Andrée's War

by Francelle Bradford White

  On a hot summer evening, François sat in the drawing room of his flat in the rue de Bourgogne, waiting for Alain. The windows were wide open, but there was little relief from the heat. Living in Paris was becoming ever more dangerous for young men in their early twenties. The Germans assumed that every youth on the streets of Paris was involved in some form of underground activity and would search and arrest them under the slightest pretext.

  François heard someone coming up the stairs. He recognised Alain’s light, determined step and the pre-arranged coded knock on the door. Safely inside the flat, the men embraced. It had been a long time since they last met and François was eager to hear Alain’s news. But the main purpose of their conversation had only one aim; how they were going to save Martial. François had been busy with his own contacts, and he thought he might have access to a general who might prove amenable to helping them – for a decent price. Alain confirmed that they could use the OSS money. First, however, they needed to know exactly when Martial was due to be deported. Here, Alain suggested, Andrée might be able to help them.

  Throughout July 1944, Parisians were living in anticipation of an Allied victory. The success of the Allied forces in making their way through occupied France had given the French a new-found confidence and as they awaited their arrival, eagerly yet nervously, new Resistance groups began to emerge all over the country. Paris, a city downtrodden by German occupation for four long years, was awakening from a nightmare.

  Andrée was feeling optimistic as she walked to work. She had got up early to attend mass at Notre Dame before going into work. She wanted to thank God for helping her to talk her way to freedom and pray for the Allied victory and the Liberation of Paris. The cathedral was buzzing with nervous excitement and as she emerged into the July sun, she sensed that something interesting might be about to happen.

  At work she made her way up the wide staircase to her office, opened the windows and looked down on to the river, at the barges negotiating the fast-flowing Seine. As she later wrote that night: ‘It won’t be long now before I will be able to stop working in this dreadful place.’

  It was mid morning when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and was surprised to hear François de Rochefort at the end of the line. After exchanging pleasantries, François asked if he could have back the novel she had borrowed from him and suggested that they meet at lunchtime in the restaurant adjoining the Châtelet. Andrée agreed at once, knowing it was serious. Never would any of her Resistance colleagues normally arrange to meet her so openly in the middle of the day in a public place.

  She found it difficult to concentrate after the call, wondering about what François might want and whether she would be off on another trip soon. Then the phone rang again, bringing her back to reality. This time it was Rohrbach with yet another dinner invitation; her courteous prior refusals had not dampened his enthusiasm. Andrée was reluctant, but felt that she ought to agree, given his helpful intervention in Bordeaux. Arranging to meet a couple of days later, she decided they would go to the Quartier Latin, where hopefully no one would notice she was having dinner with a German. His French was excellent, which certainly helped.

  The rest of the morning went by slowly, but eventually it was close to noon. She left the building, emerging into the midday sun, and crossed the bridge leading towards the Châtelet, Paris’s leading musical theatre.

  François had chosen the restaurant carefully. Despite the war, he was still a wealthy man and a frequent visitor to the best restaurants in Paris, where more often than not he knew the head waiter and could be sure of getting a good table. As always, he was exquisitely dressed in an immaculate suit, though he had lost weight over the last four years. Andrée wondered where his soft black leather shoes came from.

  Within minutes of her arrival, a thick piece of Charolais rump steak with some frites and mayonnaise appeared on the table. In her head she tried to work out how many food coupons and how much money would have gone into this meal, but it didn’t stop her from enjoying her lunch.

  As they ate, François said casually and quietly that he had invited her to lunch to discuss Martial. Andrée was, of course, aware of Martial’s detention at Fresnes and of his imminent deportation to Buchenwald. She and Yvonne had talked of little else since hearing the news. But she had no idea why François would want to talk to her about the situation, still less in public. She tried not to let her concern for Martial show in her voice or countenance; clearly François did not want to draw attention to their conversation.

  François continued to talk lightly, as though discussing the weather. ‘We have a plan which may help to stop Martial from being deported. There is a German general who may be able to help us, but it is vital that no one else knows about this. I need to give him some of the gold coins you have in return for his help.’

  ‘How on earth did you come up with that plan? Does anyone else know?’ asked Andrée with surprise.

  ‘No. As always, the fewer who know about our plans the better.’

  ‘I can get you the money, of course. But surely you didn’t need to invite me here just to say that?’

  ‘No, I also need your help. Firstly, when I have the meeting to discuss the terms I will need an interpreter on hand in case the German prefers not to speak French. Alain tells me you speak German?’

  ‘Yes, and no. I used to be quite good, but have not spoken German since I left for England in 1936.’

  ‘But would you still understand enough to act as an interpreter?’

  ‘I think so. I have heard German spoken around me solidly at Police Headquarters for the last four years and always understand what is going on.’

  ‘Perfect, then would you agree to join us for lunch?’

  ‘Of course, if you think I can help.’

  ‘Thank you. You will be an asset; I am sure the general will enjoy dining with you.’

  ‘What else can I do to help?’

  ‘My second request is a little more complicated,’ François explained. ‘We know Martial is being held at Fresnes. If we can agree a price with the general, he will need to know when Martial will be moved from Fresnes to the Gare de Pantin. He is not prepared to make any enquiries himself. We therefore need to find someone else who can tell us in advance when Martial will be moved.’

  ‘I understand – but what can I do? I work in the Passport Department.’

  François was confident that there were some German officers who could be bribed. He was sure she could find someone at Police Headquarters who would help.

  Andrée was taken aback by his request. She told François that, firstly, it was far too dangerous to even attempt such a thing and, secondly, even if she was prepared to do it, she had no idea who to approach.

  François had ordered for both of them and a large pear was now placed in front of each diner. Andrée could hardly believe her eyes. She had not seen a pear for months. Finding fresh fruit was almost impossible.

  They ate in silence. Andrée knew that without a plan, Martial would likely die at Buchenwald. But could she do what they asked? Before she left, François urged her to think carefully about it. They had money; they could afford to pay handsomely for the right person. Andrée smiled at her friend; she would do her best.

  Later that week, Andrée was preparing to have dinner with Rohrbach. She had brought the outfit she planned to wear that evening with her to work. She had only recently finished making it and to do so had used some material she had bought in exchange for two old suits. She slipped on the black cotton dress and looked down at the large white collar she had had such difficulty sewing on. The dress had a wide belt which accentuated her waistline and several large white buttons down the front. She looked at herself critically in the mirror, smiled and walked out of the building on to the Cour de Notre Dame, where she had arranged to meet Rohrbach.

  He was waiting for her, and they greeted each other with a formal handshake. Had their countries not been at war, a close friendship might have deve
loped between them, but both understood it was not that straightforward.

  Andrée liked her colleague, but she also knew he could be useful. Although a Wehrmacht officer, Andrée believed that he was not a Nazi. Despite many exchanges at work, this was the first time they had met outside the confines of Police Headquarters. They walked to the Quartier Latin to take advantage of the lovely summer evening, stopping at a café along the way to enjoy the sun and drink an aperitif.

  Rohrbach could tell that something was worrying Andrée. She was not her usual smiling self, despite her best efforts to appear so. He asked her whether anything was wrong. He did not point out that, with the imminent arrival of the Americans, she ought to be feeling positive, but he may well have thought it. She began to cry and he tried to comfort her, asking if he could help her in any way. Drying her eyes, Andrée told him about her close friend, Martial de la Fournière, due to be deported from Fresnes to Buchenwald. She explained that Martial had been arrested on the grounds that back in 1940 he had helped a Jewish friend escape from Paris. This had never been proved, but his name had remained on the Gestapo files. As the Allies approached Paris, many people were being arrested, often with little grounds for suspicion. Beseechingly, she asked him whether there was any way that he could find out the planned day and time of her friend’s departure for Germany.

  Rohrbach was forever trying to create a closer friendship with Andrée. He listened intently and, after hearing the whole story, said he would do his best to help her. In fact, he promised her, he would personally attend to it the next morning. Andrée could not believe that it could be so simple. She composed herself, smiled warmly and thanked him for his help. She tried very hard not to show her enormous relief at the help he was prepared to offer without pressing her more on the subject of why she wanted to know so badly – and without the question of money being mentioned.

  They ate dinner at a restaurant on the rue Montalembert, followed by liqueurs and coffee. Andrée made sure to keep the conversation light and friendly, as they talked about their families and where they had been brought up. Rohrbach walked Andrée to the métro, told her how much he had enjoyed the evening and said au revoir.

  True to his word, a couple of days later, when Andrée was sitting in Rohrbach’s office waiting for one of his colleagues to sign her batch of passports, he gave her a piece of paper with the date and time that Martial and other prisoners held in Fresnes were to be moved to the Gare de Pantin (a small station on the outskirts of eastern Paris, not generally used by passengers – prisoners bound for deportation were assembled here).

  The Claridge Hotel* was a few minutes’ walk from the Champs-Élysées. François and Andrée were to meet the General in the main dining room of the hotel. Andrée had worked through the weekend and was looking forward to some time away from the endless preparation of passports. She was also looking forward to a good lunch. As Andrée lay in bed thinking about the day ahead, she wondered what to wear. She wanted to look attractive, elegant and professional. Looking good would make her feel confident and it was confidence that she needed most. The lack of coupons or money with which to buy clothes over the last four years had made it difficult for a young twenty-three-year-old to dress well, but Andrée had been clever in making the best of what she had and she was lucky enough to have a generous older sister. Renée had given her a navy-blue Lanvin dress a few years ago; that would hopefully do the job.

  The dress was made of fine, almost silk-like, navy-blue cotton. Large pearl-coloured buttons were sewn down the front, and the material was gathered at the waistline. She also had a hat from Lemonier, one of Paris’s most famous hat designers, which she had won in a raffle in aid of prisoners of war at the races at Le Tremblay.* To complete her outfit, she had her shoes from Bordeaux and the brown crocodile handbag she had been given for her twenty-first birthday. All in all, considering what lay ahead, she looked remarkably poised and calm as she ate her breakfast.

  Yvonne, who suffered from asthma and was not feeling well that day, sensed that something important was happening. Andrée had not told her parents anything about the plan, to avoid any risk to them, but her mother suspected that it was to do with Martial. She watched her daughter nervously as she dipped bread into her coffee. Edmond, who had returned unexpectedly the previous evening from Rochefort, was restless. He had wanted to listen to a BBC broadcast, but as soon as Yvonne realised that he was setting up the radio, she told him furiously to put it straight back in the cellar. If the flat was ever searched and a radio was found, there would be serious repercussions for the whole family.

  Andrée looked at herself in the mirror, adjusted her belt and felt confident that the result was what she had hoped for. Edmond looked up from his paper and complimented his daughter. Yvonne sensed danger, but hugged her daughter goodbye and didn’t ask questions.

  Andrée walked purposefully into The Claridge and made her way to the large salon. The General* had been asked to stand by the mantelpiece and wait for a young lady to approach him. The Claridge was unusually quiet. Andrée saw the tall, stiff military-looking man and felt sure he was her target. She walked towards him and greeted him confidently. Despite wearing civilian clothes, he looked so German. The cloth may have been British, but the suit had not been made in Savile Row.

  Andrée suggested they move into the restaurant and as she led the way, the General asked where she had learnt her German. François was already at the table. He stood up to greet his guests and as they sat down they took stock of each other discreetly. The dining room was small, with only a few tables, spaced to give guests some privacy. The tables had been formally laid with thick white linen tablecloths. The head waiter did his best not to show any surprise at the young French pair having lunch with a German who appeared to be in his late forties.

  François offered the General a drink and they settled on a bottle of Bordeaux. He was pleased to see that his guest appeared to know his wine. The hotel was noted across Paris for its foie gras, and so it was agreed they should start with that. François told the General that the béarnaise sauce was also outstanding and suggested Charolais to follow. As they discussed the menu, Andrée forgot to be nervous; she was too busy contemplating the amazing meal they were about to have.

  After ordering, François came straight to the point. He spoke quietly but clearly in French, which Andrée translated. After assuring the General that they were in a trusted environment where no one could overhear them, François explained that a friend, Martial de la Fournière, was to be taken to the Gare de Pantin within the next few days and put on a deportation train for Buchenwald. They were prepared to offer the General a substantial amount of money in return for his help in securing Martial’s escape.

  The General was prepared for the proposal. He named his figure, to which François agreed, and he said simply that he understood the request and knew how he would implement it. Andrée opened her handbag discreetly and passed to the General a piece of paper with the date and time that Martial and the other prisoners were to be moved. They agreed to meet at The Claridge Hotel on the day the train was due to leave, from where they would drive together to the Gare de Pantin.

  François stated rather delicately that the General would only be paid once Martial had been freed. The General agreed. As the foie gras arrived and they began to eat, Andrée and François exchanged glances; both knew they had no option but to trust their dining companion.

  The day arrived. Their pre-arranged plans began smoothly; the General picked up François from outside The Claridge. That morning Andrée went into her father’s study and took the key to the cellar from his desk. In the cellar she carefully moved aside the wine bottles and took out some of the gold coins. Back upstairs she packed a bag with some of Alain’s old clothes for Martial. Then she left for François’s flat on the rue de Bourgogne; once they had Martial, they would take him there to rest for a few hours before moving him to a safer location.

  With a soldier at the wheel, François and t
he General drove to the station. They arrived on the platform as the prisoners were herded onto the carriages. Soldiers were shouting at the prisoners to move faster and François was alarmed at the chaotic scene; how would they even find Martial in the midst of all this, let alone extract him? But the General seemed to know exactly where to stop the car. Telling François to remain seated and on no account to draw attention to himself, he stopped a German army captain and demanded that prisoner de la Fournière be brought to him immediately.

  The captain was taken aback. He protested that he had not received any orders instructing him to hand over any of the prisoners. The General shouted at him to obey the order immediately or face the consequences:

  ‘I want that prisoner handed over to me. We have not finished with that one yet.’17

  The captain did not dare to argue further with a general of the Wehrmacht, and called for Martial de la Fournière to be found and brought forward.

  Unshaven, hungry and weak, Martial did not understand what was happening when he was pulled out of line and marched away from the train. He assumed he was about to be killed as he ended up in front of the General, who promptly told him to get into the back of the car. He was so disoriented that when he saw François in the car he simply did not react at all.

  The General instructed the driver to continue to the rue de Bourgogne. As they drove off, he muttered to François that he had taken a great risk and that the rest of their plan had better go smoothly. François assured him that they would meet Andrée with the money as promised.

  Andrée was waiting anxiously inside the entrance to François’s flat. She was worried the concierge might take an interest in what was going on, despite François’s assurances that, although he might be curious, he was trustworthy and discreet. She listened for the car’s arrival, hoping desperately that the general had not betrayed them. François was confident that money was the motivating factor at play and had told Andrée he expected no trouble, but she still feared a trap of some kind. As the car drew up, she took a deep breath and stepped out onto the street. The General and François got out of the car. Andrée handed over the gold coins, which she had placed in a small black bag. The General picked a few out and looked at them in silence for a while. He then gave the bag to François, saying he needed no payment. François, utterly taken aback, quickly opened the car door and ushered the bewildered Martial out.