The Occupation, June 1940 in the north of France

The Occupation




June 1940, in the north of France,

What was happening to my country was beyond belief. For several days I had been traveling, first by motorcycle, until that broke down, and then briefly by train, but that too came to a halt. Then it was on foot, trying to make my way across the countryside, trying to avoid the main roads. I have come from Lyon, where I reside in the south, and making my way north, back to the farm where I grew up, to help my father and mother during this situation, to see, to know, that they will be okay. I was unmarried, there was no family to depend on me in Lyon, so leaving was not a difficult choice in those times of turmoil, to go and try to protect the family that I did have.

The war had not been going well for France, that I knew, but I was not expecting this. Nobody seemed to know anything for sure. Passing west of Paris, the roads were filled with people walking, carrying suitcases, with carts full of belongings, and weary looks on their faces. Those few with automobiles were not getting anywhere any faster, and I had seen several stalled out, out of petrol and blocking the road. One father was out of his vehicle offering any amount of money for some gasoline, but there was none to be had, while his worried family waited in the car. I wondered what would happen to them.

They were evacuating from the city. But really, did it have to come to that? Could it really be that bad? My eyes saw people everywhere, on the roads trying to get away, but not a single German soldier. I asked them over and over what is going on, what have you heard, but always they don’t know, always only the rumors that the Germans are coming. But I thought, no, it cannot be, France cannot fall, it is just a panic, people were being irrational. I refused to believe it. After that I stayed away from the roads, traveling instead across the fields, finding a barn to sleep in when I needed to.

Finally I made it to my parents’ farm, on the outskirts of a small town near Caen. At least it was where the farm was supposed to be, but something was very, very wrong. Their house, the house that I grew up in, was gone, burned to the ground. There was nothing left but a pile of sooty ashes and the naked chimney reaching up to the sky. There I stood feeling horrified and confused.

In the field in front of the house’s remains there were tents set up, a camp, with men milling about. I could see their horses and their bicycles, and their guns. There was a sign posted, it read “353 Infanterie”. It was the Germans. They were here. But why? Why in my little hometown? There was nothing here of any significance. I cannot believe it. Keeping my head down I walked past the camp, trying not to attract any attention. My thoughts were to make my way into town and try to find someone I knew, to learn what happened to my farm, to find out where my parents were.



Making it safely past the camp, shortly later I came upon something else that did not belong. Now what was this, a small striped guard shack at the side of the road, manned by two soldiers? It was a German checkpoint. They were trying to control who enters and who leaves the village, and probably searching everyone too. This didn’t sit well with me, people should be able to go where they want, well, except these Germans. Already I could feel my freedoms slipping away. I wondered what I should do. Go back, and try to go around somehow? That would look very suspicious, and besides, I had nothing to hide, so I proceeded up to the checkpoint.



At first the guards didn’t seem to notice me, and I thought I might just walk on through. But then they looked up, and shouted, “Halt!” and then demanded to see my papers. I wondered what they were so angry about. Luckily I had my “Carte Identité”, or identity card, in my pocket. It was issued in Lyon, and authorized to travel to Caen, so everything was legal and should be okay. Nervously I watched their beady eyes slowly go over the card. I decided to instead look down, and started to count the holes in the worn leather of my wing tip shoes. The weather was warm, and I could smell the odor of the German, and it was apparent he had not bathed in some time, it reminded me of how the bears smelled at the zoo.


My identification card


Being much bigger than these two Germans, I felt like I could knock them down with my fists, and show them who is boss. I thought about the burned house, and could feel the anger welling up within me. But no, they had rifles, and the commotion would surely attract attention from the nearby camp. No, it was best to cooperate, for now anyway. Just like that, he handed me back my identity card, grunted something, and motioned me to move along. Well, I thought, that wasn’t so bad after all, maybe I can get along with them. I nodded back to him and continued on my way down the street into town.

From the bushes I heard a whisper, “Hey Rey, over here!”

Finally a friendly face, it was Pierre, my boyhood chum, mon ami from when I was growing up. I was really glad to see him. We went and sat together at a picnic table under the shade trees, making sure no one was nearby to hear, and he filled me in on the situation. The Germans had come, and some of the officers were staying in the nicer houses in town. The owners had no choice and had to accommodate them. Some of the local girls were even starting to glance and smile at the occupiers. It was really all too much to bear.

“But Pierre, what about my parents, where are they? Have you seen them?” I asked him.

He looked down, and shook his head very slowly. “I am very sorry” he answered, “but they did not make it”

I was shocked, and tears started to fill my eyes. No! I was there to help them, they can’t be gone, they just can’t. Things were going from bad to worse. I buried my face in my hands.

He explained how my parents did not want to give up their farm, that my father resisted and tried to fight them off. A German officer, now the commander of the village, had pulled out a pistol from his belt, and with a smile on his face, shot both of my parents dead point blank. This officer, described as short and mean, was staying in a house here in town, and could often be found drinking at the local cafe. I decided there and then to avenge my parents’ death, to hunt down and kill this Nazi officer who was responsible, no matter what it takes.

Pierre could see that I was distraught and upset. Knowing I had nowhere to go, he invited me to come and stay with him at his house here in town. It was a good old house, but was in poor condition, needing a whitewashing, so the Germans were not interested in staying there, and had left it alone. When we arrived we had a good meal, some wine that he still had left, and then set down to talking. I told him how I wanted to get that officer, the merciless killer, to relieve the village of that presence. He understood, and said that he would help me.


Pierre's house


I stayed there in the house keeping a low profile, and a couple of weeks passed by. We heard on the radio that the armistice had been signed, and the war was all but over. France had lost, of course, and the Germans outside were here to stay. It was a reality that was hard to deal with. I thought for sure the British would have come to our aide, and I’m not sure what happened to them. We all sat on our haunches and watched as it happened to Poland, and now the world seemed to only watch as it happened to us too. Oh, will the madness ever end?

One day I was walking through town and I saw him. There he was, the short Nazi officer, my new nemesis, the one who had pulled the trigger against my family. He looked up and saw me too. I guessed he didn’t like that I was bigger than he was, and felt the need to exercise his authority, to hassle me and give me a hard time. Kind of like how a little dog needs to make a lot of noise to make himself bigger than he is. This cocky little officer started shouting at me and demanded to see my papers.



As he looked over my card, like at the checkpoint earlier, I began to get angrier and angrier. It was plain to see how big I am compared to this little pipsqueak. I could easily pound his Nazi face into the pavement, if it wasn’t for his big rifle, and his buddies close by keeping watch. No, I must bide my time until the opportunity is right...



Just then, I turned and ran. I did not mean to do it, it just kind of happened, like an involuntary reaction. I don’t think I was afraid of him, no, that was not it. I was more afraid of myself, of my anger, of what I was thinking of doing to him at that moment. I had to get away before I did something I could not control. Behind me I heard a shot ring out from his rifle. I fully expected a sharp pain to shock me somewhere on my body, but I did not feel it. Luckily for me, he had only fired a warning shot into the air. It was enough though to bring me to my senses, and I stopped, and raised my arms in surrender.





He laughed, saying, “The big guy is not so tough after all!”
Arresting me himself would be beneath him, so he had one of his underlings do it instead. An even shorter German grabbed me by the arm and led me away to another group of soldiers, and they made me drop to my knees while they searched me, kicked me, and humiliated me in front of onlookers.



Then I was taken to the nearby jail. There I had some time to consider what I had done. They did let me out later that same day, since I had not really done anything, but really I think they just didn’t want to have to feed me.

Back at my new home, Pierre reprimanded me for my careless actions. He explained how running away could have ended very badly. I was lucky the Germans were in a good mood because of their victory. Pierre then told me that he and some of the other men in town were thinking of forming a resistance group, to do whatever they could, to resist the occupiers. He had heard talk in town that similar groups were beginning to form all over. We would resist in a planned organized way, to maximize the effectiveness and minimize the danger. This all sounded good to me, so I told him to count me in. It would definitely help me with my plan to get that Nazi officer.

To be continued with Part 2: The Partisan Attack


Le Occupation: Que les ce qui ne peut pas être changé doit être enduré. Courir Rey courir!