WW2 Veteran Escapes Nursing Home to Visit Normandy for D-Day
Last week a British World War II veteran escaped his nursing home and made it all the way back to Normandy in order to participate in D-Day commemorative festivities. I hereby officially propose that we make June 7th (the day after D-Day) a new annual holiday called “Bernard Jordan Day,” to celebrate how cool this guy is. I also think we should elect him to Parliament, and maybe the U.S. Senate. We should at the very least promote him to admiral.
Before we go any further, let’s reflect on the fact that this guy paid his badass dues back in 1944. He could have completely retired from awesomeness right then, what with having slogged through a tidal wave of blood, just to dodge mortar shells in a German-occupied hellscape, and that would have been sufficient for the rest of his life in terms of bragging rights.
But no. At the ripe old age of 90, Bernard Jordan decided, “You know what? I’d really like to hang out with all my other kickass buddies from World War II. S’pose I’ll head to Normandy, then.” (Probably more so to make sure the Germans weren’t up to anything suspicious—I suspect he also packed a handgun and a couple of disguises. His innocuous statements were only to keep the Germans unaware.)
After announcing his intention to revisit Normandy, his nursing home told him that he couldn’t go, what with the general prospects of a solitary 90-year-old man independently navigating trains and a chunnel to another country unaided.
My assumption is that Mr. Jordan debated killing his nursing home staff for their impertinence, like a ninja, but decided against it because he is also an incredibly nice guy. So instead (according to reports) he put on his uniform and dress medals, threw a gray coat to obscure his regalia, and booked himself all the way to Normandy. The staff called the police later that evening when they realized that Mr. Jordan had been suspiciously absent ever since breakfast.
A few hours later younger veterans in Normandy called England to let them know that Mr. Jordan had turned up in France, and they would look after him. We can only assume that “look after him” is a polite euphemism for “We got in a bar fight with hoodlums, but this wiry 90-year-old man threw a chair through the window, beat the hell out of all of our assailants with a cane, then excused himself to the backroom to do the bar’s taxes for them.”
So hat’s off to Bernard Jordan, badass of the month:
