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| Charles and We Three 1944 |
My Charles Odyssey is getting bigger and bigger and continues to bear amazing gifts. The deeper I dig, the bigger and more significant the returns. If I wasn’t already convinced that the path I’m on is lit by some cosmic or spirited tour guide, I am now.
When I knew I was going to the UK for a great work opportunity, I began to plan a trip to Normandy. Ahead of my trip, I had contacted Jean-Marc Bonnet, Secretary for the volunteer organization, Normandy for Air Remembrance (NAAR), to see if anyone might be available or willing to help me locate and visit Charles’ memorial placed near his crash site in Bréhal, France. Jean-Marc’s response was more than I expected. The memorial was identified, the crash site located, interviews and testimonials from village residents recorded and a visit was being organized. Two days before my arrival in France, Jean-Marc sent me an email and asked if I would prepare a speech to deliver at the ‘ceremony’. Of course I said yes, and then the panic and anxiety set in, along with the realization that something so much bigger than I ever expected was waiting for me in Normandy. That’s when the emotions took hold and the tears were a constant companion for the next few days.
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| Meeting Jean-Marc |
On July 7, 2011, I crossed the English Channel by ferry from Poole, England, to Cherbourg, France. Bridget (a lovely American) and Felix (Jean-Marc’s son), representatives from NAAR met me at the landing and told me they were taking me to Bréhal and that we’d be meeting Jean-Marc there. The drive from Cherbourg to Bréhal was beautiful. About five kilometers from the village, I noticed the poppies, which of course tuned up the tears because I knew it was Charles welcoming me, telling me he was happy I was there.
Jean-Marc met us in Bréhal and then things got more interesting. I started to notice a large group of men gathering, wearing suits, wearing military medals on their lapels, and some carrying flags. The anxiety and emotion were ratcheted up again when Bridget confirmed, “Yes, they’re here for you.”
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| Reception in Bréhal |
We went to City Hall where I was introduced to a lot of village officials and politicians, other memorial group representatives, and countless other community folks. There was a reception and a toast of friendship and respect and lovely little French pastries. Then I was asked to sign a document that would be an official proclamation acknowledging Charles and my visit to Bréhal and I was given the Gold Medal of Bréhal honoring Charles’ service and sacrifice. They were all so thankful and grateful. The sincerity and gratitude expressed that I had made the trip and that I was there honoring someone who had become a part of their village history was as overwhelming for them as it was for me. There was a moment when one of the ladies was talking to me, in French mind you, that even though we couldn’t understand her each other, I fully understood the importance of my visit. She held my hand and with tears welling up in her eyes, she said in English with a very thick accent, “I’m so happy you are here.”
After the reception, a group of about twenty, including a local reporter, took the short drive to the memorial site for the ceremony. It was a landslide of emotions when the memorial finally came into view. French and American flags flanked the pretty little patch of land where the monument had been placed. It was shaded by trees and across the little road was a quiet little pond, and no big surprise at this point, more poppies.
The color guard lined up alongside the monument and the ceremony began. They gave me a quiet moment to read and touch the monument and then Jean-Marc and I placed flowers at the foot of Charles’ memorial. I gave my little speech - thank goodness Bridget translated after every sentence so I could catch my breath and wipe the tears so I could keep going. Then Jean-Marc spoke. I didn’t understand a word, but I was so moved by his emotion and the chin quivering pauses HE had to take while he spoke about Charles. When the ceremony concluded, everyone hugged me and did the double cheek kiss and we just kind of milled out for a bit. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
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The man leading the way is a resident of Bréhal - he was five years old when
Charles crashed and he remembered where the plane had landed. |
Bridget told me that we were going to the crash site. There wer more tears. But then the men who were hosting me went to their cars and started pulling out shovels, picks and a metal detector. They weren't going to just show me the crash site, they were going to find pieces of Charles’ plane for me to take home to my grandmother. The ugly cry got even uglier.
At first, they couldn’t find it. They apologized, saying they hadn’t had enough time to pinpoint the exact location but that they’d come back and try again and would mail me whatever they found. I wasn’t disappointed – I was so impressed and thankful that they’d even tried. Then a local resident happened by and asked what we were doing. For the thousandth time in a span of about four hours, I wished that I knew French – but the gist of the conversation was that the passerby knew the landowner and knew the exact location of the crash. He went off to talk to the landowner and promised to come back with news. I knew that Charles wouldn’t let me down. He’d not abandoned me or steered me south in this journey so far, so I knew that when that man returned, Charles would show us what we were looking for. Again, I got so much more than I hoped.
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| First peice of the plane presented by the land owner to the group. |
When we arrived at the crash site, the man who owned the land was working the field. He quickly jumped down off the tractor he was driving and began to lead the group to a section of the field. So much of the conversation was lost as I don’t speak French, but one of the men came to me and said, “You’re a lucky girl. The land owner already has a piece of the plane.” When the farmer reached into a patch of brush and pulled out a large chunk of metal I burst into tears. After a quick inspection by the NAAR team, they told me that the serial number on the piece of metal proved that it was an exhaust pipe from a P-51 Mustang, the kind of plane that Charles had flown. The landowner handed me the bent metal, with tears streaming down his face said to me, “Please take this to your grandmother.”
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| The land owner Bréhal |
Jacques went to work with the metal detector and they were deligthed and excited every time it pinged. They took turns digging at the hot spots and with each new discovery, they handed the little peices of metal over with pride. They found a peice of the engine block, three small peices of aluminum from the plane and a rusted out chunk of German anti-aircraft bomb - likely the kind of flak that took Charles down. The man I mentioned earlier, the resident who happened by, was even helping dig. Before he left, he came to me and hugged and kissed me and in English he said, "Please give your grandmere a hug and a kiss and tell her thank you for her sacrifice." It was a sentiment that was repeated over and over to me as- others joined in the search and when every small piece of the plane was recovered and presented to me. The sincerity and gratitude that was shared with me was beautiful and made me feel an incredible sense of pride.
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| Charles' Memorial |
When I spoke to Granny Bob to tell her about my day and my experience, we cried together. She was overcome and surprised to know that anyone outside of our small family would have any interest in keeping Charles’ memory so dear. Realizing that the life and sacrifice of a 19 year kid old from Linden, Texas made such an impact on a little village in upper Normandy has been a really big deal for our family. Knowing that his life and death means as much to others as it does to us, has been an incredible gift and has gone a long way to soothe my grandmother’s broken heart and to bring Tara, Pete and I together.
Jean-Marc and Felix spent the next day taking me to all the memorial sites in Normandy, each location being more emotional than the last. The history regarding the biggest and most well known memorial in Normandy, The Normandy American Cemetary, is that it was started by the US Army on June 8, 1944. There are 9,387 graves and an another 1,557 names inscribed on the Wall of the Missing - most of those honored here were lost on D-Day landings or operations soon after. The care and sensitivity in which these mostly French volunteers and caretakers of these American monuments express, is phenomenal. It’s very important to them that the US contribution to the war and more importantly, their liberation from German occupation is not forgotten. It was an incredible experience. Normandy should be on everyone’s bucket list.
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Jean-Marc and me athe
Normandy American Cemetary |
I asked Jean-Marc about how I could make a donation to The Normandy for Air Remembrance so that this volunteer organization could continue their work locating unidentified crash sites and service men, notifying families when discoveries are made and also hosting ceremonies and experiences like I was so fortunate to have had. His reply was that I couldn’t and that Charles’ blood and our families sacrifice was payment enough. Then he said, “An article must be written.” I’ve sent out story inquiries to every newspaper outlet I can think of and to Texas Monthly and O Magazine. I’m hopeful.
My friends Elizabeth and CJ think my Normandy experience should be another book. Tara thinks it should be a movie. But until Spielberg knocks on my door, I think maybe I should try to get through the first one and see how it goes. Charles may have other ideas, but for now I’m going to spend some time in my little fiction bubble and focus on the project at hand.
Writing the real stuff is what's really hard. When I started this project, I thought for sure it would be the other way around. I have hours and hours of audio taped conversations with Granny Bob, so all I have to do is put those stories into words and onto the page, right? Technically, yes. But I didn't anticipate how hard it would be do it right. Writing her isn't the problem - she's a character that I have known my entire life. I know her voice, I know her quirks and mannerisms and have loved her for 40 years. The challenge has been developing this fictional Charles as she knew and loved him and balancing that with how I've always imagined he would have been. Before I heard her stories about him, I don't think I ever romanced him enough. And now that I'm spending so much time with him I don't think I can romance him enough. I always bristle when I read books and characters are too perfect - but as I'm writing him and creating his character - I don't think perfect will do him justice. 
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