Chapter 6 - France
It had all seemed so simple, so easily accomplished that one was left wondering whether the enemy knew anything at all of the smooth working organisation of the underground, of the many underground movements, from those helping Allied personnel, to those actively resisting the enemy. They knew alright, through the efficiency of the Gestapo and very many innocent lives were taken in reprisal.
The customs official was talking ''You will go to Paris'' he said. ''And there at the station somebody will be waiting for you, you must go with him''. Paris! I was to go to Paris. I had never been there before but had always wanted to go and see the boulevard cafes, the Champs Elysee and the Bastille. Strange that I should now get my wish when France was overrun by the Germans.
Edward and I had our first taste of red wine and both agreed that it was bitter but thought it would be impolite to refuse it. Having suitably eaten we bade our 'adieus' to the customs official and his wife and left them at the gate smiling and waving to us. These wonderful people who were risking their lives for me. I would never know their names or address. I met them and left them but I knew in my heart that I would never forget them. (Strictly forbidden to write down names and addresses)
Our companion, an Englishman who had lived in France for many years had helped to organize this part of the route down to Spain. As we strolled along the lane beneath the trees we spoke quietly in English telling him of England during the war, the London shows, the feeling of the people and joined with him in silent prayer for the success of the coming ''Second Front''. We arrived in the village and awaited the arrival of the 'bus that was to take us to Lille where we were to catch a train for Paris.
Identity cards were given to us and I found myself the possessor of a flowery French name, though it was easily pronounceable fortunately, and the profession of an architect. Berets had also been given to us by the customs official and as we waited there for the bus, we looked, I hoped, passable Frenchmen. The bus arrived. It was crowded and we were obliged to stand all the way on the long journey to Lille. On the bus was a continual hubbub of rapid French, much too rapid for my elementary grasp of the language, but I felt neither uncomfortable nor strange for I felt I was among friends. My beret was cocked at the correct angle and in my pocket was evidence of my French nationality and a permit to travel to my relatives in Paris.
At Lille station we were obliged to show our identity cards and hand our permits to a German official before being allowed onto the platform. The railway station scene was much the same as an English one. There were the crowds of people, the children looking at the engine, the hiss of steam, the soldiers struggling with their kit, only in this case they wore either field grey or green uniforms and not the familiar khaki; the porter hurrying along closing the carriage doors and the guard looking at his watch and holding a green flag. We managed to find seats and Edward and I once more fell into the routine of reading, looking out of the window and sleeping.
Our companion sat in the next compartment. The compartment on the other side of us was reserved for German soldiers going to Paris to spend their leave. All was ready and soon we were speeding away from Lille towards Paris. Paris in the late summer of 1943 under the heel of the invader - what would it be like? How had the Parisiennes reacted to the occupation, would there still be the gaiety that had been the magnet for tourists?
No - I found it to be as if a cloak had settled over its streets, casting shadows, shadows over people's minds, blank expressions on their faces and dullness in their eyes. I found an extensive thriving Black Market, where one could, if one had the money, live as luxuriously as in pre-war days. I found cafes full and streets crowded with German soldiers, their advances towards the women meeting with little success. I found a people passionately longing to be free, to enjoy life, to see their children adequately fed; to see their dull shadowed eyes light again with laughter. But there was no laughter, only a dull apathy, a longing for the Second Front, confident of it's success, and then revenge. Vengeance was in their hearts, but they must wait; except for those who actively resisted the Germans, members of the Underground, proud fearless men and women, ready to die for their beloved France. Perplexed, yes they were, by the surrender, but willing to carry the fight underground. Such people were Robert and his wife Georgette.
Edward and I had been introduced to them soon after our arrival in Paris. Robert had accompanied us from the dark station to his home, one of the many flats in a poor quarter of Paris. They already had one guest, an American pilot who had been shot down in the vicinity of Paris. He was from Georgia, big and friendly and very much at home. We stayed in Paris for ten days. Ten days of eating food off the Black Market at an exorbitant price. Days of listening to Robert playing his accordion with a dreamy look on his face and a cigarette drooping from his lips. There was a radio and during the day and in the evenings we sat huddled round it straining our ears to hear the news in English.