I’m standing on a dune overlooking the great flat stretch of Juno Beach.
Beside me is Josh, a 29-year-old Canadian. We’ve been silent for a while
when he suddenly canters off to the water’s edge — to touch the sea from
which his two great-uncles landed at 7.30am on June 6, 1944.
They were among the 135,000 men who arrived, sick as dogs after a rough
crossing, for “the greatest seaborne invasion ever launched”.
“I’d no idea it was like this,” says Josh on his return. Me neither. Suddenly,
on this splendid beach, half-remembered history and family memories come
sharply into focus. They take on substance. They really happened — and they
happened right here, where kites now fly and distant children shriek.
“Extraordinary,” says Josh.
Everyone knows the grandiose outlines of D-day: liberation of Europe; freedom
versus tyranny; good guys finally setting about the jackboot. And there will
be reminders by the score as the 60th anniversary swings around next month.
On June 6 itself, 15 heads of state — including, for the first time, German
and Russian leaders — will gather on the headland at Arromanches. Scores of
commemorative events continue across Lower Normandy through the summer.
But remembrance can get in the way of remembering. With the best intentions,
it dresses up events in grand phraseology, blunting their edges. That’s why
a trip to the sites is both salutary and engrossing. Before travelling to
Normandy, I simply had no proper grasp of the sheer hugeness of this
operation, of the technical expertise involved and of the subsequent bloody
battle for Normandy. No appreciation, either, of the scale of civilian
deaths or the destruction of French towns and villages.
Of course, it is peaceful now and really rather lovely. Behind the coast is an
old-fashioned farming landscape of cattle and pastures, hedges and
farmhouses. War memories are ubiquitous, though — not only corralled into
museums and memorials, but in every village and at every bend in the road.
There’s barely a square yard that wasn’t fought over. Only by visiting do
you get a proper idea of the vastness of the enterprise.
Both along the 50-mile invasion coast and inland, Lower Normandy is thick with
D-day-related museums. We’ve chosen the best: those that try to make sense
of what happened rather than simply stacking up military hardware and
memorabilia. At the first museum you visit, be sure to pick up the “special
price” leaflet. This gets you reductions at most subsequent museums and
sites (prices quoted here take account of the discount). But this trip isn’t
just about museums. Take time to stroll on the beaches and through the
villages and to drive country lanes that are once again regulated by rural
rhythms, just as if they’d never been devastated at all. It’s pretty and
poignant and — here’s a strange thing — it brings out the best in
people.There’s respect in the air and a common bond between visitors. Folk
behave well, smile and chat more easily than usual.
This is the year to go: perhaps the last big anniversary before living memory
segues into history. Over the weekend of June 5-7, the place will be heaving
and security interminable. But afterwards, celebrations will continue in
every village and town, and there should be space in the region’s hotels.
We’re suggesting a three-day tour that covers the essential story.
DAY ONE
Capital of the region then as now, Caen was scheduled to be captured by the
British on the evening of June 6. We actually got within a few miles, but
were then held up by the 21st Panzer Division. And we stayed held up,
despite desperate tank battles, until mid-July. The city only caved in after
blanket bombing and shelling that destroyed 80% of its buildings and killed
600 townsfolk.
A fitting site, then, for the Mémorial (Esplanade Eisenhower; 00 33-2 31 06 06
47; www.memorial-caen.fr; £12.50), probably the finest second world war
museum anywhere — not least because its aim is to put 1939-45 in the overall
context of contemporary war and peace. It is vast, ambitious and splendidly
matches form to content. The story from 1919 to 1939, for instance, is told
along a downward-spiralling corridor that grows gradually darker until,
inside a sort of globe, you are head-to-head with a screeching Adolf.
Exhibits are used sparingly, and only when useful; a single child’s bootee
speaks with intolerable eloquence of the Holocaust.
The brilliantly told tale of the war unfolds and the hours slip by. Allow at
least three, though five is better. The short films about D-day and the
Battle of Normandy are the best you’ll see, while this year’s D-day Words
exhibition showcases the letters of ordinary soldiers mixed up in the
madness. It’s noticeable that while German chaps write of the glory of
defending the Reich and of living off the land (pigs! goats! chickens!
cider!), British Tommies write of the inadequacies of washing facilities —
and of living off marge.
Later, you trot through excellent sections on the cold war, decolonisation and
such like, before a slightly preachy bit on peace in general. Overall,
though, the museum is genuinely impressive, and offers vital background for
the rest of your trip. Outside, the Mémorial is fringed with gardens
honouring the USA and Canada. Prince Charles will be opening a British one
on June 5.
()
Out of town, towards Ouistreham, turn off the dual carriageway to Bénouville
and within moments you’re at the Caen canal and Pégasus Bridge — one of the
most celebrated crossing points of the war. Actually, you’re not. The
original bridge was replaced in the mid-1990s, but this new one is very
simi- lar — short, metallic grey, unbalanced and not at all a bridge
destined for stardom.
That changed at 16 minutes past midnight on June 6, when Major John Howard and
men from the 6th Airborne Division landed by glider, took the bridge (and
its sister across the nearby Orne River) in minutes and so became the first
chaps to achieve a D-day objective.
So much is well known. Less well known (at least, I didn’t know it) is that
all through the same night, 5,000 other blokes were landing all around this
Ranville district to take bridges, blow up gun batteries and generally
secure the invasion’s entire eastern flank prior to the dawn sea landings.
The fighting was hellish and chaotic.
The story is well covered at the Mémorial Pégasus Museum (right by the bridge,
02 31 78 19 44, www.normandy1944.com; £2.85), where exhibits include
Howard’s helmet — complete with holes where a sniper’s bullet entered,
grazed the major’s head and then exited. The original Pégasus Bridge is
maintained in the museum grounds.
Before getting there, though, stop at the Gondrée Café, right by the canal.
You’ll identify it by the Allied flags outside. It is run by the rather
elegant Arlette Gondrée, who, as a young girl, helped her parents tend
wounded airmen. Mme Gondrée takes a proprietorial attitude not only to the
café and “her” soldiers but also to the second world war in general. But
this was the first French house to be liberated; it’s full of memories and
Madame herself is bracing company.
And so to Ouistreham, and the Beaches — specifically Sword Beach, the most
easterly of the five, where the British swarmed ashore at 7.30am on June 6.
These days, the ferry port wears a jaunty air that does no dishonour to the
darker days of 1944. That folk might freely take ferries, stroll promenades
and eat shellfish was one of the reasons for the fight.
Take a first look at sea and sand, now restored to proper holiday purposes.
Then drive along the front, where there’s a fine, flame-shaped monument to
Kieffer’s 177 marine commandos, the only Frenchmen to participate in D-day.
By all means linger a while — but note that you must be stern with yourself
about other monuments. The region has dozens. If you stop at them all,
you’ll not be home for Christmas.
Now head west, through a necklace of similar seaside towns, until a forest of
maple-leaf flags indicates that you’re fronting Juno Beach, where the
Canadians came ashore. Pull up at Courseulles-sur-Mer, by the Sherman tank.
It’s in front of a discount store, just round the corner from the open-air
fish market and right beside a children’s carousel. This sprightly spot has
integrated memories into modern coastal life better than anywhere.
Now cross the river and, following Josh’s example, go down to the dunes, even
to the water’s edge. There is little development here, so nothing interrupts
your contemplation of beach and ocean. Your imagination, however, must
litter the sands with mines-on-sticks, spiky metal “hedgehogs”, barbed wire
and other barbarisms intended to rip the heart out of landing craft and the
14,000 Canucks they transported. One thousand of them fell right here.
You can learn all this, and a great deal more, just behind the dunes at the
Juno Beach Centre (Voie des Français Libres, 02 31 37 32 17,
www.junobeach.org; £3.50). Opened last year, the centre looks like an
avant-garde agglomeration of sardine cans, but is, by some way, the most
enthralling of the smaller museums. Film, audio and splendidly designed
displays bring pre-war and wartime Canada alive, as well as covering the
fighting experiences.
Personal testimonies and diverting angles abound. If you’ve ever thought
Canadians were boring, this should prove authoritatively that you were
wrong.
Where to stay: that’s enough for one day. For the night,
return to Caen — it’s only 20 minutes away — and the Hôtel Le Dauphin (29
Rue Gémare; 02 31 86 22 26, www.bestwestern.fr; doubles from £47). A former
priory, the hotel has retained a stone-and-wood integrity, notably in the
public rooms, and has one of the best restaurants in town (menus from £21).
It’s also bang in the centre, so handy for an evening stroll to the castle
and the two splendid abbeys where William the Conqueror and his wife,
Mathilda, are buried (though all that’s left of William is a thigh bone).
()
DAY TWO
Back to the beaches and, specifically, the headland at Arromanches where world
leaders will gather on June 6. From here, you’re looking down on the 4½-mile
stretch of Gold Beach, landing place for 32,000 British men and site of the
Mulberry harbour.
The invasion needed supplies on a huge scale. The Allies knew they couldn’t
conquer a port in time — so they created two in kit form and brought them
along. Within seven days, off Arromanches, the British had established a
port the size of Dover (Dover, incidentally, took seven years to build) — a
place capable of handling up to 20,000 tonnes a day. The Americans did the
same off Vierville-sur-Mer, though theirs was destroyed soon afterwards by
mid-June storms.
The story of these Mulberry ports beggars belief. It is technology as high
drama, and one aspect of the landings that can only be truly appreciated by
being there — by standing on the headland and spotting the 6,000-tonne
concrete pontoons that were towed across the Channel and sunk to form the
port’s outer perimeter. Twenty of the original 115 still defy the waves.
Sounds a daft thing to say about concrete blocks, but they are rather
touching.
Follow up with a visit to the Musée du Débarquement, (Place du 6 Juin, 02 31
22 34 31; £3.90), down in the lively little village centre. It is mildly
disorganised but has terrific models, and explanations, of the Mulberries —
plus big picture windows so you can match the theory to the site.
Continue along the coast to the USA Military Cemetery (follow signs) near
Colleville-sur-Mer. Here, across 170 acres, are the graves of 9,387 young
Americans. You won’t need me to tell you how moving the place is, especially
at sunup and sundown when they raise and lower the Stars and Stripes.
The site is also instructive, for the cemetery is perched directly above Omaha
Beach, the bloodiest of the five landing beaches. Three thousand American
servicemen who waded ashore here got no further. As you wind down the hill
into St-Laurent-sur-Mer, you’ll understand why. The long, long beach is
backed with low, stubborn cliffs, into which the Germans had dug their
artillery defences. Allied bombing had left these largely undamaged, and
since there was no cover on the beach, this tranquil strand became a killing
field.
Now make for La Pointe-du-Hoc (follow signs), whose surrounds have this year
been redeveloped (new car park, visitor centre) as befits one of D-day’s
most heroic sites. La Pointe is a rocky headland towering over the beaches,
on top of which the Germans had parked bunkers and artillery.
These were bombed, shelled and then attacked by 225 US rangers, who scaled the
35-metre rock wall, besieged the bunkers and finally took them — only to
find there were no guns at all. They had been dismantled and hidden in an
orchard inland. Only 90 rangers were still standing at the summit.
Today, bomb and shell craters remain. So do bits of bunker and, beneath the
earth, the bodies of both German and US soldiers. Tread with respect, and
not too near the edge. It’s a long way down to the sea.
Now double back inland to Bayeux — for four reasons. First, it’s a lovely old
town, with a medieval centre that was somehow untouched by wartime
destruction. On hearing of the landings, the local German garrison hoofed it
to Caen, leaving Bayeux open to advancing Brits — and intact. Ironic, of
course, that the first town “invaded” should be home to the record of the
invasion of England nine centuries earlier.
But don’t go on about this. It has been remarked upon before. Go, instead, to
see the tapestry, which, though unconnected with D-day, is still mainly
about fighting. It is quite magnificently presented in a former seminary,
now the Centre Guillaume le Conquérant (Rue de Nesmond, 02 31 51 25 50;
£5.30), and is reason number two for visiting Bayeux.
The third reason is the region’s biggest Commonwealth War Cemetery (Boulevard
Fabian Ware), the last resting place of 4,144 soldiers. Like the military
cemeteries of all civilised nations, it is monumental and immaculately kept.
But unlike other nations, we plant flowers at the base of the headstones,
and allow families to choose a sentence for the stone. That on the grave of
Trooper AJ Cole, killed a fortnight after D-day, aged 29, reads:
“The dearest daddy and husband in the world. We will love you forever,
darling.” You are, you realise, at the heart of the matter.
Almost directly opposite the cemetery, the Mémorial de la Bataille de
Normandie is an old-fashioned and overstuffed museum that needn’t detain
you. Head instead for the hotel: Bayeux’s reason number four.
Where to stay: the Château de Bellefontaine (49 Rue
Bellefontaine, 02 31 22 00 10; doubles from £77) offers absolute peace. It
is a family manor house set in lovely grounds — and now equipped with modern
duplex suites in the stable block (from £107). The style is informally
graceful. You’ll wake to birdsong and the quacking of ducks on the little
lake.
There is no restaurant, though, so walk to Le Pommier (40 Rue des Cuisiniers;
from £15pp), near the cathedral.
()
DAY THREE
Jump onto the N13 (direction: Cherbourg) and off again towards the delightful
little village of Ste-Marie-du-Mont. Surrounded by marsh and pasture, it has
not changed much in 60 years — and so is a good spot to imagine the
pandemonium that destroyed this rustic idyll in June 1944.
US paratroopers were landing all over the place — literally. Some came down 25
miles from where they should have been; others drowned in marshes flooded by
the Germans. As excellent panels around Ste-Marie explain, patrols from both
sides criss-crossed the village, firing on each other. Two Germans hid in
the confessionals in the church across the way. They were discovered by the
priest when one of them sneezed.
To put all this into context, drive out to the sea — and the beginning of Utah
Beach. Hard by the dunes is the Musée du Débarquement (02 33 71 53 35,
www.utah-beach.org; £2.70), where excellent guides explain what unfolded
here. Essentially, airborne troops landed through the night to secure the
invasion’s western flank (just as British lads had the eastern one), and to
open the roads for their colleagues landing by sea at dawn. The aim then was
to cut the Cotentin Peninsula in two, and take Cherbourg.
So much for the big picture — the museum is good on telling details, too.
Staff Sergeant Glen Gibson’s watch is here. It stopped at 5.45 on June 6,
the moment his landing craft hit a mine.
Now stroll to the US Memorial along the beach, then back to your car to drive
the lovely, undeveloped coast road (cows on one side, sea on the other) to
Quinéville. Here, the Musée de la Liberté (Avenue de la Plage, 02 33 21 40
44; £3.50) concentrates on daily life under the Nazis — to riveting effect.
There’s an entire panel devoted to ladies’ underwear made from parachutes.
Inland from Quinéville, you are into traditional farming country, whose tiny
lanes and tall hedges — up to 5ft high — made the American advance such a
dicey business. They never quite knew what was on the other side of the
hedge.
It is pretty and bucolic now, though, and leads to Ste-Mère-Eglise, perhaps
the most famous “D-day village” of all. In the square, a dummy still dangles
from the church, commemorating what happened to John Steele when his
parachute snagged on the spire. Inside the church, meanwhile, is the only
stained-glass window in the world featuring the Virgin surrounded by
paratroopers.
Again, street panels point out poignant moments. And the Musée Airborne (14
Rue Eisenhower, 02 33 414 135; £2.85), though bulked up by an entire C-47
aircraft and other big stuff, is essentially a family album shared by locals
and the paras who dropped in among them. Its display cases are alive with
photos, documents and souvenirs.
Ste-Mère is, in fact, engulfed by D-day memories. There’s a John Steele
Auberge, a Dakota bar and a brace of military bric-a-brac stores. It could
get out of hand. But then you see the shine in the eyes of an old guy from
Wisconsin — and you forgive a place anything.
Where to stay: tour of duty done, leave the D-day zone for
the village of Agneaux (30 minutes away, near St-Lô). Aim for the Château
d’Agneaux (Avenue Ste-Marie, 02 33 57 65 88,
www.hotelspreference.com/agneaux; doubles from £58) and suddenly you’re in a
charmed rural realm. The 13th-century granite chateau perches above a good
slice of Norman tranquillity. Its rooms have four-poster beds, and yet
there’s an unbuttoned air about the sinuous corridors. The restaurant (from
£22pp) is pretty good, too.
GETTING THERE
Caen and Cherbourg are the best ferry ports to head for.
Brittany Ferries (0870 536 0360, www.brittany-ferries.co.uk) sails from
Portsmouth to both ports (return fares from £218 for a car and two
passengers), and from Poole to Cherbourg (from £166). P&O
Ports-mouth (0870 520 2020, www.poferries.com) operates a new fast craft
from Portsmouth to Caen, taking 3hr 25min; from £228 for a car and up to
nine passengers. Crossings from Portsmouth to Cherbourg or Le Havre start at
£180. Or try Condor Ferries (0845 345 2000, www.condorferries.co.uk) for
Portsmouth-Cherbourg. From Ireland, Irish Ferries (0818 300 400,
www.irishferries.com) has crossings from Rosslare to Cherbourg; from €349
for a car and up to four passengers.
