Sixty-Eight Years After D-Day

Yesterday was the 68th anniversary of D-Day. I wonder how many men who survived those beaches on that day remain alive. A 20-year-old soldier would now be 88. Must be some left.

My father often described waking at dawn on D-Day to see the sky black with airplanes from horizon to horizon. All were flying south towards the English Channel and France. Dad was stationed at a small airfield in Kingston Bagpuize in England near Abingdon and Oxford. Everyone – soldiers and civilians – knew the invasion was imminent, but few knew the timetable or the weather-related delays. Information was particularly scarce at Kingston Bagpuize; the airmen and planes were not part of the early morning action. Instead, they waited for news and sat with mixed feelings created by their safety in the docile English countryside 150 miles from the war's great battle.

I grew up knowing the end of the story. The United States prevailed against Germany in World War II just as we had beaten them before. I never imagined that people of my parents' generation had contemplated defeat or that the invasion might have been a history-making disaster. My father and I saw “The Longest Day” soon after it came out. I was eight. The movie fit a child's automatic patriotism; good guys prevail over bad guys.

As an adult, learning to cope with big uncertainties, I finally understood at least part of my father's fears on that day. Just before noon a pilot friend of his pointed to a small plane parked near the main runway, “I'm authorized to fly it. Why don't we head over the channel and see what's happening?”  Information. Are we winning or losing? What's really happening? Dad, though, had great instincts for understanding fear and confusion. Neither he nor his friend knew the passwords and codes required to enter the airspace. Soldiers in battle would shoot at anything. The small plane would likely be brought down by friendly fire. They just had to wait.

It was early evening when my father realized that all was well. The airmen at Kingston Bagpuize finally got their D-Day orders. Marc watched enlisted men loading crates of Coca-Cola into the big planes that took off and flew south. Not ammunition or medical supplies or soldiers suited up for battle. Coca-Cola. The Army could give priority to air lifting a small luxury to the battle area. Only one explanation fit.