One day in Normandy

I have decided that my blog "One Day in Normandy" deserves a re-run for this year on 
D-Day - the Sixth of June.  It was originally published last summer, but is so apropos that it is coming to you again.   We were so honored to have an authentic survivor of that very day's invasion with us on that tour.  When he began speaking, our group fell completely silent to hear his every word.  It was very emotional and moving, with hardly a dry eye in the group.  The tour guide completely moved  aside and let the man speak.   The local French people who live in this area still remember and honor the Americans who braved that day and saved them.  They hold celebrations to this very day on "D Day!"   I think of all this every year when "The Sixth of June" comes around. 
 I will never forget that day.

One day in Normandy

In Flanders’s field the poppies blow,

Between the crosses, row on row . . .

PHOTO OF PAVILION  2

                John McCrae   1915  ¹

In Normandy it’s true also,

Across the hills in endless flow,

White on white the crosses go.

The mind is staggered by the blow,

Of all the souls who sleep below.

                  Shirley Taylor  1995

I have visited the huge Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial between St. Laurent-sur-Mer and Colleville-sur-Mer several times.  There are 9,387 graves there.  It is always mind blowing.  You can’t really absorb it.  It’s like something beyond reality.

But first you must experience the actual invasion site at Omaha Beach a few minutes away.  There you’ll see off to the left the cliffs the rangers climbed.  And straight ahead of you are the hills overlooking the beach where the troops came ashore, the sloping rise they climbed, the ones whose bodies were not left washing in the bloody sand and surf.  There are still the potholes where the shells from the warships offshore dug out huge craters in the dirt.  There is still the German pillbox where the deadly barrage came from which wiped away lives in terrible swipes.  Even if you weren't born yet, or are not old enough to remember it personally, you have seen it in endless movies.  But nothing brings home the terrible reality like being there and seeing it for yourself.

SHELL CRATERS and GERMAN PILLBOX   3

On one of my visits there, I was with a bus tour, a group of about 30 people.  As the tour guide led us about, giving his standard “talk,” one of the men with us, an older man, began to speak up, making comments.  “Here is where we came up the hill,” he said.  “Right here is where my buddy got hit.  Over here is where he died.”  As the man continued, the tour guide stopped speaking, remained quiet, and gave the man all his attention.  The man, more or less, took over the tour of the battlefield.  We had with us that day one of the “boys” who had climbed that hill, who had experienced that withering machine-gun fire.  A “boy” who had watched his friends die all around him.  A “boy” who had survived.  As he walked around on that hill, speaking low, the people on the tour followed him, and were completely silent, listening.  There was not a sound beyond the voice of the “boy” who was reliving that horrible day and describing it for us.  It was one of the most profound things I have ever experienced.

After that we reboarded our bus and went the short distance to the cemetery.  It is an enormous magnificent place.  Majestic!  Elegant!  An American flag flies over it. 

THE PAVILION w/ REFLECTING POOL  4 

This is American soil – in appreciation of our sacrifice, the French deeded it to America, so that this ground belongs to us.  It is a worthy place for the bodies of those “boys” who, that day in June 1944, gave up their lives for America.

CLOSEUP OF PAVILION  5

As you stand at the pavilion and look out across the hills, they are completely white.  Covered in white crosses as far as you can see.  Straight lines of crosses that radiate out in endless rows of perfect white.

ENDLESS ROWS OF PERFECT WHITE  6

 A little way down a walkway from the Pavilion, through the crosses, is the Chapel, exquisite in its perfection.

LOOKING TOWARD THE
CHAPEL
7

THE CHAPEL  8

 I had not walked down to it before, so I decided to do that and I started down the path.  As you went along you could see up close the fronts of the crosses with the names, ranks, religious affiliation.  You could see all the names of America, the religions of America:  Catholic, Protestant, Jewish.  I’m sure there were many more.  It felt like I was swimming in a sea of white crosses.

       I never made it to the Chapel.

CROSSES ROW ON ROW   9

Suddenly I was so overtaken with emotion that I burst into tears.  It was so quick and unexpected that I cannot explain it.  I was not attached to anyone in that cemetery.  As far as I know, I have no close relative buried there.  It was as if the very ground itself was so saturated with sad energy that it rose up and engulfed me.  Some force emanating from all those crosses with real names on them encircled me and I felt the everlasting sadness of that place.

I came home and added my little piece of poetry to the one John McCrae had written after the First World War – In Flanders Fields!  I have never forgotten that trip to Normandy,
I never will.

Remember and honor

¹      In Flanders Field, John McCrae  

 5          Black Statue w/ poppies

http://www.utexas.edu/cola/depts/history/features/past-features/normandy-scholar-program11.php

6          Closeup of Crosses

http://www.tripadvisor.com/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g676160-d196245-i23823011-Normandy_American_Cemetery_Memorial-Colleville_sur_Mer_Calvados_Basse_Norm.html#23823016

7 and 8    The Chapel

http://www.tripadvisor.com/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g676160-d196245-i23823011-Normandy_American_Cemetery_Memorial-Colleville_sur_Mer_Calvados_Basse_Norm.html#23823016

9             Crosses Row on Row
http://www.ww2incolor.com/modern/us+military+cemetery+2.html

All other photos the property of the author.

In Flanders Field

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae,  1915