A Day of Remembrance

Monday, August 10, 2009

Part 1: Driving au Le Mans

Bernie and I are very excited. We’ve been invited to a World War II commemoration. We don’t know what to expect - perhaps a short ceremony this morning., and since we’ve been invited to lunch, we think that we may finish by early afternoon.

We’re concerned that we may miss it since we’ve got to pick up our car in Le Mans this morning - there’s a hefty penalty for not getting the car at the time we’ve booked it - 10:00 a.m.

Dominique arrives promptly at 8:30. We’ve been hoping she will stick around once we’re at the car rental office and lead us back through city traffic. Bless her heart, she’s going to do more than that - she’ll go in to the office with us to help us over the language hurdle.

It’s a good thing, too, because the rental office personnel do not speak English. Dominique has a wonderful way of taking charge competently but gently, with a soft voice and a smile. She inspires confidence - we’re sure that’s why she’s been elected mayor of her village.

In a few minutes, sans one of Bernie’s arms and one of my legs, plus an additional 30 Euros to add me as a driver, we’re handed the keys to a Renault Clio, a good car, Dominique tells us.

But wait. We’ll need to pass through a gate, go through a narrow alley, and pop out into traffic to get behind Dominique’s car. Never mind - she asks the rental agent if she can drive the car around for us. All of us know that this is against the rental company’s rules, but swept up in Dominique’s matter-of-fact competence, the woman says that will be fine.

And soon, we’re off! Smooth, too. Bernie’s familiarized himself with the signs and street markings that denote who has the right of way (mostly it’s whoever’s on your left, but sometimes……) and has no trouble following Dominique to the village of Marolles. Just before we get there, a deer, sleek and lovely, darts across the road in front of Dominique’s car, in one great leap.


Part II - Mort a la France

On this day in 1944 American soldiers walked the streets of villages all around us. Pictures show townspeople lining the sidewalks, greeting and cheering them. The towns of Marolles and Meziers, the first towns to be liberated by the combined Free French and American forces under General Patton, are today celebrating the 65th anniversary of liberation from Nazi Germany.

We’ve missed the church service - the surviving soldiers and many officials from the region are just coming outside to stand on the steps. Four old soldiers, chests full of medals, stand together for photographs. On each side men in WWII uniforms hold aloft French and American flags.

In the street, more uniforms as well as cars and Jeeps from the era create a scene from 1944.

Dominique must leave, and she introduces us to Phillipe, who will take care of us today. Phillipe speaks English well. He worked on a farm in Massachusetts as a young man as part of an exchange program. He and Bernie are the same age.

Phillipe assigns a Jeep and two “soldiers” to us. They will take us to each venue today.

Another American family has been invited to be part of the commemoration. Sheri and Ed and their 14-year-old son, Ben have come to visit Phillipe. They are in France for their 20th wedding anniversary, and Sheri wanted to see her old friend, Phillipe. She worked on his farm the summer after 10th grade. It was one of the best times of her life

One of the old soldiers approaches Ben and asks if Ben will help him place the wreath at the monument for American soldiers later that day - very touching and a great honor. Ben’s a very nice young man.

From the church in Marolles we drive to Meziers where a Sherman tank has been placed. Two sons of General Le Clerc, the Free French commander, are among the honored guests. The speaker for today is an eloquent man who tells the story of each of the local men who lost their lives in the fighting there of the struggle against the evil that had spread across Europe. (We do not understand enough French to get all the details, but we understand this much.)

The band plays the Marseilles, then we return to our Jeep for the trip to the cemetery, Here the dead soldiers’ surviving comrades place wreaths on their graves.

Next we move to a hall in town which has been set up with drinks and cookies. It’s obvious to us that today’s events are not perfunctory. The French really do know how to do these things well. I stop after one cookie and a glass of orange juice.

Back in the Jeep - we’re going back to Marolles. The conversations inside our Jeep are interesting. Neither our driver nor his companion speak English. They have managed to communicate that they want me take the front passenger seat (in the interest of both safety and modesty, I’m sure) since I’m wearing a dress and there are no doors on these Jeeps.

Even with the language barrier Bernie and the older man in the back seat with him have somehow begun joking and taking friendly jabs at one another based on a common military background. He shows us photos of his family. I don’t have my pictures with me (I have brought several of our family to show to people we meet here) and I’m sorry I’ve left them in the bag in the car.

It’s a good thing I didn’t stuff myself with cookies. We’re taken to the community center, a very nice facility, where white-covered tables are set with china and stemware. What follows is a six-course banquet including foie gras and filet mignon, three wines and calvados. Lunch lasts three hours.

After this gorgeous feast we drive again on the roads American soldiers walked 65 years ago, halting at the American soldiers’ monument. Here 16 Americans died in the Battle of Marolles.

The old soldiers gather round. One reads the name of each American, and the crowd responds after each name, as they did at the graves of the French soldiers, “mort a la France” (died for France). Ben and the soldier whose asked him to come forward carry the wreath solemnly and place it at the base of the monument.

The band plays Taps, then The Star Spangled Banner. There are just the few of us singing, but I’ve rarely sung our national anthem so proudly.

The mayor of Marolles asks the Americans to come stand by her. I’ve been able to control my tightening throat and damp eyes up to this point, but as I stand beside her and she holds my hand, my composure begins to slip. She continues to hold my hand during her remarks. Then she embraces me and kisses my cheeks.

In the field across the road, tents have been erected and drinks and cookies are offered once again.

We can’t communicate well with the old soldiers, but they come up to us with tears n their eyes, thanking us for what our country has done.

The author of an authoritative book about the liberation of the area tells us, “Please let America know that we will never forget.”

This has been a day we could never have imagined, but one we’ll not forget.