At Pegasus Bridge

At Pegasus Bridge May 22, 2017

 

The Pegasus Bridge
A view of ‘Pegasus Bridge’ over the Caen Canal at Benouville, 12 July 1944. Two of the Horsa gliders that brought the ‘coup de main’ force in on the night of D-Day can be seen in the background. (Wikimedia Commons public domain)

 

We traveled this morning to Pegasus Bridge, inland from Sword Beach, which was prominently featured in the book and the movie of The Longest Day.  British forces landed in gliders very near it, disarmed the explosive charges that the Germans had placed to destroy it and render it useless to Allied troops and armor, and held it until they were reinforced.

 

The bridge is still there, though it has been moved away from the river and is no longer functional.  (A newer bridge has replaced it.)  And there’s a good museum with a touching film introduced by HRH Prince Charles of Great Britain.

 

But the high point of our day – and a high point of this or any trip – came after I had noticed a group of very elderly gentlemen in the museum wearing black berets and laden with medals.  Some were in wheelchairs; most were ambulatory.  They were, it turned out, D-Day veterans from Bristol, England, all in their nineties.  (One was over a hundred.  One or two had actually been involved in the specific operation at Pegasus Bridge.)  They had an escort, including a doctor and a nurse.

 

From the Legion of Honor
Several of the men wore the decoration of Chevalier (“Knight”) of the Legion d’Honneur.

(Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

 

We spent a lot of time talking with them and with those who accompanied them (including especially the retired military physician, who had a lot to tell).

 

I have to admit that I teared up a bit at the mere sight of them.  (“How can this be happening?” I asked myself at that point and a few times later.  “I’m Scandinavian!  We don’t do emotion.”)

 

“It’s an honor,” I said to one of them, shaking his hand.  “Oh, rubbish!” he replied.

 

And, another told us, “You can get medals like these from a  Cracker Jack box.”

 

One of the men had been hesitant to come, an escort told me, since he considered himself a “D-Day Dodger.”  He had been en route to the beach in a landing craft early on 6 June and then, next thing he knew, was back in Portsmouth, England, unable to tell how he got there.  (His craft must have been hit by a mine or a shell.)  He still can’t remember what happened, but he has felt himself a slacker for seven decades.  He could not come, he told those who invited him.  But they pointed out that, after coming back to consciousness in Portsmouth, he had, in fact, still landed in France late on the evening of D-Day itself.  (How, I can’t tell.  I’m simply relaying what I was sketchily told.)

 

We spoke with one very articulate and spry 94-year-old who told us of being in a tank and suddenly finding himself unable to see.  He was terrified, and prayed “O God, please don’t let me be blind.”  Then he realized that a German shell had sheared off the top of his tank periscope.  Once he replaced the part, he was good to go — and, he told us, profoundly relieved.  In the chaos, he also told us, each soldier or team had enough to worry about by concentrating on their assigned tasks.  They had no idea what was going on elsewhere, and no time to think about it.

 

We also met the man who has, for years, been the piper for these groups of veterans.  He’s old himself now, and no longer plays the bagpipes.  (He has balance issues, he told us, and he doesn’t want audiences to think that the piper is drunk.  “Dignity is everything,” he said.)  He knew the famous piper at this scene, Bill Millin, who figures somewhat prominently in The Longest Day and very prominently in the lore associated with the landings at Sword Beach and with the holding of Pegasus Bridge.  There are two sets of pipes on display, one at Pegasus Bridge and one in the United Kingdom, that have been claimed to be the ones he played on Sword and at the bridge.  This fellow claims that Millin actually used three sets (one being flown in to him by the Royal Air Force a few days after the invasion), but that the primary set was lost.  As follows:  On D-Day Plus One, as the troops were resting after taking and holding the bridge, Millin was so happy about their achievement that “he was strutting like a peacock” and playing his pipes.  The soldiers wanted to sleep, and kept telling him to “shut the hell up!”  Finally, one of them jumped up, ran over to Millin, grabbed the pipes, and threw them into the river.  I love the story.

 

It was a dazzling experience to meet and talk with these self-deprecating men.  I felt — we all felt — that we were in the presence of history.  And, in a way, of humble but genuine greatness.  I’ll share some of our photographs of these wonderful old soldiers in a few days.

 

Posted from Carentan, Normandy, France

 

 


Browse Our Archives

Follow Us!