Hello again from Bayeux. As planned, we hit the beaches today to see the site of the famous D-Day landings. Bayeux is actually very close to the coast and was the first large town to be liberated by the Allies. Consequently, there was no fighting in the town (aside from a 3-minute firefight outside the post office) and the town is preserved in all its ancient majesty.
I think I jinxed us this morning while writing the last email. We left the hotel only to walk into the bitter cold of a northern French winter. Fog rolled across the countryside all day, and the high was around three degrees (that�s about 35 degrees Farenheit). The damp cold and fog obscured some of our views, but somehow added a hint of mystery to our trip.
We decided to book a tour for the day rather than rent a car and drive to the beaches ourselves. The cost was about the same, and we probably would have been very frustrated trying to find our way around the Normandy countryside, so I think we made the right decision. We got in with a company called �D-Day Tours,� an appropriate if decidedly unimaginative name. Our driver, a former military man and mechanic, is a lifetime World War II buff that has been studying the war since adolescence. He was delightfully informed and animated, obviously engaged in a career he holds near and dear to his heart. All that made the tour even better.
The journey to Normandy has been described as a trip every American should make. It was on those beaches and on those bluffs that US soldiers gave their lives in enormous numbers for the freedom of Europe. It was here that America became the leader of the free world. We should all come here, just like all Australians and New Zealanders should see the battlefield at Galipoli. Of course, we were a little more successful in 1944.
The American cemetery was the most moving part of the whole visit. Rows and rows of crosses in perfect rows, interspersed with stars of David, stretched through the fog as far as we could see. The wet weather muffled all sound, and, as we walked along the path that bisects the cemetery, we felt as if we were the only people in the place. Every once in a while, we saw a marker for an unknown soldier.
As we were heading back to the parking lot to catch the bus, we passed an older man who asked us for directions. He was looking for the beach, and we had just seen the path down to it, so we pointed the way. He introduced himself, saying he was from Indiana and had always wanted to come to Normandy. He was thirteen in 1941 when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and his mother used to sit down with him during the war and help him understand all the developments as the information came in. For security purposes, the dispatches from the front were about two weeks late, but to him they seemed up-to-the-minute. He used to sit by the radio and listen intently at the latest victories and setbacks of the American troops. Although he didn�t mention it, I�m sure he prayed along with the rest of the country on June 6, 1944, when the Allies landed on these very shores.
Colleen mentioned to him that her grandfather had been a paratrooper and medic in the war and had dropped from a plane in this area in 1944. With a sober look on his face, he looked her straight in the eyes and said �Tell him a man from Indiana says thanks.�
It was a moving experience for all three of us, Americans a long way from home, yet still on American soil (the French government gave the land for the cemetery and a few other areas to the US in the decades following the war to show their appreciation), sharing a moment of remembrance and respect. We could scarcely stop the tears from rolling down our cheeks.
We visited the Omaha and Utah beaches, standing on the places our troops made valiant assault on the Atlantic Wall. Germans from above were shelling and gunning the brave boys into the sand, but the determination and sheer size of the Allied assault eventually won the day. It was almost surreal, after spending so much time teaching about the events of that fateful day and invasion, to be standing there looking at the same scenery. Sure, the danger was gone and resort housing dotted the coastline, but, with a little imagination, the scene came to life around us.
Exhausted from the emotional and physical drain of the day, and wanting to finally get out of the cold, we walked straight from where the van dropped us off to the hotel. Our computer has been acting up pretty badly, which is a bad sign for our picture taking and the future of these emails. Hopefully I can figure out the problem, and the dispatches can continue. In the meantime, I have uploaded pictures from Normandy to http://photos.yahoo.com/psargent.
But one final word about 1944. That man from Indiana had it right. We don�t think often enough about the sacrifices made by our troops, older men walking the streets around us every day, for the freedom of our country and the world. Without their courage, determination, and strength, we could all be living in a place much worse than anything we have ever known. We need to let them know, before it is too late, that they made an enormous difference in the history of the world. We need to let them know that their deeds will never be forgotten. We need to let them know that we are grateful.
So Grandpa, if you�re reading this email, thanks from us as well.
Paul and Colleen