It is here in the north of France that you see the signs of the wars that have been waged on these vast plains of Europe. The most poignant ones for me are the many individual, pocket-sized military cemeteries that dot the countryside, most simply carved out in the middle of corn or wheat fields. They are always walled, and filled with rows of crosses or tomb stones lovingly kept bright and clean by someone, with the grass all around each marker clipped to perfection. There are always road signs indicating that a cemetery is just ahead for Regiments of Australians, Canadians, British and some Americans also. Months ago at the Canadian visitor's center at Vimy Ridge, we were given a map so we could find the grave of Jack's uncle, who in the first world war lost his life two weeks before the Armistice was signed. We finally found it off the beaten path, and it too was in perfect order, almost one hundred years later.
After working in Rouen for 2 days, President Poznanski gave us leave to take time for ourselves, so we decided to head to the Normandy coast to see the World War ll Allied Army Invasion sites. All through this area is where the German army tried to repulse the Americans (at Utah and Omaha beaches), the Canadians (at Juno beach), and the British forces (at Gold and Sword beaches). The tide was out now in the late afternoon as we looked at the vast Atlantic ocean before us, and we wondered what it must have been like that day, June, 6, 1944, for the awaiting Germans, to see the vast array of troop ships, battleships, destroyers and support craft spread out upon the waters, coming against them with their might! They did have some strong defenses ready just in case, but they were not expecting the invasion to be in this area because it was not the most direct route from the staging point in Great Britain.
The beaches the Americans stormed onto were vast, flat, sandy expanses with a small knoll in which the Germans had built many cement gun emplacements, all pointing seaward. I can't imagine how it must have been for our soldiers being rushed ashore in those transports, knowing there was a huge probability they could die in the next few minutes.
We were in awe as we drove around the countryside, down narrow roads surely unchanged since those very horrific events that were happening virtually in people's backyards those first few days. The nearby city of Caen looks unlike any other city in France, especially from a distance as it is full of white, similar sized buildings. It unfortunately was in the middle of the war zone and largely destroyed in the fighting. We passed through the famous town where one unlucky American parachutist had dropped next to the large Catholic church and his chute snagged onto one of the spires. The poor kid was a sitting duck, and was soon shot dead by a German soldier. Imagine our surprise (and dismay) to see that poor paratrooper still hanging from that spire when we drove into that little town. The city fathers have made a cottage industry out of that historic incident and there are replicas of the doomed soldier in all the store windows down the town's one main street. The town's name is Ste. Mere-Eglise, and Jack remembered it from seeing the notable war movie "The Longest Day" in France on his first mission in 1961.
The American Military Cemetery is along the ocean not far from Omaha beach, and what an awe-inspiring spiritual place it is. The grounds are pristine in every way - not a leaf out of place, grass like a carpet, and the markers white and gleaming against all the beautiful surroundings. People were walking among the crosses, reading names and musing about all those men who willingly put their very lives on the line for freedom's sake. I can't help but think that men with principles like that had to be some of the best of our nation - a whole generation of good men who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country.
It was a cool and blustery afternoon, yet lots of people were there, with their families in many cases. The thing that really surprised me was that most of the language being spoken was French, and it was evident in their hushed tones that there was reverence and respect being shown at the grounds. Many French people have the point of view that throwing down gum wrappers or other unwanted paper is no crime because there are people employed to pick this stuff up. They are actually 'helping' someone with job security, so what's a little littering going to hurt? But here, nothing marred the surrounding burial grounds at all, and I was so grateful for this recognition of the solemness of the grounds we were visiting.
The next day before heading back to Lille, we checked out the Canadian and British landing beaches further north along the Normandy coast. These areas are vastly different from the long wide expanse of flat sand where the Americans disembarked. These troops were facing tall cliffs up from the water's edge to climb, so their task was quite dangerous in a different and formidable way. This whole coastline where the invasion took place has a special feeling about it, and I'm so glad it worked out that we could come here before returning home to the U.S.
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