Jayne Dowle: Trip to remembrance can open whole new world

I wasn’t bothered where we went, as long as the destination didn’t bankrupt us for the year. As for my husband, he wanted to go to Normandy, to visit the grave of his uncle, who was killed at the age of 21 when he took part in the D-Day landings near Caen.

For the first time in the history of family holiday arguments, my husband won. This means that in July we’ll be off on the Eurostar to Paris. A return trip, it is worth noting, is only a little more expensive than four return rail fares from Barnsley to London. Then we’re taking a French train to Bayeux, from where it is a short drive in the hire car to a hotel near Omaha Beach, with pool, check.

My husband, still reeling from the shock of getting his own way, is alternatively beaming with excitement and in serious contemplation; his aim is to show our children where their great-uncle died and to remind them of the sacrifice which so many millions gave so they could live in freedom.

Not every child would count visiting war graves as top of their favourite holiday things to do. However, for Jack, who will be almost 11 when we go, it means something. I think he is a little scared of what he might find in that cemetery actually, but I reckon it’s about time he gained some perspective on his comfortable life, and everything he takes for granted.

We agree that he is very, very lucky to be able to put into practice what David Cameron has promised every child in Britain; the chance to go to France to see the battle sites and graves of a previous conflict, the First World War, to commemorate its centenary next year.

Jack, already sceptical beyond his years, says he will believe that every kid in Britain is going to France when he sees the busloads going down the M1 towards Dover.

I, for one, hope that the Prime Minister is able to make good on his promise, because I think it is vital for children to visit this country in order to gain some sense of perspective about how the modern world they live in was forged out of loss and suffering.

Talking about France with my two though, they think it looks like a nice place, somewhere with good footballers (Jack) and mime artists on every street corner (Lizzie). What they don’t understand is anything much about the position of France in both world wars, about its historical links with the United Kingdom, or anything really about the way French people live.

I often wonder just what Europe means to British kids like mine. So much of what they know of the world is dominated by American ideas; the shows they watch on television, the music they listen to, the videos they see on YouTube and the computer games they play.

Although the prime purpose of our trip is to pay our respects to Uncle Arthur, I admit that I’ve got a cultural agenda too. By travelling through France, I want them to get under the skin of this country a little bit, and realise that the world goes further than California.

There’s tackling the language for a start. Jack enjoyed his year of Madame Lynch, who came to teach his class French when he was eight. Nothing beats the challenge of doing it for real though, and I’m looking forward to hearing my two picking up some basic vocabulary, gaining a bit of confidence, and laughing at me as I attempt to remember those fiendishly complex French tenses from my very rusty A Level.

Then there’s the sheer foreign-ness of the place. They’ve had a couple of package holidays abroad before, but this will be getting as close to real French life as it’s possible to get in five short days; finding our way through Paris, travelling on trains, driving on the roads, watching the people and working out what they do differently from us.

It’s all about expanding their horizons. I don’t want to knock two weeks round a pool on an all-inclusive, but what are they going to learn from that?

How to squash as much ice cream as possible into a cone, and what the best time is to start queuing for the evening buffet perhaps. I don’t mean to sound dictatorial, each to their own and all that, but there is such a big world out there to explore that it seems a bit boring to go for the easy option, especially when your children have reached an age when they are old enough to carry their own rucksacks.

Miami will have to wait, and Primrose Valley will still be there when we come back from France, hopefully with some tales to tell and a bit of history made for ourselves.