France - Normandy

On a rolling green hillside overlooking a peaceful sea, 9000 marble crosses face directly west toward a home to which these men never returned.  They are fallen soldiers who died on D-Day and other times of combat during World War II.  Most of the crosses bear names, but many are inscribed, “Known but to God,” their bodies retrieved from the battlefield but unidentifiable.  The American Cemetery is located on the coast of Normandy, France not far from the beaches the Allies invaded over seventy years ago.  The men buried in graves on this hillside in France died in horrible ways in a horrible situation, far from home and families in order to liberate a country, bring an end to a devastating war, and preserve freedom for the United States.  Yes, they died so that American citizens still have the right to speak freely about whatever issue they deem worthy, but after viewing these endless rows of crosses, some matters do not seem so weighty.  There is a mighty change of perspective when someone dies for another person.  The selfless act brings about a sense of humbleness and purpose and duty in the person who has been spared and perhaps perpetuates that same spirit of sacrifice in a selfish world.  At least we should all stop in our busy tracks every now and then, bow our heads and say a simple, “Thank you.”

We began our first full day in Normandy looking out to the sea from the sliding glass doors of our little beach condo in Courseulles sur Mer.  The places we wanted to visit were within easy driving distance; so we took our time and enjoyed a breakfast of eggs-in-a-basket with raspberries and bananas.  Our makeshift bedding served us well, and we felt rested after traveling the day before.  The coffee situation is not great, and there’s no tea and sugar for the girls because we don’t feel good about spending money on items we can’t finish before leaving a place, and packing space is at a premium.  We’ll survive somehow.  Showered and dried by the grace of our micro-fiber towels, we boarded the Citroen and began making our way to Omaha Beach and the D-Day museum.  After driving the narrow, unforgiving roads in Ireland, I navigated the French motorways with much less tension thanks to wider lanes and a familiar seating perspective.  There were still some tight places to negotiate in the small villages, but overall the driving experience was much more pleasant.  Views of the French countryside were also relaxing while motoring, and we enjoyed seeing another look of France, vastly different from Paris.  The fields stretched out from the highway and were golden from the grain cultivated there, close-cropped from recent harvests.  The trees and grass flanking the fields were half-green, spent from enduring another summer.  At times coveys of quail exploded from the thickets near the road, the birds surprised by the car and swirling in search of another quiet place.  In the short distance from the hills approaching small villages, we could see slate roofs streaked with lichen and tinged with grey-green patches of color.  We passed many time-worn homes and barns made from uneven honey-toned limestone bricks exposed under crumbling, weather-stained stucco facades.  The whole landscape had a faded feeling brought about by the passing of seasons and the horrors of wars fought there through the ages.

We arrived at Omaha Beach and pulled into the D-Day museum, circled the parking lot and dodged the tanks and propellers placed in the small medians.  We spent the next hour walking through the exhibits that included weapons, uniforms, documents from generals, and letters from soldiers.  The most unsettling displays were the cases full of German deaths-head uniform insignia, a helmet with a bullet hole punched through the center, and the shabby striped pajama uniform of a concentration camp prisoner.  Surprisingly, the focus of the most uplifting exhibit was a Nazi flag, its black swastika and red border still bold in color after seventy years.  Two American soldiers had overtaken a German bunker during the invasion and removed the flag.  One of the soldiers survived the war and took the flag back to the United States and kept it until the 50th anniversary of D-Day when he returned to the shores of Normandy and presented the flag to the town and museum.  We finished our time in the museum by watching an excellent movie in English that used real footage from the war to describe the planning, buildup, and execution of the D-Day landing.  Outside the museum it was bright and sunny with a clear blue sky and a constant, fresh sea breeze.  The beach was several hundred meters away, and we chose to walk so we could enjoy the nice weather.  Upon arrival  at the seashore, we saw a wide golden expanse of sand gently lapped by the small waves of a blue green ocean.  My children strolled onto Omaha Beach where seventy two years ago, the largest amphibian invasion in the history of the world took place, liberating France and resulting in horrific losses of life.  In the museum we witnessed scenes of war on this beach that included ships, machinery, smoke, and soldiers struggling to make it to shore, many of them dying from the relentless German machine gun fire.  The ugly German-constructed beach barricades looked like giant twisted nails scattered in the surf.  Now there is just wind and sand and sea.

The Children on Omaha Beach

A Perspective of the Omaha Beach Memorial

We drove thirty minutes to the west and arrived for a visit at Pointe du Hoc, one of the key areas of battle during the D-Day invasion and a place remembered for the bravery of the Americans who fought there.  Due to a navigational error and a late landing, the element of surprise was lost as 250 Army Rangers began their ascent of the ninety foot cliffs in an effort to dismantle the German bunkers at the top.  Pointe du Hoc is high ground positioned between Omaha and Utah beaches and was heavily fortified by the Germans to defend the coastline of Normandy.  Allied bombing failed to take out enough enemy positions, and the Rangers struggled to the top using grappling hooks and ropes while enduring heavy gunfire.  Of the 250 men who began the ascent, ninety made it to the top of the cliffs and gained control of Pointe du Hoc for the Allies.  We spent an hour walking the trails along the cliffs peering down at the ocean striking the rocks below.  Looking around we suddenly realized that the large grass-grown pits surrounding us were craters scooped out by Allied bombs during the invasion.  We ducked our heads and walked through the low concrete bunkers built and occupied by the Germans, their walls pocked by gunfire inside and out.  Some of the bunkers had been turned inside out by the bombing—giant concrete slabs pointing to the sky in surrender.

Our last stop on the beaches of Normandy was the American Cemetery, a testament to the cruelty and sacrifice of war at the hands of an enemy driven by the lust for power.  That enemy was put down, but the lives of the families of the fallen soldiers were altered forever.  We spent time wandering the rows of marble crosses, and I walked a long way down to the memorial chapel where I saw an elderly man sitting on a bench weeping, his wife holding his hand and stroking his cheek.  We spent some time talking to the children about how the Germans occupied France for several years before liberation came through the Allied invasion on D-Day.  The French are still grateful, and it shows in the dignified memorial and careful maintenance of this solemn, peaceful place.  Several years ago, we visited Minuteman Park in Massachusetts, and our hazy understanding of the American Revolution became clear as we walked the militia trail leading to battle with the Regulars.  In the same manner, my family came to the coast of Normandy, saw the beaches, understood the invasion, and said, “Thank you.”

American Cemetery Normandy, France

The town of Bayeux was our last stop of the day before returning home, and we went there to learn about another invasion that also changed the course of history.  In the middle of town across the street from the graceful old cathedral, we entered the museum that houses the Bayeux Tapestry.  I first learned about this ancient work of art a few years ago while reading a book entitled, 500 Places to Take Your Kids Before They Grow Up, and the tapestry made the list.  Commissioned by Bishop Odo of Bayeux, the brother of William the Conquerer, the tapestry is a 230 foot by 20 inch cloth embroidered with over fifty scenes showing the social, political, and cultural events leading up to the Battle of Hastings and William of Normandy defeating Harold to take the crown of England.  The tapestry is a detailed, glorious, one thousand year old comic strip that by some miracle has survived the centuries for all to enjoy.  The embroidery is done with gold, green, and red woolen threads that still have a colorful punch, and they must have been bold and vibrant in the 11th century.  We sure enjoyed it as we walked the length of the tapestry stopping at every scene while listening to the excellent commentary from the audio guide.  The whole experience took about a half hour, and at the end, we understood the Battle of Hastings in 1006 and its historical significance.  We passed through the gift shop on the way out and had to restrain ourselves from purchasing a Christmas ornament depicting Harold plucking the fateful arrow from his eye.  

Bayeux Cathedral

We celebrated our new historical knowledge on the streets of Bayeux with several scoops of gelato before walking uphill to the French gothic cathedral for a self-guided tour.  The cathedral was old and impressive, but we were so blown away by the tapestry that its former home didn’t do much for us.  American history and world history were big subjects for our homeschool today, and we learned much about major events that shaped the world as we visited the areas where they happened.  We arrived back in Courseulles sur Mer and cooked a spaghetti supper to celebrate a day of learning in an unforgettable place.