France and Marinus Kuukak

Remembering Verdun

 

September 6, 2003

After having driven in Europe for a few days, we had experienced only friendliness from everyone we met.  But I wondered if we might encounter a European who would express some hostility over the American role in Iraq – especially when I explained that we were from Texas.

Pat at Verdun Memorial

 

While driving through northwest France, we spied a monument on a hillside and decided to check it out.  We parked our leased, green Renault Kangoo beside a gray Renault Kangoo and were quickly greeted by the proud owners of the gray vehicle.  We experimented with our nearly entire vocabulary of the French language and said, “Bonjour.”  

Apparently, he could hear our mispronunciation of “Bonjour” and quickly guessed.  “So, you are Americans, eh?” he said in fluent English.  He introduced himself as Marinus Kuutkak and his wife as Sonja from Waalwyk, Netherlands.  “Holland is just a part of the Netherlands,” he explained.  “I am a house painter and take a two-month holiday every year when I go on the ‘dole.’  I loved to ride my motorcycle across Europe and once rode 1500 kilometers from Spain to the Netherlands in one day.  I have been to the motorcycle races in England five or six times. An injury in a bike accident forced me to give up the motorcycle and buy a car.”

One of their favorite trips is to the American Cemetery at Normandy.  “There we help care for two graves – one on each of our birthdays.  We clean the grass, fix the fence and care for the rose bushes on the graves of two soldiers who died one year before I was born.

Then with a sheepish grin, he explained that he and Sonja were reliving a trip to Switzerland that they had taken 20 years ago on their motorbike.  When they had reached Interlaken, Switzerland, Sonja had tired of the hard bike riding and decided to take the train back home by herself.  Recently they decided to do the trip again in their Renault Kangoo to see if they could do it right this time.  They even planned to visit Italy.  But, the same thing happened – they had a big fight while in Switzerland and did not get to Italy.  However, this time they made up and Sonja agreed to ride back with Marinus to the Netherlands. 

Marinus explained that when he was young, he could ride his bike all day in the rain, sleep in a tent on the ground and be ready to ride again the next day.  But now, at the age of 52, it takes him two days to recover from a hard drive.  Then he admitted that he really did very little house-painting and had taken some kind of disability retirement.  He now does the housekeeping chores while Sonja has seven more years of work before she can retire.  He dabbled in investing till he lost 50% of his savings.

“Being from Texas, you must know George Bush,” he said.

“Well no,” I was forced to admit.  “Never met the guy.”

“I don’t like George Bush very much,” Marinus volunteered, “but I totally support the US action in Iraq.  I even tried to enlist to help fight in Iraq, but Sonja would not let me.  I always wanted to join the Dutch army, but my father would not approve.  Also, the law in the Netherlands requires that if there are three boys in one family, only two can enlist.  Consequently, I helped my father in a shop while my two brothers served in the army.

“I become angry when anyone says the Americans are wrong about the war in Iraq.  I don’t like the Imams of the Muslim world.  All Muslims are dangerous.  Immigration is a big problem in Europe.  An immigrant can receive 1100 Euros per month dole for doing nothing.  Our government has gone broke in five years due to paying the dole to immigrants.

We chatted easily about the similar autos we were driving and he explained the historical importance of the monument looming before us.   The monument commemorates the “Sacred Road” used by French trucks to move supplies to the battlefront in the Argonne Woods near Verdun, France for use against the Germans in WWI.  From our position by the monument, we could see the historical road below.  A sign showed a photo of a long line of army trucks on a gravel road.

Argonne Hills

 

I explained that we were headed to Verdun, where we hoped to find the Argonne battlegrounds and look for birds or “oiseau” in French.  (A waitress had explained to us that oiseau is pronounced wazoo.)  “Be sure to visit the large cemetery and memorial where you can see the bones of soldiers that were dug up in fields after the war by farmers tilling the soil.  They also dug up a few bombs that exploded – killing some of the farmers.”

Gunners with Gasmasks

After passing through the town, we headed uphill out of town.  In a few kilometers, when we were nearly convinced that we would never find the battleground, I saw a sign with a French word that we interpreted as meaning “battle.”  Pleased that there are enough cognates in the French language to assist our understanding, we turned at the sign and soon found ourselves smack dab in the middle of the large, Argonne Forest Battlefield.  The museum proved to be a very sobering experience.  Photos showing the mangled bodies of soldiers and displays of all the killing tools of war left us in a near state of shock.  The fearful and fatigued faces of soldiers in muddy trenches with gas masks at the ready told a story of abject horror.  Whole hillsides, covered with overlapping bomb holes and only stumps of trees remaining, told of the ferocity of the fighting. 

Helmets with Bullet Holes

Later, when reading Remarque's "All Quiet on the Western Front" the mental images of this battle scene came to mind as the terror and tragedy of that war were described.  Maybe to understand and appreciate the virtues of peace and prosperity, we sometimes need to visit these dark chapters in our history.

 

After touring the large, beautiful memorial building and walking through the huge cemetery (cimetiere in French), we spied the gray Kangoo of Marinus and Sonja driving into the parking lot.  We all waved and smiled like long-lost friends.  Marinus offered to take us to the rear of the memorial where, through basement windows, we could see the piles of human bones that Marinus had mentioned earlier. 

Verdun Memorial and Cemetery

Statistics

 

By now it was fairly late in the afternoon and we found it necessary to excuse ourselves to go look for a room for the night.  “Why don’t you follow us to our hotel?” Marinus offered.  “It is a nice little hotel with a reasonable price.”

On the way back into Verdun, Marinus pulled into a parking lot to show us some more of the tragedy of war.  A sign identified the location of the town of Fleury-devant-Douaumont, or at least where it had once been.  The peaceful little town had the unfortunate bad luck of being located at the center of some of the most furious battles of WWI.  It actually served as the front lines to be taken by the Germans and retaken by the French over and over.  Repeated shelling by both sides left little evidence that a town had ever been there.  Battles here and nearby caused an estimated 340,000 deaths – roughly half French and half German.

German Soldier

 

We then followed Marinus into Verdun and checked into the hotel he had recommended.   After dinner, we visited again and I got some details of his life.  The next morning, we left for Germany and did not see them again.  Their car was still in the parking lot and we guessed that Marinus need some rest after his activities the day before.

We saw very few “oiseau” in the Argonnes.  But our experience on the battlefields brought home two apparently contrasting conclusions: the horrors of war must be avoided whenever possible and liberty is worth fighting for.  Which will it be?  Marinus was certainly not bashful about conveying his convictions.

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