FEELING IN FRANCE

Grey River Argus, 27 September 1944, Page 5

FEELING IN FRANCE

AGAINST THE GERMANS LILLE, Sept. 25 It was a small French cafe with the usual marble-topped tables and mirrors lining the walls, one or two rows of bottles behind a small counter, with a homely atmosphere ana a huge bowl of pink gladioli .lending a dash of colour and relieving the rather drab browness of the place. In it we heard stories that are being repeated with very little difference, except in particular circumstances, throughout northern France and Belgium. A friendly Frenchman had led us there with his torch, saying we could get a snack before it closed at ten o’clock. The cafe was deserted, except for a good looking dark hailed boy who was studying Englisn from a huge nook. On a table next to him was a meal prepared for his mother .himself and the waitress. Our entry was not very welcome. They had no more food. The cate was closed for the night, said the boy. But our guide persuaded him, and sandwiches were produced and glasses. We began eating in rather a frigid atmosphere. The boy's mother settled down to her meal with a tired, but rather determined air. To break the silence, we asked her if she was tired. “No,” she said, with a hard, fixed stare. “No, I am not tired.” We suggested, with rather a naive attempt at flattery, she must be very strong. That started it. She left her meal untouched, and for two hours she and ntr son told us of their experiences under the German occupation. As the story unfolded, ham was suddenly produced to aid the sandwiches, and benedictine and cognac replaced beer. Finally a bottle of cognac, and another of benedictine were produced as a gift, and we were not allowed to pay a single franc. This woman’s story was as follows: —“I need,” she said, “to be strong. “My husband is a. prisoner of war. I have not seen him in four years. I know he is hungry, but 1 and my son have to keep the c ale going to feed others. When France fell, he was in the army. I had to seek my son, who with three refugees, was being machine-gunned on roads. It; was a terrible time. When the Germans first arrived, they tried to be friendly. They had plenty ot money to spend. But it was not long before men and women who offended the Gestapo were taken to torture chambers in Lille, where the burning of a woman’s breast with cigarette butts was only one of the less crude methods of cross examination, German soldiers came to the cafe, toox down a photo of Marshal Petain, and replaced it with one of Plitler. 1 tooic it down and smashed it on the table. Once a German struck my son because he though he was not moving fast enough. I complained to the commandant, and that soldier was sent to Russia, they said for six months. Soon many men and women began to be taken to Germany, i went to a train to try and give them some food, but it was snatched away from me by soldiers. We do not know what became of them. We would never be friendly with tne Germans, and as the years went by, our hatred grew, and often we .felt full of despair because we could see no end’to it. Then, after four yeais, we could hardly believe it was true that the Allies had landed. The Germans in their last viciousness before they left, collected some hundred people during the night, and shot them. They came to this cate, forced their'way in, and demanded drink and food at the revolver point. But they got nothing. Then they were gone and it seemed impossible that we were free again. I scarcely dared to believe it. We shall never forgive them for what they did, to us. We shall always hate them.” '‘Now,” said Madame, “they were happy to do what they could for the Allied soldiers, but they had their own customers to think of. One or two things puzzled them. One was why was there so little saluting of officers by the rankers. It was ‘droll to see a Brigadier enter for a meal and privates pay him no attention. If it were a German, soldiers would have stood up like a ramrood. Another point Was: Would France ger her colonies back, or would they be taken from her? When we returned next morning with flowers, tea, tinned milk, and a few other small gifts, we had the warmest of welcomes. This experience, slight though it may be, is typical of the undying hatred the Germans have left behind, and also of scenes going on all over the country. In Lille that morning, we saw the whole town turn out to watch a parade of the F.F.I. and apparently former soldiers. It was an example of France re-awakening and regaining her national pride, and of a determination to be a great nation again. For many years that determination will be based on hatred.