Seventy years ago life was very different, Society was very different, the world was very different. Pretty much everything we use on a daily basis or have come to rely on so much either didn't exist or has changed unimaginably. Cars, phones, computers, food, jobs, clothes. All so different then, and Europe was on the brink of repeating the unthinkable and plunging into another catastrophic war.
When I visited Normandy in June for the D-Day commemorations, many things struck me. Looking back on it now four months later, and reviewing the hundreds of pictures I took, I can trace how my thoughts changed over the few days we were there.
Initially I was attracted to the restored vehicles, and the people dressed in period attire. The lives of a time long gone recreated today. I'm not sure I fully related to these people though. I didn't (and don't) understand their reasons for doing this. Not so much with the vehicle side of things but with the fatigues and uniforms.
So I started to train my lens and my mind on the details themselves. They seemed to offer an authenticity that could not be matched by the people playing at being soldiers. I removed the human element almost entirely or used it as a backdrop or almost a mannequin. Not interested in the person, but selective parts of their clothing or equipment or vehicles. Telling the human story without any actors taking a leading role; the props were the stars in a way.
Soon in the trip we started to visit some of the cemeteries. The enthusiasm for guns and tanks and jeeps overshadowed by the reality of what War means. The sheer scale of what is before you. The challenge to your capacity to understand death on such a large scale. The care and pride that is taken in their upkeep. The surreal beauty of the place and the grief felt for so many giving their lives.
The shadow of death loomed over every beach, and at every crossroads. The Normandy of 64 years ago seemed so tangible, and I felt a great sense of sorrow and inadequacy. We are so far removed from that reality, yet it forced itself into my consciousness. I could not have done what those men did, I could not have been what they were.
It was whilst paying our respects to the dead that we started to see more and more of the living. Those who must feel a memory return with every footstep they take on the land they trod once before. These men became the story of D Day for me over the rest of the trip. The services and parades we witnessed showed a mixture of pride and sorrow. Of triumph and of loss. The story of all the men whose lives changed so much, written on the faces of those still with us. Each one a unique story. Each one a unique set of memories and emotions. And each one both a challenge and an inspiration.
