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| Marie-Claire | |
| By CliffBowes | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 29 April 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
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The facts of this story are true, the Characters of Hans, Marie Claire and her family are fictitious. I visited the town a few years ago, which is left exactly as it was on 10 June '44 as a memorial. PROLOGUE In June, dawn comes early along the riverbank just outside the small town. The sun chases away fine wisps of mist, which cling to the willow trees like white ribbons in the hair of a young girl at her first communion. Here all is still, apart from the sound of a birdsong, breaking the silence as the robin starts a new day. This is Occupied France in 1944. Life is carrying on pretty much as normal, and on a day like this the war appears to be miles away. News had begun to filter through that the Allies had made a landing in Normandy and that part of that area had been liberated. It would be a long time before they reached this small town though. The town stirs itself and begins to awake. Farmers go farming, housewives serve breakfasts and children prepare for another day at school. JUNE 9th 1944 Marie-Claire had been on her feet all day, working in the shop at the top end of the High Street. She was glad to get home to relax with her parents and younger brothers. The family sat down to a simple meal of vegetable stew and home made bread. The days of big joints of meat had long gone, together with the lovely chocolate puddings that their mother used to make. The conversation at dinner was mainly about the invasion rumours from Normandy, and estimates of about how long it would take until they were liberated. Father thought that the Germans would surrender immediately “..if it wasn’t for that madman Adolf Hitler.” When they had exhausted their estimates and predictions he changed the subject. “What are you doing tonight, Marie-Claire?” he enquired. “It is such a lovely evening I will probably go for a walk by the river,” she replied. “Mind you are not too late back then,” her father said. “There are some Boche around here in the evenings, up to no good I wouldn’t be surprised.” “Don’t worry about me, Daddy, I am eighteen years old and quite capable of looking after myself you know. Anyway, I will probably be with some of the other girls.” Marie-Claire left the family table and went into the kitchen where she drew a bowl of water and washed her hands, face and shoulders. When she had dried herself she went upstairs to her bedroom and put on a clean blouse and skirt. She had a few grams of rose water, which she had had for a few years and used it sparingly around her neck and arms. Suitably refreshed she laced up her sandals and went to say her farewells to the family. It was about 7.30pm when Marie-Claire left the house and walked along the road to the High Street where she turned left and strolled unhurriedly down the slight hill. At the corner, where the small café and the millinery shop stood either side of a little lane, she turned off and walked towards the river and the wooded edge of town. When she reached the small river Marie-Claire sat on the bank and relaxed in the warm June evening, her head full of thoughts about the war and things that her father and mother had discussed over dinner. She threw small twigs in the river and watched as the slow flowing water carried them away. She lay back on the grass and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the evening sun on her face. A shadow passed across Marie-Claire’s face and she became aware of a dark shape looming above her. “Hans – is that you?” she said. “Oui – mon cherie, it is I,” answered the tall soldier. “I am not your Dear Boy, Hansie. You should say ma cher,” Marie Claire laughingly said Marie-Claire and Feldwebel Hans Schröder had been in love with each other for at least the past three months. He was a sergeant in the “Der Führer” regiment, one of the greatly despised SS soldiers based at Nieul. Hans was different though, thought Marie-Claire; he didn’t like the war any more than she or her family did. All he wanted was for it to be over so that he could return to his beloved Germany, taking her with him as his wife. They both knew that this was not possible while the war was still on. He knew that all the local population hated him and his type, undeservedly he thought. He had never knowingly done anything to hurt any individual member of the French towns where he lived and worked. They lay together quietly, only the sound of bees buzzing around their heads disturbed the balmy evening. “What do you think will happen to us all Hans? When will this horrible war be over? I have heard rumours that the British and Americans have landed in Normandy and will be pushing through the country to liberate us from you Germans – is this true Hans?” “I don’t know if it is true or not – we are forbidden to mention it in camp. Can we change the subject and talk of our plans for the future. When will you tell your parents about us, Marie-Claire?" “That I dare not do, our love must remain our secret for a while longer, Hans. Fraternisation is not looked on kindly by our people, I suppose in time things may change – but we must be patient for a while longer.” At about nine o clock Hans stood up and said that he must be going, as the transport back to barracks would be leaving at nine-thirty. They stood up and held each other close. “Goodnight Hansie. Remember Ich leibe sie, and whatever happens we will be together in the end.” “Goodnight my Marie-Claire, Je vous aime aussie. One day I will prove to your people that I am worthy of you, and not a savage Hun as they seem to think. I will see you tomorrow, same time, same place.” He turned and went along the river-bank towards the end of the High Street where the wagon waited for him and a couple of other soldiers who had visited the local bar. Marie-Claire raised her hand to wave to him but he didn’t turn around. A shiver ran through her body and she realised that it was turning a little chilly down here by the river. She turned and headed for home. On Feldwebel Hans Schröder’s arrival back at base he found the place buzzing with activity. He went into the Sergeant’s Mess for a beer before turning in. “Have you heard the latest order, Hansie?” said a fat Sergeant from the transport division. “All time off is cancelled tomorrow, we are confined to barracks as from now, until we get a briefing later.” The briefing which came later was indeed brief. “All NCOs and men will remain in barracks until they are given instructions at 08.00hrs tomorrow morning. Hans left the Mess and went to his bed wondering what was going on. He slept well, comforted by thoughts of Marie-Claire, her rosy scent, dark hair and soft skin. He wondered whether he would see her tomorrow. At 08.00hrs following his breakfast Hans joined the other Sergeants in the Mess to await orders. They didn’t have long to wait. Major Schradel, the second in command, entered the Mess and took his place in front of the gathering. “Today the men of the ‘Der Führer’ SS regiment have the honour of performing a special mission on behalf of the Fatherland and the Führer. This mission will strike a blow against the Maquis and should silence them once and for all. Today we carry out our work in the town of ...” Here the Major paused for effect, and made sure that all his Feldwebels were paying attention. He continued "...The town of Orodour-sur-Glane.” Hans paid attention now, as this was the town where he had spent last evening with Marie-Clair, for it was her hometown. “Perhaps I will get to see her earlier than we arranged,” he thought. By nine o clock Hans was heading a group of about forty men in convoy into Orodour-sur-Glane where they were to be given further orders regarding their duties there. JUNE 10th 1944 On 10 June 1944, 642 men, women and children were brutally murdered by members of the SS under the command of Lieutenant General von Brodowski and his second in command, Major Schradel at Orodour-sur-Glane. On their orders about 500 women and children were herded into the church and burned alive. All the menfolk of the town were rounded up and machine-gunned to death in several barns. The town was then systematically burned to the ground. “It is no longer possible to speak of a German army. Our charming and peaceful countryside of France has been rifled by pillaging bands that burn our towns and savagely assassinate its inhabitants. The Germans have distinguished themselves from other peoples by their delirious taste for torture, death and blood.” In his funeral speech over the victims of the killing at Orodour, the ex-prefect of Haute-Vienne cried out: “The French language does not possess strong enough words to describe this act:. It is true that the unleashing of such monstrous instincts and the obsession with atrocities such as these has no name in any language – except however in the German language, where the term ‘Schadenfreude’ has been created and which may be translated as ‘Pleasure in doing evil’. How edifying it is when we find that in Germany such a brutal state of mind, heart and spirit should be so natural, normal and usual that it should be necessary to create a special word to designate this!” EPILOGUE The river still flowed slowly close to the town. Instead of mist sickly smoke hung over the trees and the river, hanging like black crepe ribbons on an undertakers hat. Silence reigned over the area – a silence that even the birds respected by not breaking it with their songs. Nobody stirs, nobody goes about their business, nobody is left alive. A rook flies down into the woods by the river and perches on the body of a man – a man who has died with a gun in his hand and a bullet in his brain – a man who is wearing the uniform of a Feldwebel in the Der Führer Regiment of the SS – a man called Hans.
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