MEMORIES CAN BE HEALED

6^th June - how important is that date for those whose memories don't go back to 1944 - D-Day? It was the beginning of the end of World War II, though a time of much fighting and bloodshed lay ahead, both in Europe and the Far East.

I remember that day well. We had guessed something was afoot because huge Churchill tanks had been rumbling nose to tail past our house in Shalford for several days beforehand - preparatory to the Invasion. They made so much noise that our dancing class in the Village Hall had to be abandoned, to the delight of all the boys! Then on June 6th the Headmaster brought a radio into our classroom so that we could hear “an historic broadcast”. When I got home I told my mother that “some American” had been talking on the radio and I couldn't understand a word of it! My friend Jenny, a year older than me, squashed me with “Don't you KNOW? It was General Eisenhower – the Invasion's started.”

I went into Guildford with my mother in the afternoon and I was disappointed to find the Post Office hadn't issued any special Commemorative stamps!

I remember a lot about the following months in which we stuck coloured pins in a map to mark Allied advances - and retreats - over France, then Belgium, Holland and finally Germany, and then there was VE Day. As I write, television and radio have been celebrating that great day, but a sad day for some. This was brought home to me when Mum and I went into a church in Guildford to say “Thank You.” It was very quiet after the celebrations in the High Street. One other woman was in there, kneeling in a side chapel and quietly weeping. My mother told me, “I expect she's lost somebody.” Yes, a bitter-sweet day.

This, of course, was before the newsreels and Hollywood had shown us something of the full horror on the Normandy beaches, and the ghastly devastation of the French towns and villages.

Then, fifty years later, I joined a party going to Normandy to remember the sacrifices made there at that time. It was all so different - the clear golden beaches, the fresh grass on the cliff tops, growing up around the German gun emplacements that had become a tourist attraction, the towns and villages rebuilt. It struck me then how God allows nature to heal the traces of the violence of war.

But does God also heal memories? The answer, I think, is Yes - if we let Him. Or at least He turns the raw pain into something we can absorb into ourselves, learn to live with. I know. My sister died tragically on June 6th many years later. It is a date I can't forget. But it is now a part of me, as God's gentle hand has moved me on so that there are happy memories too - the grass, as it were, has grown over, as it did on those French cliffs, and peace has followed.

Sara

New venture in the precinct. See p7

Matt in pursuit of silverware? See p9.