Juno Beach

Juno Beach                 March 25, 2015

This short piece about Juno Beach is for my Canadian family, since it was the D-Day battle in which the Canadians participated.  I know very little about it, so will mostly post photos of the area.  I did learn that the Canadians were the only group to meet their D-Day objective.  We saw lots of references to Canada in the area of Juno Beach.

Bill Millin, Scottish piper who piped for the British troops landing on Sword Beach.  "If you remember the piper, you won't forget the men who died there," he said.  Must have been quite a sight.  Bill was born in Regina, Saskatchewan, but grew up in Scotland.

Juno Beach, where the Canadian forces landed.  They were the only force to meet their goal for D-Day.  Those are British kids learning about D-Day. 

These famous WWII beaches stretch on for miles, from one small town to another, and are liberally posted with plaques describing the battle.  

The Juno Beach Center, designed in the shape of the maple leaf, the only Canadian Museum in Normandy.  A bunch of French school kids are outside.  The French seem to be doing a great job of educating their youth about WW II.  We saw groups at the Portsmouth Museum and all along the beaches in France.  

        This house faces the sea and was the first building liberated.

A photo of the same house on D-Day, as the area is being beseiged.

Sweet little wooden crosses in front of the above home,  placed in the sand by Canadian Armed Service groups. 

                            This group experienced heavy losses on D-Day.

    Daniel Yeo from Alberton, who died in the D-Day invasion.

   Bruce picked up sand and shells from Juno Beach for Dan MacLean.  

D-Day

D-Day                 March 23, 2015

One of the major reasons that we came to Europe this spring was to fulfill Bruce's long-time desire to see the sites where the Allies had invaded northern France in World War II.  The D-Day operation was the largest seaborne invasion in history, and it began in the seaport of Portsmouth, England.  For that reason, we booked 3 days in Portsmouth. At the end of those three days, we would be leaving from Portsmouth ourselves to cross the channel to France.   

The major draw for us in Portsmouth was the D-Day Museum.  We set aside a whole day for this event, even though Bruce is an avowedly anti-museum person.  After we had spent nearly 6 hours there, we concluded that it just takes the right museum to engage him!  

Upon arrival at the museum, we almost immediately encountered an older woman with a bunch of school kids surrounding her.  She was telling them stories from her time as a young Red Cross nurse on a hospital ship on D-Day.  We listened in, and then, when the kids moved along, we sat down for a good chat with Mary Turner Verrier.  Mary loved sharing her experiences - and we loved hearing them!  

Mary Turner Verrier, veteran of the D-Day invasion.  You can google Mary and read more of her stories and quotes.  

"What kept us going were the men themselves, " she said.  "They waited patiently, no one asking for us.  They helped each other.  A Brit would hold the hand of a German and vice versa.  There's no greater leveler than a hospital bed."  

Later, when Mary was working in the hospital in Portsmouth, a bomb exploded just outside, killing many people on that end of the building.  The shock threw her against a wall.  "That's why I'm a bit deaf now."   Almost immediately after this disaster, Sergeant Major barked at the staff to get on their feet and back to work.  Mary asked if anyone had seen the head nurse ("matron"), and said, "I'm going to find out where the old dear is."  She found matron lying wounded, with a large shard of glass embedded across her face.  Mary spoke to her, and matron responded, "Turner, I knew you'd be the one to find me."  Mary put pillows under her head and bandages around the glass until she could be moved, but matron had lost her sight.  With great tenderness and respect, Mary told us, "I modeled myself after her." 

One of Mary's stories was more light-hearted.  It involved a young man rushing past the place where Mary was on duty, claiming that he had a message for General Eisenhower (whose headquarters were nearby).  She didn't believe him and ushered him into a room and then quickly locked him in.  He managed to escape and deliver his message; Mary was demoted, but that story ended up on the front page of the New York Times!

As we got up to leave, Mary shook our hands and said quietly, "When your country said that it was coming over, we broke down and cried.  We were pretty primitive, you see."  

I was the one who was tearful by now.  It had been a privilege to share time with this remarkable woman.  

This D-Day Museum is especially known for its piece of embroidery work that uses fabric pictures to tell the story of the invasion.  It's patterned on the famous Bayeux tapestry, just across the English Channel, created 1000 years ago to tell of the invasion of England by William the Conqueror, coming the opposite way from Normandy.  There's a beautiful symmetry in the whole thing.  I could hardly wait to see both. (and looked forward to seeing its counterpart in Bayeux).   

The Overlord Embroidery didn't disappoint.  It's the longest piece of similar work in the world.  Everything about it is so well done as to be immediately recognizable - even the faces of Ike and the other commanders.  There was text under the panels to describe what was being depicted: the preparations, the meetings, the gathering of men, as well as the battle on the beaches of Normandy.  

While I was studying the Overlord Embroidery, Bruce ran into John, a 94 year old Army veteran, who had served in the D-Day invasion.  He was sharp as a tack and loved helping out at the museum, especially since his wife of 75 years had died last year.  "This gives me a reason to get up in the morning and it is important to teach the next generation about the war".   John said that he landed on Sword Beach on June 6,  "I couldn't show anyone that I was scared to death - but we were all scared.  We were all young and did things in the war that I can't believe now. We fought for each other - not for any grand purpose".   

Bruce described John as a very interesting guy with excellent insights about the experience of going to war - an unexpected encounter.  Bruce wished that they had had more time to chat.

We learned about the role of Jeeps in the war - and beyond - and how the Willys company and Ford Motor Co. had produced thousands of them for the war effort. 

Further along was a very limited display of the Women's Land Army.  I was especially interested in this because my Aunt Jean, a British war bride to my Canadian Uncle Lloyd (my mom's younger brother) had been a member of the Timber Corps, a division of the Women's Land Army.  Jean had grown up as a city girl in Plymouth, on the south coast of England.  However, in 1941, the British government became the only nation to conscript women into service wherever they were needed.  Whether Jean was "drafted" or volunteered, I don't know.  In any case, she ended up far north, in the woods of Scotland, helping in the effort to produce timber for the nation.  

There were other displays and aspects of the invasion that were described, but meeting Mary Verrier and John Jaques were the highlights of the day for us. It had been a privilege to hear their accounts of their experiences - and we were very aware of the fact that, in another year or two, they might not be here. In the words of Winston Churchill, "Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few."

In the days since, we have crossed the Channel and are now in Normandy. Yesterday we saw the famed Bayeux tapestry and learned about the invasion of England by William the Conqueror. The WW II liberation of France by the British was a closing of the circle, in some ways.  

Today we spent another 5 hours in a D-Day Museum in Caen, France.  It was a much larger and more fully endowed presentation, with lots of actual film footage (it also had a much heftier admission fee, compared to the free admission to the museum in Portsmouth). We're pretty weighed down now with the sorrow and destruction of World War II but are on schedule to pick up a rental car tomorrow and forge ahead to see the beaches where the invasions took place. I'm counting on some good French wine and creamy Normandy camembert, spread liberally on a baguette, to help lift the spirits!   

                              Patisseries and pink tulips lift the spirits, too!

Downton Abbey Revisited

Downton Abbey Revisited                  March 19, 2015

                Surveying the lands of the estate from the front porch -                              waiting for our coach to arrive :).

On Monday, as promised, John and Mary took us on an adventure to an "estate" house, meaning a house that had been the center of an estate in earlier times.  We didn't know where this would be - only that it would be outside of London.  They had devised this plan after hearing us gush about Downton Abbey, a show which they also enjoy. In fact, since Mary is an artist and John is an art connoisseur and they both are interested in architecture and old things, they were eager to visit this estate house for the first time, too.

It was a typical damp and chilly English day when our hosts picked us up mid-morning.  After that, we proceeded to wander through the countryside north of London for a delightful 12 hours! Our first stop was the ancient market town of Hitchin, known in the past as a center for trading in wool and corn.  It was a charming town with a central cobblestoned plaza surrounded by old buildings.  John and Mary remembered one of them as a meat market run by a persnickety old fellow who was the only employee allowed to cut the ham.  It's now an atmospheric coffee cafe, located just across from a Starbucks.  Guess which one we chose for our cuppa?  

Back on the road, a small detour brought us to Ashwell, an even more charming town, where the residents have worked hard to maintain its pristine old look. John and Mary had once designed and built a cluster of small homes to fit into the town's existing character.  We saw them through the car window but didn't stop.  

Wimpole was our real destination, a National Trust estate with a mansion, formal gardens, a parish church, and a working farm, surrounded by acres of land. Looking out across the fields, no signs of modern life disturbed the impression that we had entered another time.  Over the course of its long history, Wimpole had been owned by various families and was used mostly as a hunting lodge in the late 1800's.  It was last owned by Elsie Bambridge, the only surviving child of Rudyard Kipling.  With the inheritance from her father's royalties, she and her husband bought the estate in the 1930's after it had been largely abandoned for several years.  

The Bambridges worked hard to bring Wimpole back to a semblance of its former grand self.  While adding a few modern touches, they had been forced to tear down one wing to better manage the costs.  It definitely is smaller than the massive mansion where Downton Abbey is filmed, but it was fun to wander through this elegant home, trying to imagine living there. The library had 10,000 leather bound volumes with a special ladder on wheels to fetch a particular book!

The volunteer guides, retirees like us, were almost as much fun as the home - and very knowledgeable.  We learned from them that, even among the downstairs staff, names and titles indicated a class system.  For example, Mr. Carson and Mr. Bates are accorded the dignity of Mr. in front of their names, and Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore go by Mrs., even though they are not married and are not allowed to marry.  Next down on the ladder are the folks who are called by just their last name, as Branson was when he was a chauffeur.  Further down are the men and women who are called by their first names alone, as are Daisy and Anna and Thomas.  I think I've got it.  It's a bit complicated (since upstairs, Branson was called affectionately and properly by his first name of Tom.)  

Arriving at the horse stables where we bought our tix for Wimpole Estate.

Wimpole Estate mansion, built 1640-1650 (though the estate goes back at least as far as 1086, when it was listed in the Domesday Book.) 

                         Elsie Bambridge's cozy living room

Bruce is lying on cushions (by invitation :) to get a good look at the skylight.

                              This is what he was looking at.

A beautiful dried flower to discretely convey that one should not sit on this chair:  so British!  

 

4-poster bed with ornate - but tasteful - adornment

            A "plunge bath" which holds 3000 gallons of water!  I hope             the water gets used more than once.

                     Gardeners working in the formal garden

             Downstairs: everyday life - a mundane, but lovely,                                    sewing machine.  

                   Bells in the basement, rung from upstairs, to call the                        servants.  What a life - for everyone involved!  

As dusk was approaching, we left the indulgent life of the past and set off for nearby Cambridge.  It's a place that combines the ancient with the modern - buildings and institutions that proudly hold onto centuries-old traditions while vibrant young students give them life.  

  King's College Chapel, from where the Christmas Eve service is broadcast by BBC (and on public radio in Maine).  It had just closed for the day so we couldn't go inside.  

         Just across from the august Kings College, signs of today.

                  Punts waiting to be used on the River Cam. 

Punting on the river, behind several colleges.

Our day concluded with dinner at the Green Dragon, an 18th century pub outside of Barnet.  Despite the photo below, taken earlier in the day, it was dark when we arrived.  As we sat down, a warm fire blazed beside us, other diners created a pleasant hum, and beautifully presented meals were brought by a friendly wait person who seemed to know John and Mary. Bruce strayed over to the bar and caught sight of a Shipyards beer on tap!  Nice to know that a Portland product is a player in a land where good beer is appreciated.  

                   The Green Dragon gastro pub in Barnet.

This was our last meal with John and Mary, who had been so generous, and, as always, such interesting friends to spend time with.  Mary has an intriguing connection to Maine - and, I suppose, to me, quite indirectly.  As a child, Mary loved the book Hitty, a story about a wooden doll owned by a ship captain's daughter.  The story tells of Hitty's adventures after she was lost at sea, going from one new owner to another around the world.  Rachel Field wrote the story - and was a friend of my father's family (the Carpenters)!   Maybe John and Mary will make a visit to the land of Hitty's birth.  

England in spring

England in Spring       March 15, 2015

Ah, to be in England now that spring is here!  It may not be officially spring on the calendar, but it sure feels and looks like spring in London - daffies and primroses everywhere, green grass, bare heads and hands, swans gliding in the ponds, great clumps of schoolkids on field trips!  It's even "Mothering Sunday" today.

                    Swans in the Serpentine Lake in Hyde Park

We arrived in jolly ol' England on Tuesday morning, escaping the cold and snow after only 4 days back in Maine.  I must say that I could see signs of spring even there, with a sun that was gathering strength and temp's high enough to begin melting the mountains of snow.  After a wonderful whirlwind weekend enjoying Jane and Don's generosity, connecting with friends and family, we flew off, leaving our hosts to recuperate from the wandering Webbs.  

Here, we are delighted to spend time with our friends, John and Mary, who live in North London, just inside the bounds of the tube system.  We have a room at the nearby Travelodge for one week and go off to the city center each day, returning to share delightful evening meals with John & Mary.  They are a couple whom we met 9 years ago in Lagrasse, France.  Hard to believe it was that long ago.  Despite an advanced age, they remain adventurous and youthful in outlook - with amazing stories to tell.  Last year they visited us for a few sweet days in Spain.  

                      John beside Mary's gorgeous painting.

So far, we've done a lot of walking, reacquainting ourselves with the city that we last visited 39 years ago (just weeks before Matt's arrival :).  Much has changed, including the multi-cultural nature of the city, which I am loving!  Everywhere we go, we encounter young workers from Poland, Spain, India, Bangladesh, Italy, China, Jamaica, South Africa.  One day we strolled through Hyde Park and around the lovely waterway built in memory of Princess Diana. 

         The peaceful waterway in memory of Princess Diana.

                         Riding in the ring around Hyde Park.

The Victoria and Albert Museum (the "V & A", in London-speak) is vast - and free! It was preparing to host a fancy event that evening in honor of a new show of the clothing of Alexander McQueen, who rose from poverty in East London to become an acclaimed designer.  Some of the royals attended.  

Tipu's Tiger is one of the most unusual objects in the museum - a mechanical tiger savaging a British soldier in India.  

One evening we were lucky to snag reasonably priced tickets to a West End musical show, Made in Dagenham, which tells the true story of women who worked in the Ford factory in Essex in 1968 and went on strike for equal pay.  It was very British and very uplifting, complete with the American Ford businessman portrayed hilariously as an imperious, gun-toting, cowboy hat-wearing bad guy.   

Great show - true story, uplifting message, wowza staging, foot-tapping music!  

 Yesterday we met our Grand Cayman friend, Sharon, who has returned to live in the city of her youth.  Sharon is an avid hiker/walker, and she had invited us to join her and a "meet up" group for a walk in Highgate on the outskirts of London.  It was wonderful to see her again and to catch up on our lives.  Next time in Maine, Sharon?

          Of course, our walk ended in a pub - the White Lion!

Knowing about our infatuation with the Masterpiece Theater series, Downton Abbey, John and Mary have offered to take us outside the city for a tour of an "estate" house on Monday.  Should be good fun! (BTW, they enjoy the show, too, as does Princess Kate, who visited the set and crew this past week.)  

Cheerio, dahlings!

Floats in the Dark

Floats in the Dark             March 2, 2015

We are winding down our time in Guatemala.  We leave on Wednesday, March 4, for Ft. Lauderdale, then for Maine the next day.  We'll stay with dear friends, Jane and Don, for 4 days before flying out of Boston on Monday, the 9th, for London. Quick turn-around.  There wouldn't be any turn-around if it hadn't been for the airline prices and the fact that returning to Maine is the cheapest way to do it.  But it will be good to check in with Sam and our house and our friends - and get a haircut and swap out a few clothes and get a fresh supply of books.  In fact, it's a very good idea, after all!  

Before we leave Guate, there are still stories to tell.  I'm not sure that I'll get to them all.   Our Safe Passage time is finished, and I am feeling good about our four days there last week. It was great to connect again with Charly and Jordie, as well as offering a bit of assistance to the hard-working kitchen crew and to Sam, the eager librarian, and, in general, being a brief part of this amazing endeavor.  

Last evening, we took in yet another Lenten procession in Antigua, our last, as they occur only once a week at this point in Lent.  This one took place at night, which made it even more impressive than the daylight one here last Sunday. I had thought that I'd had enough processions, but there is something magical, mysterious, medieval, dare I say "primitive", and compelling about this ancient tradition. And without a television to watch Downton Abbey, what else were we to do on a Sunday evening?  

The processions in Antigua always snake their slow way around town for 8 hours or more! We had decided that we'd try to catch up with this one at 7:30 pm near parque central, the central plaza. As we strolled through the park, a festive crowd had gathered. Hawkers were selling little lighted balls that they toss in the air, a couple of which were stuck high up in trees.  Indigenous women, always a presence in the park, seemed less insistent in trying to sell scarves and table runners. Their male counterparts added the sounds of wooden flutes to the background noise. Guys with great loads of pastel cotton candy, all bagged up, appealed to the families with young children.  It was certainly a different crowd from the hordes of young adult bar-hoppers that we had seen the previous evening, rivaling stories of Portland's Old Port on a Saturday evening. 

             one of the cotton candy guys from last week's procession

Processions bring out entrepreneurs.  Such a drab place, Guate :)!

           Purple robes and a pine needle street carpet being created

Last night, a few stray purple-robed young men and the faint sounds of music let us know that the parade was approaching.  We chose a spot away from the fray  to watch, under a street light so that I could see the faces of the participants.  The scattered men soon expanded into a line of serious-faced men in more purple robes, continuously moving along both sides of the street beside the sidewalks. Next came young incense swingers. I wonder if there's competition among the boys as to who gets to hold the incense pots. The hot, fiery coals inside must be pretty tantalizing! These were the appetizers, followed by the main course - a massive, swaying float, all lit up and conveying several life-size statues of Jesus, Mary, and apostles. 

The large band that trailed the float played a haunting melody. The conductor walked backward in order to face the band; one set of big kettle drums was being pulled by a kid, while the older gentleman playing them had to hustle to keep up while still playing!  The cymbal players and huge drums beat out a slow, deep rhythm that reached into my innards.  Tubas added gravitas.  

Despite having seen other processions, beginning here in Antigua in 2011, this one was an experience that will stay with us for a long time - the extravagance, the intensity, the antiquity of this religious rite.  The darkness seemed to amplify it all. We hear that the processions of Holy Week are much grander, still. I can't imagine! They are something that we'd like to experience - but not this year.