May 10, 2016 Somewhere in France (Arromanche)

       
                                                                                               Somewhere in France
                                                                                                        July 6, 1944
My darling Sminx, 

I have just finished knocking the caked mud off my shoes with a stick.  It reminded me very forcibly of the days at Fayetteville when I would come home back from RSOP 4 with my shoes covered with mud and you were so good about taking it off for me.
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Yesterday four of us took our laundry over to the French woman who promised to do it for us.  She agreed to do it and we were all very pleased because we are not too expert at doing it ourselves.  When I finish washing my clothes they still have a tattle-tale grey.  While I was there, I noticed a few strawberries on the kitchen table so I tried to buy some but was completely unsuccessful.  She said she might have some when we come back for the laundry.  On the way back we stopped at the Mayor's house - he gave us each another egg and would not accept any payment for them.  So we gave him a few cigarettes and a cake of soap both of which are unobtainable over here.  Incidentally we had to give the laundry woman soap to wash our clothes.
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This afternoon we took another walk and paid another visit to our friend, the Mayor.  He not only gave us two eggs apiece but also gave us a taste of his vin ordinaire which was very good and also a taste of the local hard cider which is very potent and not too good.  The latter tastes like a strong liqueur.  Since I speak French better than any of the others I do practically all of the talking and most of the conversation is directed at me.  He took me upstairs and showed me where he had hidden some English parachutes for more than two years.  This was quite courageous in view of the fact that German soldiers have been quartered in his house all the time.  They were hidden under on of the steps of the stairway which was used by the Germans every day.  The Mayor found the parachutes on the ground and smuggled them into his house.  He told me also that he used to wait until the Germans left the house to go on an exercise and then he would listen on the radio to the broadcasts from London.

The people hereabouts are not starving because they are farmers and got their food from out of the ground.  However I am told that those in the cities are in a bad way.  The Mayor's brother lives in Lyons and he apparently is on the verge of starvation.  The Mayor shipped a box of food to him on the train recently but it was stolen right from the train.

Some of the people I have talked with seem dispirited and unhappy because their families have been broken up, the young men being prisoners of war in Germany or having been deported there to work for the Germans.  Even those who remained have been put to work by the Germans building fortifications and so forth.  Four years of occupation by the Germans have definitely left its mark.

Dearest, there is still no mail.  Oh what I wouldn't give for a letter from you so that I could hear how you are and what you are doing....
                               *                                            *                                               *
                                                                                            Your loving and devoted husband,
                                                                                                                               Bill
________________________________________________________________________________

                                                                                                                 July 9, 1944
                                                                                                  Somewhere in France
My dearest Sminx,

Today I had a rare treat, some fresh strawberries.  The woman who did our laundry promised us strawberries when we returned for the laundry and sure enough we went back today and she produced a large plate full of them.  They were large and very sweet, even better than the ones at home.  Unfortunately they were the last ones she had so I don't imagine I will get any more.  She would not set any price on the washing so I gave her fifty francs which amounts to one dollar at the current rate of exchange.  We also gave her 15 francs for the strawberries.  She did an excellent job and I noticed she kept her kitchen immaculate.  She did not seem too pleased with the money and I think she expected more.
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I am still waiting and hoping for mail so far in vain.  I am so anxious to hear from you.  It makes it hard to be so completely cut off from news of you.  I adore you, my darling, and miss you very very much.  Please take good care of yourself.

With all my love to you and Billy.
                                                                                               Your devoted husband,
                                                                                                              Bill

Dad's July 6 letter quoted in part above is a long, 7 page letter chock full of information.  First, we see that Dad is the one who speaks for the invading (liberating) troops with the leader of the French inhabitants in this particular village, and he has become trusted enough so that the Mayor will give him wine but will also tell him a secret he has kept for two years, a secret that could have had him executed.  Dad has apparently earned his trust.  Second, we learn of the French washerwoman and her efforts to not only do their laundry but also to supply them with strawberries, a particular favorite of Dad's.  She lacked soap to even do the laundry showing us the effects of the occupation.  And when we see in the second letter her disappointment with what she was paid, we can understand because of the severe inflation of the franc during the occupation.  For example, a pound of butter (it may have been some other unit of measurement of butter) cost 22 francs in 1940 and 56 francs in 1944.  So what she was paid would get her a pound of butter but not much more.  No wonder she "did not seem too pleased...."  Third, I don't hear talk of French "peasants" any more.  Instead I hear of a "quite courageous" French Mayor who risked his life hiding the parachutes in his house, and who also listened to broadcasts in London, and a generous French Mayor who could not even get a bar of soap but would save up food to send to his starving brother in Lyons.  Fourth, we see the effects of the German occupation upon the populace caused by the quartering of soldiers in their homes (one of the complaints against George III in the Declaration of Independence), the splitting up of families, the conscription of the able-bodied French to contribute to the German war efforts, and their resulting depression and resignation.  At  the Utah Beach museum, there was an exhibit about daily life under the  occupation, and the following quotation from one of the French citizens about the 4-year long occupation:  "On avait une vie de misery, une vie de plus en plus dure, de plus en plus malheureuse."  Loosely translated, "We had a life of misery, of more and more hardship,  of more and more unhappiness."  Perhaps, Janet, our French teacher,  can provide me with the correct translation.  Please?

His July 8 letter shows that he is at least sensitive to the feelings of the French woman, but perhaps hasn't gotten to the point of knowing what to do about it.  Don't we all have these moments and wish later we had handled something in a different manner?  The American soldiers probably had little idea how difficult the occupation had been on the French.

On the other hand, our occupation has been a delight.  After a late start this morning, we set off for Pointe du Hoc, the site of an impregnable position held by the Germans at the top of very high, steep cliffs, and which held batteries of artillery guns threatening the ships who passed by and any attemted invasion on the beaches.  225 Rangers volunteered to assault these cliffs, and their landing craft ended up being set southward of their planned position thereby avoiding the angles covered by the German guns.  As they approached the cliffs in their landing crafts, they shot off rockets with grappling hooks attached that caught on the land at the top of the cliffs, with rope ladders unfurling down the cliffside.  The men hit the beach and ascended the cliff face, hand over hand, step by step, and some climbing without the aid of the rope ladders, often under heavy machine gun fire and hand grenades from the Germans on the top.  Some made it to the top in minutes - we say an interview of one Ranger and he said his radioman made it to within 2-3 feet and said he couldn't make it any further, he was too damned exhausted.  The interviewee also felt the same, called out to Rube, one of his fellow Rangers, to see if he could help.  Rube came over, dropped his weapon as he went down on one knee.  At the same time the interviewee found the energy to make it up and pointed his gun to give Rube cover.  Rube, a large strong man, leaned over, grabbed the radioman by the scruff of his coat and dragged him up the last few feet.  I'm going to try to attach a card we bought with a painting of this scene.

The attack was successful despite the strong fight the Germans put up.  When the Rangers finally arrived on top and approached the bunkers, all they found were telephone poles, not gun barrels.  The guns had been moved inland to avoid the heavy bombing but they still constituted a threat as their forward ops center directing their fire still existed on the edge of the cliffs.  Colonel Rudder established his headquarters there once the bunker had been secured.  With the Rangers spreading out to find and destroy the German guns, while at the same time, taking control of intersections to prevent German reinforcements, they were down to 80 fit men by June 8 when they were finally replaced by reinforcements.  Even in this place of death and destruction of the land, the entire Pointe cratered by massive numbers of bombs, we came across a goat that had just given birth to two kids, still wet, with their mother alternating between eating grass and cleaning them up.

Our next stop was Utah Beach, about 10 miles to the north.  It was still foggy but the museum there is the best of the museums at the beaches.  I learned about the Goliath, an radio controlled track vehicle that looked like a small unarmed tank but which was filled with 225 lbs of explosives.  The vehicle would be directed toward a tank, approach it and when it got near enough, would explode, destroying the tank as well as itself.  Luckily, all the bombing before D-Day had interfered with the radio direction system in the Goliaths and they failed to function in the German defense of the invasion.

We then continued northwest to Ste. Mere L'Eglise, site of much of the action in The Longest Day and also one early episode of the Band of Brothers.  We stopped to see the church where 82nd Airborne soldier named Steele landed the night before the invasion by having his parachute wrap around the steeple where he hung for 2 hours.  He was rescued and survived the war.  The church now has a parachute wrapped around the steeple with a replica of parachutist Steele hanging from the parachute.  The church also has beautiful stain glass windows given in honor of the 25th anniversary of the 505th of the 82nd Airborne, and another in honor of "those who by their courage and by their sacrifice liberated Ste. Mere L'Eglise and France."

I had planned to add a picture of the stained glass windows but it takes 20 minutes or so per photo, and it's almost midnight, so I'll say "Good night" now.  Tomorrow we head to Bretagne and St. Malo.
Love, Nat
PS  You'll be glad to know that Sugar is off her 24 escargots in 24 hours diet.  She switched to mussels.

May 9, 2016 Somewhere in France (Arromanche)

June 28, 1944

My darling, 

Every day that passes I miss you more.  I realize more and more how much you mean to me and how very much I love you….

As I write this letter, I am seated on the ground in front of my pup tent and I am writing on a wooden box which serves as a desk.  We have had considerable rain recently and almost everything I possess is wet including this stationery….  Last night I had an unfortunate experience.  I was biting on some of the chocolate in our rations when all of a sudden one of my front teeth snapped in half and fell out of my mouth.  Now there is quite a gap in my mouth and I can hear a slight lisp.  I hope you will still love me when I come home nevertheless.  There are no facilities here to do anything about it as I will have to go around this way for some time.  The tooth is one of the two devitalized teeth in the front of my mouth and it was cracked across the middle when it was first hit.  When I get back to civilization again I can either have the tooth built up or it might be better to have them both pulled and have a bridge put in.

Don’t worry about me.  I am sleeping next to a deep hole and there is nothing to worry about.

I love, worship and adore you, 

Bill 

_____________________________________________________________________

                                                                                                    30 Juin 1944

                                                                                                    En France

Ma chere Sminx,

J'ai voulu t'écrire en français parce que cette langue est la langue d'amour.  Comme tu as dit, "Je t'aime, je t'adore, que voulez-vous de plus encore." 
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Encore pas de lettres de tu depuis 23 Mai.  Que fais tu?  Est ce que tu as [illegible]!  Comment va Billy?  Est ce que tu dem... dans notre maison a Hancock Point?  Je voudrais avoir une response a ces questions mais je sais qu'il est impossible.  Comme disent les Francais, "C'est la guerre."

HIer, nous nous avons promène quinze kilometres dans deux heures.  C'etait assez difficile comme tu peux croire.  Apres le promenade j'ai pris un bain dans l'air fraiche.  C'etait un grand plaisir at après le bain je m'ai habille dans les vêtements propres.  Maintenant je suis un homme nouveau.

                                                                                          Avec tout mon amour,
                                                                                                 Ton mari,
                                                                                                    Bill

Breakfast, Bayeux Tapestry, Arromanche, German artillery bunkers, American cemetery, and mystery solved

We'll leave Dad with his broken tooth, his lisp and his French love letter, and return to Le Cheval Blanc in Honfleur where Sugar and I are eating breakfast before our departure - we renewed our discussion with a couple from Texas who are headed to Bordeaux to see friends of theirs for 30 or more years.  The friend's parents lived during the German Occupation and the man from Texas was telling us how the parents had an unceasing hatred of the Germans ever since the Liberation.  In fact, he said that he asked the parents that if they won a free fully paid vacation to Germany, would they take it and they said, "Absolutely not."  Then this couple seated beside the window in the small breakfast room stopped speaking in a foreign tongue and started speaking English, informing us that they were Dutch and were small children during the Occupation.  They were not freed until May 5-6 in 1945, after Hitler's death and right before the surrender.  The Dutch woman spoke of the very severe winter of 1944-45 when many Dutch were starving - they even froze blood and then would slice it up and eat it for protein.  And all the tulip bulbs?  The Dutch got so hungry they ate the bulbs.  She also told us of a village in Holland where, as the Allied troops approached, all the people in the village were herded by the German soldiers into a wooden church, the doors locked, and then the church and the entire village were set aflame.  Everyone was killed, men women and children.  Today, she said, you can visit this village and see it in the same condition it was in the day after the fire.  It has never been restored.  She also told us of a time she had made plans to visit that village and she could not, even now, tell her German lady friend that is where she would be visiting.  And the Dutch man told us of how he survived that winter of 1944-45 because he lived in Zeeland, on an island just off the coast, in an agricultural community.  They had no scarcity of food like they did in Rotterdam.  What he most wanted to tell us was his joy when he ate his first chocolate at the age of 10 years in 1945 - it had been thrown out of an Allied plane either en route to or back from a mission against Germany. He can still remember the taste- it was "so good."

We hiked to the free parking lot about 1/2 mile from the hotel (to save 12 euros) and struck out with our GPS programmed for the site of the Bayeux Tapestry in Bayeux.  As we drove through the countryside on this cloudy day, listening to the "Nostalgi" station, we heard "Eye of the Tiger," a fitting song to get us pumped up for the wars and battles we were going to immerse ourselves in today.  The tapestry was no disappointment - in fact it is amazing.  In essence, it shows in 70+ meters of tapestry the story behind the Battle of Hastings and the seizure of the English throne by William the Conqueror.  Of course, the victors write the history or, in this case, embroidered the tapestry.  The story starts with Edward, the elderly King of England, summoning Harold to request that he go to Bayeux and inform Edward's cousin, Wiliam, Duke of Normandy (and less kindly called William the Bastard), that he (William) was Edward's choice to succeed him.  After several meters of preliminaries on the tapestry, William knights Harold and then gets him to make an oath that he will be forever faithful to William.  Harold then returns to England, finds that Edward is already dead and so claims the throne for himself.  William learns of Harold's treachery and mounts an invasion force which crosses the English Channel and,with his cavalry and lethal archers, defeats and kills Harold in the Battle of Hastings.  The moral of the story is "keep your oath."  If you ever get to this area, this is a must.

We drove the few miles from Bayeux in a rain shower, and found our lodging in Arromanche for the next two nights - an entire apartment on the second floor.  After a quick late lunch and visit to the Tourist Information Center, we were instructed to go across the square and learn of the making of Port Winston, through which almost all personnel and equipment and supplies would pass after the making of this artificial port.  This is the Gold Beach which, at high tide, is no beach at all, just the waves lapping up against the seawall.  The rationale behind the port was to ensure the resupplying of the invasion forces for without that, the invasion would fail.  The Allies could either take an existing port, or build their own.  Hitler knew that if he controlled the ports, he would control the coast, and accordingly, the ports were heavily fortified and if one became precarious and might fall into Allied hands, the German order was to destroy the port, its docks and anything else that might help the Allies should they capture the port.  The construction started immediately after the beachhead was secured.  In 12 days, they sank 15 old navy and merchant marine vessels as a breakwater, and then sank to the shallow bottom concrete structures that would also serve as a breakwater, and then built a wharf over which the men, machinery, supplies and equipment would pass to dry land.  It looked like it was almost 1000 yards long, and was built on numerous anchored floats.   It was almost complete when, on June 19,1944, a severe gale hit the coast and lasted three days, destroying a similar artificial port at Omaha Beach and damaging the port here at Arromanche, but even during the storm, the wharf was still being used and ships were seeking shelter behind the huge breakwater.  So by June 22, 1944, after a few repairs, the floodgates were opened and men and materiel poured through Arromanche.

Following the tourist director's instructions, we drove west to the German bunkers high above the beaches where the German artillery could shoot its shells about 13 miles with some degree of accuracy.  These were a must to take out, but it was extremely difficult due to camouflaging and heavy fortifications.

Running out of time we drove on to the American Cemetery above Omaha Beach and arrived about 4:30.  We saw a 16-minute film in the visitor center and then walked to the cemetery high on a bluff above Omaha Beach. An engraving in the exit of the visitor center quotes General Omar Bradley: "The battle belonged that morning to the thin, wet line of khaki that dragged itself ashore on the Channel coast of France."  The tide had gone out since lunchtime, and you could see the broad expanse of beach the soldiers had to navigate under heavy enemy fire just to make it to the dunes and perhaps survive the day.  Many did not survive, and many of those brave souls are buried in this immaculately maintained cemetery.  I believe they said there are over 10,000 graves here, all marked with a white cross or a Star of David.   As you exit the Center, names of those who were killed are being read over the PA system.  We wandered through the crosses, and it was very quiet as others quietly walked between the crosses, not looking for anything in particular perhaps but  sharing their appreciation for what these men had done for us.  In the movie, one of the survivors had said that he was not a hero, "the heroes are buried in the cemetery."

At 5:30 three shots rang out, followed by the playing of Taps and the lowering of the American flag.  Just close your eyes, and listen, knowing where you are and feeling the meaning of those few notes.  It was powerful.  We then visited the small chapel where we were encouraged to "think not only upon their passing, remember the glory of their spirit."

Throughout these visits, a thought kept nagging me.  If Dad had written his last letter from England on June 18, 1944, and a three day gale took out the port on Omaha Beach, and his first letter in France was on June 25, then it is more likely than not that Dad disembarked at Arromanche, right on the beach I could not see at lunchtime because it was high tide.  We drove back, had dinner and then I rushed back to the Arromanche beach.  And there it was! The breakwater concrete structures showed clearly about 1 mile offshore, 10-15 parts of the wharf structure were still there, pretty much in a straight line leading up to the ramp leading into the town and thence to resupply Allied forces throughout Normandy.  The beach was now 300-400 yards or more from the seawall to the water at low tide.  Yes, this is where Dad disembarked.  This is the beach he got the men to play softball on.  If there is a heaven, I know he is happy that I had found this spot.  And what, oh what, had made me make a reservation for a room in Arromanche when I wanted to visit Omaha Beach, 25 miles away, where I thought he had disembarked?  Why hadn't I made reservations over there?  

I smiled as I walked all around the beach as the sun was setting in the west.  I had found our father.

Love, Nat

PS  The Wifi is very weak here so I don't think I can upload photos to this blog.  I will try later on.

May 8, 2016 Somewhere in France (Honfleur)

                                                                                                25 June, 1944
                                                                                        Somewhere in France
My darling,                           

Today has been a beautiful sunny Sunday with bright blue skies just like home.  It made me wish that you could be here to share it with me.  Were it not for the war I think you would really enjoy it.  The countryside is dotted with orchards, hedgerows between fields and numerous trees.  The farms are devoted primarily to dairy farming and grazing.  I have had an opportunity to practice my French on two peasants and found that we could understand each other fairly well.  It was fun to speak French again.

You would be surprised to hear what I did today over here.  In the morning I attended Church services conducted by a Chaplain outdoors under some trees.  There was a good attendance and it was quite moving to see it.  Then I took a walk partly for business and partly for pleasure.  In the afternoon I took the men out for a softball game.  I acted as umpire.  You might think we were back in the States instead of being over here.

The food we are getting is adequate and all the meals are hot.  It all comes out of cans, however.  I am afraid it will get a little monotonous after a time.

Still no mail.  It now looks as if I will not get any mail for three weeks or more.  Don't worry about me - I am taking good care of myself.

I love and adore your as always.  Kiss Billy for me.

                                                                                                    Your own,
                                                                                                                Bill

Were it not for the war, Mom and Dad might have been doing what Sugar and I are doing.  We are now at the mouth of the Seine, on Rive Gauche, in Honfleur.  I think Le Havre is on the other side of the river.  Here are some peeks at Honfleur:

A room with a view.

This last picture is of Chapelle de Grace in a small village on a hill immediately above Honfleur.  It is beautiful and dedicated to mariners.  Constructed between 1600-1615 as a replacement for the original chapel founded before 1023 AD by Richard II, the Duke of Normandy, the stained glass windows commemorate various ships and I'm not sure whether they were lost at sea or not.  Chapelle de Grace has sailboat models hanging from its ceilings and for a mariner, this is a real treasure.  The original chapel was destroyed by sliding down the steep hillside in the 16th century

You can check out Honfleur's history on Wikipedia, and one thing that stands out is that Champlain departed from here in 1608 and proceeded on that voyage to found the city of Quebec.  Of course, I'm sure David Fischer already told us that in his wonderful biography of Champlain.

I love Dad's June 25, 1944 letter.  This letter is a big reason Sugar and I are here today.   He must have been relieved to finally get to France, even if it's just getting to umpire a softball game on the beaches of Normandy.  This letter is full of what I remember about Dad.  But some words are jarring to read.  Ever learning, we will see a transformation in his attitude about the French, and we get a hint of his steps down the path of becoming a unique asset to XIXth Army Corps in one manner, and eventually, by means of another strength, an asset to the accuracy of XIXth Corp Artillery's war-making capacity.  Knowing him, he must have been raring to go.

As you can see from the photos, on this Sunday, we had a "beautiful sunny Sunday with bright blue skies just like home."  Although the cirrus clouds spell troubling weather ahead, we will recall this beautiful weather, with temps in the mid-70's, during rainy days ahead.  But for Dad and me, we viewed Sundays in different ways.  I think he enjoyed Sundays because of Church, roast beef dinner with roasted potatoes and French vanilla ice cream for dessert, and a family outing with his kids after Sunday dinner.  And for me as a young child, I didn't like Sundays because of Church, roast beef dinner with roasted potatoes and French vanilla ice cream, and a family outing after Sunday dinner.  Then I was sent to St. Mark's where we attended Church 2 times per day and three times on Sundays, but at least it was the only day when we did not have classes.  And after surreptitiously shoveling my roast beef into my napkin and dropping the napkin in the trash can as I helped clear the dishes for years (and my grandmother, sitting on my left, was shoveling hers into her hand so she could feed her dog sitting next to her under the table), once I left home and avoided roast beef for a decade or so, I learned to love it when I relented and started eating it again.  And the family outings I dreaded became a part of my family ritual as I became a parent, and I loved hiking on the mountains of Acadia, and eventually Katahdin too.

Tomorrow, there not being a war, we are off to Bayeux and then to Arromanches and the Normandy beaches.  Sugar and I want to wish all you mothers out there, no exceptions, a very Happy Mother's Day.  It is you who stayed home (or not) and provided the backbone of the nation in its most trying times (and at all other times).  You deserve this day and our thanks. 

Love, Nat

May 7, 2016 Somewhere over the Atlantic

                                                                                                     Friday (May 5)

My lovely and adorable wife,

Every day that passes serves only to make me more aware of my loss - my longing for you is a constant ache which accompanies me throughout all my waking hours. …. The best way to look at it, I think, is to consider that each passing day is one day nearer our reunion.

We are now en route somewhere in a ship.  The accommodations are just about what I would have expected judging by my previous experience.  The food is considerably better than I expected, however, and we get three meals a day instead of two.  For diversion, I have been reading and playing bridge.  We have had a bridge game every evening and I have found time to read during the daytime.  I wish you were here to be my bridge partner…. I have just finished a book called “Land Below the Wind” by Agnes Keith.  It is an interesting story of a woman’s life in north Borneo and describes several trips she made through the jungle.  She describes the double bed which she and her husband had - it was specially made and measured 6’ 6” by 6’ 6”.  That sounds about what we are looking for but we are both so tall we probably should have one 7’ by 7’.

* * *

When are you going to move into our house [Hancock Point]?  I will never forget that afternoon we had together sitting in the sun on the sun porch and drinking in that glorious view.  I will not forget my favorite chair either.

I love and adore  you,

Bill 

____________________________________________________________________________

                        Maj. Wm. Fenton

                        Excess Officers Co.

                        APO 15244

                        c/o Postmaster

                        New York, NY

                                May 10, 1944

My darling, 

Today the ocean is as calm and flat as a mill pond.  The sun is shining and the water is a deep blue.  It looks very much like the ocean did at Maine during the beautiful days we had up there last summer.  I took advantage of the good weather this morning to play deck tennis.  It is good sport and it is a help to get some fresh air and exercise.

* * *

I keep thinking of what a wonderful time we could have together on this ship if we were making the trip in peacetime.  Some day perhaps we will be able to make an ocean trip together.  I’m sure you would be very  good at deck tennis.  An ocean trip will be another of the many good things we will have to look forward to when this war is over.

We have a daily pool on the length of the ship’s run.  Today I won for the first time.  It was only five dollars but it was a pleasure to win just the same.

* * *

The “Mutiny on the Bounty” book has proved very interesting. So far I have read “Mutiny on the Bounty” and “Pitcairn Island.”  I still have to read “Men Against the Sea.”  They are good adventure stories and serve to while away the time.

I love, worship and adore you.

Your own, 

Bill

Dad wrote one more letter from the ship on May 11 and continuing on May 12, describing a tour of the engine room, writing it’s probably the last letter he’ll be writing  and asking Mom for a “good snapshot of you.  I would like to have one that I could carry around in my pocket book. All I have now is the large picture which is in my small trunk and the little picture we had taken in Boston for 15 cents.  The latter could be improved upon.  I would also like a good one of Billy.  So please get busy with the camera and send me the result.”

Wondering what these men are thinking and feeling on their voyage across the Pond, it appears that there is a bunch of male-bonding going on, with the bridge, tennis, and wagering contests, and then time to while away by escaping to a lifeboat and a deserted island and the story of a mutiny.  Dad imagines how these adventures would be with Mom by his side, a thought process he would use over and over again with his pleasurable experiences, completely disregarding the risks of his situation and the war raging all around him.  On the ocean, there are many risks, not all from German U-boats and torpedoes.  That early in the season sailing in the north Atlantic, you also run the risk of running into icebergs, and the storms can raise huge seas and put everyone to the test.  In fact, as the ship approached England, a storm did hit their area and many of the men became terribly seasick.  Dad proudly proclaimed, "Not me."  To be expected from a boy who grew up in Vineyard Haven sailing  small boats around Vineyard Sound.

And then there are the risks when you arrive, serious and daunting enough to make a trip across the mighty north Atlantic a piece of cake.  He must have wondered how he would stand up in his first combat experience; how Mom would handle raising two children alone if he didn't come back or maybe even worse, if he came back crippled and disabled.  What we can surmise is that he put his faith in God to bring him through.  He had another problem though.  You can see that  from his address and the use of "Excess Officers."  He was not then assigned to any particular artillery group and would be assigned as needed.  He cannot have been happy with that designation and the loneliness that must have followed from his position without a platoon or company or any other group to support him.  There would be no "Easy Company" for him when he hit the beaches on Normandy.  We see hints of that dissatisfaction in his letters even after he arrived in France and was assigned to the XIXth Army Corps Artillery Headquarters.  He wanted to be an integral part of the war effort.  He would become one, but not immediately.  And his success in that endeavor unexpectedly would come from a nonmilitary ability of his.

And for Sugar and me?  Our trip across the Atlantic was a huge contrast to Dad's.  Whereas  his trip took about 6 days, ours took 6 hours and 15 minutes; whereas he had three meals a day, we had two meals in 6 hours; whereas his accommodations were as he expected from prior sea voyages, ours were as expected, extremely cramped like his probably were, but our only foes were TSA in Boston (a breeze this time, if you don't count me getting goosed in the pat-down) and a more difficult time getting through passport control in Paris due to long lines.  After renting a car, we struck out for Giverny with only a map of the Paris environs, and me remembering that the exit was off A13 somewhere.  I left the guidebook in the backpack until, thinking I had gone too far, I had turned around on A13, having gone through the toll booth, pulled over to get the directions from the guidebook, had to go back through the same toll booth going the opposite way, turn around and then come back through the toll booth for the third time.  I'm now quite proficient at going through that one toll booth.  

And even with directions, Giverny is no picnic to find, probably because it's about the size of 1/10 of Otter Creek.  We visited Claude Monet's house and his water lily pond and gardens, and enjoyed ourselves on a warm sunny day.  But we are quickly crashing after only an hour or two of sleep this afternoon and hardly any during the flight.  I don't think I'll be able to stay up for the Kentucky Derby - I'm rooting for Nyquist because he was named after a hockey player from Maine, now playing for the Detroit Red Wings.

Love, Nat, Dad, Matt, et al.

PS  Sugar is sound asleep and didn't have an opportunity to proofread this and I'm too tired.  Please excuse me.

May 6, 2016. Somewhere in Maine

Sunday

My darling Sminx,

It is just one week today since we said goodbye but it seems much longer than that.  I miss you so much that the time has dragged terribly.  When we are together time is so fleet-footed that the hours seem like seconds and the days seem like hours.  But now that we are apart every hour is a week.

* * * *

This morning I went to church and prayed for you and Billy and the child who is coming [Griff].  Were you in church too or did you stay home with Billy?  The chaplain made a very good sermon on the value of prayer and its especial value for soldiers - I am so glad we were able to go to church together on Easter Sunday and take communion together.  That meant a great deal to me and I shall not forget it.

In my spare time I have been reading Charles Lamb’s Essays.  Some of them are very good and are pertinent even today.  I also enjoy the nightly bridge game and I have been winning consistently probably because we do not play for money.

* * *

Your devoted husband,

Bill

       And so it begins.  Major William Fenton, “Dad”, age 31, has left his beautiful wife, age 27, three months pregnant and with a 1 1/2 year old, to embark on the greatest and most dangerous adventure of his life.  He wrote this letter on Sunday, April 30, 1944, just five weeks before D-Day.  He will shortly be on his way across the Atlantic to England where he, with tens of thousands of other Allied troops, will wait for the word to launch the largest amphibious invasion in history.

And Sugar and I, with copies of Dad’s letters to Mom in my backpack, are off today to follow his tracks of 72 years ago onto Omaha Beach and across northern France into Belgium and maybe into Holland, a march that took Dad and the XIXth Army Corps three months.  We see from this first letter traits that are familiar to me and my siblings for sure - his use of the term “Sminx” for Mom, a term they never would explain but obviously a term of endearment; his love of Mom expressed in fervent tones in every letter; his deep faith in God and his belief in the power of communion and the resurrection of Christ on Easter; his love of reading and of bridge; and his competitiveness.  We will see many of his other traits in these letters, familiar to us but perhaps not to you - his love of languages, especially French, German and Greek, evidenced by his subscriptions all his life to Paris Match, Science et Vie, and Der Spiegel, and his constant reading of “Teach Yourself Greek”; his love of strawberries; eating boiled eggs out of the shell; always carrying a pocket knife in his pocket; his frugality at times; his physical fitness; his love and loyalty to his country and his fellow soldiers.  Dad led the Memorial Day parade in his Army uniform for decades after he returned home, and he likewise dressed up in his uniform on Veteran’s Day and attended the salute to the veterans on the pier.  I’m not sure he ever missed a Veteran’s Day celebration.  If it was November 11 at 11 am, you knew he was in his uniform on the Bar Harbor Pier, standing at attention, right hand to his forehead in a salute, remembering his comrades-in -arms as the rifle shots echoed across the harbor past the Porcupines.

Armed with his letters, a map of the route of the XIXth Army Corps, and guidebooks, we look forward to our trip and thank you, Dad and Mom, for saving your letters and giving us, your children and grandchildren, this opportunity to share this experience with you.

Love, Nat