The history of the Pilgrim’s Trail of religious iconography can be traced back through centuries in Western Europe. Shrines containing sacred and precious relics were visited by medaevil pilgrims en route to the grand finale, notably the Cathedral of Santiago di Compostella where in the city’s magnificent cathedral the Tomb of the Apostle James the Great would be venerated. During the journey, filled with hazard, those pilgrims were fortunate to find very basic accommodation and refreshment along the long trail from their homeland, often many hundreds of miles distant, on a pilgrimage of several years’ duration.
Such was the conviction of these ancient people, our forebears. It was a measure of utter faith to set off from their homes, passing through dangerous, unknown lands of foreign languages with little money or valuables, and being almost wholly reliant upon strangers to provide food and lodging to help them on their way.
The 1980’s saw the final few modern pilgrims straggle their way on foot into Santiago di Compostella, which is a deep irony as modern day travel to these places is now so easy and quick.
It starts with the thought. In medieval times there would have been many lengthy discussions about preparing for a pilgrimage leading, perhaps, to the doing of it. Today, the idea arrives and 30 minutes later the thing is booked. Let the plane, train and car do the work and forget the donkey.
But the iconography remains. Curiously, whereas the ancient Pilgrim’s trail was baited with religious iconography, so it remains in Normandy in the form of tourist iconography, often media inspired and driven.
After the dust had settled in Normandy the village of Graignes was feted as the most important site on the Normandy pilgrim trail; so much so that the first plaque to commemorate the D-Day Landings was unveiled within the ruins of 12th Century Graignes village church by Mr David Bruce, the US Ambassador to Paris on 12th June 1949. Travel was difficult in those austere post war years, nevertheless Graignes was firmly on the map. Today, it is hardly visited.
Instead, we see modern pilgrims at Ste Mere Eglise angling to see a plastic effigy of John Steele and parachute seemingly transfixed for eternity on a pinnacle of the church tower. The town buzzes with parachute effigies of John Steele, postcards of John Steele, the Auberge de John Steele and it will only become a matter of time before we see John Steele burgers and John Steele pizzas in the local fast food joints. (Hint for C47 café.)
Yet, John Steele’s story was, in reality and with due respect, merely something that happened on D-Day. One man’s personal account told to the author, Cornelius Ryan on his mission to complete his book, “The Longest Day” in 1959. By itself the story is insignificant, it came from nothing of any particular importance, nor was it pivotal in any successive event. A snapshot of happenstance. But it was immortalised by Darryl Zanuck in a scene of the film “The Longest Day” which so sensationalised the story of the paratrooper, played by Red Buttons, caught on the church that most tourists aspired to Ste Mere Eglise, leaving Graignes in almost complete obscurity today. Such is the power of the media to bend the course of history.
In Ste Mere Eglise the 82nd Airborne flash replaces the pilgrim’s pewter badge, and nothing is free.
How times have changed. Hedonism, the pursuit of personal pleasure in this case driven by media has taken the place of ancient and serious ritual, and in the process has corrupted even the story of the D-Day Landings.
Saturday 7 November 2009
Thursday 8 October 2009
Keeping it positive
How do people visiting the Normandy Battlefields for the first time react to the occasion? It does not matter from which angle the visit is primarily motivated. Typically it breaks down into either of three categories, historical interest, family connection, or academic study.
It’s a bit like going to a funeral. There is usually deep apprehension about how it will go, and even more concern for the reaction to it.
My first touring day always starts with gentle background comprising a visit to the Mulberry Harbour at Arromanches, a masterpiece of British invention to enable the re-supply of troops already ashore. Then a real German battery at Longues sur Mer to witness the extent, level and capacity of the huge defence guns of the Axis powers. Afterwards a graphic account of what happened on
Following that, the big one. A visit to the
It is always especially sad to see the grave of a young person, whose life lay ahead of him, in this case cut brutally short by a bullet or whatever. What a heinous crime against mankind, the slaughter of the best and the fittest by the best and the fittest – a future generation.
Monday 28 September 2009
TO OMAHA BEACH, OR NOT TO OMAHA BEACH? THAT IS THE QUESTION
It’s that time of year again. August. The month of vacation, long sunny days, barbeques plus a chance to do something with the family which time and weather dictates cannot be done at any other time. So, out come the travel brochures and maps, the car gets a service and for the young ones the thrill of seeing swimming costumes, beach equipment, toys and a bottle of that factor 20 sun lotion with its unique coconut aroma. It’s off to the beach again.
A scene enacted on thousands of beaches throughout the civilized world and condoned by all. Except for a certain hesitancy at Omaha Beach. This beautiful four mile stretch of sandy cove, forever tainted and held in awe by those who may deem it disrespectful to frolic on golden sands which once ran red with blood. The siren call of splashing waves fails to overcome a reluctance to tread on ground once covered with human remains.
A natural reaction. This innocent and inviting beach has been used for decades as a safe and pleasant recreation ground for families with or without children. Located on the same latitude as Seattle, sometimes even in the summer’s height the conditions can be adverse. Windbreaks are erected and with umbrellas leaning into the wind the ever hopefuls set up camp and devour sandwiches and sodas which only a Norman appetite can demand. But most times the weather is kind and the players stay out late.
Some say this is a mark of disrespect and no one should picnic on such a place. But think again. Is it right to deny opportunity to these people on the assumption that it is forever tainted because it was a battleground? Would any of the dead soldiers killed on Omaha beach actually mind if people enjoyed themselves on this area? Would the dead say they would prefer to deny access and thus maintain the fascist Nazi regime of repression?
Now, that’s not a difficult question to answer. Of course, they would say that to deny or frown on access would be to defeat the principle of their attack and sacrifice all those years ago.
Sometimes one merely has to ask the right question to find an answer to a dilemma.
A scene enacted on thousands of beaches throughout the civilized world and condoned by all. Except for a certain hesitancy at Omaha Beach. This beautiful four mile stretch of sandy cove, forever tainted and held in awe by those who may deem it disrespectful to frolic on golden sands which once ran red with blood. The siren call of splashing waves fails to overcome a reluctance to tread on ground once covered with human remains.
A natural reaction. This innocent and inviting beach has been used for decades as a safe and pleasant recreation ground for families with or without children. Located on the same latitude as Seattle, sometimes even in the summer’s height the conditions can be adverse. Windbreaks are erected and with umbrellas leaning into the wind the ever hopefuls set up camp and devour sandwiches and sodas which only a Norman appetite can demand. But most times the weather is kind and the players stay out late.
Some say this is a mark of disrespect and no one should picnic on such a place. But think again. Is it right to deny opportunity to these people on the assumption that it is forever tainted because it was a battleground? Would any of the dead soldiers killed on Omaha beach actually mind if people enjoyed themselves on this area? Would the dead say they would prefer to deny access and thus maintain the fascist Nazi regime of repression?
Now, that’s not a difficult question to answer. Of course, they would say that to deny or frown on access would be to defeat the principle of their attack and sacrifice all those years ago.
Sometimes one merely has to ask the right question to find an answer to a dilemma.
Saturday 1 August 2009
A Contradiction of Nature and Mankind
Many people on tour observe the contradiction between the beautiful Normandy countryside against the horrors which took place not so many years ago. Sturdy Normandy farmhouses nestle within compounds formed by strong stone walls, and cottages are still to be seen in beautiful fields apparently unconnected by road, path or track.
Of course, these are only what survive. Many substantial buildings were utterly destroyed or damaged beyond repair. Replaced buildings are functional and do not readily reflect the old Norman style, but that does not matter as the area is still regarded as beautiful and unspoilt.
The French people have not seen fit to develop Normandy as a tourist attraction. There are no D-Day Theme Parks, no Hitler rides and certainly no Eisenhower Burgers. It would seem the French do not know the meaning of the word “Entrepreneur.”
And what of the once pretty countryside so horribly disfigured by war? The remains of vehicles, guns, tanks and all manner of war artefacts were either buried or dumped at sea. Cratered farmland was bulldozed to allow crops to flourish and tractors to till the soil. Nature reclaimed Man’s despoil. The dark Norman skies cried its tears onto the land and sunshine healed the wounds with all manner of Nature’s produce. Wheat, barley, canola, weeds, orchards, flowers, grass and trees now disguise and cover an area that was once oblivion. Nature cure.
But is it so simple to cure the human mind? It is said time heals, but does it only blunt the pain? Soldiers emerged from Normandy physically intact, but mentally injured. It is the same story for all wars that have ever been, are now happening, or ever will be. Within its thinking process the memory preserves and carries forward the pain of yesterday and yesteryear. The larger the tragedy the longer its duration and suffering. And who knows the tragedies witnessed or inflicted by a soldier in the course of his duty.
There is a lesson to be found in Nature. Nature only has natural intelligence; there is no memory nor mind to interfere with its process. Nature only responds to natural forces – sunlight and rain to start growth, and elements of earth, air, wind, fire, water and climate to temper it.
The Chinese have a saying: If a man is to find short term happiness, he gets drunk. For medium term happiness, he finds a wife. But for everlasting happiness, he gets a garden.
Look at a bush that has been pruned, a tree that has been cut, or a flower plucked. It does not mourn – it is not held back by conscience or a sense of tragedy – it gets on with life. It carries on growing, the life force within forever seeking a permanent outlet. Then one day, one year it dies.
Such is the conundrum of life.
And such is Nature’s harshest conundrum to mankind in seeking terms with grief and tragedy.
Of course, these are only what survive. Many substantial buildings were utterly destroyed or damaged beyond repair. Replaced buildings are functional and do not readily reflect the old Norman style, but that does not matter as the area is still regarded as beautiful and unspoilt.
The French people have not seen fit to develop Normandy as a tourist attraction. There are no D-Day Theme Parks, no Hitler rides and certainly no Eisenhower Burgers. It would seem the French do not know the meaning of the word “Entrepreneur.”
And what of the once pretty countryside so horribly disfigured by war? The remains of vehicles, guns, tanks and all manner of war artefacts were either buried or dumped at sea. Cratered farmland was bulldozed to allow crops to flourish and tractors to till the soil. Nature reclaimed Man’s despoil. The dark Norman skies cried its tears onto the land and sunshine healed the wounds with all manner of Nature’s produce. Wheat, barley, canola, weeds, orchards, flowers, grass and trees now disguise and cover an area that was once oblivion. Nature cure.
But is it so simple to cure the human mind? It is said time heals, but does it only blunt the pain? Soldiers emerged from Normandy physically intact, but mentally injured. It is the same story for all wars that have ever been, are now happening, or ever will be. Within its thinking process the memory preserves and carries forward the pain of yesterday and yesteryear. The larger the tragedy the longer its duration and suffering. And who knows the tragedies witnessed or inflicted by a soldier in the course of his duty.
There is a lesson to be found in Nature. Nature only has natural intelligence; there is no memory nor mind to interfere with its process. Nature only responds to natural forces – sunlight and rain to start growth, and elements of earth, air, wind, fire, water and climate to temper it.
The Chinese have a saying: If a man is to find short term happiness, he gets drunk. For medium term happiness, he finds a wife. But for everlasting happiness, he gets a garden.
Look at a bush that has been pruned, a tree that has been cut, or a flower plucked. It does not mourn – it is not held back by conscience or a sense of tragedy – it gets on with life. It carries on growing, the life force within forever seeking a permanent outlet. Then one day, one year it dies.
Such is the conundrum of life.
And such is Nature’s harshest conundrum to mankind in seeking terms with grief and tragedy.
Wednesday 15 July 2009
A Soldier’s Vision
6th June, 2009. The ABMC Normandy American Cemetery, Colleville sur Mer.
“PENNSYLVANIA SIX - FIVE THOUSAND!!”
As the well known refrain stomped the ground, spirits stirred beneath.
Bob: “Jack, JACK! Can you hear what I hear?”
“JACK!”
Jack, indistinctly: “Yeah, yeah. What’s up, Bob?”
Bob: “I can hear our music! You know we love Glenn!”
Jack: “Yeah, Bob. Sure is better than “Those in Peril on the Sea”, or goddam “John Brown’s Body” Hey - it’s not midday, is it?”
Bob: “No. Let’s go take a look. Oh, how my damn leg hurts.”
Spirits rise from the ground
Bob and Jack had grown up together in the small town of Linden, Alabama where they were neighbours. Both their fathers had grown up together in Linden and married local girls. Bob and Jack were born weeks apart in 1923 and there was no reason to assume the boys would do other than as their fathers’ had done in this small parochial community where everyone knew at least something about the other and foreigners were welcomed, but not regarded as one of the community until at least a generation had passed. The 1930’s were difficult times and the Depression was felt here as much as anywhere else in the States. Their fathers worked at the local timber mill, Linden Timber Inc. which shed jobs as fast as the order book declined. In those times, tiny pieces of string not good for anything were knotted together rather than thrown away. At least in these developing times men carried the skills imbued by their parents in growing crops and raising livestock, but whilst there was enough to go around there was certainly no spare and many felt the pinch.
Although Bob and Jack were the same age and from almost identical backgrounds, their talents differed. Academically Bob towered above Jack finding it easy to learn and was seldom seen further than an arm’s length from a book. Jack had practical and physical strength and as a team they were unbeatable. In their early years they were seldom apart and when not talking animatedly, their strength could be seen in their joint silence. However, boys turn into young men and when the interest in girls started to develop they found the time for sharing had come to an end. Their ties may have lessened, but the bond remained a latent force.
1941 arrived and Bob and Jack were approaching 18 years old. Storm clouds were gathering in Europe and Hitler’s Nazi party was gaining in strength whilst invading and dominating an increasing number of European Countries. It was obvious something needed to be done to stop the plundering spread, but this was happening thousands of miles away in Europe and was of little concern to America. Why should Americans be involved?
Spirits start to float across ground now occupied by the American Battle Monuments Commission ( ABMC ) Normandy American Cemetery, Colleville sur Mer.
Jack: “Yep, it’s the same old place, Bob. I don’t see so well now, but I can see trees and bushes have grown since our time and new houses too! It sure doesn’t look much like our Beach when we landed here. When was that?”
Bob: “1944, but look, here is a cemetery with thousands of headstones. Did we win or lose this? Look at all the people, Jack. I don’t understand – look at them, who are they all?”
Bob described the scene to Jack. He could see hundreds of people gathering in the early morning listening to the music of Glenn Miller. There were family groups, singles, and old men wearing brightly coloured jackets who appeared the centre of attention. Bob thought they were veterans and slowly he realised they were veterans of the war in which he had fought. Their jackets bore famous names which they recognised, 1st Infantry Division, 29th Infantry Division, 82nd Airborne, 101st Airborne. But the men were so old. Bob could see a bright jacket emblazoned:
Bob: “Hell, Jack, but of course, this is 2009! These vets are from our war!! We must have won, because where are the Krauts? This is the present. Wow!”
Bob continued to describe the scene to Jack. He stared in wonderment at the gaily coloured clothes of the people and at their shoes which he could not recognise. In his day those not in uniform wore jackets and pants or drab dungarees. Now reds, whites, and blues moved like chessmen across the perfectly cut green grass and immaculate white headstones. Bob could see many wore plimsolls, much larger and colourful than he remembered. Some were carrying canteens of liquid from which long draughts were taken. A number were seen to be talking into small dark objects which they held against their ears. Children had wires projecting from their ears which disappeared into their clothing and Bob wondered if they could be deaf. Their pants were too short, well above the ankle in many cases, which he thought odd because only poor kids dressed like that back home. This was indeed very strange.
As the spirits floated above the scene one veteran in a white jacket with red lettering caught Bob’s eye.
Bob: “Hey Jack, this vet is from our old unit, the 29th and look who it is! Why it’s Hal, Hal Kinzie – our old buddy!”
Jack: “Describe him, Bob. Are you sure?”
Bob: Yes, Jack, it’s Hal alright. Look - his name is on his jacket – and he’s so old!”
Bob and Jack had known Hal from their days at Huntsville High. He was from the large Catholic Kinzie family, known by everyone. Hal’s father, David, owned the only garage in town and worked all hours to keep his increasing number of children. They were a close lot. Bob remembered the time when Hal had lost some money from his pocket on the way to school and was in tears. It was money he had owed to another boy in his class, not usually known for his generosity and everyone knew he was in for a beating. Poor Hal fretted, so much so that the others took the debt upon themselves and paid the boy off.
And there he was looking all of his 85 years old. He had always been a survivor.
Bob: “Hey, Jack, just take a look at who he’s with!” Jack could see his wife beside him.
Jack: “Y’know I don’t see so well. Who is it?”
Bob: “It’s M-J!” Jack remembered how Hal and Mary-Jane had been childhood sweethearts. So, Hal and M-J were married and probably had been for many years. Bob wondered if they had children.
By this time Bob and Jack were drifting towards the podium where important people were assembling to give speeches on behalf of their country.
Bob: “I wonder who our President is now? Probably another Roosevelt, huh! Just a minute, Jack, he’s…. he’s…..”
Jack: “Yes, Bob, I can see that much. We must have come a long way since those days. We weren’t allowed to have them fighting with us in 1944.”
Bob and Jack withdrew silently into their own thoughts. It seemed like only yesterday there was chaos on the beach below and now they were looking at it in the future. Quietly their minds mulled the crowd below. How colourful their clothes were, how affluent they looked and by their size not many were short of food. Their mannerisms appeared strange, and they were clearly not shy as they were not clustered in family groups, like they would have been back home.
Jack: “These are free folks, Bob. No one is frightened and they can do what they want. Can we think it was all worth what we did, Bob?
Bob: “Yes, Jack, yes we can.”
As the spirits drifted over the Reflecting Pool, Bob caught a glimpse of himself and immediately saw why he did not see so well. Suddenly he was gone. Jack looked too, and could see why his leg hurt – it was missing. Jack then remembered the blinding white light on the Beach and twisting through the air he remembered looking down at his leg in the sand. Immediately, he too was whisked away, and his last thought was the weirdest of all….. why was no one smoking…..?
At the time of every big commemoration at Colleville, America’s president arrives to head the giving of thanks on behalf of the free world - accompanied by the sound of Glenn Miller and his orchestra.
The spirits were awoken and arose to the chant of the number killed on the Beach that day. Six, FIVE THOUSAND.
“PENNSYLVANIA SIX - FIVE THOUSAND!!”
As the well known refrain stomped the ground, spirits stirred beneath.
Bob: “Jack, JACK! Can you hear what I hear?”
“JACK!”
Jack, indistinctly: “Yeah, yeah. What’s up, Bob?”
Bob: “I can hear our music! You know we love Glenn!”
Jack: “Yeah, Bob. Sure is better than “Those in Peril on the Sea”, or goddam “John Brown’s Body” Hey - it’s not midday, is it?”
Bob: “No. Let’s go take a look. Oh, how my damn leg hurts.”
Spirits rise from the ground
Bob and Jack had grown up together in the small town of Linden, Alabama where they were neighbours. Both their fathers had grown up together in Linden and married local girls. Bob and Jack were born weeks apart in 1923 and there was no reason to assume the boys would do other than as their fathers’ had done in this small parochial community where everyone knew at least something about the other and foreigners were welcomed, but not regarded as one of the community until at least a generation had passed. The 1930’s were difficult times and the Depression was felt here as much as anywhere else in the States. Their fathers worked at the local timber mill, Linden Timber Inc. which shed jobs as fast as the order book declined. In those times, tiny pieces of string not good for anything were knotted together rather than thrown away. At least in these developing times men carried the skills imbued by their parents in growing crops and raising livestock, but whilst there was enough to go around there was certainly no spare and many felt the pinch.
Although Bob and Jack were the same age and from almost identical backgrounds, their talents differed. Academically Bob towered above Jack finding it easy to learn and was seldom seen further than an arm’s length from a book. Jack had practical and physical strength and as a team they were unbeatable. In their early years they were seldom apart and when not talking animatedly, their strength could be seen in their joint silence. However, boys turn into young men and when the interest in girls started to develop they found the time for sharing had come to an end. Their ties may have lessened, but the bond remained a latent force.
1941 arrived and Bob and Jack were approaching 18 years old. Storm clouds were gathering in Europe and Hitler’s Nazi party was gaining in strength whilst invading and dominating an increasing number of European Countries. It was obvious something needed to be done to stop the plundering spread, but this was happening thousands of miles away in Europe and was of little concern to America. Why should Americans be involved?
Spirits start to float across ground now occupied by the American Battle Monuments Commission ( ABMC ) Normandy American Cemetery, Colleville sur Mer.
Jack: “Yep, it’s the same old place, Bob. I don’t see so well now, but I can see trees and bushes have grown since our time and new houses too! It sure doesn’t look much like our Beach when we landed here. When was that?”
Bob: “1944, but look, here is a cemetery with thousands of headstones. Did we win or lose this? Look at all the people, Jack. I don’t understand – look at them, who are they all?”
Bob described the scene to Jack. He could see hundreds of people gathering in the early morning listening to the music of Glenn Miller. There were family groups, singles, and old men wearing brightly coloured jackets who appeared the centre of attention. Bob thought they were veterans and slowly he realised they were veterans of the war in which he had fought. Their jackets bore famous names which they recognised, 1st Infantry Division, 29th Infantry Division, 82nd Airborne, 101st Airborne. But the men were so old. Bob could see a bright jacket emblazoned:
D-Day. 65th Anniversary.
1944 to 2009.
1944 to 2009.
Bob: “Hell, Jack, but of course, this is 2009! These vets are from our war!! We must have won, because where are the Krauts? This is the present. Wow!”
Bob continued to describe the scene to Jack. He stared in wonderment at the gaily coloured clothes of the people and at their shoes which he could not recognise. In his day those not in uniform wore jackets and pants or drab dungarees. Now reds, whites, and blues moved like chessmen across the perfectly cut green grass and immaculate white headstones. Bob could see many wore plimsolls, much larger and colourful than he remembered. Some were carrying canteens of liquid from which long draughts were taken. A number were seen to be talking into small dark objects which they held against their ears. Children had wires projecting from their ears which disappeared into their clothing and Bob wondered if they could be deaf. Their pants were too short, well above the ankle in many cases, which he thought odd because only poor kids dressed like that back home. This was indeed very strange.
As the spirits floated above the scene one veteran in a white jacket with red lettering caught Bob’s eye.
Bob: “Hey Jack, this vet is from our old unit, the 29th and look who it is! Why it’s Hal, Hal Kinzie – our old buddy!”
Jack: “Describe him, Bob. Are you sure?”
Bob: Yes, Jack, it’s Hal alright. Look - his name is on his jacket – and he’s so old!”
Bob and Jack had known Hal from their days at Huntsville High. He was from the large Catholic Kinzie family, known by everyone. Hal’s father, David, owned the only garage in town and worked all hours to keep his increasing number of children. They were a close lot. Bob remembered the time when Hal had lost some money from his pocket on the way to school and was in tears. It was money he had owed to another boy in his class, not usually known for his generosity and everyone knew he was in for a beating. Poor Hal fretted, so much so that the others took the debt upon themselves and paid the boy off.
And there he was looking all of his 85 years old. He had always been a survivor.
Bob: “Hey, Jack, just take a look at who he’s with!” Jack could see his wife beside him.
Jack: “Y’know I don’t see so well. Who is it?”
Bob: “It’s M-J!” Jack remembered how Hal and Mary-Jane had been childhood sweethearts. So, Hal and M-J were married and probably had been for many years. Bob wondered if they had children.
By this time Bob and Jack were drifting towards the podium where important people were assembling to give speeches on behalf of their country.
Bob: “I wonder who our President is now? Probably another Roosevelt, huh! Just a minute, Jack, he’s…. he’s…..”
Jack: “Yes, Bob, I can see that much. We must have come a long way since those days. We weren’t allowed to have them fighting with us in 1944.”
Bob and Jack withdrew silently into their own thoughts. It seemed like only yesterday there was chaos on the beach below and now they were looking at it in the future. Quietly their minds mulled the crowd below. How colourful their clothes were, how affluent they looked and by their size not many were short of food. Their mannerisms appeared strange, and they were clearly not shy as they were not clustered in family groups, like they would have been back home.
Jack: “These are free folks, Bob. No one is frightened and they can do what they want. Can we think it was all worth what we did, Bob?
Bob: “Yes, Jack, yes we can.”
As the spirits drifted over the Reflecting Pool, Bob caught a glimpse of himself and immediately saw why he did not see so well. Suddenly he was gone. Jack looked too, and could see why his leg hurt – it was missing. Jack then remembered the blinding white light on the Beach and twisting through the air he remembered looking down at his leg in the sand. Immediately, he too was whisked away, and his last thought was the weirdest of all….. why was no one smoking…..?
At the time of every big commemoration at Colleville, America’s president arrives to head the giving of thanks on behalf of the free world - accompanied by the sound of Glenn Miller and his orchestra.
The spirits were awoken and arose to the chant of the number killed on the Beach that day. Six, FIVE THOUSAND.
Tuesday 7 July 2009
Veteran Silence
Have you ever wondered what an odd thing war is? Alpha males killing alpha males from the perspective of an age when a warning notice can be found on a metal ladder advising the cautious owner not to erect it against an electric pylon?
The Normandy Landing Beach Cemeteries are full of young boys. Historians comment that they make the best soldiers, simply because their minds have not yet evolved from killing, to the realisation of being killed.
Auto insurance statistics say the same.
When we were young we all played a game of tag. Touch anyone in the game and he/she was “it”. “It” had then to run around and try to touch someone else. The underlying theme of tag is to improve fitness and help maintain survival of the species. Simple and harmless.
Except on the battlefield. Give guns to boys and a mission to kill, and they will kill each other. A deadly variant of tag that cannot be further removed from nature.
Herein may be an answer to the riddle of Veteran silence. The brains of young men do not carry a conscience of what they are actually doing because they are unable to visualise themselves at the receiving end. In the animal kingdom the lion does not want to kill, he merely wants to eat. In the human male the development of a conscience evolves with age and the consequences of having once killed bites hard and deep into the heart and mind. In the autumn of their lives, veterans cannot give voice to this conundrum. The silence of guilt is profound and words entirely unable give expression.
All boys are at the mercy of their peers. Put an evil person in charge and that evil insidiously permeates the layers of that society. The German race were, and still are, very good at getting things done.
If there are any lessons at all to be learnt by history, it is this. Forget politics and politicians promises, but look deeply into the heart and eyes of your Leader and try to see Goodness therein. If what you see is dark, find someone else.
The Normandy Landing Beach Cemeteries are full of young boys. Historians comment that they make the best soldiers, simply because their minds have not yet evolved from killing, to the realisation of being killed.
Auto insurance statistics say the same.
When we were young we all played a game of tag. Touch anyone in the game and he/she was “it”. “It” had then to run around and try to touch someone else. The underlying theme of tag is to improve fitness and help maintain survival of the species. Simple and harmless.
Except on the battlefield. Give guns to boys and a mission to kill, and they will kill each other. A deadly variant of tag that cannot be further removed from nature.
Herein may be an answer to the riddle of Veteran silence. The brains of young men do not carry a conscience of what they are actually doing because they are unable to visualise themselves at the receiving end. In the animal kingdom the lion does not want to kill, he merely wants to eat. In the human male the development of a conscience evolves with age and the consequences of having once killed bites hard and deep into the heart and mind. In the autumn of their lives, veterans cannot give voice to this conundrum. The silence of guilt is profound and words entirely unable give expression.
All boys are at the mercy of their peers. Put an evil person in charge and that evil insidiously permeates the layers of that society. The German race were, and still are, very good at getting things done.
If there are any lessons at all to be learnt by history, it is this. Forget politics and politicians promises, but look deeply into the heart and eyes of your Leader and try to see Goodness therein. If what you see is dark, find someone else.
Sunday 28 June 2009
The Answer my Friend is Blowin’ in the Wind
June 6th, 2009
The 65th anniversary of the Normandy D-Day Landings. Today there is a special, almost light-hearted atmosphere amongst the Normandy peoples and attendees, no matter what nationality. There is a calm, peaceful feeling with an underlying theme of expectant happiness, like a child about to receive an award. Everyone is happy. Strangers nod and exchange greetings and although it appears solemn, the feeling is of bon homie. Today the tour guides are resting – no one, unless invited, can visit the main sites of Normandy Landing Beaches on June 6th because of the security provisions preceding the visits of high level politicians and Heads of State. It is a deep irony that the security guards exclude the presence of the very people who made the occasion possible, unless they have been lucky enough to get a pass.
Preparations had been in progress for several weeks at the Normandy American Cemetery at Colleville-Sur-Mer, above Omaha Beach. Huge trucks curiously bearing license plates from Holland and Germany are seen to arrive to unload their cargoes of marquees, tables, chairs, matting, portaloos by the hundreds and all kinds of gear. Great sections of the car park are covered by hospitality units and roadies rush about, some with fork-lifts. Permanent cemetery signs saying “Silence and respect” are acutely violated. The Reflecting pool is drained and replaced by a raised platform supported by scaffolding. Media camera towers are set up and small groups of important looking people huddle together and run around the Cemetery like so many flocks of geese. The wreaths have arrived. The cost of all of this will be measured in millions.
One wonders what the permanent residents must think of this, if they could see it.
June 6th each year is usually just another day at the German Military Cemetery at La Cambe. No razzmatazz, ceremony or important people visit here. The people of this nation did not win the war and thus no commemoration is appropriate. This cemetery is distinguishable by the almost complete absence of colour. The sombre dark tablets blend with the grass and trees to create parkland. However, for the first time thousands of metal cornets bearing a sea of white flowers are seen in abundance, sporadically placed at the foot of grave tablets. The heart gives a lilt of expectation. This is a scene of great beauty, like a first fall of snow. Why only some, and not all? The answer quickly becomes apparent. Each bunch has been placed against the grave of “Ein Deutcher Soldat” a soldier, only months before a boy, whose life and identity have been removed by war.
The corporate wreath, or the simple posy of flowers?
The ceremonial trappings at the American Military Cemetery at Colleville were removed in a few days leaving the grounds as beautiful as before. The trucks hauled their cargoes away to attend some other festival. Today, as I write three weeks later the flowers still wave in the breeze at the German Military Cemetery at La Cambe.
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, the answer is blowin’ in the wind.
The 65th anniversary of the Normandy D-Day Landings. Today there is a special, almost light-hearted atmosphere amongst the Normandy peoples and attendees, no matter what nationality. There is a calm, peaceful feeling with an underlying theme of expectant happiness, like a child about to receive an award. Everyone is happy. Strangers nod and exchange greetings and although it appears solemn, the feeling is of bon homie. Today the tour guides are resting – no one, unless invited, can visit the main sites of Normandy Landing Beaches on June 6th because of the security provisions preceding the visits of high level politicians and Heads of State. It is a deep irony that the security guards exclude the presence of the very people who made the occasion possible, unless they have been lucky enough to get a pass.
Preparations had been in progress for several weeks at the Normandy American Cemetery at Colleville-Sur-Mer, above Omaha Beach. Huge trucks curiously bearing license plates from Holland and Germany are seen to arrive to unload their cargoes of marquees, tables, chairs, matting, portaloos by the hundreds and all kinds of gear. Great sections of the car park are covered by hospitality units and roadies rush about, some with fork-lifts. Permanent cemetery signs saying “Silence and respect” are acutely violated. The Reflecting pool is drained and replaced by a raised platform supported by scaffolding. Media camera towers are set up and small groups of important looking people huddle together and run around the Cemetery like so many flocks of geese. The wreaths have arrived. The cost of all of this will be measured in millions.
One wonders what the permanent residents must think of this, if they could see it.
June 6th each year is usually just another day at the German Military Cemetery at La Cambe. No razzmatazz, ceremony or important people visit here. The people of this nation did not win the war and thus no commemoration is appropriate. This cemetery is distinguishable by the almost complete absence of colour. The sombre dark tablets blend with the grass and trees to create parkland. However, for the first time thousands of metal cornets bearing a sea of white flowers are seen in abundance, sporadically placed at the foot of grave tablets. The heart gives a lilt of expectation. This is a scene of great beauty, like a first fall of snow. Why only some, and not all? The answer quickly becomes apparent. Each bunch has been placed against the grave of “Ein Deutcher Soldat” a soldier, only months before a boy, whose life and identity have been removed by war.
The corporate wreath, or the simple posy of flowers?
The ceremonial trappings at the American Military Cemetery at Colleville were removed in a few days leaving the grounds as beautiful as before. The trucks hauled their cargoes away to attend some other festival. Today, as I write three weeks later the flowers still wave in the breeze at the German Military Cemetery at La Cambe.
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, the answer is blowin’ in the wind.
Thursday 18 June 2009
Omaha Beach
Aptly named "Bloody Omaha", Omaha Beach was the codename for one of the five principal landing points of the Allied invasion on the early morning of June 6th 1944. It is approximately 4 miles long, embracing and overlooked by the communes of Vierville sur Mer, St Laurent sur Mer and Colleville sur Mer
Sunday 7 June 2009
Fom June 6th 1944 to June 6th 2009 - The 65th Anniversary
The sun rose early on the morning of June 6th 2009 and illuminated the usually sleepy village of Arromanches-les-Bains, burning rays of sea-flecked daylight through the holes in the 65 year old concrete caissons, now resting majestically on the seabed of Gold Beach, and acting as a lasting homage to the once bustling Mulberry Harbour. The local shop-owners arise with a spring in their step, and ready themselves and their wares for the tumult of trade, excitement and festivities that experience assures them will arrive the following day.
As the D-Day and Omaha themed shops overlooking the Normandy Landing Beach begin to open their doors, the die-hard World War II enthusiasts, many even older than John Wayne in The Longest Day, begin to arrive sporting (often tightly fitting) original or replica uniforms. The influx of renovated military vehicles (many of which mysteriously disappeared after the end of the war) are eased out of retirement and begin to clank, grind and chunter their way down the narrow, winding roads eventually creating the largest gathering of World War II vehicles in this area since June 6th 1944, D-Day itself. These are accompanied by columns of motorcycles - most bearing the well known name of Harley Davidson but also many once-proud British producers such as Norton, BSA and Matchless. This procession is accompanied by Tannoy speakers blaring songs by Gracie Fields and rousing de Souza marches.
Later in the day when ambling along the streets and weaving through the crowds, the striking insignia of the Screaming Eagle of the 101st Airborne Division is seen staring up from the epaulette of a 6 year old boy who marches past with a toy gun on his shoulder. But none of this inaccuracy or parody matters when one is submersed in the energy and camaraderie of the occasion. It is a light-hearted celebration of democratic freedom, the luxury of which is often taken for granted today.
If you managed to escape the gridlock of Arromanches and headed westward toward other poignant D-Day landing sites in the American landing sector such as La Pointe-du-Hoc, one would encounter, along the winding Bocage Lanes, groups of veteran vehicles smoking their progress with dignity - like a museum on the move.
The American Cemetery at Colleville-sur-mer above Omaha beach was once again heavily defended - although this time not by the Nazis - but by President Obama’s security retinue. This was to protect President Obama, President Sarkosi, and Prime Minister Brown who would congregate alongside the remaining Veterans at the cemetery, not just for political kudos, but also as symbols of the respect due to the soldiers who so bravely fought for our freedom.
An account from Aline, of the Mulberry Hotel in Arromanches, the evening saw an impressive display of fireworks and lights along the ancient coastline - surely the like of which has not been seen for 65 years.
The Normandy Veterans Association (NVA) has an understandably decreasing membership and decided the 65th Anniversary was to be their last big occasion. This added an element of finality to the celebrations, the end of an era dominated by a great generation that has a firm foundation in history.
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