June 1 Evening

Spent today on my first guided history tour. Jack from Normandy Tours was great, although I didn’t know what he was talking about (ootaaa) until we arrived at Utah Beach, our first of five stops. The area was crowded with reenactment dudes dressed in brand new replica uniforms. Not all of them were veterans; of course nearly all of the WW II vets are gone. My dad passed in 2017, at age 90. He would not have been happy seeing non-military people wearing uniforms.  

I considered it, and couldn’t judge them. Historical reenactments are fun and educational. Some day I’d like to be in one. I’ve got a Rosie the Riveter bicep. Well, it was clear these guys from the UK and the US and France and Belgium were all acquainted. Not a bad way for a group of guys who want to get together every year to celebrate June 6. Their laughter on top of the noisy motorcycle mufflers and the Just Enough Essential Parts vehicles ( Jeeps) made for a jocular scene. That is, until I saw the size of the craters and heard the story of the soldiers who drowned before they even hit the beach. Difficult currents created sandbars and landing vehicles were stuck. Tanks sank and the whole operation should have failed. But, it didn’t.

On to St. Mere-Eglise and another heroic story of American chutzpah. Here, there was a replica paratrooper stuck on the church’s spire, representing what happened to an American trooper whose parachute blew into the church. He played dead, and survived. That night, many of the paratroopers were far off target and it took a few days for them to regroup. Still, D-Day battles secured the coast in about 9 hours.

We had lunch among hundreds of veterans and current servicemen near this church. American Rangers will be jumping again on June 9. What a fit group of guys. They were excited.

The war museum in St. Mere was terrific and included a real glider from the battle. It looked like a large shipping crate made of plywood, but it could carry a Jeep. Pont du Hoc was a highlight as I’d heard legends about the Rangers shooting grappling hooks and climbing up the cliffs. Unfortunately, while 220 made it to the bottom of the cliff, only 90 made it to the top. They were late and were supposed to launch a red flare when they’d taken out the German gunners. Since that took a lot longer to accomplish, their reinforcements went to Omaha Beach instead. Interesting euphemism by our tour guide: Germans weren’t killed or taken out, but “silenced”. It softened the reality for few seconds, but when I saw how young the German prisoners were (14-15), I was reminded of who pays the costs of war. Their poor mothers. I assume their dads were long gone.

German bunkers are still present at Pont du Hoc, but the Allies blew some of them up so pieces were everywhere. The cliffs are crumbling, so we couldn't’ get too close to the edge. Viewing platforms helped us gain perspective on the physical achievement of the Rangers. 

Once we left this site, we headed to Omaha Beach where event construction created huge traffic jams. Here’s where a knowledgeable guide was really helpful as he went past the full parking spaces and created one right across the street. Walking along the beach, I saw the enormous venue for the heads of state. I wondered why were we celebrating this victory when war is raging in Ukraine and the contested Holy Lands. They had a 75th anniversary. Did we really need an 80th to feel good about our military might? I reminded myself war can be good for the economy, and so can celebrations.

I’ve always supported the Olympics, for I believe sports are a healthy way to exhibit nationalism. But the games are now political as well. Paris is a mess. Sorry about the sidetrack. Omaha Beach used to be called the Beach of the Golden Sands, and it is one of the prettiest beaches I’ve ever seen. As flat as Dunkirk, but the light shines on the water so beautifully. I can see why the Impressionists were enthralled by Normandy. The images of boats like those at Honfleur being used as aid boats after D-Day might have given Monet and Seurat nightmares. American money keeps up this sight, although the guide kept reminding us we were on French soil.

Same scenario at the American cemetery. French soil, but American maintenance. Scaffolds surrounded the part I wanted to see. A thousand seats were already in place, with a red carpet down the middle. Guests will be facing East, with their backs to the marble crosses, which are facing west toward home. After the massacres at D-Day, commanding officers didn’t want the wave of 35,000+ soldiers to be demoralized by dead bodies on the beach, so they moved them up top. No reenact-ors were here, but a company of American army were carrying their berets in hand. Three were allowed to slip under the rope and place a wreath on a grave. A really bad French bagpiper with a soiled white shirt played a hymn I didn’t recognize. 

After, I heard Taps at 5:00 p.m. and learned every body was treated equally in this place. No special markers for generals or privates. Even President Roosevelt’s son Teddy Jr. had the same white marble cross as the men he commanded. After the war, families had the option to bring their boys back for home burial. But many officers remained behind with their men, as their families believed this is what they’d want.

Sounds nobly poetic, but 9387 crosses over 175 acres make quite an impression of young lives lost to defend democracy. What would these poor boys think about our democracies today? 

These and other thoughts kept my mind troubled as we sat in a traffic jam for 90 minutes without moving.

I made it back for one last night, grateful I didn’t have to use a ditch for a toilet.