Perhaps the bravest group of all were the widows of those young combat veterans, who came back from the fighting in Europe, badly wounded, shell-shocked and whose lives would, in many cases, be cruelly cut short as a result. These wonderful, stoic ladies looking and sounding like favorite aunts and grandmothers, knew they had to come back to the land that had had such a dramatic effect on their stable, normal, happy lives back in America. They were determined to understand just what the fighting was like, to listen to the tales of those old soldiers who had survived and try to make sense of a war that had cost them so much.

Similar experiences would be sought by the sons and daughters, nieces and nephews who had heard tales and stories of war from a loved father or uncle, who may only have uttered the odd reminiscence once in a while. Then there were the grandchildren, for whom World War Two was either just a history lesson in a school book, or a light-hearted tale perched on the knee of an adored grandfather. Their parents had sensed that now was the right time for them to experience the reality of a war that America fought so far from home alongside its closest and most faithful ally, Britain.

The film Saving Private Ryan with its opening sequence of combat on the invasion beaches of Normandy on June 6th 944 coming the closest to illustrating how horrific real war is, together with the sensational best-seller The Greatest Generation by Tom Brokaw have raised a new awareness of the activities and experiences of the war-time generation. Perhaps not surprisingly, the forthcoming 12 days would prove a defining moment for many of my fellow passengers.

At our first evening in the romantic splendor of Paris would come my first real insight into how men who have seen real combat in all its terrifying reality act and behave. No line-shooting tales of derring-do or the gung-ho winning of wars single-handedly, but kindly older men exhibiting big grins and conspiratorial winks with each other. No expansive gestures or bloodthirsty tales of life constantly close to death at the hands of an unforgiving and determined enemy, but a kind of coded short-hand between each other which needed no explanation.

They had all experienced the same traumas and terror and all knew exactly what the other meant, with just the minimum of words. But in between played-down stories of brave men, the funny times that they all recalled amazingly managed to come through - and how!

I found myself roaring with laughter at hilarious tales of captured German army pay trains, stories of jeeps that mysteriously disappeared from the motor pool only to boost the company strength, before being sold as surplus to the locals! Further outrageous tales featured just what could be achieved by the average GI who borrowed a medic's armband and ambulance. The stories of devilment in the ranks began to flow fast and furious with every vet having a better and funnier story than the previous one.

With the laughter still ringing in my ears our first day in Paris took in the sights and sounds of this world-famous city and the serious stories started to emerge. Former combat medic Wilson Fields, a T3 in the 315th Infantry Regiment, who came ashore on D-Day + 16, looked longingly at a city he had been assigned to for 9 months, only gradually admitting that was as a result of a serious leg wound he had sustained during a barrage of enemy artillery at the River Seine. Aiming at Patton's tanks waiting to cross the river; the shelling hit Wilson's aid station and with his resulting wound, he was evacuated back to the UK. Meeting a combat medic is a rarity and just looking into the eyes of this modest man from Illinois, I could see there were tales that he would always keep to himself.

The 79th Division veterans' first act of remembrance would be the solemn evening ceremony at the famous Arc de Triomphe. In front of the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, the vets lined up facing a small, silent group of French survivors of the Nazi concentration camp on the British Channel Island of Alderney. A quiet, somber ceremony, Frenchmen who had died in two world wars were honored alongside the American liberators of this enormous country.