Nomad News-Vol.3-No. 65

THE OLD SOLDIER AT OMAHA BEACH: (I wrote this about five years ago as Nomad News No. 8 and not sure if I forwarded it then. I have a lot of new e-mail friends now so decided to repeat it) The old soldier, with his wife at his side, stood as close as they could to the wood rail, about ten feet back from the clifs' edge. He had been to his wife's native country on several occasions but had always been reluctant to come back here. He wouldn't know what he might find, but this may be his last chance, and he had to know. He glanced at the swirling dark grey clouds overhead. Then his gaze turned to the raging sea as it rolled over the armada of half-sunken hulks of destroyed landing craft, troop ships, and all manner of naval vessels scattered as far as the eye could see. They were still there. They then walked toward the rough roadway the Army Engineers had cut through the cliffside, now covered with boot prints on the yellow clay. He looked to see if he could find his but, there too many and he thought of the thousands of prints that never made it to the cliff. They were still there. They turned, and he gazed over the nearby orchard of splintered and shattered apple trees that would never again produce the delightful fruit for calvados and tarte aux pommes. They were still there. He gazed off in the distance and saw the interlocking steel plates of the temporary landing strip the Army Engineers had cut through the trees and farmland. He heard the roar of the twin thousand-horsepower Allison engines as they rocketed the F-5s across the clinking plates, in a swirl of dust, as they took off, one after the other on their sunup to sundown photo missions. They were still there. His French-born wife, now a proud American citizen, didn't see all this. She saw a bright sunny cloudless sky of azure blue, the warm rays of the sun, glancing off a sea as tranquil as a mill pond, the smooth surface broken only by the protruding bow of a single ship, probably left there as a memorial. She saw a level beach of pebbles and sand, its' surface marred only by the departing footsteps of a young couple strolling hand in hand along the waters' edge. She saw the sun sparkling on the incoming wavelets as they gently rolled the pebbles back and forth. The roadway through the cliff is no longer there, the cliff having been restored to its original contour. She saw the orchards of new trees again bearing their delicious fruit. She saw the young farmer working his field, unaware of the history that lay silent a few feet below the wheels of his tractor. They now walked slowly toward the place where he would find his answer. His wife saw row upon row of little white crosses inscribed with the names of heroes. He saw the faces of ten thousand comrades. He read the names of several, but it was too much. With a little salute and a silent "Rest Easy, Men", he turned and walked away. He now knew why he had come. (Andy Dolan)