From the Archives: The Destruction and Reconstruction of Caen
At this time last year, My Own True Love and I took a D-Day tour put on by the fabulous National World War II Museum in New Orleans. With the 75th anniversary of D-Day marching toward us, it seemed like a good time to re-run the blog posts I wrote about the trip. Settle in: for the next few posts it’s going to be D-Day in the Margins.
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As I’ve mentioned before, you can’t go very far in Normandy without coming up against William the Conqueror and/or D-Day. Even on a tour day devoted to William the Conqueror in Caen, the impact of D-Day on the population of Normandy was an unavoidable part of the story.
The issue first appeared when we stood on the grounds of William’s castle: a site which was forgotten by l’homme in the street in the twentieth century until bombing during the invasion of Normandy destroyed the medieval town that surrounded the fortified walls. The bombardment came up again when we visited William’s abbey, where many citizens of Caen took refuge during the bombardment.
The battle for Caen began on June 6, 1944. The city was “liberated” on July 8, but fighting around the city continued until July 21. The cost of liberation was high. Some three thousand civilians were killed in the battle for Caen. Seventy-three percent of the city was destroyed, leaving two million cubic meters of rubble that had to be removed before the city could begin to rebuild. For more than three years, the residents of Caen lived in temporary housing on the outskirts of the city while German prisoners of war moved rubble.*
Reconstruction finally began in 1948, in many cases using the prized Caen limestone from destroyed buildings.
Moral of the story, at least as far as I am concerned: it is easy, and important, to remember D-Day from the perspective of the soldiers. Both the acts of heroism and the tragic loss of life. But we also need to remember the civilian casualties of war.
*Even decisions that seem obvious were complicated. On the one hand, prisoners of war were used because the work was hard and dangerous: the rubble contained unexploded shells. On the other hand, the German prisoners were fed in exchange for their work at a time when many French civilians went hungry.
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From the Archives: Gliders, Pegasus Bridge, and D-Day
At this time last year, My Own True Love and I took a D-Day tour put on by the fabulous National World War II Museum in New Orleans. With the 75th anniversary of D-Day marching toward us, it seemed like a good time to re-run the blog posts I wrote about the trip. Settle in: for the next few posts it’s going to be D-Day in the Margins.
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The image of pilgrimage came to mind again as soon as we began to visit key sites related to the Invasion of Normandy, beginning with the museum at Pegasus Bridge.
Pegasus Bridge, June 1944 (From the collection of the Imperial War Museum
The capture of Pegasus Bridge was a key objective in the first moments of the D-Day invasion on June 6, 1944. Here’s the short version:* Six Horsa gliders carried 181 members of the British airborne infantry, led by Major John Howard, from Dorset to Normandy, with orders to land, capture both Pegasus and the nearby Horsa Bridge,** and hold them until relieved. Pegasus Bridge was captured ninety minutes after the gliders took off from England. The operation’s success played a key role in limiting the effectiveness of the German counterattack.
The museum has the actual bridge, but as far as I was concerned the glider exhibit had the most impact.*** The exhibit juxtaposed an actual section of a glider fuselage from World War II with a full-sized replica of a Horsa glider, built according to the original plans. Just like the little two-man gliders that I enjoyed rides in several decades ago, military gliders were towed aloft by powered airplanes. Once they reached an assigned position and altitude, they were released and flown using rising and falling air currents. Unlike the gliders I knew, they were BIG: they were capable of carrying thirty armed paratroopers, a jeep, or an anti-tank gun. (Obviously I knew this in my head, but there is nothing like seeing things in person to give you a sense of scale.) They were also terrifyingly fragile, made of wood and canvas to conserve metal: in the months after the invasion, desperate French civilians broke up abandoned gliders for firewood and building materials. (And who can blame them?)
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- A Horsa glider under tow (Image from the Royal Air Force)
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- Horsa glider in a training exercise (Image from the Imperial War Museum)
One detail in particular caught my imagination: Allied planes and gliders were painted with black and white “invasion stripes” on the fuselage and wings to distinguish them from German planes. Because of the need for secrecy, the order for the paint job, which involved thousands of airplanes, wasn’t issued until two days before the invasion was scheduled to begin. Because of the size of the job, civilians joined ground crews in painting the stripes. Some used brooms rather than standard painterly gear. Even those who had brushes didn’t have time to mask off the stripes. In many cases the paint was still wet when the aircraft took off.
* If you want to know all the details, I hear good things about these accounts of the operation: Stephen Ambrose Pegasus Bridge: June 6, 1944 and John Howard with Penny Bates. The Pegasus Diaries: The Private Papers of Major John Howard. I haven’t read either of them.
**The local names were the Bénouville and Ranville bridges. In honor of the operation, they were renamed Pegasus after the emblem of the British airborne division and Horsa after the gliders that brought the troops in. Similarly, the names by which we know the beaches on which American, British, Canadian and French forces landed–Omaha, Utah, Gold, Juno, and Sword–were their code names during the planning of the operation. I don’t know why this surprised me, but it did. Perhaps because the accounts I’ve read of the invasion have only used the code names.
***The upside of the tour was that we had an excellent guide narrating the history for us. At some museums, including the museum at Pegasus Bridge, we also had a private lecture/tour/talk by a museum guide/curator/docent. The downside of the tour was that we often didn’t have time to look at museum exhibits in detail. It is quite possible that we learned more from the guides than we would have from the exhibits, but it was a bit frustrating for a hard-core museum fan.
Counting Down to the 19th Amendment
Today I’m taking a brief break from all things D-Day to remind the Marginalia of another critical historical anniversary.
On June 4, 1919, Congress passed the 19th amendment, which would make it legal for the women in the United States to vote. The amendment was ratified on August 18, 1920. (Thank you, Tennessee!)
Please note I don’t say “gave them the right to vote”. Women fought hard for that right. Some even died for it. Even after the amendment was passed, there was work yet to be done before African American and other minority women were able to exercise the 19th Amendment guaranteed to them.
Over the next fourteen months, we’ll come back to the the question of the 19th amendment more than once. I have books I want to review. Exhibits I want to visit. Soapboxes I want to stand on. Because no one should take the right to vote for granted.