Return to Normandy Part 6

After a pleasant evening at an inn in the important D-Day town of Carentan, we begin our third and final day in Normandy by visiting Omaha Beach, the last place one would choose to make an assault. The beach at Omaha is as wide or wider than that at Utah and lies at the bottom of a very high bluff. The view from the top of the bluff is expansive and unobstructed. The parking lot for the memorial sits just above what the Allied commanders named Sector Charlie Dog Green. The small private museum located nearby is very interesting, with an excellent collection of World War II equipment, gear, and memorabilia, but we are inescapably drawn to the beach and the blufffs above.

We know what happened here, and we ache with the knowledge of it. Our ears can almost hear the withering fire that shredded the troops exposed when the Higgins boat gates went down. James has the urge to get in the water, fully dressed. His logical mind takes over. We walk the beach and pick up some stones to take home. The shingle (small stones) that were on the beach on D-Day are no longer here. It is a sand beach now. We are thankful the 552nd was at Utah and not Omaha.

As we leave Omaha, we see the tall spire of a church steeple at St. Laurent sur Mer, the village above the beach. Was this the steeple the commanders saw from the water, I ask myself? We proceed toward Pointe du Hoc and the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, our final stop before leaving the Norman coast.

The American Cemetery is a beautiful and most fitting memorial to all those lost in the first weeks of the invasion. It was planned with great concern for every detail, including the kinds of material used, where those materials came from, the location of the graves with their uniform rows of white markers, the types of trees and their layout, the building designs, the overall orientation, and--perhaps, most of all--the inscriptions.

As we enter the small Visitor's Center, no larger than a home living room, we immediately sense the solemnity of our surroundings. We are on hallowed ground. People are talking quietly and respectfully. A letter from President Eisenhower hangs in a gold frame on the wall next to a painting of a pair of hands holding a Medal of Honor. His letter reads as follows:

The White House

Washington

July 7, 1956

To Those Who Participate in

The Dedication of St. Laurent

Twelve years ago on D-Day in Normandy, the

landings on the coast of France were the sym-

bol and the noble expression of Allied unity and

Allied determination in a great crusade. I

know it is a small consolation to the bereaved to

remember that the gallant men who are remem-

bered today gave their lives at one of the critical

moments in history. Yet the American soldiers

who rest forever near the beach-head they won,

and in the land they helped to free, will never be

forgotten.

Their memory will always help strengthen the

bonds of friendship between our countries, his-

toric allies for the cause of freedom.

/s/ Dwight D. Eisenhower

Return to Normandy Part 5

The first assignment the 552nd Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battalion received when they reached the shores of Utah Beach was to move to the La Londe airfield, the first airfield established by the Allies during the invasion, and provide artillery cover against German bombers and strafers. We want to see this airfield and Ste. Mere Eglise, the village made famous by the movie The Longest Day and the town in Normandy Daddy most often mentioned.

I ask the same museum employee who gave me the certificate for Daddy if he knows where the La Londe airfield is. He says he knows it well. I am happily surprised and relieved to get his hand-drawn map with directions to the airfield, which he says is close by. We say our goodbyes to the museum staff and load our memorabilia into the car. The narrow road carries us past small black and white street signs with the names of members of the 1st Engineers who were killed making the way for those who would follow.

The directions take us right to the La Londe "airfield"---a pasture. It was a pasture in 1944, and it is a pasture in 2001, but it is a special pasture, and it has been memorialized by the 552nd Association. We take a picture of Haley and I beside the monument holding Daddy's photo. The monument reads:

LA LONDE
First U. S. Army Air Corps Airfield in France
12 June to 25 July 1944
Protected by the 552nd AAA AW BN (MBL)
Colonel Benjamin M. Warfield, Commanding
By Courtesy of Association Members
June 1970

In Ste. Mere Eglise we see the world-famous church steeple and a dummy dressed in paratrooper garb dangling from it, bringing back memories of the scene in The Longest Day in which the actor Red Buttons portrays John Steele, the paratrooper who actually lived this frightening experience.

We have dinner in a creperie across from the church square and read the inscriptions made on the wall by D-Day veterans. The owner gives me permission to add Daddy's information to the wall. I write: Roy Moore, 552nd AAA BN, D-Day+8, Utah Beach, his hometown, and today's date, April 11, 2001, and note that the inscription is made by his daughter, with my name. We partake of something else for which Normandy is renowned, apple crepes and sparkling apple cider.

Return to Normandy Part 4

As we move away from the front of this poignant memorial to those who landed on Utah Beach that historic day and for many days to follow, we see one last striking site. In a classic example of the American spirit, a bench-style monument includes the names of cities that were yet to be liberated or conquered along with their distance from Utah Beach. We see one of particular note: Berlin 1100 km.

The grass-covered dunes rise gently behind and beside the museum building, hiding the panoramic view of the water that will open to us as we walk down the wide sandy path. A low sturdy sign confirms the location, Utah Beach. The beach is wide and flat, and the gray sky produces an almost monochromatic scene of gray-green, dunes, sand, surf, ocean. We look out to the water and strain to see what isn't there. We turn and look up to the top of the dunes. The view for the Germans, the view for the Americans. We imagine the scene over those days of the invasion, with the thousands of vessels, men, tanks, trucks, the death and destruction, and the triumph.

I have carried along with me an enlarged photo of Daddy taken during the war in his uniform so that--even though he couldn't be with us in person--he is in a sense here with us. James takes a picture of me holding the photo of Daddy as we stand on the beach with the flags flying high on the dunes behind us. He takes another one with the ocean in the background, showing not only where the 552nd landed on that D-Day+8 but where they came from.

We return to the building and tour this truly important museum, spending considerable time in the gift shop, choosing books and memorabilia to bring back to Daddy and other family members, as well as Haley's history class. When the museum store employee learns that my father was in the D-Day invasion (I have shown her the photograph I brought along), she asks me to wait and disappears for a few minutes, returning with a young man dressed in suit and tie. He questions me about Daddy's service in the war and then tells me that the citizens of Ste. Marie du Mont have a certificate and medal to present to any veteran who participated in the D-Day invasion.

I could not be more thrilled. The prospect of returning home with a physical expression of the gratitude of the French people to my dad for his service is very exciting. The certificate is completed with Daddy's name and pertinent information and given to me to carry home. The medal is to be shipped at a later date, and in fact arrives in Daddy's mail in Longview, Texas a few months later, a large and beautiful commemorative medal, honoring the participants of D-Day.

In the museum one item stands out above all the others. It is a hand-written note accompanied by a dry and fading bouquet of flowers, both of which have been left in memory of the fallen at Utah Beach. My French is rusty, but a close translation reads:

Our bouquet is modest, but it is made of the wildflowers that you
saw when you arrived on our French soil.

You gave your life for our liberty. Our daddy told us.

Thank you. Each time we can come back, we will bring flowers for
your monument.

It is from three children: Marian, 10 years old, Gerald, 9 years old; and Aurora, 6 years old. The date is hard to read but appears to be 6 Juen 1973. I struggle to control my weeping. A girl's dress made from red, white, and blue parachute cloth hanging nearby seems a fitting punctuation to the letter.