miércoles, 2 de mayo de 2012
Suddenly I remembered the account of Bill Millin, bagpiper for the 1st Special Brigade of the British Army, who had to march out of the surf onto sword Beach under rifle and mortar fire playing “Highland Laddie”. I know that war is brutish, inglorious and a terrible waste. Combat leaves and indelible mark on those who are forced to endure it. The only redeeming factors are the incredible bravery and their devotion to each other. The spirit de Corps that sustained every soldier engaged in combat. But the memory of those soldiers, especially of those who did not survive, made my visit to that Cemetery a unique experience. I noticed the memorial consists of a semicircular colonnade with a loggia at each end containing large maps and narrative of the military operations; at the center is the bronze statue, “Spirit of American Youth”. I decided to take a walk among the graves of 9387 or the military dead, most of whom lost their lives in the D- Day landings and ensuing operations. I guess that not all of them were heroes, but they served in units of heroes. That was enough for me. I thought about it when the wind came suddenly snaking off the place. The sun was already beginning to slip down in a great, wintry, golden-red ball which shorts arrows of fire and blood-red streaks across the field. Suddenly conscious of the cold and of the gathering dusk of the November afternoon. It was time to leave, as I turned away, I glanced once again around the cemetery. It was glorious.
Sergio Calle Llorens