Lögberg-Heimskringla - 08.11.1985, Side 6

6-WINNIPEG, FÖSTUDAGUR 8. NÓVEMBER 1985
The Battlefield
Tom was happily married, in less than a year death on the battlefield had claimed his life.
The Normandy sky was overcast
during this 1944 August night.
Darkness masked the activities as ar-
moured tanks left their harbour areas
and positioned themselves toward
the forward areas which faced the
-enemy, a mighty foe who were never
' easy to overcome. The infantry lay
quietly on the ground, gaining respite
before the battle commenced during
the early hours of the morning, when
dusk would break to receive the
daylight of a new dawn. Overhead
sporadic screams of artillery shells
from positions to the rear could be
heard as they passed through the air.
They were lobbing shells onto the
enemy to keep them on edge while
the Canadian Army prepared for yet
another assault in the Normandy
bocage country, with formidable
hedgerows that defined the fields
which made movement in battle nigh
impossible. A haven for the
defénders, a very difficult task for the
atta'cking forces.
In this area between the guns and
forward forces lurked the numerous
formation and unit headquarters, in-
cluding technical advisers and
engineer units, ready to be called
upon as required. Within the
shadows of the night, the silhouette
forms of stately homes loomed
against the dark gray background,
abándoned by the pépple who had
been caught bétwéen' the Allied and
Ge'rmán' förces lóckéd in á déadly
struggle. On the tables sat partly
eaten portions of food, as haste com-
pelled the French populace to flee the
dangers of a raging war, that
enveloped their suburban homes.
Where they had gone was anyone's
guess, the army was too occupied to
give it much thought. Rumour had it
that many had found refuge in the
tunnels of a local iron ore mine.
The practical French, expert in
their cider production, had large bar-
rel type containers of homemade
cider, from which back area soldiers
gained stimulation, while they
waited to be called upon to perform
their various assignments once the
opposing forces were locked in
battle.
At precisely the split second, which
defined zero hour, the whole
seething mass of tanks and men
began to move forward behind the
intense artillery barrage as it softened
the enemy, lifting further and fur-
ther forward to allow the advancing
Canadian forces to move behind this
protective umbrella, as they engaged
the enemy in a life and death
struggle.
By noon the momentum of the at-
tack had come to a halt and units
engaged in the struggle consolidated
their positions. Enemy prisoners
were marched back to rear area com-
pounds, fenced in open fields.
Guiding them to their destination
were a few Canadian soldiers armed
with fully loaded sub-machine guns.
On the fields over which the battle
had raged and lay the burnt-out hulks
of Canadian tanks, overturned
enemy guns, and bodies of both
friend and foe littered the fields, from
which life had departed.
Timé did not permit more than a
hasty attention to the dead, who were
barely covered with the soil at hand.
The enemy were left to the ravages
of the Normandy sun.
Quickly the army regrouped to
continue the advance on Falaise,
building up their units with rein-
forcements to replace the dead and
wounded.
In the aftermath padres in army
uniform performed the last rites, as
small burial parties gathered in the
fallen to be wrapped in a blanket and
laid to rest in a shallow grave, pen-
ding movement to a permanent
cemetery that dot the countryside of
N.W. Europe, along the path of ad-
vance taken by the Canadians, as
they fought their way from the Nor-
mandy beaches into Germany.
Time did not permit more than a
sentence or two of prayer as the
padre gave over the earthly remains
of each fallen soldier to the soil of the
newly liberated areas in Western
Europe, our friends and allies.
The enemy remains were gathered
in by the civilians of each country
through which the battles raged. A
grim task, as they tidied up their
countryside in the wake of liberation
from the enemy, who had robbed
them of their freedom and inflicted
cruel unjust hardship on the local
population.
Caught in this ordeal was a par-
ticular friend. A chemical engineer
from the foothills o,f Alberta,
graduating to enter directly into the
Royal Canadian Engineers. His high
cheekbones and tan-like complex-
ion revealed his native background.
Having the rank of captain andu fine
physique gave him the confidence
that made us all one, Canadians ir-
respective of ethnic origins. His wed-
ding to a British girl was one of the
brighter wartime moments, but sad-
dened when less than a year later he
lost his life on the battlefield two
weeks before the end of World War
II in Europe.
And so on Nov. 11, given over to
remembrance and respect for the
fallen, there are vivid memories that
sadden the heart for those who lie in
the military cemeteries of distant
countries, that contain the graves of
youthful men who gave their lives,
ranging in average age of 19 to 27
years.
The ravages of war are destructive.
Each year of peace is to be savoured
as we give thanks to the democratic
freedom we enjoy.
Einar Arnason
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