Transcribe
Translate
W. Earl Hall World War II stories, 1944
Letter #18
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
slug-No Buildings -4 By W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor Letter No. 18 Somewhere in Normandy--(Air Mail Special)--As I rumbled out of St. Lo late this afternoon, in a lumbering army reconnaissance vehicle, I looked upon a scene which seemed to me to epitomize the spirit in which war-torn France is entering its gigantic rehabilitation task. A ladder was slanted into the gaping hole of a modest home, a hole left by either a German or an American large shell. It could have been either for strategically important St. Lo changed hands 3 times. At the base of the ladder was a middle-aged mother. Midway on the ladder was a lad of junior high school age. At the top was the father. The mother was picking up roof tile dislodged by the blast and handing them to the son. The son was shinning the ladder and getting them to the father. The father was putting the tile back in place on the roof. It was a family co-operative job. That's the way it's going to be in devastated St. Lo and a hundred other French cities where war's heavy hand has been felt. It will not be a task easily or quickly accomplished. But it's a job that will be done. The fire which once was liberty-loving France has been rekindled. Of that I'm confident following my 4 days here. I have been under the impression that Casino, to the south of Rome, was the one most bomb-battered city in the world. Tonight as I write this in a tree-concealed hut close to a spot where some of the most important decisions of the war have been reached, I'm wondering about this assumption. I'm wondering if any place could be more completely ruined than St. Lo. Not a building is standing. Most of them have been leveled. Some have walls standing, in grotesque patterns against the sky. From what used to be the railroad station, in the valley close by the river, I looked over twisted masonry to an ancient castle set in a cliff. Beyond it was the remains of a church spire. Walking through the ruins I came upon the remains of a Nazi soldier. The body lay crumpled in the bottom of a dug-out where protection had been sought by him. By him was his gas mask, a knife and an unopened can of concentrated rations. My nose told me of my approach to this unpleasant scene before my eyes did. Strewn about the debris in the vicinity were the twisted remnants of bicycles, a cask of cider now turned to vinegar and numerous Nazi propaganda booklets, newspapers and postcards. Obviously it was a business block which had been converted into a German billeting area. A bridge nearby, of concrete construction, had been moved from its base a couple of feet but it was still standing. Streets had been cleared of most of their rubble but the surfacing was such as to preclude a speed of more than 5 miles an hour. Mostly St. Lo is still a ghost city. Probably not ore than 1 out of 10 of its 30,000 population have returned from the places to which they escaped when the strong point became a battleground. Almost without exception the children on the street, as well as the adults, greeted me and my party with the 2-fingered victory salute. My money's on a people for whom freedom is more precious than home. That's the case with liberated France today. -- 30 --
Saving...
prev
next
slug-No Buildings -4 By W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor Letter No. 18 Somewhere in Normandy--(Air Mail Special)--As I rumbled out of St. Lo late this afternoon, in a lumbering army reconnaissance vehicle, I looked upon a scene which seemed to me to epitomize the spirit in which war-torn France is entering its gigantic rehabilitation task. A ladder was slanted into the gaping hole of a modest home, a hole left by either a German or an American large shell. It could have been either for strategically important St. Lo changed hands 3 times. At the base of the ladder was a middle-aged mother. Midway on the ladder was a lad of junior high school age. At the top was the father. The mother was picking up roof tile dislodged by the blast and handing them to the son. The son was shinning the ladder and getting them to the father. The father was putting the tile back in place on the roof. It was a family co-operative job. That's the way it's going to be in devastated St. Lo and a hundred other French cities where war's heavy hand has been felt. It will not be a task easily or quickly accomplished. But it's a job that will be done. The fire which once was liberty-loving France has been rekindled. Of that I'm confident following my 4 days here. I have been under the impression that Casino, to the south of Rome, was the one most bomb-battered city in the world. Tonight as I write this in a tree-concealed hut close to a spot where some of the most important decisions of the war have been reached, I'm wondering about this assumption. I'm wondering if any place could be more completely ruined than St. Lo. Not a building is standing. Most of them have been leveled. Some have walls standing, in grotesque patterns against the sky. From what used to be the railroad station, in the valley close by the river, I looked over twisted masonry to an ancient castle set in a cliff. Beyond it was the remains of a church spire. Walking through the ruins I came upon the remains of a Nazi soldier. The body lay crumpled in the bottom of a dug-out where protection had been sought by him. By him was his gas mask, a knife and an unopened can of concentrated rations. My nose told me of my approach to this unpleasant scene before my eyes did. Strewn about the debris in the vicinity were the twisted remnants of bicycles, a cask of cider now turned to vinegar and numerous Nazi propaganda booklets, newspapers and postcards. Obviously it was a business block which had been converted into a German billeting area. A bridge nearby, of concrete construction, had been moved from its base a couple of feet but it was still standing. Streets had been cleared of most of their rubble but the surfacing was such as to preclude a speed of more than 5 miles an hour. Mostly St. Lo is still a ghost city. Probably not ore than 1 out of 10 of its 30,000 population have returned from the places to which they escaped when the strong point became a battleground. Almost without exception the children on the street, as well as the adults, greeted me and my party with the 2-fingered victory salute. My money's on a people for whom freedom is more precious than home. That's the case with liberated France today. -- 30 --
World War II Diaries and Letters
sidebar
