Remembering D-Day
Like most of us, I learned about World War II in the history books.
Many WWII veterans came wearing full racks of medals
Then, 15 years ago, I was privy to a rare and special sampling of memories from the D-Day invasion on June 6, 1944.
As Petty Officer 3rd Class Penny Owen in the Naval Reserve, I was given the opportunity to work for three weeks on the commemoration of D-Day in Portsmouth, England, where the Allies crossed over into Normandy 50 years prior (now 65 years prior).
Allow me to be corny for a moment: At times during my Navy reserve career, I have had experiences that became treasures beyond anything material or monetary. Real ‘lump in my throat’ moments that filled me with pride, awe and perspective.
Britain's traditional Drumhead Ceremony was held at the shore of the English Channel to commemorate D-Day in 1994.
And the Navy is paying me for this?
In Portsmouth, England, on the English Channel where troops crossed over to Normand, the Royal Navy staged a massive tent to hold tens of thousands of WWII veterans making the trek to Normandy. It was the 50th anniversary of D-Day and nothing was spared.
My job, as I was told by a Royal Navy leftenant commander, was to ‘keep the veterans happy.’
“If they want to sit down with a pint and tell you their story, you sit down and listen,” he said.
We got to know 'our' veterans well during the two weeks we spent with them. This British WWII veteran honored me by giving me the equivalent of his National Defense Medal, which I hold dear today.
Listen I did. And oh, how unaware I was of the impact these stories would have on me. Here they were, these veterans, full of life, many in dress uniforms wearing medals and berets, Some were spunky, others solemn – all of them together, perhaps for the last time.
That was 1994. We reported that the youngest WWII veteran as 67. You do the math.
We had fears that many veterans would drop dead on the spot. Didn’t happen. The biggest adjustment we had to make was to hand out fewer “free drink” cards for the bar.
The Internet was in its infancy then. We thought it was pretty cool to have this “Vetlink” system to help long-lost veterans find each other. Hint: It involved a bulletin board. Primitive as it was, it did make a few matches.
My first close encounter with a WWII veteran came at the registration table. An aging American and his wife were silently filling out registration cards that we requested.
It might as well be yesterday. The WWII vet’s hand began to shake as he listed his regiment, battalion, or company. He suddenly dropped the pen and buried his face in his hands, sobbing.
A history lesson from a "Wren" (Women's Royal Auxiliary Navy). British Wrens served much like the U.S. Navy's WAVES, performing traditional female roles, such as nursing.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” he wife said. Suddenly, I understood that this was not a matter of reuniting veterans and handing out pins and drink tickets.
This was a pilgrimage, a place in time to look at the old wounds, even the unspeakable wounds, to sit with them quietly, or joke about them, or share them with young, uniformed strangers like me.
Each night in my hotel room, I cried. Tears came from my gratitude for their service, from feeling the pain behind so much stoicism. War is hell and the humans who wage it are fools. But thanks to these WWII veterans, we don’t speak German today.
The stories weren’t pretty. Nor were most of them heroic. Indeed, many veterans shunned the title of “hero” and were annoyed when called one. Their stories often said otherwise.
It was through their stories that I sort of grew another layer. History is a living, breathing entity, told through many truths, coming from many snapshots in time. Even as we learn about history, we find it evolving, changing.
I’m so grateful to have experienced history through the memories of those who survived D-Day: June 6, 1944.
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