I just got in from my quick trip to Bastogne to meet my fellow "Lion of the Lowlands"-Comany (LotL) of the WBG community comrades and after a nice shower and a good cuppa am downloading the pictures from the meeting.
Since I am too tired to write up the whole day right away, I'll treat everyone willing to two highlights of a day that was to be my quick escape from the big city of Paris and the nagging workload of my text edition.
The Comical Highlight of the Day or unexpected company
Wandering through the Bois Jacques cracking a joke about breaking knees and legs on the soft forest floor and the hidden leftover foxholes…
Bart: "Well, if that happens at least you can claim to have been wounded in Bastogne…"
Y.: "Wounded? 'It's called injured, peanut. …" not wounded… 'Wounded is when you're hit by a bullet or something…'
Bart *turns around in shock*: "PEANUT?"
And before I can even say the quote, guess who we find where?
The Emotional Highlight of the Day or how it feels to enter Bois Jacques
When Bart asked me somewhere during the afternoon how many times I have been to Bastogne, I really had no precise answer for him. My parents used to take us on vacation to the Belgian Seaside for almost 15 years, twice a year and everytime you drive north, you're bound to pass Bastogne. We used to stop there once a year to pay our respect and remember the ultimate sacrifice of the Allied Forces in this special place.
And even if I do know the place well, I have never managed to actually find the precise location of Easy's placement in the Bois Jacques. Until yesterday.
At first – upon entering the forest – nothing points you to the fact that this is such a special place. After all pine trees do look fairly the same all over the world, don't they?
Suddenly, after about 6 meters you stumble upon the first indications of leftover foxholes… and you're hit by a wave of all the stories, the history, the tactical informations, the pictures and films you've ever seen about Infantry warfare in general and the Battle of the Bulge in particular. While the wave of absorbed historical material rushes through your mind, your imagination starts to piece it together with the details of the pictures your eyes are seeing … the snow… the cold… the night shellings… the fog over the Ardennes and between the miles and miles of trees… the need of rest and food… the closeness of the enemy all around… and then the pictures and names of the ones that lie buried in the distant graves… and all your mind can come up is this: "how could anybody live through that and hold the thin line and still run all the way to Foy and then actually take it?" and then everything fades into a simple, heartfelt "Thank you…" as your thoughts go out to those valiant men that 60 years ago went through a chilled hell.
One Comment
Leave a Comment
Social Media
Bettina. I am so happy I found you again. I guess I hadnt looked hard enough. I have asked a few people where you had gotten to and got a lot of I dont know. I am just going to comment on this quickly. I miss the days of “being in Bastogne”… I will comment on one of your later writings where its appropriate. Love ya