VIVA LA FRANCE (part 2)
security was so tight that almost 2000 vets were denied admittance because they lacked the necessary identification. the press, however, were every where. It seemed like every other veteran was being interviewed or photographed by media from all over the world. I have never felt so much a counterfeit hero. the mere fact that I had managed to survive these many years should not have singled me out for special consideration. the accolades should have been directed towards those men who lie beneath those lonely white markers, way up on the hill. It saddens me that for the most part, they, on this day, were all but forgotten except for friends and relatives and those of us who fought with them.
upon leaving the beach area, we traveled to Avaranches, gen Patton's headquarters during the early stages of the war. enroute, we stopped at St James cemetery. at this place, lie the second largest assemblage of comrades who gave up their lives in the battles for northern France. In an earlier ceremony, the local French officials gathered 6000 young school children and had each line up behind individual grave markers to stress the wastefulness of war. these children, in turn, pledged to look after these graves for the next 50 years and it would be my guess that they are still honoring that commitment.
upon leaving the beach area, we traveled to Avaranches, gen Patton's headquarters during the early stages of the war. enroute, we stopped at St James cemetery. at this place, lie the second largest assemblage of comrades who gave up their lives in the battles for northern France. In an earlier ceremony, the local French officials gathered 6000 young school children and had each line up behind individual grave markers to stress the wastefulness of war. these children, in turn, pledged to look after these graves for the next 50 years and it would be my guess that they are still honoring that commitment.
the wonderful children at St James cemetery.
It surprised me that these children were so much more in touch with WW II than their American counterparts, but then, it was their parents and grandparents who suffered the harsh realities of this brutal war. It was here that I met a wartime red cross worker who had served with one of the nurses who attended me while I was in hospital. sadly, that was as close as I was to come to meeting any acquaintance from those days. In passing among the markers, I came upon a veteran who was openly weeping as he knelt beside a grave. when I asked if he had known this particular soldier, he looked up at me, with pain filled eyes and replied, "no, I was not personally acquainted with this young man, but are we not all his brothers?" to which I added a silent, "amen" and left him with his grief. as we left the cemetery, the ambiance and weather improved, considerably.
from here, we returned to avaranches for a scheduled ceremony at the Patton memorial. Apparently, the mayor had proclaimed this day a local holiday. thousands of people, not only from town but from all over the countryside crowded into the town square. we were quite unprepared for what ensued. as we approached the square in our 12 motor coaches, once again, a multitudinous crowd of people cheered the returning veterans. as we stepped down from the bus, the cheering grew in intensity and the enthusiastic crowd surged all around us. we were obviously the first group of vets they had encountered and we were swamped with hand shakes, embraces and kisses from young and old alike. we were completely overwhelmed by the warm, honest affection from people who were intimately familiar with the loss of individual freedom. being blase Americans, apathetic towards the strong emotions being directed towards the returning liberators, it might be difficult to understand the genuine outpouring of gratitude, but having spent this time with them, one develops an empathetic bonding with people who have recovered a precious birthright.
here again, the children were very much in evidence, reaching out, just to touch us and pleading for autographs. I must have signed a thousand autographs and posed for a hundred pictures and been interviewed on a dozen separate occasions and never before, in my life, have I ever been the recipient of such a genuine outpouring of affection from so many total strangers. with all the good things that have happened to me during my lifetime, this day in avaranches has to rank very highly among the emotional peaks. this experience shall remain to sustain me if ever I should lose faith in the human element. several people with little or no knowledge of the English language approached to express their appreciation for what we had brought them 50 years prior. without so much as a word, the expression of gratitude was plainly visible in their eyes. one young woman, who had not even been born at that time asked what she could do to show her appreciation. I told her that the greatest reward she, or any of the towns people could pay the American people would be to occasionally place a random flower on any of the graves at the St James cemetery. I can still see the tears flowing down Susan Kirby's face as she interpreted.
we were then escorted through the city streets, in an impromptu parade to the main square where a dance band from the sixth American fleet was playing old familiar war time songs. everyone, young and old,veterans and their wives danced together with the townsfolk in the street while the rich French wine flowed like water in an unending stream.
from here, we returned to avaranches for a scheduled ceremony at the Patton memorial. Apparently, the mayor had proclaimed this day a local holiday. thousands of people, not only from town but from all over the countryside crowded into the town square. we were quite unprepared for what ensued. as we approached the square in our 12 motor coaches, once again, a multitudinous crowd of people cheered the returning veterans. as we stepped down from the bus, the cheering grew in intensity and the enthusiastic crowd surged all around us. we were obviously the first group of vets they had encountered and we were swamped with hand shakes, embraces and kisses from young and old alike. we were completely overwhelmed by the warm, honest affection from people who were intimately familiar with the loss of individual freedom. being blase Americans, apathetic towards the strong emotions being directed towards the returning liberators, it might be difficult to understand the genuine outpouring of gratitude, but having spent this time with them, one develops an empathetic bonding with people who have recovered a precious birthright.
here again, the children were very much in evidence, reaching out, just to touch us and pleading for autographs. I must have signed a thousand autographs and posed for a hundred pictures and been interviewed on a dozen separate occasions and never before, in my life, have I ever been the recipient of such a genuine outpouring of affection from so many total strangers. with all the good things that have happened to me during my lifetime, this day in avaranches has to rank very highly among the emotional peaks. this experience shall remain to sustain me if ever I should lose faith in the human element. several people with little or no knowledge of the English language approached to express their appreciation for what we had brought them 50 years prior. without so much as a word, the expression of gratitude was plainly visible in their eyes. one young woman, who had not even been born at that time asked what she could do to show her appreciation. I told her that the greatest reward she, or any of the towns people could pay the American people would be to occasionally place a random flower on any of the graves at the St James cemetery. I can still see the tears flowing down Susan Kirby's face as she interpreted.
we were then escorted through the city streets, in an impromptu parade to the main square where a dance band from the sixth American fleet was playing old familiar war time songs. everyone, young and old,veterans and their wives danced together with the townsfolk in the street while the rich French wine flowed like water in an unending stream.
reluctantly, we were forced to break away from these festivities and start our trip back to our temporary home. this day was also my birthday and along with the faxed birthday card sent by my daughter, this day, in it's entirety, was the greatest birthday gift I ever received.
sandwiched in between these many visits to individual towns, we stopped at the only cemetery for German war dead located in northern France. now you might think that I am spending an inordinate amount of time dwelling on cemeteries and you may be right. I did say, however, that this accounting would be largely about people and it so happens that the greatest heroes I know are those people who lie in mute testimony to the insanity of war, in places far removed from the homes they grew up in. this stop was not popularly received for there were those among us who still bore a degree of animosity towards a long forgotten enemy. I felt no enmity towards the German foot soldier. In large part, they were reflections of ourselves, civilians who were pressed into service in a wartime environment, with little or no appetite for inflicting bodily harm upon his fellow man. there are 21,000 young men buried in this place, mostly boys with the average age of 17. think about that, If you look at averages, many of these boys were in the 14 to15 age bracket. during the war, we were taught to hate the enemy and the media painted them with a wide brush that labeled all of them "Nazi'". how can anyone feel bitterness towards someone who conceivably had absolutely no indoctrination into any political philosophy. how do you hate a 15 year old boy who was given a rifle and ordered to go out and defend the fatherland? I don't think the American army had any one in Europe under the age of 18, legally, that is.
the following day, we were to revisit the beach area but also scheduled, was a stop at giverney where we were to see the remains of Monet's celebrated gardens. once again, our time on the beach would be severely compromised. ordinarily, the Monet stop would have been an interesting side trip, but with so much to do and so little time to accomplish our individual missions, it was difficult to reconcile Monet's contribution to a war of which he had no part. I was placed in the unenviable position of choosing between searching out the cemetery for my long departed friends or trying to locate the memorial to the 5th engineer special brigade. since locating the memorial had a singular significance, I opted for the latter. It may be difficult for the uninitiated to understand why finding the memorial became almost obsessive. you must realize that all of us who took part it the assault on the beaches of Normandie, are fiercely proud of the units in which we served. I felt a particular pride in the 5th brigade for it was activated for one specific mission. we were charged with the responsibility of getting elements of the 1st infantry division and 2nd ranger battalion ashore and once there, providing , "beach exits" from which they could move inward to expand the beach head. our mission was to last 14 days after which, our job would have been completed and we would cease to exist as an entity. we had no prior tradition from which to draw recognition and our only entry into the annuls of history would be written on that fateful day in June. written in such heroic fashion that would win us the presidential unit citation, the French croix de guerre, avec palm and the belgian croix de guerre as well. we had no battle flag, we had no regimental colors. we had nothing from which to fly a battle streamer. we had nothing but each other and the only evidence of our existence, is that piece of cold granite, high above the sands of easy red beach. those people who chronicle history have totally ignored the critical contributions this unit effected in the successful operations at Omaha beach. it was vitally important for me to read and touch the names of the many dead inscribed on that small obelisk for they are a part of who we were and when they died, a small piece of me went with them.. after some considerable effort, I was rewarded with the extremely good fortune of finding that stone and the names that were not recorded at the cemetery.
sandwiched in between these many visits to individual towns, we stopped at the only cemetery for German war dead located in northern France. now you might think that I am spending an inordinate amount of time dwelling on cemeteries and you may be right. I did say, however, that this accounting would be largely about people and it so happens that the greatest heroes I know are those people who lie in mute testimony to the insanity of war, in places far removed from the homes they grew up in. this stop was not popularly received for there were those among us who still bore a degree of animosity towards a long forgotten enemy. I felt no enmity towards the German foot soldier. In large part, they were reflections of ourselves, civilians who were pressed into service in a wartime environment, with little or no appetite for inflicting bodily harm upon his fellow man. there are 21,000 young men buried in this place, mostly boys with the average age of 17. think about that, If you look at averages, many of these boys were in the 14 to15 age bracket. during the war, we were taught to hate the enemy and the media painted them with a wide brush that labeled all of them "Nazi'". how can anyone feel bitterness towards someone who conceivably had absolutely no indoctrination into any political philosophy. how do you hate a 15 year old boy who was given a rifle and ordered to go out and defend the fatherland? I don't think the American army had any one in Europe under the age of 18, legally, that is.
the following day, we were to revisit the beach area but also scheduled, was a stop at giverney where we were to see the remains of Monet's celebrated gardens. once again, our time on the beach would be severely compromised. ordinarily, the Monet stop would have been an interesting side trip, but with so much to do and so little time to accomplish our individual missions, it was difficult to reconcile Monet's contribution to a war of which he had no part. I was placed in the unenviable position of choosing between searching out the cemetery for my long departed friends or trying to locate the memorial to the 5th engineer special brigade. since locating the memorial had a singular significance, I opted for the latter. It may be difficult for the uninitiated to understand why finding the memorial became almost obsessive. you must realize that all of us who took part it the assault on the beaches of Normandie, are fiercely proud of the units in which we served. I felt a particular pride in the 5th brigade for it was activated for one specific mission. we were charged with the responsibility of getting elements of the 1st infantry division and 2nd ranger battalion ashore and once there, providing , "beach exits" from which they could move inward to expand the beach head. our mission was to last 14 days after which, our job would have been completed and we would cease to exist as an entity. we had no prior tradition from which to draw recognition and our only entry into the annuls of history would be written on that fateful day in June. written in such heroic fashion that would win us the presidential unit citation, the French croix de guerre, avec palm and the belgian croix de guerre as well. we had no battle flag, we had no regimental colors. we had nothing from which to fly a battle streamer. we had nothing but each other and the only evidence of our existence, is that piece of cold granite, high above the sands of easy red beach. those people who chronicle history have totally ignored the critical contributions this unit effected in the successful operations at Omaha beach. it was vitally important for me to read and touch the names of the many dead inscribed on that small obelisk for they are a part of who we were and when they died, a small piece of me went with them.. after some considerable effort, I was rewarded with the extremely good fortune of finding that stone and the names that were not recorded at the cemetery.
It was at this place that I delivered the thanks of the people of Hampstead and offered my small prayer to those who never left these shores. this was the focal point of my return to France and this was the essence of why I was there and that is why it was so important for me to find my monument. my pilgrimage was now complete and I am now at peace with myself and the men to whom I owe so much.
I should like to conclude this chronicle with an amusing vignette that occurred during our last night in Paris and perhaps put the French attitude in the proper perspective. while waiting for transportation that would take us to our moonlight, dinner cruise down the seine, my wife and I thought to have an aperitif at a quaint neighborhood cafe. as we were enjoying our wine, the proprietor seemed to be inordinately concerned with some thing in the immediate vicinity of our table. since we were informed that the French placed a high regard on military decorations, we were encouraged to wear what ever we may have brought with us. the proprietor, apparently noticing mine, finally approached and asked if I was a D-Day veteran, to which I replied in the affirmative. since his command of the English language was extremely limited and my knowledge of French was restricted to several choice phrases I learned upon landing, conversation was somewhat stilted. nevertheless, through words and gestures, we were able to communicate in some primitive fashion. after the first drink, he insisted on pouring another round, to which I mildly protested. as he leaned over the table, he spotted my croix de guerre medallion and from that point on, there wasn't enough he could do for us. all we wanted, originally, was a simple glass of wine but we soon emptied the whole bottle. he then brought out a tray of exquisitely, delicious, hors d'oeuvers and another bottle of wine. I was getting mildly plastered and enjoying it immensely. we did finally have to break away and when I tried to settle the bill, he insisted the party was on him. he called his son out from the kitchen and asked in payment that he be photographed with me, with my camera and that I send him copies of the pictures, which I did.
I should like to conclude this chronicle with an amusing vignette that occurred during our last night in Paris and perhaps put the French attitude in the proper perspective. while waiting for transportation that would take us to our moonlight, dinner cruise down the seine, my wife and I thought to have an aperitif at a quaint neighborhood cafe. as we were enjoying our wine, the proprietor seemed to be inordinately concerned with some thing in the immediate vicinity of our table. since we were informed that the French placed a high regard on military decorations, we were encouraged to wear what ever we may have brought with us. the proprietor, apparently noticing mine, finally approached and asked if I was a D-Day veteran, to which I replied in the affirmative. since his command of the English language was extremely limited and my knowledge of French was restricted to several choice phrases I learned upon landing, conversation was somewhat stilted. nevertheless, through words and gestures, we were able to communicate in some primitive fashion. after the first drink, he insisted on pouring another round, to which I mildly protested. as he leaned over the table, he spotted my croix de guerre medallion and from that point on, there wasn't enough he could do for us. all we wanted, originally, was a simple glass of wine but we soon emptied the whole bottle. he then brought out a tray of exquisitely, delicious, hors d'oeuvers and another bottle of wine. I was getting mildly plastered and enjoying it immensely. we did finally have to break away and when I tried to settle the bill, he insisted the party was on him. he called his son out from the kitchen and asked in payment that he be photographed with me, with my camera and that I send him copies of the pictures, which I did.
mon ami,
I did however, leave a rather generous gratuity. I included this anecdote because it was typical of the hospitality we encountered through out northern France. their heartfelt gratitude was manifested in so many delightful ways, even in ultra-sophisticated Paris.
this was a week of my life I shall never forget. It was accented with emotional highs and lows and has given me a renewed insight to these wonderful people of France. I recall coming through many of these same small Normandie towns as they were being liberated so many years ago, but after having suffered through many years of debilitating war and oppressive occupation, these poor people had not much enthusiasm for celebration. 50 years later, we found the local population, from my generation to pre-schoolers. genuinely appreciative of our contribution to the restoration of their freedom and honor. I thank God for permitting me to witness the reaffirmation of,
this was a week of my life I shall never forget. It was accented with emotional highs and lows and has given me a renewed insight to these wonderful people of France. I recall coming through many of these same small Normandie towns as they were being liberated so many years ago, but after having suffered through many years of debilitating war and oppressive occupation, these poor people had not much enthusiasm for celebration. 50 years later, we found the local population, from my generation to pre-schoolers. genuinely appreciative of our contribution to the restoration of their freedom and honor. I thank God for permitting me to witness the reaffirmation of,
"Liberte Egalite Fraternite"