“Every man’s memory is his private literature.”
Yesterday all was well and today looks like a great day. The sun is so bright it’s almost blinding. I have an errands, but I’m putting them off until later so I can loll on the deck with a cold drink and my newest book, The Jefferson Key. My irrigation guy came by this morning and turned on the lawn system and my outside shower. My landscaper, who lives next door, was with him, and I asked him to have a few things done in my yard. The last of my flowers are waiting for planting, weeds in the front need to go to their heavenly rewards and the backyard has to be weed-whacked. Tomorrow, he said.
Today is D-Day. My mother once had a D-Day party and put up maps of the landing sites, played WWII music and had The Longest Day playing on the VCR. My dad used to tell us about when he was in the hospital in England during the invasion, and the wounded never seemed to stop coming. They told him our troops were getting slaughtered by heavy resistance. Most of the soldiers were pessimistic about our chances to defeat Germany. That, of course, was at the beginning. We visited a few sites on one of our trips to Europe. The Ardennes was the spookiest with its ground fog and its silence. In the woods were tank traps looking like dragon’s teeth. We passed signs for Malmedy, and my dad told us about the massacre of American prisoners of war by the “bloody Germans” as he called them. All the sites we saw and visited were new to my dad as well. He had been a sailor whose ship had been sunk by the Germans in the North Atlantic. We followed signs along the same route the Americans had taken as the army made its way inland; we visited WW II museums and stayed in Bastogne. It was a remarkable trip.
Memories of events grow dim and finally disappear over time. Each new generation loses something as the previous generations age and finally disappear. I grew up hearing all my mother’s favorite songs including her World War II favorites. I know all the words to them. My niece and nephews don’t know them, no reason why they should. The songs aren’t played any more. I remember all my dad’s World War II stories, and they have been passed down, but I suspect they’ll end with the generation behind me. They have no connections the way we did.
I am a child of the 50’s and 60’s, and I have so many memories of growing up then, memories of the things I did and what I believed. They are still vivid to me but only to me. Soon enough, they too will fade and finally disappear, and the next generation will fill the void with their own memories.
Explore posts in the same categories: MusingsTags: Longest Day, memories, Normandy landings, World War II
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keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
June 6, 2011 at 12:14 pm
We reached 90F here today and there´s a strong wind that makes me feel like I lived in a huge hair dryer 🙂 I had to water some flower beds today and I can´t remember having to do that this early ever! Clouds are finally coming from south east and I do hope it´ll bring rain and thunder. But I refuse to complain, I´ve been longing for this so long now 🙂 🙂
WW2 is very vivid to me as well even though I wasn´t born until the sixties. But I had a neighbor that was rescued from Auschwitz and my grandfather spent most of the war in Italy since the ship he was on were there when the war started. I love the music from that time and they do play it every now and again on the radio over here.
We didn´t participate in the war, we were neutral. By that we obviously meant that we helped both sides. Germany by force, we didn´t want to get involved and the allies by choice :-)even though we still didn´t want to be involved 🙂 🙂
Have a great day now!
Christer.
June 7, 2011 at 9:26 am
Christer,
It was chilly yesterday, but it’s supposed to get really warm toward the end of the week-finally. They’re predicting rain for tonight.
My mother told us all about war on the home front and what it meant with rationing food and gas.
The US had little choice-a bombing will do that!
June 6, 2011 at 5:34 pm
Cheers
June 7, 2011 at 9:29 am
Minicapt,
That was beautiful!
June 6, 2011 at 6:46 pm
Snag this post for the book. My Dad, a fighter pilot, downed his plane over the English channel having been hit hard by the Nazi air force. He kept the plane level so the crew could parachute to safety; he held the stick so hard he broke all his fingers on his right hand. He couldn’t fly again, not in the war, and became a logistics officer but his right hand was never the same. Maybe five operations later, with better technology, still the pain was severe. But he lived with it. Thanks for this post Kat.
June 7, 2011 at 9:29 am
Z&Me,
My dad almost lost both his legs having been in the North Atlantic so long. He told us how he’d get on a bike at the hospital with his two legs in a cast and glide down the hill to the pub. An ambulance would have to go down and get him. He was all of 18 and thought the war great fun, sinking and all.
I figured we needed to be reminded of days like June 6, 1944.