Today started in an extremely unusual way. Unbeknownst to any of the students (and I daresay the leaders), ship wide music piped into every room at 4:45 AM sharp. There was, despite much wall banging, no button to turn the annoying music and stewardess voice off. After a hurried morning run around, we all arrived in an upstairs lounge until the ship docked. We gathered our luggage and got off the ship into the cold morning air.
Our first stop of a day focusing on WWII was Normandy. We drove into the small city, on the first double-decker bus I have ever been in (though I expected to see them in England). Once in the town, we went to Le Memorial de Caen Museum. Outside of the building, the following words are engraved: “Grief had wrecked me; my brothers roused me from my ruins, and freedom gushed out of my wounds.” The main exhibit was a literal spiral down a concrete ramp, showing the downgrade from the roaring 1920’s into the Great Depression and finally to the dangerous appeal of fascism in some European nations, such as Germany. Father into the exhibit, the lights became dimmer as more and more Nazi atrocities were displayed, until arrival into the victory room, showcasing many military tactics and vehicles.
I have taken a few honors history courses, but we never got too much war history. I learned a huge amount about WWII that day. We watched a poignant film about the Battle of Britain, where the German air force of more than 1400 fighter pilots and bombers faced off against a desperate force of 700 or so fighters with mostly young pilots. Another exhibit dealt with France’s “Phony War” before they capitulated to Nazi rule. Marshall Penn controlled half of the country, and German forces occupied the other half.
Another exhibit had to do solely with the human atrocities carried out by the Nazis, and it was tough. In one very graphic picture, a 17-year-old German-Jewish girl was being publicly hanged. If I had been that girl, I would have never seen 18, or Europe. Or college. Reading her age was like a sucker punch to the stomach. Another room had a recorded Hitler rally – his very voice has enough evil in its undertones to make you shiver. I cannot fathom how one human body held so much evil; a being so filled depravity he could bring new pain and hurt to a world already suffering under hundreds of years of torment from wars, starvation, racism, poverty.
Post-museum, we headed out to the actual beaches where the D-Day invasion, or Operation Overlord, occurred. We went to Omaha beach, which saw the most causalities. We also climbed over some of the trenches and huge anti-aircraft guns dug into the ground overlooking the steep cliffs. On other parts of the beach, people were sunbathing and swimming, much like any other beach on a summer day. All I imagine was the water red with blood from the men who died protecting their freedom to sit on those beaches in peace and equality.
After two stops at highly emotional and sobering sights, the most painful was left for last. We finished our day at the American Memorial Cemetery in Normandy. The cemetery is the only military one without the traditional round marker – there is instead a sea of white crosses, so still they seem like a field of wildflowers without a breeze. I was told there are more than 9,000 graves. A large gate opens into a greenery-surrounded path into the cemetery proper. Upon entering, the crosses stretch out directly in front of you, with the cliffs off in the distance, the water glinting in the sun. To the right is a large memorial sculpture reminiscent of the White House, with murals depicting the many bloody battle of WWII. In the center of the plaza structure was a special area with statues and a place for us to put a wreath in honor of the fallen soldiers. Taps was played over the loudspeakers as we stood there, and I could feel the iciness of almost a whole generation lost, in my heart.
I know my dad and grandfather would have loved to be able to see this memorial – my grandfather served in the states and my father followed with a voracious appetite for military history. Indeed, both of my grandfathers served, so it was very disconcerting knowing that if they would have been deployed on their mission, I could have been standing near their graves. Even so, each man WAS someone’s father, brother, son, cousin, nephew, friend.
The plaza area also has a time capsule buried under it, dedicated to President Eisenhower. It contains information on the D-Day invasion and will be opened on June 6th, 2044.
Behind the plaza is another small garden with a wall that wraps around it, stretching for what must be 100 feet. The way, much like the traveling Vietnam Memorial, it covered with inscribed names – they are, in this case, names of those missing in action. In the midst of graves, near what must have been the center, there was a chapel. Simple on the exterior with white columns, it was ornate inside. In addition to full church regalia, there was a mural depicting soldiers traveling from America to France, and France giving back the dead soldiers with prayers of hope.
We then walked the cemetery in groups there was almost nowhere to tread but over the corners of graves in places; I fancied the earth felt firmer over their metal caskets than elsewhere. Before we stepped out, one of the cemetery’s caretakers showed us some of the more notable graves.
The cemetery contains all American citizens except for two Mexicans and two British soldiers who fought with the Americans. There are three recipients of the Medal of Honor on the cemetery – one of them is Theodore Roosevelt Jr. He earned his metal by leading his troops to safety through the chaos on Utah beach. We also saw the graves of two brothers (one died June 6, the other June 7). A third brother was MIA and presumed dead until found after the war as a POW. A fourth brother was stopped en route to France because of the unbelievably heavy toll his family had already suffered for the war.
One thing we found curios was the omission of a D.O.B. on the grave markers. One of the caretakers explained the omission was due to one of two reasons. The official was that the army thought people would feel more sorry for the younger soldiers, which would be unfair. The actual issue was the dates would be horrifying – some soldiers faked papers to enlist and were as young as 15 at their death.
I must say is struck me rather hard that there weren’t flowers at every grave. Obviously some men have no ore family; some can’t afford the trip; etc. At the time, I sketched some ideas about starting a small effort to purchase and place a flower on every grave once a year, maybe on the anniversary of D-Day. If anyone reading this would like to help, please let me know.
In order to convey some of feelings about the gravity of what I saw this day, I will quote directly from my journal at this point:
All of today has been so hard-hitting and historical. It’s heartbreaking to see this much death. War should never be fought – no one ever gains anything from it but more death, and pain. As I look around, I really hope that regardless of outward appearance of the other delegates (students), they are taking the level of destruction (the craters we saw, burned into the ground on Omaha beach) quite seriously, and will use all the means available to them now and in the future to prevent war. They will do everything to promote peace, cultured understanding, respect, and harmony.
That night, I stayed in a room with Marissa, a friendly girl who agreed to braid my then quite short hair. She turned on her music and began to read a book, and I continued to chronicle. I wrote about how the middle school group, which did the trip in the reverse order as we did, had warned us the hotel in Belgium was “scary.” It was actually a hostel, and not scary at all. I also wrote about my wish that we had also been able to go to Germany, Austria, and Hungary because it seems that countries are so close together in Europe. Next, I took the opportunity to make a family souvenir checklist, as many people wanted something from France.
After listing, I wrote some practice French on hot to order a sugar and butter crepe (Une crepe avec le sucre et le berr, sil vous plait). I thought about the daunting ten-hour flight we had to look forward to after Amsterdam. I then discussed the childish drama that some of the students engaged in, such as making crude jokes about the French people’s supposed refusal to use perfume or deodorant. Near the end of the trip, their antics really began to grate on my nerves.
Next was a small rage about the lack of seafood when we have mainly been on coastline or islands. Finally, I recorded my joy at receiving a greeting card from my mom, and of course how I missed her.
I was also super-excited to go to Paris, of course.
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