The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the day promised to be a gorgeous one for our touring. Luckily for us, the route was clearly marked, and we found our way to Pointe du Hoc with no problem. Walking up to the overlook, the first thing you notice are the craters all over the place. They are filled with grass and flowers and if you didn't know they were caused by a bombardment 70 years ago, you might think this area was covered in sink holes. We knew better, and it was the first sobering thing we saw.
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The area is free and open for people to walk around wherever they want, so we decided to explore the German bunkers that are still there. It was weird to just be able to go into them and look around. I wondered if anyone was worried about the degradation of the site by so many people climbing around on the bunkers and hills and craters, but I'm sure someone has discussed this and has decided to leave it accessible to the public for now.
We were glad that we could go exploring because so much is off-limits these days that it was neat to just be able to go in and look around. There are no lights, no hand rails, no tour guides...Just you, your self, and whoever else you brought with you.
It was difficult not to let your mind wander and wonder about the German soldiers who must have lived in these bunkers. To wonder what they thought when they saw the flotilla of ships approaching the shore. To wonder about the Americans who saw these bunkers and wondered how the hell they were going to get up these cliffs and stop the Germans from shelling the beaches below. So much, so, so much history and violence happened on these cliffs that it is hard not to be overwhelmed with it.
We went down in the bunkers. It was pretty dark in some of them, and we had to use the lights on our phones to see.
Some of the walls were riddled with pock marks from what we think must have been machine gun fire. Could be wrong, but it's sure what it looks like to me. You wondered who did the shooting, and who was being shot at and what the outcome was.
We saw the spots where the big guns were, and Kyle even went down into a hole to see what was down there.
We spent a long time at Pointe du Hoc, and then decided we needed to make tracks to Omaha Beach.
Driving through this part of France was like driving through a movie set or a history book. Every mile or so, there was another chateau. Many of the houses looked like they came straight out of Pride and Prejudice (Yes, I know that is set in England, but that's how they looked.) I would have been happy driving around looking at these houses all day and thinking of the history they must have seen, but Omaha called.
We stopped at the first monument at Vierville sur Mer, which is part of Omaha Beach as a whole. After a few minutes, we decided to go to OMAHA BEACH, where the memorial is. We pulled up in the parking lot just as a flag-raising ceremony started. Some French woman was instructing some high school kids as they raised the flag of each of the Allied countries who participated in the D-Day invasion. The country's national anthem was played over a loud speaker, and the students raised the flag in front of the Omaha Beach Memorial.
The United States was second to last (just before France), and as I stood there on Omaha Beach, listening to the Star Spangled Banner floating out over the beach while the American flag climbed its way to the top of the flag pole, the tears ran freely down my cheeks. I was so proud to be an American. So proud of all that our young men did that day in June 68 years earlier. I thought about my husband, my son, and about all of the wives and mothers of those men who came ashore all those years earlier, and those emotions just washed over me, and I stood there and cried for all of them.
The day was beautiful. The sky was bright blue. It was warm. The tide was out, so the beach was wide and the water calm. I had a hard time picturing the violence that was wrought here. I have read that the water churned red upon the beach, and I could not imagine that.
Families had spread blankets down on the beach and children were building sandcastles and teenagers were sun bathing and flying kites. And I wondered, "When does something go from being hallowed, sacred to a place where you could throw down a blanket and eat a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese and not think of the men who died where you now sit?" I know we cannot sanctify every single place where a battle raged and men died, but it was just so incongruous for me to see this normal beach-y activity on OMAHA BEACH.
Kyle took off to spend some time alone, reflecting. I walked the water-line looking for the stray artifact that had been overlooked by collectors and beachcombers. I knew if I found something, I would take it, even though you're not allowed. I looked and looked, but didn't get the chance to break the law. We did take some sand to bring home, though. We had to have something of this place.
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| Kyle |
Our next stop was the American Cemetery at Colleville sur Mer. We went to the museum first. It was WAY better than the Peace Museum in Caen.
We came out into the cemetery. It is overwhelming.
The first two crosses I saw were soldiers from Kentucky: Everett Hensley and William Vaught.
I stood there with my fellow Kentuckians, wondering how long it had been since someone from "home" had visited them. Everett had a rose on his grave. The French "adopt" soldiers to visit, and I figured that he must be "adopted" by someone. I am going to see if I can find their relatives when we get home so that they can know that someone visited their graves today.
The one that got me the most though, was the grave of the soldier "known only to God." It was just so much to consider. What if that was my son?
The cemetery is pristine. There is not a leaf on the ground. Not a blade of grass out of place. I saw an old man driving a landscape/yardwork truck. I felt the need to thank him for keeping this place so beautiful. My French is very bad and very limited, but I wanted him to know how very, very grateful I am for his work, so I went up to him and said,
"Excusez moi, monsier. Parlez-vous Anglais?" Excuse me, sir. Do you speak English?
"Non," he replied. "Francais." No, French.
I said, "Ma francais est tres mal, mais, nettoyez-vous cette cemetiere?" My French is very bad, but do you clean this cemetery?
He looked at me and said, "Oui." Yes.
I could not speak. No words would come out of my mouth. I just started sobbing and placed my hand on my heart. He smiled gently at me as if I was not the first person to cry here.
After a minute, I was able to compose myself enough to say, "Merci. Merci beaucoup." Thank you. Thank you so much.
By the time we got to the cemetery, it had clouded over and began to spit rain. We spent a little more time walking among the fallen. I thought of all of the soldiers who died on D-Day alone, many more than those who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan over the last 10 years. I think Americans would not tolerate that amount of casualties anymore. I hope this means that we are moving away from the willingness to go to war as a way to solve problems. I hope.
After we left the cemetery, we decided to go to one of the army surplus/antique stores that Alex told us about in St. Mere du Mont. It was packed full of all kinds of WW2 surplus, candy, magnets, t-shirts, mugs, you name it. Unfortunately, it was the only game in town. Everything else was closed. Emily and I walked around to look at the buildings and read the little information signs about what happened in this spot or that while Kyle got lost in the back room of history.
We struck up a conversation with a British guy standing outside a small museum. His French friend owned it, and it is a building that was used by the Nazis during their occupation of France. This particular building has walls painted by some of the German soldiers during their "down time." We didn't go in, but the guy pointed us in the direction of Brecourt Manor, the site of one of the big battles in Band of Brothers. We rounded up the guys and took off.
Brecourt Manor is still privately owned by the same family who lived here when Dick Winters and Easy Company surprised and captured a German battery. Kyle told us how their attack is still taught in tactics class at West Point. I don't know how many times Kyle has watched Band of Brothers, but for him to be AT THE SAME SITE where Dick Winters and Buck Compton and Don Malarkey and Wild Bill Guarnere and Lt. Speirs risked their lives was almost overwhelming for him. He met Buck Compton a couple of years ago at a gun show at the fairgrounds and has a canteen signed by Wild Bill Guarnere. These guys are his heroes, and here we were, where they were. Really, there aren't any words...
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| Brecourt Manor |
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| Memorial at Brecourt Manor |
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| I love Kyle's reflection in the granite. |
Next we headed to St. Mere Eglise. The town was decked out in the flags of the Allies. It was so, so cool to see.
Inside the church was a very moving stained glass window honoring the soldiers who liberated the French from the Nazis.
We got interviewed by a reporter for WW2 Magazine who wanted to know why a family with young children were still interested in WW2. Really??? He said they all thought that interest would wain after the 50th anniversary. We said not as far as we were concerned. When he asked why, I said that I thought that we are far enough removed time-wise that WW2 is taking on a romantic quality. It was the last "noble" war, and the men and women who fought it were really the last ones to be seen as liberators. I don't know if we will be quoted in the magazine, but it was neat to be interviewed.
We left after that and went back our inn. It was an exhausting and emotional day, but one that I am so very glad to have shared with my children. I know Kyle will treasure it forever.
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