hunger Winter. That courage earned not only military victory but also enduring Dutch admiration.
The story of Princess Juliana of the Netherlands giving birth in Canada—after her family took refuge in Ottawa during the war—resonated deeply. To ensure her daughter Margriet would be born a Dutch citizen, Canada temporarily declared the hospital room extraterritorial Dutch soil. That diplomatic act of compassion solidified a friendship between nations that has only deepened over time.
The annual gift of tulip bulbs that followed—100,000 at first—transformed into something greater than a springtime celebration. Once a food of last resort in famine, tulips now bloom as vibrant symbols of hope, resilience, and lasting kinship. I even brought a few Arnhem-native tulips home to plant with my grandparents—living history, blooming year after year.
Bergen op Zoom: A Voice in the Silence
Our most important day unfolded in Bergen op Zoom. This was the heart of the entire journey—the reason we came. At the Canadian War Cemetery, I was given the honour of speaking at the official commemoration ceremony, reciting the Act of Commitment in front of thousands. I was certainly nervous, but my voice was steady. I’ve never felt more proud—or more connected to the past.
Then came the silent march through the town. Thousands of us—Canadian and Dutch students, veterans, community members—walked in utter silence, united in purpose. There were no speeches, no music. Just footsteps. And in those footsteps, an unspoken understanding passed between generations.
That day showed me the power of remembrance not as a ceremony, but as collective, quiet reverence. We weren’t re-enacting history. We were honouring it—raw, sacred, unforgettable.
Read the second part here.
