Day 1 - Arrival in London

Sunday, June 1 - Feels like being home again - in London, that is

My tour of England and France to commemorate the 70th anniversary of D-Day began with my 8:00 a.m. arrival at Heathrow. I was met by a driver and we waited a bit for a family from North Carolina to arrive and join us - JC, a WWII veteran, accompanied by his daughter and granddaughter. I immediately liked them and was heartened to learn that my fellow passengers on this tour would be interesting and amiable.

The driver took us to the Edwardian Vanderbilt Hotel on the Cromwell Road. I had requested early check-in and was immediately given a key to my room. This is an essential stratagem after an overnight flight with early-morning arrival. Otherwise you have to wait until 3:00 p.m. to get into your room, and the intervening 6 or 7 hours after your arrival can be rough.

Lord Baden-Powell

It was a rabbit-warren of a hotel with fire doors every 6 yards, but my room was bijou. Tiny but more than adequate - comfortable and with a big window overlooking the high street. One becomes accustomed to smallness of accommodations in crowded capital cities.

At the V&A

I had free time until 3:00 p.m., so I used it to walk up the Cromwell Road, past Baden-Powell House and the statue of Lord Baden-Powell, past the immense and visually stunning Natural History Museum, which I had scoured when I was in London with my son a few years ago, and to my destination, the V&A - The Victoria & Albert Museum of the Decorative Arts. I hadn't been there since college, when my brother and I were on a fog-bound three-day layover between Cape Town and Boston. Although I was tired from traveling, I reveled in the pure beauty and inventiveness of the antiquities on display.

At the V&A

I decided not to overdo things this early in the trip. I had had major surgery only seven weeks prior and I had not slept more than four hours for two days. So I returned to the hotel and rested briefly until the tour group was due to meet up for the first time at 3:00 p.m.

I met the tour leader, Dr. Paul Winter, a military historian of the first water, as he greeted our large group. Paul had been hired to share the wealth of his knowledge on this tour, but instead (or, I should say, in addition) he was saddled with all the nuts and bolts of handling 46 guests ranging in age from 16 to 92. Of course, Paul stepped up to his unexpected responsibilities with integrity and aplomb. But I am a born ADC and all my instincts to jump in and render assistance came to the fore. I assigned myself to be his helper, and it was the beginning of what was to become an enduring friendship.

Here I am in London again!

Our first and only outing that day was to visit the underground Cabinet War Rooms and the Churchill Museum, in the same location. We duly arrived in the City of Westminster by coach, only to find out that the tour company had not remembered to send the paid vouchers to Paul in advance. After much going up and down of stairs and in and out of underground holding spaces, eventually we had to cancel the outing and spend our remaining free time walking around the area. I joined another WWII veteran, Johnny, a B-52 pilot who had flown in the invasion on D-Day, and his family group, to stroll around towards Big Ben, Parliament, Downing Street, etc.

Poor Paul was by now getting a taste of things to come - sloppy logistics from the tour organizers with the fallout on his shoulders, as our point man. Recriminations came later (from the guests to the tour operator - absolutely no blame attaches to Paul) but I'm all about realpolitik and dealing with the situation on the ground. I wasn't of much practical use, except in France where I became the unofficial translator with our coach drivers, but I supported him where I could. 

Our first briefing

We had a pleasant dinner at the hotel and our big group started to get to know each other. Paul arranged for us to meet after dinner for a briefing on D-Day. He had maps of the Normandy coastline pinned up on the walls and it was thrilling to feel our journey really beginning as he gave us an overview of the general strategy of the invasion, including the geography, high-level tactics, and key military and political players.

An elderly gentleman in our group, George, did a wonderful favor for me this night. At dinner he had overheard me saying that just before I left home I had discovered that the batteries of all three of my watches had run down, so he brought me his spare watch to use for the duration of the trip. It was a large, black watch with a frayed strap and an eminently readable face. I wore it every day with enormous gratitude for his gesture. And I was never late.

After that, I believe everyone fell into bed thankfully, to try and overcome the jet lag of the last 36 hours.

Next day >

Day 2 - Cabinet War Rooms and Churchill Museum

June 2 - Churchill

We were to start this day with a bus tour of London with a local Blue Badge guide. Quelle surprise, we were all loaded on the bus by 8:30 a.m., and she hadn't turned up! Again, there was inadequate planning or execution somewhere behind the scenes. 45 minutes late, our guide finally arrived breathlessly on her bicycle and we were off. I will say, parenthetically, that the tour operator began to spin a thread of lies at this point, claiming that the guide had had an accident and that was what had made her late. It was in no way true and everyone in the group knew it. But again - poor Paul! He was put in another awkward position in front of the group, even though the situation was not of his doing nor did he have the power to ameliorate it. Everyone was getting nervous by now.

We did however have our whirlwind tour of London by bus (shades of If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium, with the delectable Patricia Routledge leading the group and singing out "Rally!" as she waves her little Union Jack in the British Museum). We finished up at St. Paul's Cathedral, where we could visit the American Memorial Chapel. Surprisingly, our entry to St. Paul's was not paid for, even though it was listed specifically as part of the itinerary. Due to the late start, we only had about 15 minutes to visit the interior. At £16.50 for a ticket it worked out to about a pound a minute. Not even enough time to join a docent on a guided tour. It was a real pity for there is so much beauty within and so much to know about St. Paul's that is absolutely fascinating.Thankfully I have been there before so at least I had a good idea of what I was missing.

We returned to the hotel for a fast lunch. Paul invited me to sit with him, and to add insult to the injury already inflicted on this day, our lunch didn't arrive until ten minutes before we had to board the bus again, for another run at the Cabinet War Rooms and Churchill Museum. I could see my new friend was in a state of nerves not helped by having had to bolt an inadequate portion of his meal. I determined to offer him whatever reassurance I could possibly impart on this trip.

I enjoyed the afternoon itinerary tremendously. Once we finally got there and got in, the War Rooms had so much of interest to offer. You step back in time to the months and years literally lived underground by Winston Churchill and his War Cabinet and staff. You see how they lived and worked, without access to sunshine or fresh air. You comprehend the claustrophobia and undercurrent of nerves that must have affected all hands to some degree. Paul gave us the background on the decision to move the principal players in the conduct of the war to this secret location. We learned that Churchill preferred to stand atop the Cabinet Office building to watch the incendiary bombings on London than to endure them below ground. Not sure I would not have shared his sense of fatality in similar circumstances ... not that I can honestly imagine being in those shoes.

Adjoining the War Rooms is the Churchill Museum, also underground, maintained in what my mother would call a dim religious light. It offers a wealth of film, artifacts, photographs, etc. of Churchill's entire life, from birth to death, in pomp and ceremony, in war and peace, in personal victory and defeat. A comprehensive collection that has been brilliantly assembled and displayed, this was an experience that I will long remember.

That night I met up with a special friend. We had a bottle of wine together at the hotel, then dinner at Chor Bizarre in Mayfair, my favorite Indian restaurant, another bottle of wine, then Irish coffees ... can I just say, the conversation flowed and a good time was had by all.

Next day >

Day 3 - In which I visit a tank museum

June 3 - Big excitement - tank museum day!

When I received the itinerary for this tour - about 14 months after I had booked it in faith - the item "Bovington Tank Museum" really caught my attention and made me wonder what the heck I had signed up for. ME? At a TANK museum? Alta (a co-traveler) put this into perspective for me when she said that her daughter Jacqueline's intonation of the same phase would be, "ME! At a TANK museum!" I began to look forward to it more.

We were off early in the morning for - yes - the tank museum. We drove to Dorset, through some of the areas where many of the pre-invasion GI camps and billets had been. Paul explained to us that so many millions of Allied troops had been funneled into England for D-Day there simply hadn't been room for them all anywhere near the south coast, and their concentrations had in fact been spread out all the way to Ireland. No wonder the Brits felt a bit cramped back then.

The road into the tank museum (there I go again) was the very road on which T. E. Lawrence had come a-cropper on his famous motorcycle. Quite sobering yet thrilling as well. I had visited the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford in June 2012 (part of my Queen's Jubilee trip) in the expectation of seeing Lawrence's actual Arab robes, and was bitterly disappointed to find out they were out on loan. Who can think of him without picturing that iconic scene of Peter O'Toole trying out the curved dagger and the swashbuckling effect of his first Arab garments, preening before his own billowing shadow on the sand?

Back to tanks. Now this is a museum worth the trip. The Bovington Tank Museum has examples of almost every tank ever built, from the very first "land ship" to the latest thing. I won't attempt to sketch the history of tanks in this blog - you can look it up. It was fascinating to see actual DD tanks - a.k.a. Hobart's Funnies. These were Sherman tanks that had ingenious modifications made to them so they could perform targeted tasks such as flailing through barbed wire fortifications or uprooting bocage. The latter was of prime importance. Bocage = hedgerows, and the bocage in Normandy is impossibly dense and tall - much taller than the invasion planners had estimated based on their aerial reconnaissance photos. Bocage served as ideal defensive positions for the German troops and a solution for clearing them was critical.

The Tank Museum gift shop was one of the most fun and unique I have ever seen. As you can imagine.

At this point I owe a shout-out to Paul's clever wife, for she provided, in absentia, an enrichment to our afternoon itinerary which was dear to my heart. As we were in the Salisbury area, she suggested we stop at Salisbury Cathedral. The cathedral is about as ancient as cathedrals get, has the tallest spire in Europe, and is home to two of the original copies of Magna Carta. Not to sound trite, but it, too, has a fantastic gift shop. Whenever I go there I buy Irish linen tea towels from their beautiful selections. On my first visit, one chill December, the tea shop was serving mince pies and mulled wine (to go, if you liked), and I was so charmed by the idea that I instituted my almost-annual mince pies and mulled wine post-Christmas parties.

We slept that night at the Holiday Inn near Stonehenge, and the American-style accommodations were balm to the soul. We needed our rest as we had a 5:30 a.m. start next day. On to France!

Next day >

Day 4 - Our Normandy landing

June 4 - Channel crossing day

 

One factor that helped me choose this particular tour over any others was the fact that we would sail from Portsmouth to Cherbourg. An approach of Normandy by water just seemed so appropriate. We had rainy weather, but no one was shooting at us, so our crossing was commemorative but not imitative. Many veterans were on board and we learned everywhere we went that ceremonies were being held daily in their honor as they arrived, on both the English and French shores.

On board the ferry I noticed a few groups of young British men in WWII-era GI uniforms. In my innocence, I asked one chap why he was wearing that, and I pointed to his GI jacket. He replied, "Because it's cold." Helpful, eh? By way of further explanation, he added, "We'll be driving around in jeeps." As Mary did when told wonders of her Son that she did not understand, I stored this in my heart without probing further. But I was to comprehend the full import of the conversation within a matter of hours.

Normandy is a cynosure for World War II reenactors. Thousands upon thousands of civilians of all ages and many nationalities, but especially French, dress up in U.S. Army fatigues and ride around in jeeps, troop trucks, and other period vehicles. Some recreate entire Army camps and I understand there are lots of dances and other entertainments they enjoy, all in the costumes and customs of the times.

I was puzzled at the first few reenactors I met, thinking they were docents or something. But I soon figured it out. Frankly I was entranced by their ubiquitous presence and the verisimilitude they lent to the landscape. I will admit that the profusion of Army vehicles on the roads contributed to traffic jams which were not welcome to people stuck on coaches trying to get to significant landmarks on a tight schedule. Still - I enjoyed them, and even toyed with the idea of doing this myself some time in the future. :-)  I do love a charade.

We were installed at the Marine Hotel in Cherbourg. It was adequate and the staff overworked but friendly. The hotel was situated right on the marina so from the public rooms and many bedrooms (not mine) there was a stunning view.

Next day > 

Day 5 - "It is raining freedom"

June 5 - Touring some of the landing sites in Normandy

I had an incredible day. Now that we were in France, we had come into our own. 

We set out in the morning for La Fière, site of the Merderet Bridge, the holding of which was a key objective of some of the first paratroopers to land in Normandy. The Iron Mike commemorative statue is here. (St. Michael the Archangel is the patron saint of paratroopers.) Some paratroopers landed in the Merderet River, and drowned in two feet of water due to the weight of their packs. An intense battle was fought here for two days.

Second stop was Arromanches, where remains of the Mulberry Harbor still exist. Dubbed "Port Winston Churchill," the Mulberry Harbor enabled thousands of men and millions of tons of food, weaponry, and equipment to enter France.

Finally we visited the Longues-sur-Mer Battery. The guns here could fire miles out to sea, and it was critical to disable them. 

Due to parachute demonstrations we were too tangled in traffic to complete our itinerary which would have taken us to Pegasus Bridge, where top flight British engineers dropped in on gliders and captured the bridge by 1:00 a.m. on D-Day. 

But there were so many compensations ... I spent a fabulous quarter hour talking with a woman at the desk of our hotel who LOVES Americans (and Brits and Canadians) and still remembers to credit us with the freedom she enjoys today. The two of us ended us in tears and we embrassed each other in the traditional French manner (two kisses, one on each cheek). Her grandparents cared for injured paratroopers on D-Day. Her father was only 6 at the time but he remembered and passed on his sense of gratitude to his children. His father told him when the paratroopers arrived: "It is raining freedom."

Believe me, Americans are HONORED in Normandy.

Next day >

Day 6 - D-Day Ceremonies

June 6 - the 70th Anniversary of D-Day - "The Longest Day"

We had a 5:00 a.m. start to get to the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach for the bi-national Franco-American ceremony. Paul's narration during our ride was gripping ... he told us minute by minute and practically yard by yard what had been happening at each spot we passed, exactly 70 years ago. Very moving, too, was the fact that one of our D-Day veteran pilots sat up suddenly in his seat and exclaimed that we were just passing the place where he had been shot down. Nothing could make the day more electric than this.

We received our formal invitation cards to the official ceremony on the coach. All vehicles needed to stop at a security checkpoint at Carentan where sniffer dogs checked our luggage hold and two members of the French Armed Forces joined us for the final drive to the Cemetery. We arrived and were seated by 9:30 a.m., exactly per instructions. While waiting we were entertained by the arrival of many important helicopters bearing President Hollande, President Obama in Marine One, and other dignitaries.

The ceremony began over an hour late, about 11:10 a.m. The speeches have been recorded by TV news for posterity, so I will not go into detail. I will say that I liked President Hollande's speech better than Obama's. Hollande spoke poetically and with gravity (I will never forget his chilling allusion to a "sea of blood"). Obama's speech seemed disjointed, and with all the practice he could have had, he couldn't pronounce "les États-Unis" in French to save his life. Paul told me afterwards that the historicity in his speech was "flabby." I don't know about that, but my mind did wander to President Reagan's famous 1984 "The Boys of Pointe du Hoc" speech, admirably written by Peggy Noonan, and not by a committee. (This is not political comment. It's my opinion as a professional speechwriter.) 

At the end of the ceremony there was an American F-15 fly-by that was supposed to be in the Missing Man formation. Unfortunately, the pilots mistimed their manoeuver, and by the time they flew overhead the assembled company, the missing man gap had already been filled by #4. Nonetheless, it was exciting. And I very much loved the booming of the 21-gun salute.

The aftermath of the ceremony was chaotic. The French had organized a rota of buses to pick up the 14,000 visitors, but without disseminating any public information. It turned out that tour coaches were at the bottom of the pecking order. This meant that we had to wait in the sun, without seating, food, or information, until after 4:00 p.m. to be picked up. Miscommunication with our driver lead us to believe that his vehicle might have broken down, and we were all worried for a while, mostly for the safety and comfort of the more elderly in our group. Thanks to the offices of the French police, who were unsnarling traffic 56 KM away, the buses finally started arriving. And we owe a debt of gratitude to the US Consul and two of his attachés, who made some calls for us and began to broadcast useful information to all the waiting visitors. 

Bearing in mind that no one was shooting at us, one cannot really complain. It was sad, though, that due to the elongation of our time at the Cemetery, we were unable to visit Utah Beach and Museum per our schedule. Our other stop, at Grandcamp Maisy German Battery, we rescheduled for the following day.

Next day >

Day 7 - From Dead Man's Corner to La Pointe du Hoc

June 7 - German defenses, dead Germans, then Americans again

We were very lucky today. The D-Day traffic had calmed down a lot and we were able to reroute our itinerary to take in places we had missed earlier.

First was Dead Man's Corner. The corner got its name when an American tank was knocked out right in front of the German command house. The tank sat there for days with the dead American tank commander sticking up from the turret. The troops began referring to it as "the corner where the dead man's in the tank." This was shortened to "Dead Man's Corner." Lugubrious, but war is hell. At Dead Man's Corner there is a fantastic shop of war finds, curios, and mementos. Attention reenactors - great place to kit yourself out with both authentic and reproduction gear!

From here we motored to a most unusual and authentic site, Grandcamp Maisy German Battery. This is the site of a secret German defensive position that was only rediscovered six years ago, at which point it was entirely buried by time. A British military historian has bought up the land and dug out the trenches, machine-gun tobruks, and bunkers, so that one may walk (cautiously) through the original site. Here, as elsewhere on our journey, we found poppies growing wild on the trench verges. A bright dot of color here and there providing a touching reminder of the war dead.

Next up we visited La Cambe German Cemetery. The French were not too keen to give land to inter the bodies of their enemies but after some political negotiations, this site (among others) was eventually granted for the remains of 21,000 German soldiers. They are buried two and three together, and unlike the American Cemetery, the plots do not bear individual crosses; only a plaque with the names, if known. Sets of five low iron crosses are scattered throughout the space, however, as a memorial element. We came across a small party of pilgrims celebrating a Mass for peace here. It turned out to be an annual event consisting of French, British, and German bishops, and mostly religious attendees (priests and nuns) from dioceses in Germany and England that have been paired with the French one.

Inside the small information center, I searched for my German ancestral name, Honecker. None were found. Perhaps the spelling would have been different - I don't know. God knows the name Honecker lives in infamy enough. I was just as glad not to find one here. 

The Black Baron

I had an interesting experience at the German cemetery. While approaching the grave of Michael Wittmann, the Black Baron, a highly decorated and frankly lethal tank commander, I felt his presence. In my mind's eye I could see him standing there, in uniform, very proud and military, and not a little annoyed at being gawked at by tourists.


We lunched in Port-en-Bessin, where 420 Green Berets of the 47 Royal Marine Commandos had battled fiercely on D-Day. We saw a gang of their military descendents in their green "Lovats" enjoying a beer and no doubt remembering their proud heritage.

Port en Bessin

After lunch, we traveled back to the American Cemetery. Even though we had spent nearly eight hours there on June 6, due to total uncertainty about our return transportation arrangements, we had not been able to profit from an organized visit lead by Paul. On this occasion several people wanted to descend to Omaha Beach to gather sand and photo souvenirs, so again we split up. (I passed on doing all those steps.) Luckily I bumped into Paul and Keith after a while and Paul showed us to some of the most significant grave markers, including Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., and the two brothers whose story formed the basis for Saving Private Ryan. 

La Pointe du Hoc

Bomb crater

Last but not least on this very long day, we finally made it to La Pointe du Hoc, situated between Utah and Omaha Beaches, where the U.S. Army Rangers mounted their perilous assault up the cliffs. The site is still ravaged by deep bomb craters and one can only imagine the horrifying sights and sounds of pitched battle from air, land, and sea. Visiting this site was a major goal of mine, and I found it moving and strangely exhilarating.

Next day >

Day 8 - Sainte-Mère-Église and Paris

June 8 - A good ending and a new beginning

Church of St. Michel, Sainte-Mère-Église

All packed up and ready to part from our tour comrades at the end of the day, we drove to a special location first, Brécourt Manor. A very brave assault was launched here by Company E of the 101st Airborne Division, the original Band of Brothers. 

Finally, and perhaps our best site of the whole trip, we arrived in Sainte-Mère-Église. Well known for being the place where two paratroopers got snagged on the spire and the church roof, it was very, very moving to see the effigy of one of them, John Steele, still hanging from the church. Sainte-Mère-Église was the first town in France to be liberated from the Nazis, and Sainte-Mère-Église does not forget.

The Airborne Museum is first rate. The Combat Glider "Waco" is on display, and I was amazed to learn how many men a glider carried. It looked like it could hold 8-12 men. Truly there is a wealth of information and artifacts in this place.

We were enjoying perfect weather, so a walk around the grounds of the museum was followed by a walk around the town and an open-air lunch with my own little band of brothers. I also visited the church, and lit a candle for peace. I had prayed all along the journey at cemeteries and battle grounds for the repose of the glorious dead and for the peace and freedom for which they died to be an enduring reality.

Just as we were about to depart, the good old 82nd Airborne started dropping a regiment of paratroopers just outside of the town. We had a great view as plane after plane debouched dozens and dozens of paratroopers over the fields. It was raining freedom all over again.

SO SAD! We arrived at the Gare du Nord around 5:00 p.m. and had to say goodbye to all the great friends we had made on the trip. I will keep several of them in my heart forever.

However, my trip was not finished. I still had three nights to spend in Paris, beginning this night with a reunion dinner between myself and my old friend Elizabeth from Mauritius. Along with her boyfriend Marc and gal pal Michele, we met at my hotel and walked about 1 KM to the beautiful art nouveau brasserie Julien on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis. We ate and drank and talked until very late, and I finally fell into bed at my hotel about midnight.

Next day >

Days 9 and 10 - Paris and Giverny

June 9 - Le Louvre and Giverny 

Words may not be able to capture the amazing quality of this day. I slept late - much needed - then walked to the Louvre Museum, minutes from my hotel. Thousands of people are inside at any one time so I felt hot and crushed. But I adored seeing so many iconic paintings and sculptures by the likes of Leonardo da Vinci; "The Genius," Michelangelo; Rafael; Fragonard ... the list goes on.

Afterwards I met my friends and we drove to Giverny, the home and gardens of Monet. I have never had a more overwhelming experience for the senses. The gardens go on forever and the house itself is charm epitomized. Bought lots of trinkets in the shop. I did pass on several items bearing images of Monet's work, however, which I felt could be purchased anywhere in the world.

On the way back to Paris we stopped at the chateau where Louis XIV was born at Saint-Germain-des-Laye. There is a great view towards Paris and you can even see the Eiffel Tower and Montmartre in the distance.

June 10 - Out and about in Paris 

Today was my last day in Paris. Absolutely failed to do and see everything I hoped for. It's a sign that I will return! I made it to Notre Dame, where I attended the last half of a Mass in progress, and Sainte-Chapelle, with a delicious luncheon of onion soup and raspberry tart in between. I also waved at the Sorbonne, where my maternal grandfather was granted a year of free study after WWI. 

For the rest of the afternoon, I circled the city in a bus but due to rain and lack of time I did not go on the Seine cruise I had paid for, or visit Les Invalides, or do some other things on my bucket list. But I had a good time today and finished the evening in the company of my exquisite French friends. I had found a nice place right around the corner from my hotel, Bistro Vivienne, and we dined extremely well in a plush private corner of the restaurant. I ordered rabbit en croute, a dish that is delicious and generally impossible to find in the States. 

The latter part of the evening was spent repacking my suitcase to accommodate my shopping accretions, and at 7:30 a.m. the following morning I was heading to Charles de Gaulle airport. 

Au revoir, France! A la prochaine!