At dawn on the morning of June 6, 1944, we could see the French shore as we circled, prior to making our run for the beach. I watched through binoculars as engineer troops ahead of us ran from obstacle to obstacle attempting to blow them up.
I watched as men were mowed down by machine gun and rifle fire. I watched as many landing crafts were hit in the water and either sank or listed to one side or the other. I watched as one landing craft full of tanks stopped too far out, and when the tanks disembarked they sank. I watched as my Captain's jeep took off the ramp and kept going down in the water so all that could be seen was his head and the driver's head; they ultimately had to desert the vehicle.
I watched as several listing landing craft with wounded men aboard headed away from the shore. I watched as men from landing craft floundered in the deep water, trying to reach the shore before they drowned. I watched as problems occurred, such as English lorries landing our zone only to get stuck in the beach sand. I watched as tanks that did make it to shore were knocked out and burned, with men pouring out of the turrets.
Our beach, rather than being cleared, was becoming a mess due to wrecked vehicles, injured and dead men and discarded equipment.
I watched as men were mowed down by machine gun and rifle fire. I watched as many landing crafts were hit in the water and either sank or listed to one side or the other. I watched as one landing craft full of tanks stopped too far out, and when the tanks disembarked they sank. I watched as my Captain's jeep took off the ramp and kept going down in the water so all that could be seen was his head and the driver's head; they ultimately had to desert the vehicle.
I watched as several listing landing craft with wounded men aboard headed away from the shore. I watched as men from landing craft floundered in the deep water, trying to reach the shore before they drowned. I watched as problems occurred, such as English lorries landing our zone only to get stuck in the beach sand. I watched as tanks that did make it to shore were knocked out and burned, with men pouring out of the turrets.
Our beach, rather than being cleared, was becoming a mess due to wrecked vehicles, injured and dead men and discarded equipment.
(Dal Estes, Tracks Across Europe)
Present Day:
We arrived at the Lebrec's home around 4pm. They were hosting a bus tour from St. Michael's College in Burlington, Vermont. It was pretty funny to arrive in Normandy and be greeted by 25 Americans.
The Lebrec's were just as I expected. Martine is a thin, beautiful French woman. You can tell by her warmth and caring that she was a Mom of five and a grandmother of sixteen. She is simply lovely. Daniel looks much younger than his 75 years. He was very glad to see us and opened his arms wide to hug my sister. The location of their home is spectacular. You walk out the front door, walk 10 yards across a road and you are standing on Omaha Beach.
Not surprisingly, the beach looked a bit different than it did 70 years ago. It was peaceful and serene. A world away from the carnage Dad described above.
The Lebrec's invited some friends for dinner and together we enjoyed a proper French meal, with more food and wine than a person should probably consume.
One of the guests at dinner, a man named Bertrand, was a child living in Normandy during the invasion. His story was remarkable and provided yet another perspective of the D-Day landing.
Bert was five years old and his brother was nine. They were with their mother and grandparents at the family home in Normandy. Their father was in the French Navy, stationed on a submarine. At the time, the French sent the submarines to North Africa in order to stop the Germans from taking them and using them in the war effort against the Allies. Bert laughed when he recounted the story of his father insisting that the family get out of their home in Paris and stay on the beaches of Normandy, where he was convinced it would be safer. "There is no way the war will get to Normandy, my Dad said." Bert laughed and went on, "Dad was listening to a radio on the sub on June 7, 1944 and heard the Allies invaded Normandy", Bert said. He then threw his hands up to his head, imitating what he thought his Father must have done and said in broken English, "my father said, WHAT HAVE I DONE?". It wasn't for weeks his "Pere" found out the family and family home were safe. Bert said the home was saved because it was built the "right way". My sister asked him if it was old and he responded, "well, it was remodeled in 1898". Yes, 1898. Turns out it was built in the 16th century.
Bert then went on to share his memories from 70 years prior. Obviously not knowing the invasion was happening, the family was awakened early in the morning of June 6th by bombs going off all around them. His brother hid under the kitchen table and Bert sat on the lap of the family maid, not really understanding what was going on. (He also threw in that she was the first of many maids he fell in love with. "I'm French after all", he exclaimed.) But I digress. Burt went on, "we stayed in our home all through June 6th and the morning of June 7th. The afternoon of the 7th, soldiers came. I remember they had a big patch with a red line, on their shoulder. They pointed a large gun at my Grandfather and asked him if we were German". At this point, Bert stopped and shook his head from side to side. We were all staring at him waiting for him to go on. He then stood up straight and in a proud voice he said, "my Grandfather said, I am FRENCH and I have been helping the Allies." It turns out, the red patch was for the US Army, Big Red One division who landed in the first wave on Omaha.
The family wasn't allowed to leave their home or go to the beach until the 10th of June. He said he had two vivid memories of that day. The first was that the boats, men and vehicles were so numerous that "you couldn't even see the water." Having seen the expanse of the beach, it's hard to comprehend.
I asked him what his other favorite memory was and his response lit up his face. You could almost imagine the 5 year old in him. "Chocolate", he said. "The American troops gave us chocolate and bananas. To my grandparents, the liberation was the gift. To a five year old, it was chocolate."
Next blog up: Dal's Memories, Day, Part 2
No comments:
Post a Comment