The Things I Should Have Told You

by Carmel Harrington

  She fills us all in on their various stops and it’s enjoyable to sit back and listen to her. I’m not in a chatty mood, so having someone do it all for me is good. And she’s fun company. I like her.

  Michel interrupts her flow to tell us that our first stop will be Pointe du Hoc. I know that this is the German battery that was attacked by US Rangers on D-Day. We are all particularly interested in this, because of the film Saving Private Ryan, which Olly and I have watched many times. Michel is wearing one of those head microphones and combines being our driver and tour guide seamlessly. I’ve not always been a fan of organised tours, but this feels less so. Maybe because there are only eight of us, or maybe it’s his easygoing manner.

  ‘We approach Pointe du Hoc, where the Rangers, commanded by Lt Col James Rudder, scaled the cliffs to get to the German gun position. This scene you see in the movie Saving Private Ryan, non?’ Michel tells us.

  ‘The site was blown to pieces in the bombings, but little has changed since the US Rangers left it,’ Michel continues.

  ‘Take off your earphones,’ Olly gives Evie a dig.

  ‘Saving Private Ryan was filmed on beaches near where we live,’ Olly turns around to tell everyone with pride. ‘And Brooklyn too.’

  More ‘aw’s and ‘wow’s’ from the group.

  ‘My cousin was an extra in Saving Private Ryan,’ he adds. ‘He said that Tom Hanks was a real gentleman.’

  The Americans all look impressed. ‘I liked him in Forrest Gump,’ Mabel says.

  ‘Life is like a box of chocolates,’ Fred says in a pretty decent Forrest impression.

  ‘I like to run,’ Olly throws in his own attempt and there is a general air of merriment on the little bus.

  Then Joan speaks, for the first time, ‘I couldn’t watch it. The movie.’

  ‘War movies are not for everyone,’ Olly says to her.

  Michel parks the mini-van and we all walk towards Pointe du Hoc. I’ve seen photographs of this site many times, but nothing can prepare you for it in 3-D glory.

  ‘This is the place that looks like an eerie lunar landscape,’ I tell the kids and unsuccessfully attempt to link arms with Evie. She pulls away from me and moves to one side of us, on her own.

  ‘I don’t think she likes us very much right now,’ Olly whispers to me.

  I’m not sure I like us either, but I’m wise enough to keep that to myself.

  Jamie runs on ahead and then comes back, saying as he skips, ‘It’s like the moon. It looks like the moon does. Look!’

  And he is right. The landscape, or moonscape, as it’s often called, is a piece of land filled with a series of holes and cavities or craters. All caused by the devastation from the bombings of that day.

  ‘The Allied warplanes were trying to deliver a killing blow to the four large guns located here,’ Michel tells us.

  ‘Cool!’ Jamie says.

  ‘I’m not so sure it was cool for the people who were here at the time,’ I say to him, but he’s already moved away and is trying to jump from one crater to another. How he’s gotten to this age without a broken bone I’ll never know.

  ‘We’ll have to watch Saving Private Ryan again when we get home,’ Olly says. ‘It will take on a greater significance, I think, now that we’ve seen all this in the flesh.’

  ‘I brought it with me. The DVD,’ I tell him. ‘I guessed we might like to look at it again, while in Normandy.’

  ‘You always think of everything,’ Olly says. ‘We’d be lost without you.’

  I wonder if he is being smart, but he seems to mean it. To say I’m taken aback is an understatement. I mean, all I’ve seemed to be good for is my pay cheque and little else. Have I gotten it wrong? It’s like the ground below me keeps shifting.

  ‘Do you really mean that?’ I ask and Olly stops and looks at me aghast.

  ‘You must know that’s true.’

  ‘No, actually I don’t,’ I reply. I feel my body tremble with the admission, but nothing to be left unsaid, isn’t that right, Pops?

  ‘You’re the glue that holds us all together. We’d fall apart without you, Mae,’ Olly says.

  It feels like time freezes and I’m only aware of Olly looking at me, the noises of our surroundings melting into the air. So many questions jumble around my head, things that I should be saying but I can’t because, once again, it’s neither the time nor the place.

  It’s never the right time or the right place, though. Children, work, life always in the way of us admitting what is bothering us, being honest, telling it like it is. Maybe it’s easier to use them all as excuses. I’m distracted and so I almost stumble on the uneven ground. My stomach lurches and I steel myself to hit the dirt. But then I feel Olly, his two hands steadying me, firm, sure.

  I stop and pull him back from getting onto the bus. They can wait. ‘You’ve always kept me from falling,’ I say. To hell with where we are, I need to tell him that much. I need to let him know that I acknowledge, I see, I feel his protection all these years.

  He looks at me, a little dazed by my words, so I continue in a rush to tell him my thanks. ‘You always catch me. You make sure I’ve petrol in my car and that the tyres are not bald. I don’t think I thank you enough for all the little things you do for me.’

  And his smile, his obvious delight in my words, disarms me so much that I almost stumble a second time. We laugh so hard, we clutch our stomachs and I know that everyone on the bus thinks we’re mad. But it feels good, as if our laughter is an antidote to the pain and stress that’s been bubbling up inside of us.

  We continue to drive along the coast to Omaha Beach, our next stop.

  ‘Will Jamie and Evie get the true significance of what happened here?’ I ask Olly. ‘It’s known to have been the bloodiest of the beaches on D-Day, but to them it might just be blue skies and sandy beaches.’

  ‘In many ways, that’s not a bad thing. I’m not sure I want them to know about the atrocities of war yet,’ Olly answers.

  Michel tells us, ‘We’ll stop in two points on either end of the six-kilometre beach. Then you can see the scale of the operations.’

  As I step onto the warm sand, with my sandals in my hands, the sea air whips my hair around my face. I look up and down the beach, left to right and then, finally, my eyes rest on the blue ocean. I wonder how the soldiers felt when they landed here. Were they scared? Were they hopeful? Did they know that this would be the last place they would see before a bloody death? I feel humbled.

  I look at Olly and wonder if he is as affected as me. He is still, arms folded across his chest, almost hugging himself. He seems thoughtful, but it’s hard to read him. Jamie and Evie’s eyes are on the water, where water skiers and windsurfers dot the skyline. It is holiday season, after all, and we are on a beach, so it is, of course, to be expected. But it unnerves me because I expected the beach to be a memorial, a grave, I suppose, to the lost soldiers.

  I think of Pops and how he said he wanted the kids to realise that there is more to life than our small spot at home in Wexford.

  ‘We need to talk to the kids,’ Olly says. ‘Try to explain the significance of here. For Pops.’

  I’m taken aback. It’s as if Olly is in my head. ‘That’s just what I was thinking.’

  ‘Kids,’ Olly calls and when they walk over to us he continues, ‘Can you do something for us? Think about this. You are standing on the exact same sand that thousands of US soldiers landed on and died on seventy years ago.’

  Their eyes are wide as they take in his words and their eyes drop to the golden sand as the words sink in.

  ‘I know it doesn’t look like a battlefield now. But here, along this very shore, men died for a cause. Thousands of them,’ I continue.

  We are all still as we take this in. ‘That’s not nice,’ Jamie eventually says.

  ‘No it’s not,’ I say, ruffling his hair.

  ‘What’s that over there?’ Evie asks, startling us. She’s so quiet lately, I’ve given up expecting much intera
ction from her. I look over in the direction she’s pointing in and see a huge metal sculpture in the middle of the beach.

  ‘Ah, that’s the Anilore Banon monument Les Braves,’ Michel says. ‘Tell me, what do you think it looks like?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jamie shrugs. ‘Maybe a Transformer.’

  Michel laughs, ‘Ah bon. Et vous, Mademoiselle Evie, what do you think of it?’ Evie is scarlet.

  ‘Good luck getting an answer,’ Olly murmurs under his breath.

  She looks like she wants the sand to open up and take her away. But Michel continues, ‘I’d like to hear what you think, Mademoiselle Evie.’

  Her blush deepens to beetroot red, but she gives the monument her full attention. I think she’s going to speak, but she stays silent, taking a few steps to the left, away from the rest of the group. I mouth ‘sorry’ to Michel at her rudeness.

  ‘It looks like sand exploding into the air as gunfire hits the ground,’ Fred says, stepping forward. He glances sympathetically at Olly and me.

  ‘Ah, très bon, Fred. It is symbolic of the chaos of that battle.’

  ‘I love how the artist used metal because you can see the sea and sky reflected in it,’ I say.

  The murmur of consensus within the group bounces into the air. And standing here in the breeze, as the sun beats down, looking at the sculpture before me, I realise that I’m enjoying myself. How long since I felt like that? How long since I stopped and looked at something beautiful and thought about how it makes me feel?

  A cloud floats on by through the blue sky reflected on the sculpture and I can’t take my eyes off it.

  Then Evie surprises us all by saying, ‘It’s hopeful.’ She turns around to face us all. ‘The blue sea and sky that you can see in the metal, I think the artist is telling us that the soldiers who died are free now. Free because they are scattered in the sky and sea.’

  Did my daughter just say that? Was that our truculent teen, speaking so eloquently? Olly looks as gobsmacked as I do. ‘How wonderfully perceptive,’ I say.

  ‘Très bien,’ Michel says. ‘You have the eyes of an artist, non?’

  ‘Clever girl,’ Olly says. She looks mortified by the attention, though, and steps further away from us once more, turning her back on us.

  Michel smiles as he says, ‘La Liberté is in that reflection of an endless skyline,’ he tells us, ‘and without doubt, as Mademoiselle Evie says, hope is there too. Now, take some time to enjoy the beach. We leave in thirty minutes.’

  Barefoot, we sit on the warm sand, our toes digging into the grains while we watch Jamie chase the waves, his Spiderman toy in hand.

  ‘I wonder if the echoes of children laughing reach the heavens, to the ears of the men who died,’ I say.

  ‘I hope so. Because when I die that’s the last thing I want to hear before I go. Our children laughing.’

  I smile in agreement and we look out at the endless blue skyline.

  ‘It was nice just then,’ I say.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talking to the children together. Oh, I’m sure it sounds silly, but it felt good, like we were on the same page.’

  ‘That’s not silly at all and I felt it too. It’s all I want, Mae. To get back on the same page again.’ His face breaks into a huge grin. ‘Don’t move, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  I watch him run off with his long strides and he’s back a few minutes later with ice-creams. And for a few minutes, as we sit in companionable silence, licking our sugary treats, the Guinness family feels strong and united again. For now, at least, there is no hurt or ugly jealousies. No misunderstandings. Just us, on a beach, looking at the blue sky meet the blue sea.

  Our next stop is the Normandy American War Cemetery and while the beach did not look at first glance like a memorial, this next stop leaves us in no doubt as to where we are.

  Michel tells us all, ‘This cemetery is the largest American cemetery in Europe. It holds the bodies of 9,387 soldiers, who fought to liberate Western Europe from the Germans.’

  ‘That’s a lot isn’t it, Dad?’ Jamie says in wonder, his nose scrunched up as he tries to imagine that large number.

  ‘Yes. It is a lot,’ Olly says.

  ‘There are also 307 unknown soldiers buried here too,’ Michel tells us, ‘Sad, non?’

  ‘Those poor men, not even a name to remember them by,’ Mabel says.

  ‘And our most famous figure is General Theodore Roosevelt Jr,’ Michel informs us, pride in his voice. ‘You will see his grave.’

  ‘Who is that?’ Jamie asks.

  ‘He’s a hero. They all are, but he was their leader,’ I tell him.

  ‘Like Spiderman?’ Jamie asks.

  ‘Yes, exactly like Spiderman,’ I answer. It’s as good an accolade as any. ‘There’s a lot of superheroes buried in here, Jamie.’

  I’ve taught history for years. I’ve spoken about D-Day at length and marked essays on the subject. But I am quite unprepared for the emotional impact those white headstones have on me. Row after row, pristine, in perfect lines, on a green blanket of grass.

  ‘The caretakers take great pride in keeping the cemetery clean,’ Michel says. ‘We have an hour and half here. Make sure to leave plenty of time for the visitor centre.’

  Michel then turns to our American contingent and addresses Joan, who I notice looks rather pale. Her friends and husband rally around her, looking apprehensive.

  ‘If you follow me, I can bring you to your brother’s grave.’ Michel does a little bow to her.

  So that’s why she’s been so quiet. God love her. What this must be like for her, I can’t imagine. I am about to usher the children on, to give her some privacy, when she speaks.

  Her husband, Don, holds her hand and Joan turns to us to say, ‘I’ve never been before. I’ve wanted to come for years but it was never the right time. Children, grandchildren, jobs – you know how it can be.’

  I nod in sympathy. I do know. ‘Life has a funny way of keeping us busy.’

  ‘We’re here now,’ Don says, patting her hand.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m brave enough,’ Joan confesses. ‘Now that I’m here, I’m not sure I can face it. It’s been a long time.’

  Jamie walks up to her and cranes his neck back as he looks up. ‘What was his name?’ he asks with wonderful childlike curiosity.

  ‘Don’t be nosey,’ Olly reprimands him, and then mouths ‘Sorry’ to Joan and Don.

  ‘Oh, don’t be sorry. Jamie, my brother was called Johnny. He was my little brother, just like you are to Evie here. You know, when I watched you play on the beach it reminded me of him. He liked the water too. He was always chasing waves when we were kids, just like you were.’

  Her eyes are now red and watery and her voice quavers. I want to cry for this unknown man called Johnny. I want to cry for his sister, Joan, who is all bent up with age and grief for a lost brother. I want to cry for every brother, son, father, man who lies cold in these graves.

  I try to think of the right thing to say to her, to convey my feelings. Then Jamie, in true Jamie style, knows what to say instinctively. ‘If you’re scared, I’ll go with you.’

  I see many emotions flash across Joan’s face at my son’s offer. She seems to tremble as she pulls my son close into her for a hug. ‘I’d like that, if it’s okay with your folks.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, we’ll all go. I’d like to pay my respects to Johnny too,’ I tell her and my heart swells with pride for the second time today, this time for my warm-hearted son. So, in almost funeral-like procession, we follow Michel through the white headstones. He must have led many others like Joan over the years to see the final resting place of their loved ones. Some of the graves have rosettes on them and that makes me smile. I read earlier the significance of that; the soldier buried there is now found and named. They all deserve to be recognised for their heroic sacrifice.

  Some of the gravestones are crosses and others have Stars of David on them. I don’t suppose religion matters in
the end, when they were all brothers-in-arms, fighting the same senseless war. We could learn a lot from that now.

  Finally, Michel pauses and moves to one side, to point to a grave. Joan walks over to it and, with great grace, kneels before it. She takes her glasses out of her bag and reads out loud the inscription, ‘Johnny Robinson, 16th Infantry, 1st Division. Killed 15th June 1944.’

  We stand in silence and watch this lady mourn her dead brother. Her husband hovers behind her, one hand on her shoulder, supporting her. Mabel is silent for the first time today and is weeping into her hankie. Joan opens her handbag and takes out a small model aeroplane, kisses it, then places it atop the white cross.

  ‘There you go, Johnny. I kept this for you, like you asked me to when you left, all those years ago. It’s time to give it back now to its rightful owner.’

  I hear Evie make a squeaky noise and check she is okay. She has her arms folded across her chest, hugging herself tight. Jamie is looking at his Spiderman toy. Don helps Joan to stand up and he holds his arms open to hold her.

  ‘I feel like I should say something, mark the occasion somehow,’ Joan says, looking around her, her face tight with emotion. ‘This doesn’t feel enough. I’m letting him down.’

  I wish there was something I could say, something I could do to help her. She’s right, there should be more. I look at the rest of the group and they all look the same, helpless in our sympathy to this nice woman, who is mourning the loss of a beloved brother. I look at Olly and he says, ‘I can’t believe I’m going to offer this.’

  Before I can ask him what, he walks towards Joan, clearing his throat. ‘There’s a song I know, “The Green Fields of France”. My father used to sing it a lot when I was a kid. I keep thinking about it, have done from the moment I saw the graves all in a line. Well …’ He looks embarrassed and pauses for a moment before blurting out quickly, ‘I could sing it for Johnny, for you – only if you want, now.’

  ‘Oh, Olly, I’d like that very much. Johnny loved to sing himself,’ Joan says.

  After fifteen years of marriage, my husband surprises me once again. He used to sing a lot back when we were doing the pub scene, before the kids. He had a few party pieces that he’d belt out. But that feels like a lifetime ago.