June 4th, 1944. Utah Beach. Ninth Division Infantry, Medical Unit. Battle for Cherbourg. Capture. Starvation Hill. Train. Prisoner of War–Kustrin. Liberated by the Russians. Travel to freedom.
As we were growing up, we didn’t hear very much about the war years. As we got older bits and pieces were slowly revealed. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I was able to coax details from Dad during some of our fishing trips. By the time the grandchildren became teenagers, they, too, encouraged Dad to share his memories and he began sharing more of his experiences. We were dumbfounded with the stories of his capture and his life as a POW in a German camp. It was hard to imagine what he went through, but his stories painted a vivid picture of what he endured; mostly frightening, some heartwarming, and, yes, some humorous. Shortly before he passed away, we videotaped his recollections; not only of his battles in Germany, but also in North Africa.
After hearing these stories over the years, it became very important for me to retrace Dad’s journey from the D-Day landing on Utah Beach to his capture near St. Lo. After providing all of the details needed for my guide to research the movements of his unit, we were ready to begin.
We began by standing on Utah Beach and imagining how this calm beachfront could be the same place that was blood-drenched over sixty years ago. This was a turning point for my father. I felt it was definitely an appropriate place for Dave’s ashes—in memory of his Grandpa.
In our travels we stopped near a sheep farm. As my guide was explaining the movement of the troops, an elderly gentleman walked up to him with a slight scowl on his face asking why the guide was pointing at his property. When the guide explained that my father marched through this area on D-Day, the man turned to me with tears in his eyes, shook my hand with both of his hands, and said, “merci, merci, merci!” The guide later told me that this man was just a small boy on D-Day, but he remembered the Americans coming through and how much he appreciated what the Americans did for France. He also pointed out where the Medical Unit set up a temporary hospital.
Over the years, my Dad would say he was captured near St. Lo. It was actually a little town called le Desert. Some of the town’s buildings still have bullet holes in the stucco. There were so many stories during the day that touched me more than I can say. But none more than when I was standing by the field where my Dad was captured. I absorbed the peaceful silence while imagining the abject fear of the men as they were rounded up in the early morning hours. Dave’s ashes are here, also, along with one of my father’s medals.
Dad’s capture was just the beginning of the next chapter; his experiences travelling to the prison camp, his life as a prisoner, his liberation, and finally his journey by foot, bicycle, cart and train to make it to freedom.
Memorial Day—the perfect time to remember my two favorite veterans; my Dad and Dave!!
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