When I was a kid my father worked swing shifts (7-3 or 3-11) as a mechanic for The Monongahela Connecting Railroad, a subsidiary of Jones and Laughlin Steel in Pittsburgh. I was the family night owl, and sometimes, when Daddy was at work, I would sneak downstairs to watch TV with my mother. I don't remember how often I went downstairs, but I do remember one program in particular. It was a documentary about the liberation of German concentration camps in World War II.
The program did not frighten me. On the contrary, I was fascinated. How could the Germans--and I knew I had plenty of German blood flowing through my veins--have done this to their fellow citizens? Because they were different, or because they were Jewish? I was too young or too innocent to know how many wars over the centuries had been fought in the name of religion. Seeing the pictures of bodies, many of them naked, stacked up like wood struck a deep cord within me. I knew America had not started the war. Japan had. So why were we in Germany? And thus began my life-long interest in World War II, and in particular the European Theater of Operation.
Fast forward ten years. I wanted to be a nurse. My Dad wanted me to go to college. I was the oldest of four girls. If all four of us went to college he and Mom would have at least one child in college for 14 years. In 1965 most young women became nurses through three year hospital based schools of nursing. I wanted to go to Presbyterian Hospital School of Nursing in Pittsburgh because I liked their caps. But Daddy insisted on college. Because young women and men went to schools of nursing rather than four year colleges there were no scholarships available for me. Not even from his VA benefits. I saw only one way to help pay for my education, and that was to join the Army.
Fast forward some more years. I went to college on a fabulous scholarship, entirely paid for by the Army. I did my clinical internships mostly at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, DC. I cared for lots of men who had been wounded or sickened in Vietnam. My interest in WWII remained, even after I went to Vietnam in February 1970.
Fast forward again to what one might call older adulthood. My kids were grown, my husband and I had the financial ability to travel, but he was only interested in seeing more of New England ("If you live in Vacationland", and we do, "why leave?")
So while Jim's bucket list was small, short, or fulfilled (take a look at the Porche in our garage) I made a list with three big trips on it:
:
1. Cross the US by bike. Did that in 2013.
2. Sing in Denmark. Did that in 2017.
3. Visit WWII battle sites. Have done that now in 2018.
Next year is the 75th Anniversary of the Normandy Invasion, the liberation of France, and the Battle of the Bulge. Many tours are already filled, or over-priced. Why not go now? So I did, inviting my friend Liz Higgins to accompany me.
For both Liz and me it was a kind of pilgrimage. Her father was in the First Army (the Big Red One), and had been part of the invasions of North Africa and Sicily, and was in the third wave of men landing on Omaha Beach. He was wounded in the Ardennes forest. My hospital in Vietnam, the 24th Evac, was the first evacuation level hospital to land in Normandy on D Day +6. I didn't know that when I visited Normandy in 2011. I wanted to see if again.
We chose to go on an 11 day tour: three in Normandy, three in Belgium, three in Munich, and the rest in travel with a company called Procom, which markets its tours as "Beyond the Band of Brothers." It was a good choice. Although there was little time for shopping the 30 or so people on our tour were given every opportunity to learn, in depth, about each of the three main sites we visited.
If you have managed to stick with this to the end, here are three pictures, one from each of the places we visited.
beer beautifully served in a small Belgium restaurant
A pizza house in St Mer Eglise. Laura, Larry, Jim and I ate pizza there in 2011.
No choice on beverage. Beer at the restaurant at Berchesgadan, Bavaria
