Thursday, June 17, 2010

" I only regret..."

About fifteen minutes outside of Maastricht lies the Netherlands American Cemetery. This cemetery, with its first internment in 1944, hold the remains of over 8,000 American troops that died during the last half of WWII as the allied forced pushed up from France into the German occupied lands of Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg. I don't believe I realized how very in the midst of things Holland was. Of course when you think of WWII one things of Germany, Berlin in particular, and then northern France and the Normandy invasion, but the land here has its own story to tell.

During the course of the war, the American soldiers set up a series temporary cemeteries, laying to rest their soldiers only after it was certain that the front line would not waver and the land once again fall into enemy hands. This is apparently different from how England and Canada created their cemeteries as they kept reestablishing a new burial as the front lines progressed. As a result the Netherlands is scattered with national cemeteries of England and Canada, while there is only one dedicated to the American troops who fought, and died, to set this land free.

After the war, movements were made to consolidate the temporary cemeteries into one larger cemetery. The location in Margraten, south of Maastricht was selected because it was southern Holland that was liberated by the Americans, in fact, Maastricht was the first Dutch city to be liberated in all the war. I'm slightly fascinated by this process. The family of the soldier was contacted with the choice of either allowing their loved one remain in Holland at the new American cemetery or of having the body shipped home. With the casualty rate of the war I can't imagine the undertaking it was to ship home the remains of every family member that requested it, and yet I can't imagine saying no to that option either. For whatever reason, however, some soldiers remained and as long as they remain there is a cemetery to take care of them.


At Baylor, we have a tradition. Every light pole on campus is dedicated to a former student that has passed away. If you walk around campus and read any of the poles you'll notice most of them are young men who left their studies at Baylor to join the war effort in the 1940s. Sgt. Brunson was one of these men. He was killed the day before his 20th birthday, and apparently he has a lamp post somewhere on campus. I must look him up when I get home.

So, there you have it, the highlight of my day. It's officially me weekend now, which means I'm headed to Spain for a few days. I'll be sure to bring lost of pictures and stories back with me!

Adios!

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