Desert Tale
Number 6, Volume 7
The guns fell silent. The killing stopped, and thus began the reconstruction of a new Europe, and the lives of American families.
Desert Tale No. 6, Vol 7 - 75th Anniversary of D-Day
Colleville – Sur – Mer, France – a peaceful place on a windswept beach where over 9,300 brave American soldiers lie in eternal slumber. Row upon row of white crosses and 150 Stars of David, remind us of their ultimate sacrifice. Nothing prepares you for the overwhelming sadness you experience as you witness their quiet graves at the American Cemetery located high above the sea.
When these valiant men scaled the cliffs at Omaha Beach they faced Dante’s hell under unrelenting enemy fire to free Europe from Nazi tyranny. Thousands of Americans were slaughtered or wounded in Normandy from June to August 1944.
August 20, 1944, the day my father gave his life for Poland’s freedom at the Battle of the Falaise Gap, France. I met him for the first time at the foot of his cross embedded in the soil at the Polish Military Cemetery, Grainville-Langannerie, France, where at the age of 27 he found perpetual rest. His name: Edward Zyrmont, etched on a simple grey granite cross adorned with red roses growing between his grave and his friend’s.
As mother walked silently through the rows of the 350 graves searching for her long lost love, tears streaming down her cheeks unable to utter a sound, I watched with a numbness to my senses trying to absorb such a surrealistic scene. Finally, she shouted out: “Alinka, I’ve found him!” And the three of us were together again after a lifetime of physical and emotional separation.
When, after an eternity, we walked out of the cemetery, my mother whispered: “I knew many of them in that cold earth. They were your dad’s friends. They were all so close and full of hope for a free Poland. They were all so young and full of life…and now…I meet them again after a lifetime and they are all so full of death!”
I could hardly see to drive the Fiat through my tears that day in Normandy. I am the daughter you saved from Nazi evil. You lie there silently but still protecting our democracy. Your destiny was to save us from hatred, and mine is to tell the world about your bravery, unselfishness, heroism and brief lives.
I wrote this poem to record the story of Polish heroism, and how the soldiers had died; years later I found out about their valour, for my mother could never talk about her personal nightmare which she suppressed in an attempt to banish her pain of being a widow at 23. And yet, those memories were still fresh and raw as if yesterday had happened just a few hours ago when she walked amongst their crosses.
No matter how those of us who suffered from the Holocaust try to forget, there is always a June 6, anniversary to remind us that World War Two did happen to over 60 million souls, and as horrific as it was, we must never forget these young men who died before they could live.
I have placed the flags of the United States, Great Britain, Poland, Canada, and France, at the top of this page to honor those fallen, but I have purposely deleted the Russian flag, although our ally at the time, because I cannot forgive them for their crime at the Katyn Forrest. We shall never forget because we will always remember.
In memory of Sgt. Edward Zyrmont.
(The above is an excerpt from the book I wrote about World War Two: As Long As We Still Live. Kiedy My Zyjemy.)
FALAISE VICTORY ©
On French earth where red roses grow,
Their grey granite crosses stand in a row.
Dante’s fiery hell cannot compare
To their own hell found untimely there,
With an enemy so despicably unfair.
He struck them down with his friends that day,
As the enemy cowardly ran fast away.
The heroes dreamed of freedom and liberty,
And of joyful Polish songs and gay festivity.
On blood-drenched fields in Falaise
They paid the price for a great victory.
Those granite crosses full of names
That now adorn their cold graves,
Of Poland’s proud, youthful best.
With honour lie in an eternal rest.
Among them my dear unknown father.
Who lies with them in silent forever.
He knew me not, but heavenly powers
Are but years turned into lost hours.
For martyrs and heroes now are lain
In apple orchards where they were slain.
But in the house of a life with God
Where only angels before had trod,
They sleep until a heavenly light
Awakes them all from that dark night,
Until their life infernal becomes life eternal.
Alicja Maria Zyrmont