The next stop on our trip after London was a small city called Bayeux in Normandy, France. We were to spend about five days there learning about and exploring the sites associated with the D-Day invasion June 6, 1944. One aspect we covered thoroughly was the loss of life during this operation. We visited three cemeteries: the British cemetery, the German cemetery, and the American cemetery.

The American cemetery had a large impact on me. It was a rude awakening to enter and see thousands of white headstones dedicated to the fallen American soldiers in Normandy. It is one thing to see and study the numbers of the dead Americans. It is an entirely different thing to see that number physically in front of you, represented by Crosses and Stars of David.

While visiting the cemetery, I had the honor of placing a flag on the grave of a former student of The Ohio State University. It was not an honor I took lightly or for granted. This action held a very special place in my heart. I was representing not only my study abroad group, but also my university and ultimately my country. I felt very humbled as I knelt before the Cross engraved with Thomas R. Barry.

The American cemetery represented something else to me that day. While on this trip, my grandfather passed away. He was a World War II veteran who served his country in the navy. He served aboard the escort carrier USS Wake Island (CVE-65) as an Aviation Boatsman, 3^rd Class Petty Officer. He traveled to Karachi, India and back and hunted German U-boats in the Atlantic, sinking one in the process. He traveled to the Pacific Ocean through the Panama Canal and participated in the Invasion of the Philippines, where he was wounded by shrapnel. He also participated in the Invasion of Okinawa, where his ship was hit by two Kamikaze aircrafts. He was serving on the USS Wake Island when it became the first carrier to land a jet-propelled plane on November 6, 1945.

I grew up hearing all of the different stories connected to these excursions. It is a large part of my own history and is one of the main reasons I chose this study abroad trip. I was unable to attend his funeral and pay him final respects. There was no closure. Being there that day and honoring the fallen soldiers of the same war he fought in gave me a little bit of that closure I was longing for. Thomas R. Barry, among thousands of others, died in a foreign country. Family members did not have that closure and final goodbye when he/she died and was buried. Walking through the cemetery and paying my respects felt like I was doing just that. I honored the great sacrifice they made when they gave it all.

A small section of the total area of Pointe du Hoc; picture taken from the top of one of many German fortifications still in place.

Out of all of the amazing cities we had scheduled for this trip, I was most excited to head to the city of Bayeux, which is located in the area of Normandy. I’ve spent a lot of my free time over the years studying and reading about World War II and most of that time has been devoted to learning more about the D-Day invasions and the Normandy campaign. Long before the trip began, before I had even gotten into the program and just saw the list of the locations on the itinerary, I was most excited about headed for the beaches. I wanted my chance to stand where so many others fought and fell for freedom and liberation. I wanted to finally get a chance to stand in the same places that I had read about in books and articles, places I had seen in documentaries and in movies. I wanted to head for the beaches. As the preparations for the actual study abroad portion of the trip progressed and we all got closer to our departure date, there was one location I became more and more interested in visiting besides the famous invasion beaches: Pointe du Hoc.

Filled with many examples of personal stories and amusing mishaps, reading Dog Company reminded me very much of Ambrose’s Band of Brothers. Highly recommend if you were a fan of Band of Brothers.

Over the years I had read a little about what happened at Pointe du Hoc on June 6^th 1944. I knew it was a crucial part in the success of D-Day but through the pre-requisite class I had to take before I could study abroad, I was able to learn so much about this location and who fought there. One of the main parts of the pre-requisite class was that each student had to become the expert on one site that we would visit during our trip abroad. When I first received my site assignment I have to admit I was a little disappointed when I did not get one of the beaches or the airborne drops but because Pointe du Hoc was still part of D-Day and the Normandy campaign, I was not too broken up about it; within the first hour of starting my assigned book I needed to read for my site report I was so happy I had been assigned the location of Pointe du Hoc. The book I was assigned, Dog Company: The Boys of Pointe du Hoc by Patrick K. O’Donnell, covered the amazing experiences of the 2^nd Rangers Battalion’s D Company through the Second World War with a special focus on their pivotal role in D-Day.

A recreation of one of the 155mm guns the Rangers were tasked with taking out.

Now when the allied command began planning the specifics of D-Day, they realized that the area of Pointe du Hoc, a high point that rises about 90 feet out of English channel with Utah beach on its east and Omaha beach on its west, was an area of critical importance. Reconnaissance photos had found that the Germans had six 155mm guns located on top of the cliffs that could be used to wipe out any invading allied forces on Omaha beach. If the invasion of Omaha beach were to succeed, the guns had to be taken out. Pointe du Hoc at that time was a seemingly impenetrable position with its 90 foot high cliffs on one side, machine guns posted along the edges of the cliffs, and the area covered in land mines. Thankfully, the American army had recently created a special operations unit called the Rangers who specialized in guerilla fighting and stealth missions and who were probably the Allies best chance at getting onto Pointe du Hoc. The Rangers of the 2^nd Battalion trained every day for months, climbing similar cliffs along the southern coasts of England, in preparation for D-Day when they would climb the 90 foot cliffs of Pointe du Hoc. But even with all the specific training, the planners of D-Day agreed that the Rangers mission was the most dangerous of the day and there were expected causalities as high as 70-percent.

My friend Bethany stands at the bottom of the crater while I stand at the top so you can get an idea of how big the craters are.

On the morning of June 6^th, the 225 Rangers cross the English Channel and headed for the Normandy coast. As the Rangers crossed the channel, some realized that they were headed in the wrong direction, which meant that they would be behind schedule and ruin the extremely time sensitive invasion plan. Despite the delays, the Rangers eventually managed to reach the bottom of the cliffs and did not hesitate to scale the 90 foot cliffs under heavy enemy fire. At around 7:30 a.m., the Rangers reached the top of the cliffs and by about 8:30 a.m. all six of the German guns were destroyed. The Rangers were not done when they destroyed the guns however; for two days the remaining undermanned, undersupplied, and extremely exhausted Rangers fought off German soldiers within the area of Pointe du Hoc until they could finally be released on June 8^th. When the Rangers were finally relieved on D+2, out of the original 225 Rangers who crossed the channel two days earlier, only 90 men were still able to fight.

One of many German fortifications that still stand in Pointe du Hoc.

After studying the Rangers at Pointe du Hoc for months, I was so excited to visit the location where the intense battle happened that not even the fact that I had to give an oral presentation at the site could lessen my excitement

Me, goofing around for a moment while standing in a German fortification.

Unlike some of the other sites we had visited earlier in our trip, Pointe du Hoc remained very similar to how the Rangers left it back in 1944: deep bomb craters still littered the area, German fortifications still stood strong in places, and the postwar additions to the site were few and far between. I was taken aback the first time I laid eyes on the site at both how large the total area of Pointe du Hoc really was and just how big some of the bomb craters got. It was powerful to stand out at the edge of the cliffs- where the monument for the 2^nd Rangers Battalion now stands -, look down at the gravely strip of land at the bottom, and imagine what it must have felt like for a German soldier on that historic day to look down and see the Rangers climbing towards you without hesitation or fear. Once the initial shock of the location passed, however, it was almost too easy to lose myself in the site and for a moment I forgot what the place really was. It was easy to run through the dark, cement German fortifications with my classmates and joke how it looked like a scene from the Blair Witch project. There was no hesitation to take cheesy pictures together and reenact the Lion King on some of the larger rock outcroppings that stuck up from the Earth. On that beautiful, sunny May morning, even with the land still so torn up, for a few moments I was able to forget what had happened there. But as I began my presentation and started to repeat the words that I had been rehearsing for days, the novelty of the day washed away and the memory of what happened returned at full force: soldiers- some of them really just kids, what with them being either my age or even younger –fought and struggled and died on the very land I stood and spoke on so that they could help take back almost an entire continent from Nazi rule.

The simple monument, made of granite and formed roughly to represent the Ranger dagger, is one of the few post war additions to the location. The monument is dedicated to the Rangers who fought there almost 72 years ago.

Pointe du Hoc stands today as a symbol of the struggle show by the Rangers that day in their mission to help take back Europe. I am so thankful I was able to not only learn more about those amazing men but be able to get the chance to educate others on them as well.

One can’t talk about Normandy without mentioning D-day, and one of the first things that pops into my mind when I hear Normandy are the beach invasions. We’ve seen it in “Saving Private Ryan”, in all the reenactments, and in documentaries, but nothing compares to standing on the beaches themselves: the same beaches where thousands of soldiers died. Looking around, they might seem like ordinary beaches, except for the remnants of German bunkers scattered across the beaches. Each beach was significantly different from the other and tell different stories of sacrifice and success.

Utah Beach during low tide.

Utah Beach, the place where even when things did go wrong, it still ended in favor of the Allies’ success. Utah reminded me a lot of beaches seen in places like the North Carolina coast, with sand dunes blocking the ocean from moving in further. Seashells littered the beach and even with the tide out, it didn’t seem like a large beach to begin with. At Utah Beach, the only thing that signified what had occurred was the museum that had been built on top of a Nazi bunker used during the war. The rest of the beach looked as though the sea had taken most, if not all, the evidence of the Normandy Invasion.

Omaha Beach where the 29th infantry division landed,  tide receding.

Not too far from Utah Beach is the infamous Omaha Beach. Omaha was completely different from Utah. Some of the larger differences between the two were Omaha didn’t have sand dunes like Utah, it met enormous bluffs right on the coastline, and it wasn’t hard to spot the remnants of the Atlantic Wall. The beach wasn’t at low tide, but it seemed significantly farther than Utah and to run from the beach to the bluff, with all the obstacles that were in the way, would have most definitely been nearly impossible. Two slots in the cliffs showed where the Germans had kept the machine guns that completely slaughtered the American soldiers that were on the beaches. There had to have been more than those two on that beach but they were well hidden by the shrubbery growing on the bluffs.

Omaha Beach, looking in the direction of Pointe Du Hoc.

The last beach I had the opportunity to see, although from a distance, was Gold beach. Gold was similar to Omaha with the bluffs but Gold has a town that runs right onto the beach. The presence of the Atlantic Wall was there but more hidden and overshadowed by the remains of the Mulberry Harbour that was used to transport most of the supplies for the Allied forces into France until months later when ports under German control are finally liberated. Seeing those slabs of one of the most amazing engineering feats of the invasion was mind boggling.

Arromanches and Gold Beach with remnants of the Mulberry Harbour.

Each beach had an important role in bringing the Allies towards success in the Normandy invasion. Sadly walking around on the beaches doesn’t even begin to describe what had occurred over 70 years ago. The only way someone could truly grasp what happened was to be there on D-day. With the passage of time, the remnants of that bloody day are few and far. The Nazis are gone, and the tides have long since washed away the blood but the memories will forever remain. Today Utah, Omaha, and Gold appear nothing more than ordinary beaches; beaches with the faint memory of blood and triumph.

We walked through the gates of the German military cemetery in Normandy and it stretched out in front of us. The manicured, grassy lawn was interrupted from place to place by small, short gravestones that marked the dead. The markers were simple, evenly sided stone crosses on top of square cement slabs. The epitaphs bore witness to one or two names and their respective dates of birth and death. Many inscriptions read only “Ein Deutscher Soldat.” At varied intervals throughout the cemetery, five crosses, side-by-side, dotted the grass. Two shorter crosses were on either side of a taller cross, but all of them stood taller than the unimpressive gravestones. There were no flowers except for the small, appropriately simple wildflowers that sprung up graveside in the grass. Trees shadowed many of the graves. In the center of the cemetery, a large earthen mound rose up as the place’s only impressive structure. Around the base, small metal plaques marked the names of more of the dead. The mound was topped by a large gray cross, and two solemn-looking figures stood beneath the cross’s wings. The place was very quiet, and there were few visitors present to pay their respects.

A German grave with a set of five crosses behind it. In the background, the cemetery’s mound can be seen.

To me, the cemetery’s distinctly simple design seemed to have meaning. There were no grandiose structures, no walls with quotes to show the sacrifice and valor of the dead, no flowers to supplement the stone, and no words, save their names, to mark the soldiers’ resting places. The entire design seemed to plea with visitors to respect the dead, though not their cause. The simplicity of the place distanced the soldiers from the grand plans of the Nazis and the  incredible persona of the Fuhrer. The soldiers were made, through their graves, into simple soldiers, simple people, who died the same death as any other soldier regardless of cause. And the many crosses of the grounds tie the German soldiers there to soldiers of various other nations around Normandy. The cemetery states that just as American families

The steps leading to the top of the mound in the center of the German cemetery. The backs of the figures under the wings of the cross can be seen at the top.

have found asylum in their sons’ crosses, so too can German families; just as American soldiers can find rest in heaven, so too can German soldiers.

The blank sides of crosses as they stretch into the distance at the American cemetery in Normandy.

The American cemetery in Normandy offers a different picture. As we walked into the cemetery, we passed through a large stone-surfaced area. The back of the area had a columned arch that declared the eternal honor due the dead who were sacrificed in a campaign to uphold basic human ideals. In the center of the area was a large, black statue of a man looking up with his arms outstretched toward the sky. The statue seemed to represent the Allied cause, embodied in the dead American soldier, a cause which upheld the ideals of a free world. Down steps, we saw a large, dark pool of water, and passed that two tall American flags rose. Next were the graves, a seemingly endless sea of white crosses and six-pointed stars. The epitaphs told the soldier’s name, division, home state, and date of death. Well-kept trees and flowers surrounded and dotted the grounds. A small, domed chapel was in the center of the graves. There was a view along one side of the cemetery to Omaha Beach below and the ocean beyond. The place was busy with people, and a ceremony was ending when we arrived. Many Americans were there, but I also saw groups of people from France and Great Britain. Many faces looked indifferent, even happy, but others were solemn, even tearful.

The cemetery gave the impression, by stating it as fact, that the American fight was a just fight. The American dead were made into heroes and martyrs. The location of the cemetery also encouraged the idea that they were liberators. The graves sat high above the beaches, many marking those who died taking that very sand. The arch discussing just ideals, the crowds, and the white crosses looking down at the beach seemed to validate that those buried there had liberated that place. They had been selflessly sacrificed to regain France’s freedom.

The tall, black statue at the front of the American cemetery. The arch declaring the sacred ideals of the Allied cause is behind the statue.

But the cemetery also worked to dehumanize the dead. Of the waves of graves, there were only two designs, and most were the same white cross. The American soldier’s grave, and thus the American soldier, became mass produced. The graves looked as if they had come straight off the assembly line. The soldier became a tool of efficiency, quantity, and replaceability. There were no personal epitaphs or tombstones. The soldier’s epitaphs all seemed to become that of the arch that declared the ideals of the Allied cause. And the soldiers all became the large statue that held up those ideals. The white crosses became small, just footstools for the statue that watched over them. The soldiers, or the entire military, became Atlas, the weight of the world had fallen upon them, and they had held it high. The white markers seemed to be mere twinkles in Atlas’ eyes, necessary, tragic, and heroic.

A gravestone at the British cemetery marking the place of a dead British soldier.

The British cemetery was different still. As we walked through the entrance a green lawn stretched back into the distance, baring about a third of the way back what resembled a gray tomb with the words “their name liveth for evermore.” On either side of the tomb was a columned mausoleum-like building, and hanging, purple flowers snaked and drooped around the columns.  A large gray and black cross rose up another ways back, the tallest monument of the cemetery. Graves rose around these structures in rows, many of which were skirted in various flowers and covered in trees’ shadows. The gravestones were all the same shape, and they were designed with a cross, six-pointed star, or neither, as well as the insignia from the soldier’s fighting force. The gravestones also indicated the soldier’s rank, name, date of death, and age. At the bottom of the stone, most of the graves had a personalized epitaph picked by the soldier’s family. The cemetery even had graves for war dead from such countries as Germany, Canada, and the United States.

The gravestone of a German soldier at the British cemetery.

To me, this was a cemetery for soldiers, but even more, a cemetery for people. The dead were not exalted to lofty ideals and not degraded to sorry soldiers who died hapless deaths. There was not the same exclusivity that the German and American cemeteries had. Personal notes and flowers adorned the graves similar to civilian cemeteries. Though the cemetery was unmistakably a military one, these things  made it feel more personal, and to me, almost more sincere. The cemetery seemed to convey that the people buried there had signed up, or were drafted, to fight, not to die. It seemed to say that while in death they remain forever part of the military and its cause, they return to their family and friends in memory and mourning where they truly belong.

Matt McCoy

Visiting Normandy, specifically Omaha Beach, is the part of the trip I have been looking forward to the most. My grandfather fought on Omaha Beach and in Normandy. He is the reason why I have always had an interest in World War II. He is the reason why D-Day has fascinated and interested me since I was very young. To walk on the beach that he, along with thousands of other men, fought on, was chilling.

Les Braves Memorial on Omaha Beach.

Thousands of young men, many younger than me, risked their lives while storming the beach. To stand where they fought and died was a truly humbling and surreal experience. It was difficult to imagine what Omaha Beach must have been like on the morning of June 6, 1944. When I looked out over the beach, it hit me as to just how vulnerable the soldiers were. There was so much distance between the water’s edge and any sort of protection. With the Channel at their backs and facing enemy fire, they had nowhere to hide and nowhere to run to. They had to rally together and push forward

Standing at the top of the beach, looking down, I struggled to imagine what the Germans must have been thinking when they woke up on that Tuesday morning and looked out over the channel to see hundreds of ships that had not been there the night before. I wonder how they felt. I imagine they were terrified. They had to know a large battle was coming. It can be hard to commiserate with the German soldiers because they were our enemy, but they were also people though. They had families and jobs that they had to leave behind. While I do not believe in the cause they were fighting for, I still feel sorry for them. So many of their lives were cut short, leaving widows, children without fathers, and parents without sons.

The German Cemetery.

After visiting Omaha Beach, we went to the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial to pay our respects to the fallen soldiers, including twelve Ohio State students, alumni, and staff who are buried there. I, along with my classmates, placed Ohio State flags at each of the twelve graves. As I knelt down to place the flag, I thought about how similar I am to these men. I am the same age as many of the American soldiers were during the war. They had dreams and hopes for their futures. They had parents, siblings, girlfriends, and friends who they loved. They had jobs, school, hobbies, and responsibilities. They left all of this behind when duty called, and they left all of it behind when they made the ultimate sacrifice.

Looking out over the well-manicured, green lawn of the cemetery, I saw row after row of headstones. I did not fully grasp the magnitude of destruction and death caused by the war. The cemetery is the final resting place for 9,387 soldiers. Chills went through my body as I stood there, taking it all in. These men sacrificed their lives for future generations.

Omaha Beach and the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial made me feel proud but sad. Standing on the sands that thousands died to seize back from the Nazis, I was proud of my grandfather, proud of his generation, and proud of the USA. I was also thankful for the sacrifices made by so many men, thankful that more did not die, and thankful that the soldiers who died on D-Day did not die in vain.

Erik Smith

A typical street in Bayeux

With six years of French language classes under my belt and a general interest in modern French history, I was most excited for our program’s stop in France.  Despite my Francophile tendencies, I was still a little nervous about my first visit to the country.  Would it live up to my expectations?

Fortunately for me, my stay in Normandy did not disappoint.

The countryside outside of Bayeux, with the old cathedral steeples rising above the treeline

After traveling from London to Portsmouth and taking a ferry across the English Channel, our group arrived in Normandy and took a bus to the small Norman town of Bayeux, where we stayed over the following six days.  On our final day there, Professor Steigerwald referred to our time in Bayeux as being in “fairytale land,” and in fact, this is probably the most apt way to describe it.  Bayeux is a small, quiet town surrounded by scenic countryside and rolling hills.  It was a welcome reprieve from the fast-paced hustle and bustle of London, and, in some ways, reminded me of my own hometown in rural Ohio.  That being said, it was still unlike anything I had ever seen or experienced in the United States.

Most communities in Europe can be dated back not hundreds, but thousands of years.  In the United States, where everything is relatively new, a building over a hundred years old easily qualifies as

The Bayeux Cathedral, built nearly a thousand years ago during the time of William the Conqueror

“old.”  In Europe, however, such aged buildings are the norm. I commented in my last post on the amount of history to be found in the city of London.  Bayeux was more than just a town full of history.  Entering the town itself felt like stepping into another time: many of the buildings appeared to be hundreds of years old, and lots of streets were still paved with brick and cobblestone.  At the center of the town was a cathedral nearly a thousand years old, built in the time of William the Conqueror.  Fortunately, during the Battle of Normandy in 1944, German forces occupying the town fled without putting up much of a fight, sparing the town from the destruction rained down on so many other Norman cities and villages during World War II.

The central street running through Bayeux, full of stores, restaurants, and cafés

Aside from the location itself, another aspect of Normandy that I was attentive to was the local people themselves.  On the whole, my observations were unsurprising.  The French have a certain “joie de vivre” about them that is much more evident than in Britain or the United States: they enjoy relaxing, socializing, and eating great food.

Some observations I made in Bayeux (and now in Paris as well) were a little more startling for me, however.  The French are often stereotyped as being unkept, and while I can’t attest to the personal habits of the locals in Bayeux, one thing that took me aback was my encounters on the sidewalks (even right outside our hotel) with les crottes de chien: dog feces.  I don’t know if there are any particular laws in France demanding owners clean up after their dogs, but if they exist, many French dog owners seem to pay no attention.

Putting such peculiarities aside, most interesting for me was observing how the locals reacted to us Americans.  Despite our own stereotypes of the French as snobbish and inherently anti-American, most of my interactions with the locals in Normandy were positive.  When an interaction was negative, it seemed to be out of their annoyance with us more than anything else, and the locals certainly had reasons to be annoyed.  I noticed that the French are a generally quiet people who keep to themselves in public.  When it comes to Americans, on the other hand, this is not so much the case.  Walking through the streets of Bayeux, our large, rambunctious group attracted more than a few stares, and some of us were told occasionally to quiet down.  While taking a shuttle bus to Mont Saint-Michel, it was quite obvious that many of the French passengers (and especially the older ones) were not happy to have a group of American students crowding onboard and pushing them aside.

Most of my interactions with the locals took place around food (either at the grocery store or at restaurants and cafés), and while almost all of these were positive, there was one instance on our first evening in Bayeux (during a group dinner) that one of our servers commented on our poor dining etiquette.  Some of us had been picking apart our food, and the server laughed and told us we “ate like birds.”

Omaha Beach today, as seen from the American Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer

In writing about my experiences in Normandy, of course, it would be impossible for me to go without mentioning the 1944 invasion of Normandy during World War II and my visits to the various battle sites, museums, and cemeteries associated with the war.  Visiting the Utah and Omaha landing beaches were especially poignant moments.  Bloodshed and carnage immediately come to mind when thinking about the D-Day landing beaches (thanks, no doubt, to films like Saving Private Ryan), which is why I was immediately struck by the serenity and beauty of these places today.  After viewing them

A French father and son at the Airborne Museum. I was surprised at the large number of French tourists visiting sites dedicated solely to the American war effort

firsthand, it’s difficult to think of these beaches as former battlegrounds, much less as battlegrounds where thousands of American troops took their last steps.  The only word I could use to describe my feelings being there is “surreal,” and even now, I don’t think the full immensity of the events that took place there over seventy years ago has sunken in.

Particularly moving for me was the French and their reactions to the war today.  Despite being stereotyped as anti-American, and despite the few negative interactions I personally experienced, the French (at least in Normandy) have certainly not forgotten the efforts of American, British, and Canadian forces to liberate their country from Nazi occupation.  Aside from the cheesy signs at tourist sites reading “Welcome, our liberators,” it was clear to me that many local Frenchmen still remember and appreciate what happened in Normandy over seventy years ago.  Many museums dedicated to the memory of the American war effort (like the museum at Utah Beach) are maintained by French staff, and I was touched reading the comments in a guest book (nearly all of them written in French) at the Airborne Museum, praising the museum and highlighting the need to preserve the memory of D-Day for future generations of Frenchmen.

“We have not forgotten, we will never forget, the debt of infinite gratitude that we have contracted with those who gave everything for our liberation.” – French President René Coty

Some program members were bothered by the swarms of French schoolchildren taking fieldtrips to the sites (there were several busloads of them when we visited Pointe du Hoc), as well as the lack of respect that many of them seemed to display.  While, to be fair, most of these schoolkids were too young to fully understand the importance of the places they were at, I thought their very presence said a lot about the French.  The fact that schools continue to send their students on fieldtrips to war sites in Normandy highlights the importance that the French attach to the Allied invasion in their national history.  The effort to preserve the memory of D-Day for future generations is alive and well in France.  At the American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer, a fitting quote from French President René Coty was inscribed on a wall outside the visitor center, summing up my observations of the French in Normandy: “We have not forgotten, we will never forget.”

I’ll be honest: I have a deep appreciation for cows and did not think that my travels to France would lead me to writing about them for one of my blog posts. I was born into a family that has maintained and operated an average-sized Ohio dairy farm through generations for the last seventy years or so. Cows are something constant I have been around my whole life. While I did not physically grow up on the farm, I spent a lot of time there and being able to go to grandma and grandpa’s and likewise, out to the barn, was a real treat growing up.

Because of being around the dairy farming culture growing up, I understand the business side of it in some capacity. Cows and the milk that they produce are necessary on a daily basis for millions of Americans (my family included) to make a living and also provide the products that many Americans like to fill their fridges and pantries with. The United States produces the most gallons of milk annually and will always remain an important piece of what makes up the American workforce.

Holstein peering at me at the brief moment at which he isn’t eating grass.

Coming in second place in world annual milk production, the cows of France, and the Normandy area specifically, seem to tell a different story from my observations. Starting last semester, our class was studying the Normandy invasion one week and discussing a particular piece that involved families – and their animals – being in the direct battle line of the invasion. The number of cows alone lost during D-Day nears 100,000 and gives an indication of the toll the invasion took on livestock in Normandy. Losses aside, as we were discussing D-Day, the topic of “Happy Norman Cows” came up in class, and I was quite skeptical of just how happy they were at first. Although, the first time on the bus I saw a field of cows just laying around grass fields that stretched for miles and miles, soaking in the sun, gnawing grass to the soil, my skepticism instantly evaporated. These cows are genuinely ecstatic, excited, and all-around generally joyful. While the cows I’ve been around all of my life roam the fields, are always treated with care and with comfort, and are used in the right way, the animals are also valuable tools to producing product and therefore profit that helps put food on the table. In comparison, Norman cows live like animal royalty if there were distinctions for such things. I cannot recall ever seeing a cow smile, nor am I completely sure that they can, but I’m almost certain that I have seen it here (pictured right) in the French countryside. I did not get to see an actual French dairy farm, though I’m sure they are fairly similar to American farms in the way they operate. Nonetheless, the way American and French cows live are different, but that’s okay and interesting to see and compare.

Please try and tell me this Holstein isn’t smiling — I won’t believe you.

As it relates to World War II, I did a small amount of research on the involvement of cows within Operation Overlord out of pure curiosity. While the results were slim, the information I got was superb. From the September 2, 1994 edition of the Free Lance-Star of Fredericksburg, Virginia, I found an article titled, “Normandy’s cows played curious role in WWII.” The opening two sentences give a clue-in to just how odd but fascinating their role was as it says: “The curiosity of Normandy cows could get a soldier killed or captured in the summer of ’44. If he were lucky, those natural – but neutral – animal allies could save his life.” Cows served various purposes in the operations. While the cows’ honest curiosity of the invading Americans in their area lead the animals to unintentionally give away allied positions, they also would stare at enemy German soldiers to within two-three meters, giving the allies across the field indication that the field held an enemy. Even more so, American soldiers used cow carcasses as bearings for when giving directions and orders to follow. The hedgerows in Normandy are tall and hard to navigate through, so using the carcasses was something that useful to point out that differentiated from the hedgerows to help navigate. The troops were entirely grateful for being able to use the fallen creatures.

A trio of Normande cows enjoy the cool May afternoon.

Again, I never thought that traveling to France as part of our World War II trip would enable me to write about these furry, ginormous, milk-producing creatures, but in retrospect, I highly doubt that American soldiers rushing the beaches of Normandy thought that these same creatures would serve as bearing points, indicators of enemies ahead, or that a field hadn’t been mined because there were still cows trotting through it. From Eisenhower down to the lowly, neutral – but happy – Norman cow, every ally involved with the Normandy invasion played their part on the way to a successful operation.

World War II had elements in each country I saw. Memorials in the Toronto airport, refugees in Ireland, the veteran memorials and museums all throughout Britain and London, and memorials throughout Normandy.  It really felt like a World War after seeing this.

Being in France,  it has been the first time I’ve been in a country that had a foreign language.  I know very little French, and some of the locals are way more patient and accommodating than others. It doesn’t take long to find glares and stares  when our big group is together.  We are loud without trying.

The Normandy museum was hard to digest.  Some details and parts were very well done, and others were very aggravating or passive.  Things did not seem to mesh well. The giant, colored statue right outside the stark stone and mirrored glass did not work. Even the signs on the statue contradicted themselves.  It was not necessarily that the museum showed different opposing viewpoints,  but it did in a way that did not make it clear how they were related.

The odd statue with a plaque discussing how this is depicting what is considered sexual assult

The museum seemed to focus on the path to the war. Even entering the museum, the visitors were funneled in and black, mirrored glass was above and reflected down to show the visitors entering.  Inside,  visitors were lead down in a circular descent into a dark, echoing globe with Hitler and chanting surrounding them.

The stark museum entrance

A portion focused on the French empire, and that was interesting to see.
The film watched towards the end, I enjoyed.  It showed multiple perspectives of the same thing at the same time. Germans preparing and Americans arriving. And it also showed the beaches then and immediately switched to film from the quiet beaches now. That left a huge impact.  There was no narrating, only images. I was glad they did this since it was a museum with visitors with many languages. No translation was needed, and that was very powerful.

One issue with the translation and foreign interpretation came from the museum’s presentation on Pearl Harbor. It was suggested that Roosevelt did not prevent Pearl Harbor to hasten the entry of the war and stated that there was no evidence to support that claim, but they said it anyway.  The phrasing was very rude and patronizing, and infuriating as a result. I was not alone in thinking that this museum had handled a few things such as this poorly.

Utah Beach had an atmosphere that I can’t describe. The rolling banks and sea grass were broken up by barbed wire, and memorials made the beaches feel like hallowed ground.

Weaving through the exhibits with artifacts picked up from the beach at the connected museum, it was hard not to get emotional.  Personal diaries and letters and photos of the deceased men were mixed in with weapons and uniforms and made it human.

The most impacting point was walking upstairs to the windows where it became level with the ground.  Old barbed wire and German defenses laid where they were placed all those years ago.

The view that stopped me in my tracks

The whole little village leading to Utah beach seemed to wholeheartedly accept the history and had WWII mannequins throughout windows. The phrase “welcome to our liberators” was printed on some windows there and on windows in Bayeux. I can’t help but wonder if the locals treated us so negatively because some tourists take this as a praise to themselves and are less than humble in their conduct with the French.

This was the sort of depiction of the local reception of the Americans

St. Mere cathedral,  where the famous John Steele’s parachute was caught,  was centered in the little town.  The museums were small and in a campus format,  and were well organized and personal,  being privately owned.

The depiction of John Steele

The displays brought the history to life, especially in the portion dedicated to Operation Neptune . We were funnled into a dimly lit airplane lined with paratroopers.  The sounds and flashes of light were hectic as the soldiers have individual status reports. Walking out of the path through the plane,  an aerial view, dotted with parachutes, flashed lights as bombs and shells hit their targets. Mayhem and chaos was seen and easily felt. Past that, the room was filled with German materials and helmets spotted with holes and cracked open like eggs.

Point du Hoc felt like a battle field. The damage to the bunkers and the gigantic craters in the hills showed scars from a legendary battle. I cannot believe the successes that happened after looking at the cliffs and the bunkers.

It was impossible to capture the degree of physical devastation of the land, but this was one eerie thing to see

The American cemetery, museum and memorial was beautifully done. As the clock struck upon the hour,  the national anthem began playing as I was reading the names of the fallen buried there. The grief was overwhelming.  I was also overwhelmed as I passed a cluster of graves of unknown soldiers.

The extensive American Cemetery

Low-tide Omaha Beach was menacing. Looking down at the shoreline from an old bunker, it was understandable how there was so many casualties. The atmosphere would have seemed serene if not for remembering what happened there. It took consciously thinking about it to realize that it was not just an ordinary beach because of how bare it had been made over the years, and I am kind of glad at that. It showed recovery and how brief things are in the grand scheme of everything. There was a memorial, one ornate one where less casualties were seen, and one of soldiers moving “ever forward” where there was heavy casualties. I took a bag of sand from that area to share with my relatives and my loved veterans back at home.

The British cemetery was drastically different than the American one, even pulling up to it.  It is interesting to see how the different troops from different nations are memorialized. This was a cemetery that was privately owned and was easily less nationalistic in pride and was much more personalized.  It also had a mix of troops from other nations and was much more serene rather than somber.

The diverse and personal British Cemetery

La Mont St. Michele  was unlike anything that I have ever seen in person before. I had never seen it before in pictures or anything,  so when driving when I saw a momentous  and astounding figure growing at the horizon,  I was struck with awe.

The view from the top really felt medieval,  and I have never experienced that before other than on the History Channel.  Hearing the connection to World War II, and and how the Nazi’s occupied it and that it was liberated by Patton’s troops was surprising and only further emphasized the apparent amazing history that Mont St. Michael had. I had asked the question to try and find out why so many of the statues faces had been destroyed, and it could have been from the French Revolution or during a Protestant/ Catholic conflict.  What I have learned in European History courses was reflected and feasible today, and I was glad to have that background knowledge to try and digest all that I saw today.

To summarize Bayeux, I have to say that I am glad that my introduction to France and a French speaking populace was in this quiet village like place. Some of the people working in the restaurants unfortunately matched negative stereotypes associated with the French. I had one person help me without rolling their eyes at me for something.

I loved the historic architecture,  the quiet streets and little shops. It was a wonderful break from hectic city life between London and upcoming Paris.  I was also excited to see cows I’ve learned about in my Animal Science courses made famous in America after our troops saw them along the French country side.

This was a random statue that was seen in the middle of a bare part of town that caught my eye. The town seemed to be so full of history and did not shy away from memorializing it

From London to Bayeux! Two completely different cities yet both just as beautiful and interesting as the last. Bayeux France was one of the quaintest and quietest places I have ever visited. It embodied the spirit of a small city tucked away in the French countryside. In Bayeux, we got to experience some of the beauty of France as well as some delicious food, including my first taste of escargot! From Bayeux, we made our way to the Normandy Beaches, where the United States troops fought over 70 years ago to liberate France from the German Occupation on D Day. First, we went to Utah Beach, the most successful of the beach landings. This is, in part, because the troops actually landed off target and therefore avoided the heavy bombardments set up by the German defense. We also saw Omaha beach, where the bloodiest part of the battle with the most casualties took place. It was difficult to stand there and remember that thousands of men gave there lived in this exact spot 70 years ago. It is hard to believe today that such a tragic battle was fought on these grounds. Seeing both of these beaches and learning more about the events of D Day was a very intense experience. The strategy and tactics employed by Eisenhower and his men to decided where and when to invade in order to weaken the Germans and take Cherbourg (one of the largest ports to bring in supplies) must have taken immense time and intelligence.

One of my favorites D Day sites we visited was Pointe Du Hoc. Pointe Du Hoc was the scene of one of the landings during the D Day invasion. It was a point between Omaha beach and Utah beach that the Germans occupied and planted six heavy artillery guns that could seriously hider the Allies’ efforts. It was the job of US rangers to scale these 90 foot cliffs under German gun fire and destroy the German artillery. After learning about the mission at Pointe Du Hoc and then seeing it, I could not believe these men could accomplish such a task. I had the pleasure of meeting a man whose father was one of those Rangers on D Day in 1944. He told of how his father scaled the cliffs as a medic ranger and helped save several men in his battalion. His father passed later in the war but kept a journal that told of his experiences during D Day. This man was able to meet some of his father’s fellow rangers and they told storied of how he had saved their lives. His father is commemorated on a plaque and Pointe Du Hoc today. I loved hearing this story after seeing Pointe Du Hoc. It was amazing to see the huge craters created by the overhead bombs and the German bunkers left in shambles. I have learned a ton so far on this trip and cannot wait to see what’s next.

While in Bayeux, France, we went on a lot of day trips to museums, beaches, and other cemeteries in the area to understand and learn more about D-Day.

I found the French perspectives to be very interesting, particularly at the museum in Caen.  The museum covered many events I did not know too much about in detail, such as the German invasion of France.  It also, however, seemed to try to maximize its presentation on the French resistance and the role France played in the Allied victory, which at times appeared to be exaggerated.  The discussion on the bombings of France by allied forces by the exhibit were also interesting; at times the exhibit made it sound like the bombings were much more hurtful and unnecessary than anything else.  Of course, the subject in the first place is touchy, but it would have been best that the exhibit tried to cover all sides of the issues as why the bombings could have been bad or good and necessary or unnecessary, rather than use somewhat strong language saying the bombs were generally unneeded.

Additionally, I generally was not happy about the statues in the front of the museum because although they represent a historical event, they ultimately represent (and arguably glorify) sexual assault.  While there were captions present that discussed the controversy, this discussion would not necessarily be visible to those driving by; the photo the statues were based off, of course, have repeatedly been glorified in our society (I had no idea that the man grabbed someone he didn’t know until I happened to read about it a few months ago).

Otherwise, despite these biases in relation to the French perspective, I think the museum did very well in creating a context in its exhibition on the events before the Second World War.  It also made great connections to the present day with its Cold War exhibit.

I also found, however, the discussion of the ICRC and its goals of humanitarianism during war to be particularly interesting. In the exhibit, there were examples of what was said was acceptable in war and what wasn’t (for example, fighting other soldiers would be “okay,” while killing civilians would not be acceptable according to the rules).  It also displayed rights that people should have at times in war, which included the right to know what happened to family members, as well as the right to sustenance.

I find it a difficult subject because ICRC inevitably okays war though it condemns specific actions in particular though of course, it makes sense that what the group is doing is for the best because it does make sense to try to step in the right direction.  The discussion as to where the lines should be drawn is interesting but it can also be disheartening for this same reason; it is best that something as opposed to nothing is done to try to make war more civil, though it would be best that wars in general would cease to exist.

Ultimately, seeing Bayeux, the beaches of the D-Day landings, and the French perspective as a whole was a great experience! I can’t wait to see what the rest of the trip brings in Paris and Berlin.

Due to the incredible number of soldiers from a multitude of countries that gave their lives on its beaches and in its fields, Normandy offered a unique opportunity to observe not only how Germany, the United States, and England remember those who have given the ultimate sacrifice while fighting for their country but how they remember World War II as well. In only three days we traveled to the three different cemeteries, each managed by a different nation (or people from that nation), allowing me to compare and contrast the fresh thoughts and emotions brought about by each site. There is a lot to be said about each cemetery and what it tells about how the war is remembered by each nation. However, I found the Germans the most interesting. How would those who are often thought of as evil (no matter how strong or weak the individuals tie was to the Nazi Party) be put to rest?

It was the first cemetery that we visited; tucked away behind a little grove of trees. Immediately upon entering, the cemetery impressed a somber demeanor. After walking though a small granite building, the rustic graveyard opened before us and a large dark cross loomed over all that was in view. The next thing that I noticed was the cluster of crosses used to mark off the different plots. These cross were cut from the same dark brown material, and were just as coarse. One plaque placed on the ground was used to display the names of the soldiers who were buried on either side of it. Quite often the name of the soldier was unknown, and the inscription “a German Soldier” took its place. These plaques were in neat rows like most cemeteries, but nothing more than that. The graves did not fall into a straight line everywhere you looked, as they did in the United States and British cemeteries. It seems as though in choosing the style that they did, the makers of the cemetery were attempting to remove these soldiers from their Nazi ties, no matter how large or small they may be for each individual. The style is not what one would consider characteristic of the Nazi Party, but rather of a Germanic tribe. Perhaps attempting to pronounce that they were in fact Germans, a distancing them from the Nazis. They also seem to downplay the individual – there is not a prominent headstone standing tall for each soldier, but rather a cluster of crosses at the front of each plot. In addition to these observations, I noticed the words written in the cemetery at the foot of the mound. The end of the inscription reads something to the effect of “God has the last word”. Undoubtedly the intention of this was for there not to be judgment cast on those who are buried here, believing that only God has the right to judge a person.

After seeing this cemetery I am very interested in seeing how Germany remembers this dark chapter of their past.