Remember, understand, hope

Travelling to commemorate can be an intense experience, especially for a German who decides to visit several World War II memorials in one day. Facing what these moments elicit and experiencing these settings for oneself is a worthwhile endeavour. A personal take on the war.

On this November morning, the sun rises through a veil of clouds and bathes the entire landscape in a pink, milky light. It’s peaceful, magical. I’m standing at the entrance to the American Military Cemetery in Hamm. Today, I’m going to visit memorial sites. They are a reminder of the Battle of the Bulge fought during the last two years of the war: German soldiers fought against the Luxembourgish, Americans, French and British. A lot of blood was shed in the Ardennes, especially during the winter months of 1944 and 1945.

Over 5,000 American soldiers were laid to rest here in Hamm. The huge black gate is adorned with a golden eagle and laurel wreaths, symbols of bravery in ancient times. The grass is frostbitten yet perfectly manicured. A few autumn leaves lie scattered around the crosses. Everything is clean and orderly.

Impressive symmetry

Amidst the countless white marble headstones lies the chapel with its colossal red granite angel reaching into the sky. Inside, the ceiling features a magnificent, golden mosaic portraying the Holy Spirit in the shape of a peace dove. The steps to the monument are low, allowing me to comfortably gaze into the distance while walking. I look at the row of crosses. Some bear the Star of David, others a Christian cross. Depending on where you stand, the gravestones appear either aligned or offset. Two fountains with descending basins splash on the green promenades between the graves. They are decorated with bronze dolphins and tortoises, symbolising rebirth and eternal life. The sculptures, paths and gravestones create a remarkably symmetrical whole.

The carvings on the headstones are discreet, almost invisible on the pure white marble. Some names sound European, even German. Did a few American soldiers have German ancestors? I wonder. Later, the Military Museum is going to provide answers to some of my questions.

The museum explores life and death during the war. What did people eat during battle and in shelters? What games did people play? What did they sleep on in basements? What did radio operators work with? An original Enigma cipher machine captures my attention. Military technology can be fascinating. I move on to a wooden box used to protect pets during bombing raids. Rusty weapons lie among autumn leaves. There are muddy tank treads. A DIY surgery kit for the front, including medical utensils to go. One of the dolls is having surgery. The light makes the fake blood glow red. I will carry these impressions with me into night.

The Schumanns Eck memorial trail in the forest near Wiltz is the last stop on my memorial days. Life-size photo figures suddenly emerge in the forest. They look alive even though they’re two-dimensional and in black and white. Two soldiers check passers-by. Others cook soup amid a skirmish. Two are huddled together, looking scared. One of them smokes a cigarette. They can’t be more than 18 years old. This isn’t a regular trail. Signs read “Caution! Mines!” and “Metal detectors prohibited!” The afternoon sun shines through the trees. It feels surreal.

It’s very cold up here, surrounded by the huge trees of the Ardennes, even though the sun hasn’t set yet. In January 1945, soldiers hid here and gave each other warmth and courage in the trenches and foxholes. Maybe they wrote yet another letter home. They must have felt unimaginably lonely. There’s a picture of a crouching soldier, his helmet on the ground. The real soldier has been dead for a long time. More than any picture in a museum, this Remembrance Trail helps me understand that this is a snapshot in time. This is a picture of a man who really existed. Nothing more, nothing less.

One group of people looks eerily real. The young fighters appear to run towards me and stare at me directly. Right beside them: a huge crater where a 500-pound American bomb was dropped. A beech tree grows almost right in the middle. Nature is reclaiming this place too. What remains, is hope.