Blog on the Run: Reloaded

Tuesday, November 11, 2014 6:04 am

“If I ever figure out an answer, I’ll write it down.”

Filed under: Say a prayer — Lex @ 6:04 am
Tags: , , ,

Don Marsh on his experiences in “Operation Cobra,” the Allies’ Normandy breakout operation, July 1944:

Sooner or later you get to wash your clothes, but how do you cleanse your mind of such horrible memories? You don’t, you bring it home with you, among your souvenirs you can keep in a special place in a far corner of your mind. The door is never locked so you can visit the memory, if you are so inclined. Some do, some don’t. Years go bye and you have never given it any thought, then out of the blue something clicks in your brain and the whole scene appears again in Technicolor. To me the burning question is always “why?” If I ever figure out an answer, I’ll write it down so that others don’t forget.

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Friday, June 6, 2014 1:33 pm

The things they carried

Filed under: Salute! — Lex @ 1:33 pm
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Ernie Pyle, on deadline:

NORMANDY BEACHHEAD, June 17, 1944 – In the preceding column we told about the D-day wreckage among our machines of war that were expended in taking one of the Normandy beaches.

But there is another and more human litter. It extends in a thin little line, just like a high-water mark, for miles along the beach. This is the strewn personal gear, gear that will never be needed again, of those who fought and died to give us our entrance into Europe.

Here in a jumbled row for mile on mile are soldiers’ packs. Here are socks and shoe polish, sewing kits, diaries, Bibles and hand grenades. Here are the latest letters from home, with the address on each one neatly razored out – one of the security precautions enforced before the boys embarked.

Here are toothbrushes and razors, and snapshots of families back home staring up at you from the sand. Here are pocketbooks, metal mirrors, extra trousers, and bloody, abandoned shoes. Here are broken-handled shovels, and portable radios smashed almost beyond recognition, and mine detectors twisted and ruined.

Here are torn pistol belts and canvas water buckets, first-aid kits and jumbled heaps of lifebelts. I picked up a pocket Bible with a soldier’s name in it, and put it in my jacket. I carried it half a mile or so and then put it back down on the beach. I don’t know why I picked it up, or why I put it back down. …

 

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