In Bayeux, we visited three different cemeteries commemorating the soldiers that had fought and lost their lives during World War II. I noticed a lot of similarities between the American and British sites; both featured bright white, standing graves, beautiful flowers, and clean kept landscape. I felt that both cemeteries conveyed the pride that each nation felt for their soldiers’ sacrifices and assistance in defeating the Axis Powers. Although both burial grounds were very solemn and moving, I felt a bit of underlying positivity in the air as I walked through the graves, because it is easy to see how each sacrifice directly contributed to the protection of democracy and religious freedom throughout Europe.
The German cemetery provided a stark contrast, as all of the graves were black and lying flat on the ground. Many of the graves did not identify specific men and instead just referred to a number of bodies buried underneath the ground, and almost all the gravestones marked the remains of multiple soldiers. I was also unaware of the meaning of the 5 raised crosses that were seen scattered sporadically throughout the cemetery, which also emphasized a kind of haphazard construction that contrasted with the careful planning of the British and American cemeteries. To me, the cemetery seemed to try to acknowledge the mistakes of a nation, while still paying respect to the individual men that had given the ultimate sacrifice for their country. It was as if Germany was still taking responsibility for their wrongdoing, of a nation still filled with quiet shame and regret. However, regardless of what the German soldiers were fighting for, there is still honor in being willing to die for a cause, one’s country, or even just the men in your unit, which was captured in the cemetery.
Regardless of the differences between the American, British, and German cemeteries, each one successfully conveyed the effects of the harsh realities of war. I became much more aware of the fact that each soldier that died was someone’s son, brother, husband, nephew, etc. I think it is very easy, especially as an American that has not witnessed any fighting on my country’s soil, to grow desensitized to the staggering numbers. However, it became much more real as I stood in front of each grave, noticing how some, even after all these years, still had fresh flowers from mourning relatives and loved ones. Before Bayeux, World War II seemed finite, an event in the far past, but as I stood in the craters at Point du Hoc and on the Omaha and Utah beaches, I was confronted with the uncomfortable reality that Europe still has a lot of healing to do.