We drove from our hotel outside of Paris to Bastogne, where the bloodiest encounter of WWII in the Western Theater took place – the Battle of the Bulge. For some historical context, we watched an episode of Band of Brothers on the bus- the only one I have ever seen. We were asked to take notes about the realistic aspects of the show, and some were. For instance, the characters discussed the layout of Bastogne; seven roads in, seven roads out. All soldiers characteristically smoked, commanders made battle tactics in the field with the aid of terrain maps, and the forces used smoke and flashlight signals. Another stark fact that comes up multiple times in the movie is the lack of supplies to the Allied forces – food to bullets.
After we saw all the memorials and museums in honor of Americans helping in WWII, it seems strange that the prevailing European opinion is against Americans. Some people we spoke to added a caveat to this view: Europeans may dislike American policy in foreign affairs and economics, but will show no dislike for someone just because they are American, and especially if they are young Americans in Europe to broaden their horizons. I don’t know if that was sincere or forced politeness, but I try to believe it was the former.
I enjoyed learning more about the Battle of the Bulge today. I didn’t know very much about the literally epic battle, and was glad to expand my historical knowledge. The museum we walked through, though not expansive, was filled with actually military gear, uniforms, and tank s- the story took on a sort of immediacy from the actuality of the relics.
We also saw a movie detailing the intensity of the battle, as well as the living conditions of the civilians. The snow blanketed the burned out town, buildings crumbled on a daily basis, food and water were scarce. Some families had to stay underground in makeshift bomb shelters almost all day for weeks. The commander of operations was in the 101st Air Division, nicknamed the Screaming Eagles. That same division is, at time of my trip, fighting in Iraq. The battle was fought from December 1944 to January 1945, and killed over 19,000 Americans, according to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Bulge.
In 1944, there were 5,000 people in Bastogne and another 5,000 people in the 13 surrounding villages. Today, there are 7,500 in the same locations, making 15,000 altogether. The town suffered huge damage to the town – 1,000 buildings destroyed, 2,000 buildings damaged. The current day “Baby-City” store was a 50-bed hospital during the battle for GI’s. There was one nurse for all, but she was killed during a bombing raid trying to evacuate her patients.
In late June, there is march through town honoring the bond of military and civilian friendship. The city’s colors are blue (water) and red (sand). In 1332, a wall was built around all of Bastogne. When he came to power, Louis XIV ordered the wall destroyed except around the town’s church.
Roadblocks were often used in the battle because the off-road terrain was mostly schist, an almost-waterproof type of rock that would cause tanks and other vehicles to slip and slide in the rain and snow. The citizens of Bastogne helped the Allied forces by providing them white sheets in the winter to camouflage their uniforms into the snow. The grenades the Germans threw at Allied forces were called potato smashers and consisted of a classic grenade latched onto a large throwing stick for maximum distance. Also special tactics were needed to drop supplies into Bastogne when German forces blockaded it. The target dropping areas on the ground were very small, and the pilot of the plane dropping supplies only had a one-minute Passover period. Different supplies were signified using different colored parachutes attached to the boxes: red for ammunition, blue for anti-tank artillery, white for food, and yellow for medical supplies. If the supplies made it to the ground, generally in a field, soldiers had to risk their lives to run out into the open to retrieve the packages.
I will be perfectly honest about the museum – it seemed a little empty and dusty, not like the sleek WWII museum in France. I don’t know if the difference has to do with age of building and funds available, but I thought it odd and even offensive one museum would seem so much better cared for than the other. I am in no way saying the caretakers of the Bastogne museum were not adequately caring for the property and relics, but perhaps business opportunities are not prime.
After the museum, we walked more of the grounds until we reached the Battle of the Bulge memorial, a huge concrete sculpture honoring the Americans, by state, who fought in the battle. There are stirring inscriptions around the entire structure, along with a narrow, curving staircase to access the top of the structure. The view includes Bastogne and much of the surrounding area – all saved from possible obliteration by the American soldiers the memorial honors. The structure was funded, planned and built right after the war, despite lack of materials, supplies, and labor. Near the memorial, in an underground chamber, is a crypt for many soldiers who died in the Bastogne fighting. The chapel is separated into three walls for the three faiths buried there, each marked with a different tile mosaic. The crypt had the calm feeling of a great cathedral, and I truly hope the soldiers buried there are in heaven.
Continuing on with our busy day, we traveled a little outside of town to see the East Company’s actual fox holes, looking out across enemy lines. The actual depressions in the earth they crouched in were unimaginably small, and would have been cramped, cold, and fear-filled, knowing a German soldier with a machine gun might be sniping at you or charging your lines at any time.
After our brush with a combat situation, we stopped at German cemetery – again, endless markers, but inside a more countryside stone gate, covered by weeping willows, the grass darker in the shade. There was also a chapel in this cemetery – it was again, smaller than the American cemetery in France, the stone darker, and the décor less gilded and grand – but beautiful and heartbreaking in their way. The stone markers that carpeted the grass were again crosses, though they marked two deaths per headstone. There are over 9,000 soldiers buried in the graveyard. At the back of the cemetery are four crosses honoring those whose remains could not be indentified.
The first headstone my group approached two men who were only 18. Should I have been either of the men (as with the WWII museum), I would have already been dead, with no chance at a career or a family. One of the caretakers told us that a German youth group comes to the cemetery every summer to tend to the grounds – it makes me feel like the soldiers all less alone, away from home.
In addition the German causalities, 7,901 American GI’s are buried around the village. In the chapel, there is a small bell that an American GI picked up after a church bombing in the area in 1944. In 1984, the GI brought the bell back to the chapel at the cemetery, where it and his ashes (by special request) now reside.
The scenery here is much like Ireland, but yet so different – I think much of the difference lies in lighter foliage and more sun. When I look at an Irish landscape, it calls to mind mysteries and myths; Belgium seems more like a tidy, welcoming, little village. The way the forests blend straight into meadows and houses is startling; they just stop in a straight line to reveal perfectly cut fields that roll on and on through the hilly countryside, dotted by creeks and stone farmhouses with bright flower boxes under picturesque windows.
I also recommend Belgian pomme frites, though they will look at you strangely if you request ketchup. All you really need is a little mayonnaise. In the food vein, I felt very weird in Belgium, as it is so famous for chocolate, which I can’t stand.
Currently watching: First 48 on A&E – Forensic Files on TruTV. Listening: Paul Simon, The Band, Neil Diamond
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