90 Infantry Division (USA) liberated Saint-Hilaire-du-Harcouët

As July drew to its victorious close it was evident to the eagerly watching world that a breakthrough of decisive importance had been achieved. Even as the desperate enemy clung to his remaining defenses, the blunt-nosed armor of the Allies roared over the highways of France, cutting, slicing, slashing communications. The condition of the enemy was one of confusion, bewilderment, and near panic.

Quick to seize the golden opportunity, the Americans, the British, the French and Poles plunged forward out of the hedgerows and into the plains of France. On July 30th, Major General Raymond S. McLain assumed command of the 90th, and two days later the Division was placed under XV Corps control, passing from the 1st to the 3rd Army, commanded by Lt. General George S. Patton.

The mission of the 90th was to proceed from Périers to the vicinity of Saint-Hilaire-du-Harcouët and there secure the bridges over the Sélune River and protect the nearby dams. Thus began the triumphant march through France.

Ahead lay the broad expanse of a country awaiting liberation. Saint-Hilaire-du-Harcouët was hilarious. Only a brief struggle with German rear-guards ensued, then the town belonged to the 90th Division. The town and the people too. They stood in the streets and cheered and waved and yelled until their throats were hoarse. They laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks. Here and there a few tears dropped quietly, tears of thanksgiving and reverence and gratitude for the deliverance of la belle France.

American troops, riding in jeeps, on tanks, in trucks, were pelted with bouquets of flowers, presented ceremoniously with wine and cider. If the wine happened to be sour or the cider watered, it made no difference. The beach and Pont-L'Abbé and the Hill and the Island were memories now. Sherman's famous comment may have been right last week or the week before, but today... well, war is what you make it.

It was the same in every town and village. The little girls dressed in their Sunday best, tightly gripping a bouquet of daisies and reciting hesitantly welcome to les Américains, while their proud parents looked on and prompted them when they forgot.

And Monsieur le Mayor with his cutaway and stripped pants and his trimmed moustache waving frantically for quiet so he could make his speech. And then you moved on to the next town and the same thing happened everywhere you went, only sometimes the welcoming committee was a little put out because the Americans wouldn't stop long enough to receive the keys to the city formally.