Trump will try to channel Ronald Reagan at the D-Day beaches but his miserable message will be a failure

They have come for a last look. As the veterans of D-Day gather for the commemorative events in Portsmouth and Normandy we remember what they did, and we remember especially those who gave everything, never to return. But their numbers sadly decline each year, and soon we will lose that living connection with the terrible events of the Second World War.

The implications of this loss – for our cultural memory, for the anniversary itself – have been pondered for many years. Back in June 1994, the fiftieth anniversary, hundreds of veterans journeyed to the Normandy beaches to remember their fallen friends, but such scenes also suggested something of a last hurrah.

Could it happen again? Was this the final occasion that veterans would gather in such numbers? Now still more years have passed since that grey June morning when an Armada of warships crashed through the swell of the English Channel, delivering their human cargo – the young, the scared, the brave – into history.

All too soon, there will be none left to return. What then for D-Day? What then for the June anniversary?

In truth, the sombre and solemn features of D-Day anniversaries – the march past of veterans – have long been accompanied by something else: the anniversary as spectacle, the anniversary as political theatre, the anniversary as a stage for oratory and speech-making. It all started in June 1984, the fortieth anniversary.

This was the first anniversary dominated by the massed ranks of Western heads of state, and which was replete with carefully staged ceremonies delivered as much for the television audiences as for the tearful veterans gathered on the beaches.

This was the anniversary in which Ronald Reagan – the consummate actor-president – stole the show with the sort of performance that perhaps only he could give. Stood on the cliff-top battlefield of Pointe du Hoc, Reagan gave a speech often identified as among his very greatest.

The speech – written by the legendary Peggy Noonan – is skilful in its tone and tenor, and in its key-notes. It is at one point folksy, the next moment lofty. At one moment homely, the next strident and idealistic. And through a series of deft transitions Reagan manages to cover all the many issues and challenges of the day.

He assails the Soviet Union for their continued occupation of Eastern Europe; and then later extends the hand of reconciliation. He rallies the West to stay true to the memory of 1944, to hold together in the face of Soviet aggression. But he then turns his attention to a story carefully crafted for those Americans just then meeting the morning back home (the speech was purposefully timed for the American Breakfast schedules).

The story he told was of brave American heroes scaling deadly cliffs, of an American victory bought with American blood. It was a powerful cocktail of history, memory and legend perfectly mixed for an era in which many Americans were still reeling from the defeat and divisions of the sixties, of Vietnam. Here was the “Good War” in which we were right and they were wrong, in which we were victorious and they were defeated, in which we were magnanimous and they were grateful.

Reagan’s speech quickly took on almost mythical qualities. Even his many opponents grudgingly acknowledged that it was a powerful demonstration of a key fact: when it came to the theatre of the office, he was without peer. Some commentators even suggested that it won him re-election in November of that year.

Little wonder that this is the speech which subsequent American presidents have frequently sought to replicate, at least in terms of style and reception: Clinton in 1994 (with the Cold War won); Bush in 2004 (with the War on Terror dragging on); Obama in 2014 (with the transatlantic alliance now strained by new threats, and new nationalisms).

The overall “choreography” of Trump’s visit to Britain, Ireland and Normandy suggests that the precedent of D-Day 1984 still looms large for his entourage. The itinerary of Trump’s trip is in certain respects remarkably similar to that of Reagan in 1984; events begin at 11am and are similarly well-timed for the US Breakfast shows.

​Here is a chance to play the commander in chief and to celebrate the military in just the way he loves, and all while tensions and problems build back home. Here is a chance for some electioneering.

But, for this president, the opportunity is also a risk.

In June 1984, Ronald Reagan revealed the essential truth in his moniker – here was the “Great Communicator” doing what he did best. But the current President has none of Reagan’s oratorical gifts, none of his theatrical poise or presence, none of his skill with the ceremonial.

This is a reality-TV president who doesn’t do convention, and doesn’t do scripts. And how exactly is Trump to call for continued Western solidarity given he is the very figure who has so fractured this alliance, and so questioned the worth of institutions such as Nato

For at its root, D-Day is the story of an alliance; it is a story of mutual endeavour, of multilateralism in action; of combined operations, combined service, combined sacrifice. And so whatever Trump says on Thursday I think we can be sure it will fall short of his predecessor and idol.

There will be spectacle and a stage, and there will be politics and performance. But for all the attempt to suggest a connection to 1984, it will at best sound very different, and at worst may strike all the wrong notes in a day which should rightly be about those who there, and who have returned for one last look.

Sam Edwards is a senior lecturer in history at Manchester Metropolitan University