The (Shockingly Wet and Windy) British Days of Normandy
Dear Old Bolds, Family and Friends,
I’ve been working so much lately on my book that it’s been some time since I’ve taken a break for anything. But tonight is the opening of Dunkirk at the local IMAX theater, and I’m giddy with excitement. I bought my ticket days ago, and can’t remember the last time I went to opening night of a film. The reviews about the movie have been so over-the-top that I hope it can live up to all the acclaim.
This summer Charley and I stopped at Dunkirk on our way across France. It is, like so many other battlefields in northern France, a place haunted with the spirits of the young men who suffered and died there. There is truly something about France that makes this so – whether it be the 1870-1 Franco-Prussian War, World War I, or World War II – or even the wars of the last centuries. But there is something ancient, mystical, and otherworldly – to use the Hawaiian concept of “mana†would be about right – there is an aura of energy about these sacred places which resonates profoundly. With their sensitive and deeply emotional souls, the French feel this eddy of power. And so, for the most part, they do keep these places free of too much modern building and interference.
On Gold Beach, the German bunker which stood in the way of the Sherwood Rangers’ entry into Normandy still stands sentinel. On that spot this June 6th , the Sherwood Rangers dedicated a plaque to the tankers who fought and died to take this beach. In the middle of the ceremony, storm clouds broke open and lashed us all with pelting rain and wild winds. Unlike the British, who are quite used to this type of weather, and being outside in it on occasion, I am not. It’s not just that I still consider myself a southern Californian. It’s that my wardrobe is still southern Californian. While our friends, for the most part, seemed quite snug in appropriate waterproof and fleece-lined rain wear (on the 6th of June! June!!), I discovered for the first time that the rain jacket I wore so rarely for over a decade in San Diego is not actually waterproof.
In any case, we had a lovely reception afterwards with the people of the village during which we did our best to dry 
off. Our lunch there was followed by an interesting visit to the D-Day Academy, a center point for young people to learn more about what happened here in 1944 complete with vehicles, airplane wreckage, and machine guns to play with (unloaded, of course).  If you are looking for a tour of the British sector, or are bringing children with you to Normandy (or 90-somethings who like to play like children), these are the people to talk to: http://www.ddaca.com/en.
The 7th of June started with our usual visit to the Musee de la Bataille de Normandie, where the Sherwood Rangers and Essex Infantry are celebrated annually for the liberation of the town in 1944. This was followed by a visit to a British cemetery in Tilly-sur-Suelles, where Sherwood Ranger and famous poet Keith Douglas found his final resting place, and German soldiers are buried in a corner tucked in the back. A ceremony at the small farm where beloved officers of the Regiment were killed was our next stop, and then, as the sun moved lower in the sky, we gathered with some other British regiments to commemorate the fighting around the town.
Two very long days, full of rich remembrance so personal to our beloved Sherwood Rangers.
On the 8th of June we set off for the Paris Marriott Rive Gauche, where I had engineered a devious surprise for my charges. Although we arrived thirty minutes late, we had a large reception circle of staff who cheered our arrival. Graham and Charley were offered champagne and warm welcoming handshakes.  We were upgraded to suites, and as I directed the unloading of our luggage from the car, the boys were swept up as VIP’s to the rooms on the 18th floor, where sweeping views of Paris awaited them. While he napped, welcome gifts of wine and chocolate were brought into Graham’s room, with a handwritten card full of appreciative sentiments. Everywhere we went in the hotel, Graham was fawned over, thanked for his service, and pampered. It was exactly as it should be.
Although we had to leave Graham at Orly the next morning, we were of course very sad to see him go. Every moment of the time together was precious to us, and I shall always be grateful for the privilege and pleasure of accompanying him to the places that have such deep meaning for him, and for Charley.
Let us hope we may repeat the experience next year.
With much love,
Heather
