Dear Editor,
This letter, prompted by the 80th anniversary of the D Day landings, is a loud “Thank You” to American forces hosted by my small town, Portrush, in the North of Ireland, prior to D Day.
My memory, that of a small boy, has been awakened by the warming words, and warning thoughts, of President Biden these past days in Normandy… by the thankful celebrations and photographs of civic leaders, citizens, and military representatives a few days ago on the sands of that small seaside town… by the memory of a very special Christmas, 1943, when the American soldiers based in the town took all the children ”out” for that afternoon with each GI having a trio of children to look after… Barry’s , jeeps, jaunts… magic… candy, chocolate, and chewing gum (aah, no rationing for that short while). I was one of those young, young children… and I very vaguely remember being in a half-track vehicle pressing buttons! Smilingly teased by very young crew-cut soldiers.
But more seriously and poignantly, on the 10th and 11th of March, 1944,
“eight trains departed each hour from Portrush station between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. taking with then a total of 4,000 U.S. troopers, members of two parachute infantry regiments based in Portrush and neighbouring Portstewart. They marched to the station in their rubber-soled boots almost unheard by most people. From Belfast they were swiftly transported to Scotland, then to the South Coast and to Omaha Beach. Of the 2,000 based in Portrush, 314 were subsequently killed in action, 284 injured and another 300 taken prisoner or declared missing” (Portrush, the Port on the Promontory, 2015).
Friendships, relationships, hopes were silenced…. forever. And as was said once again last week, “It was a high price to pay, but freedom demanded it.” And so I remember the history, the unsaid lessons taught, the looking back of a young man, and then the eldering one now… yes, with deep gratitude, but also with an anxiousness that what was bloodily gained, emotionally priced, is not lost?
Seán O Connor
Professor Emeritus,
Washington College.
0 Responses
A lovely poignant tribute, Sean. My Belfast father was by then in Southern Italy, at Bari CAir Force Base, near Naples, having fought earlier with the Royal Ulster Rifles in North Africa and Sicily. A D-Day Dodger as they were laughingly called. My late son and I visited the very special RUR graveyard in Normandy, near my late London sister’s thatched cottage, and I knew Dad knew some of the men of the 1st. Battalion who had died on Sword Beach or later. Very moving. Conor is now at Arlington and we can visit him there regularly. Dad would have been so proud of him.
Bravo!