Ever since I visited Normandy 20 years ago, I've thought that every American needs to go there at least once. It should be our version of the American Hajj -- an essential pilgrimage that every citizen makes once in their lifetime, because it teaches you in a way nothing else ever can exactly what it means to be American in this world. You will never understand yourself or your country -- who we are, and what our existence makes possible -- in the same way again.
We visited Versailles a few days later. Our guide -- an elderly Frenchman with flowing silver locks, an extremely gay affect, a cravat, watery blue eyes, and a mouth that seemed to be stuck in a permanently disapproving pucker, led us into the King's study and started talking about the reasons that the monarchy failed. (I'd been walking around the palace for 45 minutes at this point, marvelling at the opulence and muttering to myself: Holy Christ on a baguette, did these people ever need a revolution....) Our guide made it clear that in his opinion, the thing that undid the French king was his support of the American Revolution -- a commitment that France, as it turned out, could ill afford (well, no, not while you're spending the substance of the nation on...gestures wildly...ALL THIS....), and which ultimately broke the country.
He went on like this for a long minute or two, his mostly American and Brit crowd listening uncomfortably, absorbing the shame he was clearly intending to inflict. But I wasn't having it. With such recent images of Colville-sur-Mer still filling my head, I couldn't control my mouth. Before I could catch the thought, my voice raised itself, solid and clear, and out it flew....
"I'd like to think that we paid that debt back, with interest, on June 6, 1944."
The words hung in the air. The group sharply, audibly inhaled with a single breath. My husband, standing beside me, winced, and then stared at me with an odd combo of embarrassment, pride, and glee. (Hoookay, so, that's my girl...) The guide's azure eyes widened like I'd just peed in the spittoon, and his mouth puckered so hard it looked like I'd shoved a lemon into it. (And I kind of had.) And thus ended his commentary. We moved on to discussing the vases on the mantle.
We've got this bond, us and France. They paid for our existence with treasure -- and, ultimately, blood, if the guide is to be believed. But we did not forget. When history gave us the chance to pay it back, we came, and climbed those beaches, and died for their existence, too. And they have not forgotten: two-thirds of the visitors to Colville-sur-Mer --some 650,000 per year -- are French. They bring their children, and they remember our sacrifice. Their memory hasn't died, either.
Our family had no members at D-Day -- my grandfathers were all in the Pacific -- but my kids' paternal great-grandfather sat out the invasion in a German POW camp. He was a B-17 tailgunner with the 90th Bomb Group, and had been shot down in February during the Big Week air assault on German industrial facilities that softened the ground for D-Day. By August, he'd escaped the camp, gotten over the Pyrenees, been returned to the UK, and was headed home.
Thank you for this! I too have been to Normandy, Omaha, the bunkers , Point de Hoc and the American cemetery. As a former Soldier in the 29th Division, Normandy is a special place. I found many 29ners graves at the Normandy Cemetery. It's incredible what they did on 6 June 1944, punching through the bluffs to get off the beach, as I stood on Omaha Beach and looked inland. The same at Point de Hoc!
As we remember those who served our country, I am reflecting on the service of my father (US Navy, WWII, South Pacific) and my father-in-law (US Army, WWII, 95th Infantry Division), as well as the Soldiers from my own service who have passed.
I also want to express what a privilege it was to serve with many great Soldiers. I truly value their service following their retirement. I learned a great serving with them and continue to do so.
Ever since I visited Normandy 20 years ago, I've thought that every American needs to go there at least once. It should be our version of the American Hajj -- an essential pilgrimage that every citizen makes once in their lifetime, because it teaches you in a way nothing else ever can exactly what it means to be American in this world. You will never understand yourself or your country -- who we are, and what our existence makes possible -- in the same way again.
We visited Versailles a few days later. Our guide -- an elderly Frenchman with flowing silver locks, an extremely gay affect, a cravat, watery blue eyes, and a mouth that seemed to be stuck in a permanently disapproving pucker, led us into the King's study and started talking about the reasons that the monarchy failed. (I'd been walking around the palace for 45 minutes at this point, marvelling at the opulence and muttering to myself: Holy Christ on a baguette, did these people ever need a revolution....) Our guide made it clear that in his opinion, the thing that undid the French king was his support of the American Revolution -- a commitment that France, as it turned out, could ill afford (well, no, not while you're spending the substance of the nation on...gestures wildly...ALL THIS....), and which ultimately broke the country.
He went on like this for a long minute or two, his mostly American and Brit crowd listening uncomfortably, absorbing the shame he was clearly intending to inflict. But I wasn't having it. With such recent images of Colville-sur-Mer still filling my head, I couldn't control my mouth. Before I could catch the thought, my voice raised itself, solid and clear, and out it flew....
"I'd like to think that we paid that debt back, with interest, on June 6, 1944."
The words hung in the air. The group sharply, audibly inhaled with a single breath. My husband, standing beside me, winced, and then stared at me with an odd combo of embarrassment, pride, and glee. (Hoookay, so, that's my girl...) The guide's azure eyes widened like I'd just peed in the spittoon, and his mouth puckered so hard it looked like I'd shoved a lemon into it. (And I kind of had.) And thus ended his commentary. We moved on to discussing the vases on the mantle.
We've got this bond, us and France. They paid for our existence with treasure -- and, ultimately, blood, if the guide is to be believed. But we did not forget. When history gave us the chance to pay it back, we came, and climbed those beaches, and died for their existence, too. And they have not forgotten: two-thirds of the visitors to Colville-sur-Mer --some 650,000 per year -- are French. They bring their children, and they remember our sacrifice. Their memory hasn't died, either.
Our family had no members at D-Day -- my grandfathers were all in the Pacific -- but my kids' paternal great-grandfather sat out the invasion in a German POW camp. He was a B-17 tailgunner with the 90th Bomb Group, and had been shot down in February during the Big Week air assault on German industrial facilities that softened the ground for D-Day. By August, he'd escaped the camp, gotten over the Pyrenees, been returned to the UK, and was headed home.
Well done, Sara. Thank you for doing that.
Thank you for this beautiful, heart-breaking account. We all need to hear it, feel it, honor it.
This is beautiful! Thanks for making what happened more real so we may understand and learn from it….
Thank you for this! I too have been to Normandy, Omaha, the bunkers , Point de Hoc and the American cemetery. As a former Soldier in the 29th Division, Normandy is a special place. I found many 29ners graves at the Normandy Cemetery. It's incredible what they did on 6 June 1944, punching through the bluffs to get off the beach, as I stood on Omaha Beach and looked inland. The same at Point de Hoc!
As we remember those who served our country, I am reflecting on the service of my father (US Navy, WWII, South Pacific) and my father-in-law (US Army, WWII, 95th Infantry Division), as well as the Soldiers from my own service who have passed.
I also want to express what a privilege it was to serve with many great Soldiers. I truly value their service following their retirement. I learned a great serving with them and continue to do so.
I will read this every Memorial Day, remember the heartfelt message all other days and keep it in my heart forever. Thank you.
Beautiful and moving. I have been to Normandy several times, with a DDAY survivor. What an honor.