was it! In Rânes, confronted by those young men who were beating and rolling me in the dirt, my German daughter- in-law had managed, in French, to hit the nail on the head.
‘You’ll stay the night with us, of course, Paul-Jean?’ she said, pressing the letter to her chest. ‘Olivier will be so happy to see you, too.’
I clicked my heels. Trying to attenuate the curtness in my slightly quavering voice, I said, ‘Thank you, my child, but I’ll be off. I’m a little anxious about the house, you see.’
Refusing the offer of supper, I hugged my family and set off,reaching Andigny shortly before the curfew. The decision to move to German time would not be taken until several days later.
My Villa Némésis was intact, as were the others on the riverside, but all had been requisitioned to house your officers. A helmeted sentry prevented me from entering my own house.
I took a room at the Hôtel Bellevue, where I was well known, and went to bed without supper, feeling deep in my soul, and with unprecedented ferocity, how absurd was this world of ours, and how impenetrable the ways of Our Lord.
15.
The bombs dropped by your Luftwaffe on 8 June, Monsieur le Commandant, spared my home but cruelly ravaged the heart of my city.
All that was left of the beautiful buildings that had surrounded the market square was a pile of smoking ruins. The old Hôtel du Grand Cerf, dating back to Francis I and where Victor Hugo had dined, had gone up in flames from the incendiary bombs. Happily, the town hall, the silk factory and the glassworks had not been touched. Many people, on the morning of the attack, had fled to seek refuge in the neighbouring farms and villages; the rest had cowered in their cellars. There were casualties, whose sorry remains were exhibited in the market square. And some twenty soldiers had died in the fighting at the École Militaire and on their retreat down the former Avenue de la République (now Avenue du Maréchal Pétain), home to the Hôtel de Paris, the headquarters of your Kreiskommandantur. What was left of the French regiment managed to cross the Seine before blowing up the bridge, under fire from your incoming troops.
The first meeting of the Town Council took place on 24 June 1940, a few days after my return to Andigny. In the absence of Mayor Duplessis, who was still in the army, the occupying authorities appointed his secretary, Monsieur Métailié (who would later be so kind as to house me until I was restored to my home), to be his temporary replacement. On 10 July, in the course of a special meeting, eleven new members, including me, were inducted into the new Town Council (the ‘Provisional Commission for Communal Administration’). One ofour first decisions, adopted unanimously, was, at Monsieur Métailié’s suggestion, to reduce to two the number of municipal police officers – who are paid exclusively by the commune, which was already under great strain – assigned to ensure law and order and compliance with the curfew, in collaboration with the Feldgendarmes. Moreover, as a member of the Provisional Commission, I wholeheartedly advocated the timely and effective implementation within our canton of measures with respect to Jewish businesses – the former Sub-Prefect Pierval having called us to order in November concerning the Galeries du Vexin furniture shop, whose owner lives in Lyons-la-Forêt and had failed to put up a sign indicating ‘Jewish-owned’ in his shop window.
Through my new duties at the town hall and my contact with my fellow citizens and the nearby farmers whom I have known since childhood, I was able to determine that the local population, while still reeling from a rout whose causes, both deep-rooted and immediate, it but poorly understood, was maintaining its dignity. With the exception of the workers who had lost their jobs, the populace resigned themselves with a certain patience to the privations and rigours of the coming months, and valiantly returned
‘You’ll stay the night with us, of course, Paul-Jean?’ she said, pressing the letter to her chest. ‘Olivier will be so happy to see you, too.’
I clicked my heels. Trying to attenuate the curtness in my slightly quavering voice, I said, ‘Thank you, my child, but I’ll be off. I’m a little anxious about the house, you see.’
Refusing the offer of supper, I hugged my family and set off,reaching Andigny shortly before the curfew. The decision to move to German time would not be taken until several days later.
My Villa Némésis was intact, as were the others on the riverside, but all had been requisitioned to house your officers. A helmeted sentry prevented me from entering my own house.
I took a room at the Hôtel Bellevue, where I was well known, and went to bed without supper, feeling deep in my soul, and with unprecedented ferocity, how absurd was this world of ours, and how impenetrable the ways of Our Lord.
15.
The bombs dropped by your Luftwaffe on 8 June, Monsieur le Commandant, spared my home but cruelly ravaged the heart of my city.
All that was left of the beautiful buildings that had surrounded the market square was a pile of smoking ruins. The old Hôtel du Grand Cerf, dating back to Francis I and where Victor Hugo had dined, had gone up in flames from the incendiary bombs. Happily, the town hall, the silk factory and the glassworks had not been touched. Many people, on the morning of the attack, had fled to seek refuge in the neighbouring farms and villages; the rest had cowered in their cellars. There were casualties, whose sorry remains were exhibited in the market square. And some twenty soldiers had died in the fighting at the École Militaire and on their retreat down the former Avenue de la République (now Avenue du Maréchal Pétain), home to the Hôtel de Paris, the headquarters of your Kreiskommandantur. What was left of the French regiment managed to cross the Seine before blowing up the bridge, under fire from your incoming troops.
The first meeting of the Town Council took place on 24 June 1940, a few days after my return to Andigny. In the absence of Mayor Duplessis, who was still in the army, the occupying authorities appointed his secretary, Monsieur Métailié (who would later be so kind as to house me until I was restored to my home), to be his temporary replacement. On 10 July, in the course of a special meeting, eleven new members, including me, were inducted into the new Town Council (the ‘Provisional Commission for Communal Administration’). One ofour first decisions, adopted unanimously, was, at Monsieur Métailié’s suggestion, to reduce to two the number of municipal police officers – who are paid exclusively by the commune, which was already under great strain – assigned to ensure law and order and compliance with the curfew, in collaboration with the Feldgendarmes. Moreover, as a member of the Provisional Commission, I wholeheartedly advocated the timely and effective implementation within our canton of measures with respect to Jewish businesses – the former Sub-Prefect Pierval having called us to order in November concerning the Galeries du Vexin furniture shop, whose owner lives in Lyons-la-Forêt and had failed to put up a sign indicating ‘Jewish-owned’ in his shop window.
Through my new duties at the town hall and my contact with my fellow citizens and the nearby farmers whom I have known since childhood, I was able to determine that the local population, while still reeling from a rout whose causes, both deep-rooted and immediate, it but poorly understood, was maintaining its dignity. With the exception of the workers who had lost their jobs, the populace resigned themselves with a certain patience to the privations and rigours of the coming months, and valiantly returned
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