by Jeanne Gask
The big girl took hold of Jeanne’s hand and ran out of the school, across the playground and up the road. ‘Come on, faster, faster!’ she urged. Quick, quick . . . as fast as they could, up to the end of the road, round the corner, down a long, long road, miles long. But where were they going? And why in such a hurry? Jeanne hadn’t even had time to take off her gingham school pinny and she had never worn it outside school. She felt quite embarrassed. It didn’t feel right at all.
Still they ran on, the big girl egging her on. ‘Come on, come on!’
Jeanne was puffing, breathless, and her legs were aching. They couldn’t possibly carry her any further.
Just when she felt she couldn’t run another step, she saw her Daddy in his long winter coat standing at the end of the road by a German army car. Next to him there was a German officer with a huge silver plaque across his chest.
‘Papa . . . Daddy.’ She hurled herself against him.
Tom bent down crying. He kissed his daughter and said, ‘Goodbye, Jeannot. There’s my good girl.’
The German got hold of his arm roughly and said, ‘Come on!’ They got in the car and sped away, leaving the two breathless, puzzled girls standing on the street corner staring where the car had been.
‘What on earth was all that about? Why has my Daddy gone with that German?’ It made no sense. It made no sense at all.
4. Departure Days
It only took Nell a matter of hours to find out where Tom was being held. All the British men in the area were being rounded up and locked up in Calais Town Hall. Nell went straight there that evening, but wasn’t allowed to see Tom. She wasn’t deterred. She would try again the next day.
‘Come on, let’s try and see Daddy today,’ she said to the girls.
From that day on Nell’s chin was tilted a little higher. There was an air of defiance about her and it stayed with her for the next four-and-a-half years.
The imposing Flemish-style Calais Town Hall stands alone in the town centre, a monument to civic pride. One might think it is very old but in fact it was only finished in 1926. Surrounded by formal gardens, the centrepiece is the magnificent bronze group, The Six Burghers of Calais by Rodin.
Back in 1346, Edward III of England, fresh from his victory at nearby Crecy, laid siege to the town of Calais. The town was considered a valued prize for the English being the nearest point on the continent of Europe. After eleven months the starving Calaisiens were forced to request terms of surrender. Their six noblest citizens, the burghers, presented themselves to the English king in long shirts, barefoot, with the keys of the town around their necks. Edward III was for beheading them but Queen Philippa, his wife, fell to her knees and pleaded for their lives. The burghers were spared and the town was taken.
There they now stand, larger than life, caught by the sculptor in attitudes of submission and humility.
Going up the Town Hall steps, the visitor finds himself in the main entrance hall, and up the steps to the right, he comes to the first floor. On the left is a huge reception room extending along the whole frontage of the building but turning right is a smaller, longish room with an allegorical mural depicting Spring on the wall at the far end. This is the Salle des Marriages, the room in which the civil wedding ceremony following the church weddings are held. This is the room in which the British men were imprisoned. Incidentally, General Charles de Gaulle married his wife Yvonne Vendroux in this room.
Calais in 1940 had a sizeable British population. As well as the two British-owned firms, Courtaulds and Bramptons, there were port authority and customs employees as well as ex-servicemen employed by the British War Graves Commission keeping the First World War cemeteries manicure-tidy. There were also remnants from that war, exservicemen who had chosen not to go home to their wives and families after the armistice of 1918 and now had French ‘wives’ and children. All these men knew each other.
They now sat in a group and conjectured, questions coming more easily than answers. What would happen to them? They were all civilians; the Geneva Convention was there to protect them. How long would they be held here? Where would they all go? And their families, what would happen to them?
Then they would fall silent, each going through his own private hell.
Another conversation would start up: Had anyone seen old Bill since the invasion? Maybe he’s got away? And a rueful cheer would go up as yet another victim was brought in.
At any time of day or night, little knots of relatives, friends and neighbours were to be seen, heads tilted backwards, exchanging news and information with the prisoners up at the windows. Nell and the girls went every day.
‘What’s the food like?’ they called up to Tom. ‘Are you getting enough to eat? Shall we bring you something?’
‘No, no. Keep it for the girls. It’s not as good as Chez Marielles’ Sunday menu, but we can’t grumble. No, don’t bring anything. Keep it for the girls. Oh, Nell, can you go round to George’s and tell his wife he needs his overcoat.’
‘Tom, May’s worried about Sandy’s asthma . . .’
‘Sandy’s all right, don’t worry. Tell her he’s all right, we’ll look after him.’
As the days went on Jeanne noticed a puzzling damp patch spreading below the left-hand window of the Salle des Marriages, each day getting wider and longer, until it eventually reached the ground. The smell was awful.
The men were peeing in the town of Calais’ ceremonial dinner service and tipping it out of the window, just like medieval housewives!
On the tenth day, Nell was on her way to visit Tom yet again when she was held up at the level crossing at Gare des Fontinettes. A train was stopped in the station and, to her horror, she recognised some of the men looking out of the windows. She gasped. There was Sandy Youll, Reg Rainey and others. She ran out of the car, through the gate and along the platform calling ‘Tom, Tom!’ and there he was, squashed against the window like a sardine as there were too many men to a carriage. They held hands until the train pulled away, bound for an unknown destination.
Nell went straight on to the Kommandantur but could not get much information from the authorities. A few days later she was told, ‘Report here in 24 hours. You are going to rejoin your men.’
As she left the Town Hall, she turned and faced the sea. So far and yet so near! They could stand on Calais beach on a clear day and see the silhouette of Dover Castle emerging out of the mist. No wonder the German troops arriving in Calais had asked where the ‘canal’ was!
How worried her parents and Rikkie her sister must be, she mused. Nellie, her mother, hadn’t been too well lately, but nevertheless had invited Tom, Nell and the girls to come and stay with them in Birmingham until ‘it all blew over’. They should have taken up the offer, she thought, bitterly.
And there she was being sent heaven knows where. Still, it sounded, from what she had been told, that they might be rejoining Tom. Maybe they would all land up together in the same internment camp and that wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least they’d be together.
She went home and packed a bag for each of the girls to carry containing clothes, an extra pair of shoes, a toilet bag and a towel. She then rolled up a small blanket for each of them, like a long sausage, so the girls could wear it across their backs, strapped at the front. They just didn’t know where they would sleep. She herself would carry a small suitcase and a bag, her fur coat doubling as a blanket.
While she was packing, one of Tom’s workmen turned up. He touched his forelock. ‘Beg pardon, Madame Tom, I’ve been sent for Monsieur Tom’s car. All the English foremen’s cars are going to be walled up, so the Boche won’t get their hands on them.’
And so they were. A wall was built around the cars and they didn’t see the light of day again until the end of the war.
The next morning, at ten o’clock sharp, Nell and the girls climbed aboard a German army lorry with wooden slatted seats down each side. There were other women and children, mostly French wives of British men. Nell was
to meet very few other English women on her travels.
The lorry stopped for the night at a place called Les Attaques. A tall soldier served a German army issue meal from a large drum, and Jeanne went up for seconds. The German laughed and shook his head as he served her. He couldn’t believe that anyone could actually like the stuff.
They were escorted in a group across the road to the school lavatories. The French women called out bawdy suggestions concerning the armed guard’s mother, his sisters, and his own lack of manhood. The young soldier looked the other way, embarrassed. He had no doubt what was being said and you could see his point of view. He hadn’t joined the mighty German army to play nursemaid to a lot of women and children.
The three girls joined two young men throwing stones at a plum tree in the vicarage garden next door, hoping the fruit would fall their way, until the village priest came out of his back door and told them off. They all retreated back inside, giggling. These two young men landed in the men’s internment camp a little later and were able to tell Tom that his family was also on the move.
They arrived at Lille the next day. Marching through the street they were filmed by a German army news team on a lorry, Jeanne at the front, grinning up at the camera.
They were taken in the afternoon to Caserne Negrier, an army barracks, only to be told that the men had left just hours before; moved on for an unknown destination.
They lined up and were handed each a hunk of bread and a mug of coffee by a Catholic Youth group. Jeanne must have been hungry for she remembered the meal long afterwards.
The children spread out to familiarise themselves with their new surroundings. Some came running up. ‘There’s a prisoner, we’ve found a prisoner!’ They all ran over in a group. The young man was imprisoned in a cellar, looking out of the barred window at ground level. He stared dolefully at the children and the children stared at him. Not a word was spoken.
In the early evening they were on their way again.
They arrived at Marc-en-Bareuil on the outskirts of Lille, a Catholic Priests’ training college that had been requisitioned as a ‘sorting-out’ concentration camp for anyone who wasn’t French. Whole circuses from Eastern Europe, gypsies, travellers returning from holiday, cabaret turns, foreigners who had lived in France for years, they all landed up at the College des Pretres de Marc-en-Bareuil.
Nell and the girls were in the English wing of the college, along with the families from Calais and others who had joined them from nearby towns. They were to be there for six weeks.
The German guards there weren’t fighting men, but rather those too old or sick to be at the front and were longing to go home. The Commandant, friendly and rotund, looked more suited to running a pub than a concentration camp. He was immediately nicknamed Grosplein-de-soupe (Fatty-full-of-soup) by the inmates.
Camp life was very boring. Time lay heavy on everyone’s hands and some of the children got up to mischief. A Romanian circus boy pulled a knife out in an argument with an English boy and scandalised the residents of the English wing.
They would file into the refectory at meal times. A massive hairless man with huge hands stood by the door, guillotining the bread. Jeanne was very frightened of him and would hurry past him. They ate unappetising ersatz (substitute) German food and drank lime tea or water. The diet was monotonous to the extreme.
The priests and nuns were still living at the college, sometimes seen emerging from doors marked ‘private’. They didn’t speak but welcomed the internees to Mass. For the first time Jeanne attended a Catholic service. It gave her something to do. She found it so beautiful: the pale blue ceiling of the small chapel studded with silver stars; the kind faces of the painted statues; the lovely music. It was a haven of peace to a homeless girl.
After a month, they were allowed a trip into Lille – under armed guard of course. The group of half-a-dozen or so women and children were as chattering and excited as giggly girls going to their first dance. They ate in a soup kitchen. Lovely homemade soup and dry bread to dip in it was such a change from the boring camp food. Grey figures slid into the soup kitchen, ate silently, and slid out again, wordlessly. Were they on the run? Were they spies? One didn’t ask too many questions in occupied France.
After six weeks, an empty house was opened up for the family locally and, soon after, Nell enrolled the girls at the nearest school, a Convent school. Although she didn’t know what the future held, she felt that it was important that the girls carry on with their education. It was what Tom would have wished.
Irene reported back after a week there. ‘We have sewing every afternoon. We sit in a circle and while we sew we have to take it in turns to say the rosary. The small beads are equal to a Hail Mary, and every tenth bead is a larger one, and that’s the Lord’s Prayer. And all that time Sister Genevieve sits at the head of the circle, perched on a high stool, like an overstuffed penguin!’ Irene had a way with words. She went on, ‘Only the smallest, most minute stitches will do. If she’s not satisfied, Sister G. makes us unpick it and start all over again! And I try so hard, I keep pricking myself. Look!’ She showed them her handiwork: a handkerchief hem with the smallest, neatest stitches they had ever seen, and, by each stitch, a single bloodstain, such was her effort.
After a month, the owners of the house returned and so they were moved again to another house nearby.
The next family would not be back in a hurry. They were English and had fled to England at the outbreak of war, leaving everything behind. There they were, smiling a welcome out of the photo frames in the sitting room: Mr and Mrs Cook and their two daughters. Outside the house a beautiful Alsatian dog stood guard but Nell found it impossible to feed it and had to give it away.
Anyone who has lived through the winter of 1941 will tell you it was one of the coldest on record; the snow and ice seemed to last for months. But Nell and the girls were safe and cosy with English books to read, and the Cook girls’ toys to play with. As Christmas approached, Marie found a box marked ‘Crib’ in the attic. She brought it down and set it up in the sitting room, which glowed in the candlelight. It brought a little of the magic of Christmas to them.
Irene had found a book of English Christmas carols and the girls sang them for Nell. Jeanne just about managed to twist her French vowel sounds around the difficult English words.
Around this time, Irene, on her way to school, rescued a kitten being stoned by a gang of boys. She clutched the shivering bundle to her chest and pleaded with Nell to be allowed to keep it. The little kitten gave them hours of fun. Nell called it Tom because he was so affectionate. Tom would climb on her shoulder and pinch food from her mouth!
Then, as spring came, with no warning, they were on the move again for an unknown destination. As Jeanne left the convent school for the last time, she burst into tears. It wasn’t that she had been particularly happy or unhappy there, she was just tired of being uprooted, she wanted to know that she belonged somewhere. Sister Agnes, Jeanne’s form teacher, turned to two girls who were being kept behind for detention, and said spitefully, ‘Look, she’s crying, she’s sorry to leave us, and she’s done nothing. It’s you, you bad girls, who should be sent away!’
5. Hardship Days
Cambrai at first sight was a sad, grey town full of sad, grey people.
Twenty-five years earlier, the town had been at the forefront of First World War fighting, the scene of the first full-scale tank battle in history. The small town had never fully recovered. Traces of the heavy fighting could still be seen on the pitted houses.
Nell and the girls were taken down an old, unkempt street. They stopped in front of a tall forbidding house and the front door was opened. The owners had fled and their home was now the ground floor of this house.
There were two rooms. The living room had a large, old-fashioned dining table, a pot-bellied stove and a connecting double door through to another room. In better days this would have been the dining room, but it now housed two double beds and a washstand. Th
e kitchen was at the end of a long, cheerless corridor. Jeanne found that if she ran down the whole length of the hall with her palm held outwards against the wall, her hand was all shiny by the time she reached the end. A glass door led into the kitchen, a damp, cold, gloomy semi-basement, going through to a scullery as ancient as could be, with old pot sinks and an antique gas stove. Nell was to cook and wash in these conditions for the next three-and-a-half years. How she must have longed for her state-of-the-art thirties kitchen with its modern gadgets and for Clothilde, her maid back in Calais.
Through the glass door there was another door through to a small courtyard with the lavatory in the corner. This was not a modern water closet, but an old-fashioned type with a lever, which opened a lid in the bottom of the pan. It was stinking in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. A big water jug had to be refilled constantly from the kitchen tap for flushing. In winter, the ice had to be broken before pouring. On a nail was a supply of newspaper squares acting as loo paper.
From the small, square yard there were a few steps up into the garden, which was sunless and enclosed by high walls on which tiny grapes never ripened.
Two Frenchwomen lived upstairs in the house: Englishmen’s wives. Jannie had the front room and Raymonde the back one. They had the bathroom of the house but no kitchen and cooked in their rooms.
Up another set of stairs was a large, empty attic including two rooms, the maids’ bedrooms no doubt. There was a powerful, closed-in, dusty, fusty, old-ladyish sort of smell about the place. Irene and Jeanne found a suitcase full of old clothes. Irene was very good at making up plays and dances, and she and Jeanne spent hours in the attic playing games of make-believe.
If they looked out of the windows at the front of the attic, they could see right over the high walls of the convent opposite into a lovely garden full of trees. Occasionally they even saw the nuns walking sedately along the paths.
