by Christy Stephens Martin
It was a murky grey day in Newbury, England in mid May of 1944 as the young American soldier walked thru the township. The air smelled of wet smoke and the constant dampness overwhelmed the sweetness of the spring season. England was a country at war and it was evident. Buildings had been decimated with bombs and the people themselves, seemed tired and sad.
It seemed to Charles Stephens that it was grey every day and raining, constantly raining. He missed the sunshine, green hills, rich farmland, and mountains of East Tennessee. In her last letter his Mama had said that the crop planting was going to be difficult again this year with both Charles and his older brother Horace serving on active duty. Farming was difficult back breaking work at best but without them and other young men in the community it was extra hard for everyone.
Charles smiled to himself as he thought about his horse Dan and the camping trips they took after spring planting to Butterfly Gap in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. Charles had met a lot of interesting people on those camping trips and many were doing the same thing he was, panning for gold. Local rumors indicated that there was a main vein of gold in the Smokies but all Charles ever got was a goose quiver full of gold barely bigger than dust. It was enough to whet his curiosity and cause him to make the trip several times a year. But it wasn't just the gold. Charles loved the outdoors, walking and riding Dan thru the valleys and hills of home, the earthy smell of spring and dirt; legs wrapped around Dan's strong warm body and the horsey animal smell of him.
Charles wakened from his thoughts by the whistle of a troop train just coming into the station. The train slowed without stopping and the soldiers filled the windows waving and shouting greetings and generating excitement to the crowd who lined the station's platform. It was mostly young ladies and they were all in love with the American GIs. The rowdy, gregarious, unflappable US soldiers were irresistable to war weary England.
He did not know exactly what was happening but he knew soon he and his other teammates of the 101st Airborne Pathfinders were to begin specialized training and would be locked on the base until their mission started. There were American soldiers everywhere, more than he had seen even in the states. They were directly across the channel from France and invasion seemed to loom. After over a year of training, Charlie felt confident and ready.
"Hey Charlie, Hey Charlie!" came a familiar voice, breathless and excited.
It was his brother Horace! Charles ran beside the train exchanging words, brief and loud enough to be heard above the train. Half hanging out of the train window, Horace shouted, "How ya doing? Who are ya with? Heard from Mama and Daddy?"
Charles's response equally brief, "Doin' well brother. Still with the 101st. I'm a chute jumper. Light maching gunner, all that rabbit huntin' made me pretty good at the shootin', gonna kill me some Germans. Mail but not regular. How bout you?"
As the distance between them expanded, "Armored artillery...still with Bernie (Horace's best friend who had joined with him). Can't wait for the folks to hear about this!" Horace waved goodbye.
By then the train was too far and fast for more and Charles out of breath, also waved goodbye.
The days that followed made history as the Americans and their allies mounted the largest invasion the world had ever seen. It was the beginning of a successful but long and deadly campaign to defeat the German army.
In the predawn hours of June 6, 1944 twenty two year old Charles Stephens and his 101st Airborne Pathfinder teammates were the first of the allied forces dropped on the Normandy coast just after midnight. The job of his group was to blow up and secure the bridges and locks around the Douve River in Carentan, France. Rough weather made this difficult as they landed outside of their drop zone. Finally reuniting, they skirted around the Germans silently and rapidly and completed their mission.
As the day wore on the ground shook from shelling, constant gunfire and grenades. The magnitude of this battle became evident from the ships, the sheer numbers of soldiers, and air attacks. Charles, about on half mile inland, wondered and worried about his brother Horace and other friends and family that had been drafted.
The year ahead held daily and hourly challenges for the young soldier. He particpated in the long and bloody job of taking town after town in France and in the major battle for St. Lo., France, losing his best friend and ammo carrier, Ernie Pugh from Crossville. Battle weary but in constant danger he was forced to go on and save the grief for Ernie and others for another time.
In September of 1944, Charles donned his parachute for his final jump into Holland as a Pathfinder and he and his entire company were either killed or taken prisoner by the German Army in a bloody allied loss know as Operation Market Garden.
After months of starvation, beatings, and frigid cold on one of the worst winters on record, Charles Stephens was liberated by American forces from a POW camp in Mooseberg, Germany in April 1945. He traveled with the US Army as they liberated other prisoners from Germany to Turkey.
Finally, after months of travel he made it back home to East Tennessee. As he got off the bus for the walk down the hill to his fathers farm in the valley, he soaked in the sunshine and smell of spring in the East Tennessee he loved, while thinking about the extensive sacrifice of the young men in this war. Most days he had never thought he would make it back home.
Charles had been on the move since his liberation and had no communication with his family back home. He was so glad to be back. As he walked up to the farm house where he was born it was also with some trepidation. He felt a lump in his throat and a mist in his eyes. It had been a year and a half.
During the war families with a member in service displayed a blue star next to a picture of each person serving. Charles's eyes began to shed tears as he saw the one blue star next to his picture, and a gold star accompanying the picture of Horace. He would never make it home.
As Charles stood there with his duffel bag, his eyes fixated on the gold star, his father came from around the house. His Dad, had aged beyond the year and a half since he had seen him.
"You're home," he said wrapping his arms around his son. For several minutes neither Charles or his usually stoic father were able to speak.
Finally, "Where's Mama?"
"The doctor recommended she go to work after we found out about Horace. She took it hard. Nervous breakdown the doc said."
After a long pause, "We weren't sure you would be home either." his Papa replied again wrapping his son, thin from starvation in a POW camp, in his arms.
Soon, other family members, seeing Charles walk down the hill, came flooding in. That afternoon Charles met his Mother's bus. Her eyes were bright in her thin solid frame as she took her son in her arms. Her hands shook as she held him with a smile on a face still riddled with pain, revealing sadness and the extent of her family's year long nightmare.
The churchbell rang that night in joyful celebration of homecoming. This homecoming was big news. Food from the neighborhood crowded the farm table. Visitors were a steady stream. Charles, home at last felt their joy and love. He was happy to be home, but also feeling a deep sense of loss that he contained.
Later that night Charles made his way to the barn finally getting time for Dan. He revelled in his warm horse body, his soft muzzle and the look in his soulful brown eyes that told him that Dan too was glad he was home. With his face buried in Dan's neck, Charles cried deep sobs.
"Dear God, why, why?" He cried out holding on to Dan. He was war weary and finally unable to hold back the feeling the loss of so many, including Horace.
Charles and his family later found out that 31 year old Horace Samuel Stephens and his best friend Bernard Keller were killed on June 6, 1944 along with 37 others just off Utah beach. Their landing craft was sunk by a mine. They never made it to shore. Their bodies were never recovered, buried forever in the cold depths of the English Channel.
In the months and years after Charles return to East Tennessee he walked the hills of the family farm mourning the death of Horace, friends, the other men that would never return, and his own youth. Loss sometimes overtook him. He relived the last hurried words with his brother and found solace and some healing in the warmth of the sunshine on his face, the smell of life giving soil, the feel of Dan's back, and hard work. He treasured the innocence of the prewar years in his beautiful home and found healing in the beauty of God's creations in the quiet vista of the Appalachian hills.
Horace Stephens 1913-1944
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