Normandy: June 7-12

[Editor's note: Last month (May 2018) I was in Wales and met a man who was going back to Normandy's beaches to commemorate that day. As we talked, it turned out that his British unit was adjacent to William Stigall's unit. They would have loved talking together.]

Chapter 13 -

I do not know if the men in Henry the Fifth's army knew, on the morn of Agincourt, that they were about to take part in one of the memorable moments of world history. I do not know if King Henry
knew. In Shakespeare he is fully aware of it. He calls his little band about him and exhorts them with:

And Chrispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.

I do not know how many men who were a part of the first hours of the invasion of France knew that they were to be a part of history. I suspect many knew. I knew. I wanted to see it, hear it,

smell it, touch it, feel it. I had no wish to die in one of the great battles of the world's history. That did not seem heroic, noble, glamorous, or anything good to me. I simply wanted to be a part of it-to
get in the act, as it were. I wanted to do what I was expected to do and get back safely. Which is sort of wanting to have your cake and eat it, too.

Of course we had no inspiring speech to set us upon the stinking enemy. No Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester . . .

...

So we attacked again. We pushed on to a second attack. Eventually, with infernal slowness, we withdrew a short distance, but not before we encountered more artillery and machine-gun fire, not
before we accumulated a few more casualties. We waited. The Robot bombs began falling on London, and rumors circulated that Germans, desperate to halt Allied attack, might use gas. But finally I started back, bit by bit. As a great crescendo of music starts with a small sound in the woodwinds, is picked up by a violin, then full violins, and with trumpets mounts to a full chord, so did I, bit by bit, partly in thoughts that it could not be the end for me, part in a small song sung, part in the right kind of smile from a passing soldier, joined by a warm cup of coffee, some food, and sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care, and partly the certain knowledge that I am to have no more of it. I started back. The trip, long and weary as it was, was sure, until finally we reached the coast.