FIFTY YEARS LATER--A LESSON LEARNED

            I was eight years old when my daddy loaded us into the old Plymouth station wagon and told us we were going to see a movie.  “This is an important movie,” he said:  “a movie that will teach you about one of the most important days in history and will help you to understand how thankful we should be for our freedom.”  

            We went to the Bowline Drive-In Theater and my daddy rolled down the driver’s window and affixed the heavy metal speaker so we could all hear.  We wanted popcorn and drinks, which he provided, and then told us to be quiet and watch the movie, which we did not.  My mother soon released us and we spent the warm evening playing on the playground in front of the big screen, oblivious to the carnage and destruction depicted above us as John Wayne and Richard Burton starred in “The Longest Day.”   We left the movie that night knowing that daddy was not happy with us, for we never realized that the reason we could laugh and play on the playground in front of the big screen was because so many brave men fought and died on the longest day, June 6, 1944.          

            There were parts of the movie that I remembered.  My brother and I used to play soldier when we went to the beach, pretending we were those soldiers in the movie exiting from the landing craft as we stormed the beach and fought through the mighty waves.  It was great fun, but I didn’t have a clue what it was all about.   I later studied about the Second World War in school, but it was always at the end of the school year and we had to rush through it.  In college I studied Western Civilization, but the focus was on the political, socio-economic, and philosophical causes and effects of the war.  I still had not learned the lesson that daddy tried to teach me a half-century ago. 

            It is hard to overstate the significance of D-Day.  It was not only the turning point of the Second World War, but many historians argue that the Allied Victory saved Western Europe not only from Nazi domination, but also from eventually being conquered from an equally barbaric Soviet Union.  As General Eisenhower said, “We cannot afford to fail.”  

            A 5,000 vessel armada, the largest the world had ever seen, transported over 160,000 men and 30,000 vehicles across the English Channel.  Over 13,000 men parachuted in from over 800 planes.  By the end of the longest day, almost 150,000 Allied soldiers were on French soil.  It was the beginning of the end for Hitler and the Nazis.  But knowing that is not the lesson my daddy wanted me to learn that night at the Bowline Drive-In so many years ago.

            Four weeks ago I stood on the top of the Normandy cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach and the English Channel.  It was so very quiet and peaceful.  I tried to imagine the horror and terror of that day when so many young boys died.   Many were just teenagers.  They had never been in real combat before that day.  Most didn’t have a chance.  The Nazis gunned them down like sitting ducks at the fair.  More American soldiers died on D-Day than in the entire war in Iraq.  As war correspondent Ernie Pyle wrote after the battle, “It was a pure miracle that we ever took the beach at all.”

            The American Cemetery sits high above Omaha Beach, one of the most beautiful cemeteries you will ever see.  It is immaculate in its appearance.  Its beauty and serenity belies the gruesome carnage that it silently holds.  There are 9,387 actual graves and a “Wall of the Missing” containing 1,557 names.  These men did not return home.  They never had a family.  They never had the privilege of enjoying the freedom they died to preserve. 

            Walking through the cemetery is a powerful, emotional experience.  As I stood looking at the graves I suddenly remembered my daddy taking us to that movie back in 1962.  He was doing something that none of the men lying in the cemetery were able to do. That was when I finally realized what my daddy was trying to teach me 50 years ago. 

                                                                                   

SATURDAY IN LONDON

        Saturday, July 7 was a great day to be in London, England!  Well, it did rain, but hey—we were in London!   We expected rain!   We even had an umbrella in our hotel room and walking around London with a black umbrella is very British indeed!

        I had a long list of places I wanted to see in London, but needed much more time.  Saturday morning we walked to the nearby Underground station and took the Tube to The Tower of London.  I had studied the Tube map very closely and determined that we could take the Central line to Bank where we could transfer to the Circle or District line that would take us to the Tower.  However, I did not anticipate that the transfer was not as simple as changing subway lines in New York or the Metro in DC.  There was a series of tunnels and stairs that seemed to take forever before we got to the other line.  But we persevered with strained knees and shaky legs and soon were waiting for the rain to stop so we could enter the legendary Tower of London.

          We were greeted by the fascinating “Beefeaters” the Yeoman Warders who guard the Tower and actually live there.  We saw the Bloody Tower, the Traitor’s Gate, and the Tower Green where Henry VIII had two of his wives executed.  Sir Walter Raleigh died at the Tower and the last prisoner to be held there was the infamous Nazi Rudolf Hess.   But by far the highlight of a visit to the Tower of London is the Crown Jewels.  In preparation for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, the Jewel House had received a marvelous upgrade and the presentation on the jewels is excellent.  The Crown Jewels are simply magnificent and it is well worth a visit to the Tower if only to see them. 

        Following our time at the Tower of London we decided to go to the British Museum.  After stopping for Fish and Chips (not quite as good as the first day’s) we made our way to the greatest (and oldest) museum in the world.  On the way we passed the first YMCA (yes, the Y was born in London) and I took a picture for Gene Klump.

        Each time I have visited the Parthenon in Athens I have heard about the British Museum, but not in positive terms.  The original Parthenon sculptures are not in Athens, but in London, much to the dismay of the Greeks.  When you visit the Parthenon you will hear an impassioned argument on why the sculptures should be returned.  The Brits on the other hand, feel that they rescued the sculptures from destruction and saved them for future generations.  They have printed brochures at the British Museum stating their side of the story. 

        At last I was able to actually see the original sculptures and it was a thrilling moment.  We could have spent all day in the museum, but only hit the highlights.  My “must see” list included the Rosette Stone, and we were able to see it as well.  A serendipitous treasure was the many artifacts from the Ancient Near East.  We saw treasures from ancient Nineveh, the Assyrians and the Babylonians.  I felt like I was in an Old Testament class!  It was exciting. 

        We could have stayed longer, but we needed to get back to our hotel because we had tickets to the theatre! 

        Joyce and I love Broadway and I had always wanted to see a show in London in the West End.  We ordered tickets to see War Horse in the New London Theatre on Drury Lane.  Some of our group took a taxi while many of us opted for the Tube again.  The theatre is very small, like many on Broadway, and we had great seats (even though some of our group ended up in the balcony).  The show is very moving and the horses are actually puppets that are manipulated by humans.  It was breathtaking. 

        It was raining after the show and trying to get a taxi in the rain was a challenge, but I found running down the middle of the street helps.  We took the Tube back after securing a taxi for some of our group and ran into a multitude of young people leaving a concert in Hyde Park.  But we were finally back at the hotel where we spent our final night in London before leaving on Sunday for Southampton.  We would be leaving from the same port the Titanic sailed from a century ago.  But there were no reported icebergs!  Not in July!    My next blog will be on one of the most moving places we visited, Normandy.