Pegasus Bridge 50th Anniversary

Tags

Arlette Gondree, Brahms Requiem, D-Day, Major John Howard, Normandy, Pegasus Bridge

It was an entirely fortuitous and serendipitous encounter.  Major Howard was

sitting at a table outside Arlette Gondree’s cafe. (Arlette’s house was the first

French home to be liberated.)

I was in the company of Major Michael Hickey, a military historian who

was with my choir.  We were singing The Brahms Requiem seven times

in ten days, all over Normandy, along with a French choir and the

orchestra of Basse Normandie.  We sang in different towns

and we sang in German.  The audiences were in tears.  It was an

emotional and healing experience for all involved.

Photo: 9th June, 1944.  Wikimedia Commons

 

Pegasus Bridge

Generous gesture – German flag festoons,

hoisted with the Allied banners.  Bunching,

fussy boudoir blinds. Here swooping platoons,

like death’s head moths, stealthily came gliding.

Across the bridge John Howard bravely strode,

piper ahead, deflecting sniper shot.

Now European coaches block the road;

the dispassionate stamp postcards they’ve bought,

sending snapshots of Hell to those who knew

the mark of Caen first-hand. Wish you were here!

He was: a fact to startle and imbue

those that have eyes to see and ears to hear.

The café’s bright umbrellas shelter all

from noonday’s heat, so one could fail to spot

cool nonagenarian. By the wall,

hero’s crutches propped, ready for action.

His longest day is past; his time now short:

German beer his major satisfaction.

 

Pegasus Bridge, D-Day (50th anniversary)

Tags

50th anniversary D-Day, Benouville, gliders, Horsa Bridge, Major John Howard, Normandy, Ox and Bucks, Pegasus Bridge, The Longest Day

Candia (2nd from left; with Major John Howard (2nd from the right)

Poem to follow…

Pegasus Bridge, 1994

Tags

1944, 6th June, Arlette Gondree, Brahms Requiem, Caen, Major John Howard, Pegasus Bridge, Richard Todd, The Longest Day

While we are on a war theme, here is a poem that I wrote after meeting

Major John Howard, DSO (as portrayed by Richard Todd in the film, The

Longest Day) at Pegasus Bridge.  It was an entirely fortuitous and

serendipitous encounter.  Major Howard was sitting at a table outside

Arlette Gondree’s cafe. (Arlette’s house was the first French home to

be liberated.)

I was in the company of Major Michael Hickey, a military historian who

was with my choir.  We were singing The Brahms Requiem seven times

in ten days, all over Normandy, along with a French choir and the

orchestra of Basse Normandie.  We sang in different towns

and we sang in German.  The audiences were in tears.  It was an

emotional and healing experience for all involved.

Generous gesture – German flag festoons,

hoisted with the Allied banners.  Bunching,

fussy boudoir blinds. Here swooping platoons,

like death’s head moths, stealthily came gliding.

Across the bridge John Howard bravely strode,

piper ahead, deflecting sniper shot.

Now European coaches block the road;

the dispassionate stamp postcards they’ve bought,

sending snapshots of Hell to those who knew

the mark of Caen first-hand. Wish you were here!

He was: a fact to startle and imbue

those that have eyes to see and ears to hear.

The café’s bright umbrellas shelter all

from noonday’s heat, so one could fail to spot

cool nonagenarian. By the wall,

hero’s crutches propped, ready for action.

His longest day is past; his time now short:

German beer his major satisfaction.

Requiem for D-Day

Tags

Brahms, bugle, choral twinning, commemoration, der geist spricht, German Requiem, Great Soul, Lisieux, Pegasus Bridge, reconciliation, Resurrection

Around this special time of commemoration and reconciliation, I thought

I’d reblog one of my war poems…

Clammie commiserated:  I can see that you are affected by your friend’s

demise, Candia.  He seems to have been a marvellous character.

He was, I affirmed.  We really got to know each other when we went to

Normandy as part of a choral group, in order to join forces with a French

choir and the Orchestra of Basse-Normandie, in 1994.  It was to

commemorate D-Day and we ended up singing The Brahms Requiem in seven

towns, over a week.  Then the French choir returned with us and we sang it in

England for an eighth time.  We performed it in German as a symbol of

reconciliation and the congregations and audiences gave us standing ovations,

with tears streaming down their faces. Sometimes the concerts were in

buildings which had been bombed and were partially re-built, as in the case

of the church in St Lo.

Didn’t you say that he took you to Pegasus Bridge?

He did.  We arrived at the bridge and he couldn’t believe his eyes as

Major John Howard was sitting at the cafe, having a beer.  We joined

him.  What a legend he had been.  He’s dead now, of course.  My friend

recognised the old hero immediately, as he was a military historian.

Didn’t you write a poem about your trip?

Oh yes.  I have already posted the one I wrote about Pegasus Bridge,

but I will post another one now, if you like.  It tried to sum up my

emotions when we sang in Lisieux.  That thrilling phrase: Ja, der Geist

spricht still creates shivers down my spine.  I suppose it speaks of the

Spirit of Man, as well as the Holy Ghost.  My friend emanated a vital

force of that Great Soul and, since he had been a brave soldier himself,

here is my poem, in his memory.

Photos: Wikipaedia

EIN DEUTSCHES REQUIEM FUR D-DAY

The breath of that great soul speaks in hushed tones,

soothing survivors of Allied assaults-

Brahms bathing the buttered Normandy stones:

tinting kaleidoscopic windows.  Vaults,

in cross-ribs, soar to swelling resonance;

reverberate sharp reminiscences

of those who suffered in this audience.

Choral voices soften dissonances.

Ja, der Geist spricht.  No permanent abode

can house indomitable souls on earth.

When Destruction came, still sweet music flowed,

inspiring creativity where dearth

had reigned before.  The youthful soldiers sleep,

lullabied to lilt of liberation:

seeds watered by grief of those who now weep.

They’ve passed beyond that twinkling of an eye

and rest, sung heroes.  Heartfelt ovation

from grateful present shows they’ll never die

in memory, or appreciation.

And when that final bugle sounds, they’ll rise,

as one, not knowing discrimination,

to jointly celebrate War’s own demise.

Related archive post on P

Requiem

Tags

A German Requiem (Brahms), Basse Normandie, D-Day, John Howard, Lisieux Abbey, Normandy, Pegasus Bridge, St Lo

Clammie commiserated:  I can see that you are affected by your friend’s

demise, Candia.  He seems to have been a marvellous character.

He was, I affirmed.  We really got to know each other when we went to

Normandy as part of a choral group, in order to join forces with a French

choir and the Orchestra of Basse-Normandie, in 1994.  It was to

commemorate D-Day and we ended up singing The Brahms Requiem in seven

towns, over a week.  Then the French choir returned with us and we sang it in

England for an eighth time.  We performed it in German as a symbol of

reconciliation and the congregations and audiences gave us standing ovations,

with tears streaming down their faces. Sometimes the concerts were in

buildings which had been bombed and were partially re-built, as in the case

of the church in St Lo.

Didn’t you say that he took you to Pegasus Bridge?

He did.  We arrived at the bridge and he couldn’t believe his eyes as

Major John Howard was sitting at the cafe, having a beer.  We joined

him.  What a legend he had been.  He’s dead now, of course.  My friend

recognised the old hero immediately, as he was a military historian.

Didn’t you write a poem about your trip?

Oh yes.  I have already posted the one I wrote about Pegasus Bridge,

but I will post another one now, if you like.  It tried to sum up my

emotions when we sang in Lisieux.  That thrilling phrase: Ja, der Geist

spricht still creates shivers down my spine.  I suppose it speaks of the

Spirit of Man, as well as the Holy Ghost.  My friend emanated a vital

force of that Great Soul and, since he had been a brave soldier himself,

here is my poem, in his memory.

Photos: Wikipaedia

EIN DEUTSCHES REQUIEM FUR D-DAY

The breath of that great soul speaks in hushed tones,

soothing survivors of Allied assaults-

Brahms bathing the buttered Normandy stones:

tinting kaleidoscopic windows.  Vaults,

in cross-ribs, soar to swelling resonance;

reverberate sharp reminiscences

of those who suffered in this audience.

Choral voices soften dissonances.

Ja, der Geist spricht.  No permanent abode

can house indomitable souls on earth.

When Destruction came, still sweet music flowed,

inspiring creativity where dearth

had reigned before.  The youthful soldiers sleep,

lullabied to lilt of liberation:

seeds watered by grief of those who now weep.

They’ve passed beyond that twinkling of an eye

and rest, sung heroes.  Heartfelt ovation

from grateful present shows they’ll never die

in memory, or appreciation.

And when that final bugle sounds, they’ll rise,

as one, not knowing discrimination,

to jointly celebrate War’s own demise.

Related archive post on Pegasus Bridge- 12th Nov., 2012.

Pegasus Bridge, 1994

Tags

6th June 1944, Major John Howard, Pegasus Bridge

While we are on a war theme, here is a poem that I wrote after meeting Major John Howard, DSO, (as portrayed by Richard Todd in the film, The Longest Day) at Pegasus Bridge:

Generous gesture – German flag festoons,

hoisted with the Allied banners.  Bunching,

fussy boudoir blinds. Here swooping platoons

like death’s head moths, stealthily came gliding.

Across the bridge John Howard bravely strode,

piper in tow, deflecting sniper shot.

Now European coaches block the road;

the dispassionate stamp postcards they’ve bought,

sending snapshots of Hell to those who knew

the mark of Caen first-hand. Wish you were here!

He was: a fact to startle and imbue

those that have eyes to see and ears to hear.

The café’s bright umbrellas shelter all

from noonday’s heat, so you could fail to spot

cool nonagenarian. By the wall,

hero’s crutches propped, ready for action.

His longest day is past; his time now short:

German beer his major satisfaction.