Draft Dodger D-day tribute

Seventy-five years ago today, my father was flying along the Normandy coast taking photographs of what was happening on the beaches below, as the D-day landing forces struggled to get a foothold on the French mainland.

He was particularly impressed by the bombardment being thrown at the German defences by the big ships in the Channel. Even from several thousand feet up, the sight was chilling.

“All I could think,” he told us, “was how glad I wasn’t down there on the receiving end of that.”

The D-day beaches from the air

The war still had nearly a year to run in Europe, over a year to run in the Far East. But when those soldiers landed in France, a great turning point was at last reached. From then on, the road to Berlin and the final defeat of Nazism was open and, though it would prove bumpy with some nasty surprises along the way, ultimately the Allies would not be stopped travelling down it.

Today international leaders have met again on those beaches to honour the men who fought and in many cases were injured or died there.

We are now so far from that time that none of the leaders present are of an age to have served at that time. But one in particular could have served in another war. Here’s what he told the British journalist Piers Morgan about why he didn’t go to Vietnam:

Well I was never a fan of that war. I'll be honest with you. I thought it was a terrible war.

So far so good. I frankly couldn’t disagree with him. It was a senseless war, in which huge numbers died for absolutely no benefit to anyone, either American or Vietnamese. I wouldn’t have wanted to serve there either.

But Donald Trump – for, as you guessed, it was he – didn’t stop there. He went on:

Nobody ever – you're talking about Vietnam at that time and nobody ever heard of the country.

He’s citing ignorance as the basis for not joining his country’s war in Vietnam? He’s saying that he didn’t object in principle to a “terrible war”, he just had no idea what it was about. And, indeed, he took no stand on principle at all.

Now I wasn't out in the streets marching. I wasn't saying, you know, I'm going to move to Canada, which a lot of people did. But no, I was not a fan of that war.

Not a fan? But not enough of an opponent to do anything about it?

The Illinois Democrat, Senator Tammy Duckworth, replied succinctly:

I don't know anyone who has served in uniform, especially in combat, who would say they are a fan of war. In fact, I opposed the Iraq war, but volunteered to go when my unit was deployed.

What price did she pay? She lost both legs in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. In uniform.

Trump, on the other hand, swung himself a medical discharge from Vietnam, something which far poorer people, many no doubt far less well than he, didn’t have the means to obtain for themselves. It seems he was unfit to serve because of bone spurs on both his feet.

Now he’d like some reflected glory so he has travelled to Normandy to the celebrations of the 75th anniversary of D-day. He probably sincerely believes that, despite his proclaimed ignorance and his real duplicity, his presence is honouring the men who fought and suffered for his freedom.

I bet some of them had bone spurs.

It’s a shame I can’t ask my father for his opinion of these curious events. Although I don’t have much trouble imagining what he might have said.

The anniversary of D-Day: might a little shame be appropriate?

Today, the seventieth anniversary of the D-day landings in Normandy, got me thinking about how we remember and respect our soldiers. 

In the US, the message is generally a variant on the theme “they gave their lives that we might be free”.

Do we exercise our freedom to pay for them?

Though other motivations also played their role, the Second World War genuinely removed a major threat to freedom. My grandfather refused to fight in the First World War and spent two years in gaol for his pains, but joined the Air Raid Precaution service (he was too old for combat) in the Second: as a Jew, he felt the fight against Nazism had to be won, where the Great War clash of imperialisms seemed no concern of his.

And since World War 2? The Vietnam War? The invasion of Iraq? I’m not sure how they served freedom. It was by defeating the United States that the Vietnamese gained some freedom. And it’s not clear how replacing a vicious but stable Iraqi dictatorship by a war-torn regime prey to vicious terrorists, and under the domination of Iran, serves any cause of freedom.

To suggest solders “died for freedom” in those wars seems a travesty. But it isn’t just the word “freedom” that bothers me in that phrase. It’s also the word “died”, because huge numbers of soldiers don’t die, though, sadly, many of them come later to wish they had. War memorials show the names of the dead; they don’t name the crippled either in body or, far worse, in soul.

Fit, young, brave and strong: in short, heroes

Americans like to produce uplifting, inspiring images of soldiers, with messages of gratitude and admiration for them. The soldiers appear as heroes: fit, young, brave and strong. We don’t see the far less heroic picture many present a few years later: unkempt, sleeping rough, their minds addled by drink or drugs, estranged from friends or families. Many of them are in prison: in Britain and the US, a disproportionate number of convicted criminals are veterans.

And, above all, these fallen heroes receive little or no support from the society that salutes them so warmly while they’re still well.

Perhaps our war memorials ought to contain inscriptions along the following lines:

“Private such-and-such, who died not in the fighting but nonetheless of its consequences, four decades later, uncared for, unloved and alone, abandoned by the society that claims to thank him for his sacrifice but feels no shame over its failure to rescue him.”

All this went through my mind as I listened to a radio interview with Tim Radford, now 85, but believed to have been the youngest person to have taken part in the D-Day landings. He was a fifteen-year old galley boy on a tug on 6 June 1944.

“There was a most tremendous bombardment taking place...” he told the BBC, “it was like Dante’s Inferno...”

“The water was full of dead men. A very sad memory of D-Day is all the poor devils who never made it to the beach, who were in the water with life jackets on, floating, and we hadn’t time to pull them out...”

For Radford, these weren’t scenes of glorious endeavour. In fact, he told us:

“I’m very much opposed to war as a means of settling differences, but there’s no question in my mind but that war had to be fought, we had to defeat Naziism otherwise we’d all be enslaved for generations.”

The war was justified, he felt, but nothing to exult over. And what about since then?

“... most of the wars there’ve been since, I can’t think of any exceptions, have seemed to me to be unnecessary and avoidable.”

So in his view, as in mine, they had little to do with any essential freedom that could not have been defended some other way.

Asked whether what he saw on 6 June 1944 had any glory to it, Radford was unambiguous:

“I don’t think it was glorious. You should respect the courage and self-sacrifice of people who give their lives for others. Of course. But there’s no glory in it.”

No. There isn’t. In Britain, we have what we call a ‘Covenant’ with our servicemen: we ask them to be ready to put their lives on the line for us, and in return we commit, firstly, not to call on them to do it except for a cause worthy of the sacrifice and, secondly, to look after them when they return (or of their families if they don’t).

In reality, we demand that sacrifice for reasons that are often at best dubious. And then we redouble the injury by failing to look after the ones who come back or the bereaved families.

That’s why all the rhetoric about our gratitude to those who died for our freedom disturbs me. It seems to me to draw a veil of sentimentalism over something much uglier that we ought to face up to. It’s a denial of behaviour on our parts, not theirs, for which we ought ultimately to be profoundly ashamed.

Perhaps a thought worth taking a few moments over on the anniversary of D-Day.

Europe: remembering past tribulations, facing today's

Strange to think that 68 years ago today the French Chanel coast was facing a massive onslaught by American, British, Commonwealth and indeed French troops. Ranged against them were the tenacious defenders of German domination of the European Continent. 

Strange because given how well those nations are all getting on these days, it’s hard to believe there was a time when so much as a hard word passed between them. 

My father, in the Royal Air Force at the time, flew over the landing beaches. His comment? ‘I was bloody glad I wasn’t in those German defences under that naval bombardment. Even from 10,000 feet it looked fearsome.’

6 June 1944.
Nice if we can avoid the violence next time we decide to get closer

These days the stakes are different. Far from trying to drive the Germans out, the French toady are trying to lock them in.

‘You’re the ones with the money,’ they’re saying, ‘and a lot of it you made from trading on favourable terms with the rest of us. Time to give some back by helping us stop the collapse of our banking sector.’

Of course, that does beg the question of why we’re so keen on the banking sector. When the coal mines went in this country, in the days of Thatcher, no-one said ‘hey, can’t we find a few billion to keep them open and protect those jobs?’ For bankers, it seems, things are different.

Actually, I’m particularly bemused by the argument that bankers’ bonuses have to be kept obscenely high on the basis that we might otherwise lose the best ones. I mean, if those were the best – and look at the mess we’re in – what could the worst possibly be like? Wouldn’t it be great if we just regulated the banks into a corner? Then if ‘the best’ of them decided to slope off to Shanghai, we could just say good riddance. I don’t think we’d miss them.

But still, let’s allow the premiss that European banks do need baling out. It does seem to make sense that the wealthiest nation in the Continent acts as everyone’s banker. It’s a welcome consequence of the election of François Hollande in France that more people are beginning to say the same and even Angela Merkel is moderating her stance a little.

At this rate, they might save the Euro and even keep the Greeks in it. A long shot, but who knows, if things go the way they’re suggesting they might just pull it off.

Which is why The Guardian has been taking the position over the last couple of days that we are at the start of a crucial three-week period for the Eurozone. That’s a pronouncement that I’d take more seriously if I could think of a three-week period in the last few years which hasn’t been crucial for the Euro.

The result of moves towards closer economic and even political cooperation is that we might see more of a union between the 17 Eurozone members, something beginning to look like a United States of Europe.

But that means another great tradition will have been maintained. Because when those troops landed on the Normandy beaches, back on 6 June 1944, it was only the second successful invasion across the Channel in a millennium, the previous being William the Conqueror’s in the opposite direction in 1066. So the Channel has been a pretty effective obstacle down the ages. And since Britain is not in the Eurozone, if the new European Federation really does begin to form, that branch of sea will remain its frontier. 

If the United States of Europe emerges and we want Britain in, we’ll probably need something pretty well as spectacular as my father witnessed 78 years ago, though it would be a great relief if it could be undertaken with less violence.

So there are many fine traditions to celebrate on this anniversary of the Normandy landings. Still, I can't wrap up without mentioning one that is particularly British: the weather on this day in 1944 was lousy and so it is again today. Which, since I’ve just got back from Madrid and proper summer temperatures, is a shock to the system.

‘Welcome home,’ the rain and wind seemed to say me as I hunted through my suitcase for a jacket.

Still, no reason not to have a happy D-day anniversary, everybody. And if you’re in Britain, wrap up warm.