During the semester, we were each responsible for reading a book related to one of the sites that we would be visiting and then writing a book report critiquing the book that we read. We were then instructed to prepare a report to deliver when we visited the relevant site during the program. On Tuesday, I delivered my site report to the group. I had read Pegasus Bridge by Stephen Ambrose and delivered my report at Pegasus Bridge in the town of Bénouville here in Normandy.
On the eve of D-Day, the British gliderborne D Company of the 2nd Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry in the British 6th Airborne Division was tasked with securing two bridges in tact. In the early hours of June 6, 1944, the company landed in wooden gliders and successfully captured the bridges and defended them from approaching German armored divisions. By securing the bridges, D Company successfully prevented German reinforcements from reaching the Normandy beaches and ensured the easier transportation of British forces and supplies into the heart of the Norman territory.
Before I visited the location, I had no idea what to expect. While the current bridge is not the same as the one that crossed the river on the morning of June 6, it bares a close enough resemblance that I was able to gain a reasonable perspective of the environment. Close to the current bridge, people have placed monuments marking the landings of each of the gliders. One of the remarkable successes of D Company’s operation was the gliders’ proximity to their objective; once the men oriented themselves, they only had to proceed a few hundred yards to the bridge. When I had read the book, I was unable to picture the terrain, the bridge, and their location relative to the bridge. After visiting, I was finally able to realize just how noteworthy their actions had been.
They had spent months planning for the invasion; they had gained and evaluated intelligence, prepared for any situation, and molded a coherent and specialized fighting force designed to invade behind enemy lines and prepare the way for invading forces. If they had not been successful, they would have been stuck with no chance of escape, and the Germans would have been able to reinforce the beaches, perhaps succeeding to push the British forces back to the channel, like they wanted to do. When I stood by the riverbank, I gained an immense appreciation for their ability to successfully accomplish their almost impossible objective while simultaneously becoming aware of how little I truly understood the events of the war.
During our trip, we have had remarkable weather with perfectly clear blue skies and warm weather. As I have stood on the beaches, on the riverbanks, and on the cliffs, I have had an impossible time juxtaposing our experience of peaceful towns and calm water with their experience of flying mortars, cloudy skies, and mass confusion. Even though I can pay my respects in an attempt to honor the men who served on the beaches and can now visualize the basic terrain, I can and will never understand the struggles and difficulties they experienced.
I find it very difficult to express the emotions and thoughts I have had over the past few days here in Normandy. Every site we have visited has sparked different emotions and responses. I have felt confused at Omaha Beach, proud at Utah, and intrigued at Arromanche; I have enthusiastically explored at Point-du-Hoc and cried at the British Cemetery. I have been deeply moved, confused, and humbled by the events leading up to, during, and after June 6, 1944. In the past, I studied the events as a series of military tactical and strategic objectives, and somehow in the process either forgot or dismissed the personal element to war. Those who died are not just empty numbers, and their bravery is not just an empty story.
As I sit in my room here in Bayeux and write this post, I am struggling to understand, let alone communicate, the many thoughts in my mind. I think the best way to encapsulate my feeling that I either forgot or never truly began to understand the personal consequences of WWII is to share a message written on a tombstone in the British cemetery here in Bayeux that struck me. On the gravestone, the family had inscribed: “To the world he was but one, but to us he was the world.”