Yes, I do realize that Normandy is not in Paris and so, technically and pedantically speaking, the Punjabi can’t be in Paris if he is in Normandy. You are quite right. Wrong, too. For it is entirely possible that he was in Paris when he wrote the Normandy Notes. In actual fact, he is writing this in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan in the Canadian Prairies, far, far away from Paris and Normandy. So why, you ask, does he title it thus? You don’t ask, I know, but I shall give you the answer. It is because I am writing this as part of a series and I am being helpful. See, it becomes easier to search for the complete series, for I know how much it means to you to come over and read my writing, if there is a common search item or tag to link all the pieces together. Yes, I could have used Tags and / or Categories and I will, but how many of the lay readers, who have pretty much been laying down on the one job they’ve been given here, to read, will be able or willing to use Tags and Categories for searches? (Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed the alliterative titles. You have? ‘Swonderful! )
We arrived in Vire in the evening of Day 9. Tired and hot from the wonder that is Mont St Michel we drove through valleys and narrow streets climbing up and up until suddenly we were in this wonderful square and our hotel was right in the centre of it. The Hotel Saint Pierre is delightfully old-fashioned on the outside and delightfully ultra-modern on the inside. The room was spacious, the bathroom too. Whoever had been in charge of remodeling had made excellent use of space. It was spick and span. The bathroom window opened wide onto the centre of town and beyond you could see the valley spreading wide below you as you took a crap.
Day 10 started early. I wanted to leave as early as possible for the 1 hour drive to Ste Mere Eglise, the little village that just happened to have Route Nationale 13 running through it and thus became an important strategic target for the Allies. For “Utah” beach lay away to it’s East and the RN 13 led away to Carentan and beyond to Paris. The Allies needed to control this highway if they were going to link forces and so on the night of June 6th, 1944 at 1:51 am, the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 82nd Airborne Division dropped in from the sky to take control of the village away from the occupying Germans.
During the planning phase, I had suggested that we not go to Normandy on June 6th. “The crowds will be terrible.” So we were there on June 8th, 2014, 70 years and 2 days after the historic paradrop. The plan was to drive to Ste Mere Eglise, see the re-enactment of the parachute drop which was scheduled for 11am and then head over to the beaches, Utah and Omaha. I also wanted to visit the cemetery at Collevile, something the others surprisingly did not show any enthusiasm for. But we all agreed to visit a museum or two.
June 8th, 2014.
0845: We pack into our Peugeot 308. We decided not to waste time having breakfast for the drive from Vire to Ste Mere Eglise was listed at an hour long. We planned to be there by 10am, have a quick breakfast and head over to see the parachute drop in full costume.
0925: Realization starts to dawn on Dad that he may not be the only person in the world to have read about World War II and the D-Day landings and that Ste Mere Eglise wasn’t just a small village that he could visit at leisure.
0935: Surrounded by cars, motorbikes, jeeps, fullscale WWII vehicles, full of people in full WWII battle dress. Stopped dead on the highway 14 kms from Ste Mere Eglise.
1015: Total progress on the highway limited to 500 meters
1100: Another 500 meters covered.
11:17: Excited cries from the back seat pointed out Dead Man’s Corner Museum. So focused had I been on Ste Mere Eglise and that I had completely ignored the story of Lt Richard Winters and the battle for Carentan.
11:20: We pulled over, parked and looked it over. Swarms of people in full WWII battle dress were all around us. 500 yards up the road was a small shop, with the customary tables set up outside and colorful umbrellas spread shade. A group of people sat at one table, empty coffee cups in front of them. I decided they spoke English, so went over and said, “I’m dying for a cup of coffee! Where did you get those?” They said, “In the store. She has croissants too”. Then I knew they were Americans. For only the Americans call a shop a store.
The genial lady behind the counter, did not speak English too well and I do not speak French at all, so we got along perfectly. Five minutes later we were sitting outside drinking fabulous coffee and eating fresh croissants by the side of the road, with the mid morning Norman sun shining brightly over the umbrella. Another testament to the quality of the coffee and the friendliness of the people of France.
Sated, Boo and I decided to visit the museum. Mom decided she was going to sit and wait for us. For the next 45 minutes Boo and I walked through the house which is now a museum, swapping stories and factoids gleaned from our own but very different readings of WWII history.
Options:
1. Forget about Ste Mere Eglise and head out to Omaha. Check out the museums, head back home to Paris.
2. See if we could get to Ste Mere Eglise before the next re-enactment at 3pm. Then head over to Omaha, skip the museum and head back home to Paris.
We were greeted by a crowds of people thronging the square, with long lines at barbeques. The village square isn’t really that large, it was just dwarfed by the volume of people.
High up on the side of the church hung a replica of Pvt John Steele, with his parachute stuck on the spire. The people of Ste Mere Eglise do not want to forget. They keep that there to remind themselves not to forget. To that end, the church has replaced it’s stained glass which now commemorates the parachute drop.
Sakshi Nanda
11 Nov 2014““Follow me”, he seemed to be saying. I threw the map over to my wife and quickly drove after him. My Beloved Bangalan said “I hope he knows where he’s going. But how does he know where WE want to go?” – Ha ha ha!
While not being able to handle crowds makes me think you no longer are a pure Punjabi, “delightfully ultra-modern on the inside” is a purely Punjabi expectancy, when they spend money. 😛
Enjoyed this, and loved the first para. No, you could not confuse me. It ‘swonderful!
TheLastWord
11 Nov 2014I had no problem with the dated hotel we lived in in Paris. I’m really not much of a Punjabi. The Hotel St Pierre stood out because the interior was unexpected given the outside of the building and the little village we were in.
And yes, I do not handle crowds well.
spunkybong
13 Nov 2014Quirky, smart and interesting. Loved reading this. Wish you could have seen the paradrop reenactment. Enjoyed this lovely trip into history’s greatest invasion. 🙂
TheLastWord
13 Nov 2014I feel I did not bring out my own feelings in this piece. The sheer sight of the crowds dressed in WWII uniforms, the jeeps, the full scale reenactments, the sight of that parachute and the stained glass windows…..it was an unbelievably emotional feeling.
In Part 2 of the Normany Notes, there may be a surprise for you…… 🙂
spunkybong
13 Nov 2014Surprise? Now that would be termed titillating the reader. 😀
TheLastWord
13 Nov 2014Yes, it would, heh heh!
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