The Saxon Stone

Dearest Old Bolds, Friends, and Family,

We left you last in Paris, where upon check-in at a fancy American hotel, we were immediately and effusively welcomed by the guest relations manager, and showered with free drink and breakfast coupons worth about a hundred bucks.

I wondered for a little while, because although I like them very much, I don’t usually stay at this chain.  And I was using points. Ergo, I expected our treatment to be friendly, but not overly enthusiastic.

And then I looked over at Charley. He was still wearing his blazer with his Afrika Korps and Sherwood Ranger pins, and a pin commemorating attendance at the 70th D-Day celebrations.  His tank beret was set at a rakish angle, with a Sherwood Rangers emblem clearly visible on it.

Aha.

The staff never asked if Charley were a veteran, and we had not said anything. Although we did sort of mention that we had just come from Normandy, and were late checking in due to the bothersome traffic.

I happen to feel that Charley should be treated with the highest respect as a WW2 veteran who fought honorably, and who has spent his life working for peace and reconciliation. But I wasn’t so sure the French, who didn’t know his mission, would recognize that as quickly if he burst out speaking German, as sometimes happens.

In the elevator, I suggested Charley might want to consider speaking English in public areas, since staff seem to have been alerted to his status. Since we were more than a little tuckered out after the long day, this was a tough task indeed. Despite his best efforts, a slipped “Ja Wohl!” on his part inevitably produced a little jab on my part, and a forlorn sigh.

But we pressed on, and went to the unbearably chic Sky Bar up at the top of the hotel, ordering a hot chocolate and virgin pina colada. Our French waiter jutted his chin and emitted a practiced, nearly inaudible snort when we paid the $50 tab with our coupon. But our view of the nearby Eiffel Tower in the delicate hues of the rosy setting sun helped us quickly change our focus.

The next morning after our enjoyable, free breakfast, we hired a taxi driver to take us around the corner to the Arc de Triomphe, and then over to the Eiffel Tower for a few snapshots. Then we checked out, packed up the car with our considerable luggage and gear, and climbed in.

I set a course in our GPS and started driving, while it searched for satellite reception. In true French fashion, however, it decided to strike, recalculating endlessly.  After 20 minutes of an unintended tour of Paris, I broke out my iPhone, and with its help we made our way to a clogged freeway and slowly out of the city.

We arrived in a very peaceful Verdun, and stayed with another Dutch couple in the German/American sector. Their beautifully restored farmhouse was the perfect home base. The next day we picked up our guide Maarten for another fascinating day of 1870 battlefield tours in Sedan.

After a lovely evening meal and huge Dutch breakfast the next morning, both provided by our hosts, we headed off towards Germany and our last 1870 destination: St. Privat.

In the days of our scouring 1870 battlefields, we had always sought a Saxon monument, but had not found one yet. As there was no united Germany until after the victory in 1871, each of the German armies had been regional, and Charley’s grandfather had fought in the Saxon army.

Finally, on this last day in France, in the last town, and at the last monument, we found a bombastic Saxon stone, just outside the unchanged fields where the battle raged 144 years ago.

Charley’s joy in this type of moment can only be described as profoundly moving. As a little boy, Charley had learned absolute respect for his father and grandfather and their service in the wars. This deep sentiment, coupled with a desire to honor and match their courage, had been the core of his personal drive to serve.

Because he cannot travel long distances alone anymore, and there hasn’t been much interest in the following generations in learning about this history or following this tradition, Charley never dreamed he’d be able to find or see or touch this stone, this slender and rare and tangible connection to his esteemed grandfather.  The fact that we could do this before he leaves this earth affected him more profoundly than I, at half his age, can probably really truly comprehend.

But having been deprived of my own adored father for nigh on ten years now, helping Charley experience this joy is not a completely selfless task on my part. And I remember that my own great-great-grandfather came from Prussia to America in the 1870’s.  So this link, this connection, and this mystery of love of our ancestors belongs not only to Charley, but to us both.

There are few things in life that provide such a high return of happiness for so little investment in time, effort, and money.

We’ll enjoy them while we can.

Next up: visiting the widow of a rocket ship driver.

Until then, all my love, and best wishes,

Heather