Twenty years ago this week (!) my dad and my grandfather and I went to Normandy. It was the 50th anniversary of the D-Day invasion. Charles LiBretto (for whom I am named) took me around Utah Beach and Omaha Beach and the surrounding towns, and pointed out tiny bridges over which he and other members of the 9th division had fought. He also took me to a cemetery where crosses stood for members of that division and others. He had friends buried there. This morning I dug out my journal from that trip. I had written that my grandfather had been disappointed to find a gift shop and hot dog stand standing near the road from Utah Beach. I also wrote that he seemed exhausted by the idea of climbing up Omaha Beach again, so he left it for my dad and me to do ourselves. Granted, he had had open-heart surgery only the year before so no doubt the idea of climbing up a giant sand dune was indeed daunting, but I cant help but wonder just what was going through his mind on this visit. These pictures remind me a lot of that visit. Despite the hotdog stands and gift shops, I think my grandfather was really quite pleased to see life continuing on in a place he and his friends had fought and bled and died over. Certainly the family running the small restaurant we visited in Barneville-la-Bertran were grateful. There had been a battle over a small bridge at the edge of the town in 44 and the Americans had won. I wasnt allowed to taste the Calvados the family there toasted my father and grandfather with (I was 10), but it was supposedly strong enough to keep a car running. My grandfather was an American of a certain age during a week in 94 when Normandy was overrun by Americans of his generation and I dont know that the tears in that familys eyes were due to the Calvados or not. I think probably not. #DDay70
Posted on: Wed, 04 Jun 2014 14:35:36 +0000
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