Part VI ~ I Become A Frenchman As soon as dusk fell I folded up my ‘chute, hid it under a tree and carefully noted its position. I decided for better or for worse, I would try my luck in this village. I have already mentioned that a stream lay between me and the village. I found this was wider and deeper than it appeared to be from a distance. Moreover it was swollen by the snow and partly frozen over. I got wet through by the icy cold water in crossing, and as it was snowing heavily, I must have presented a bedraggled figure as I strode down to the village in my flying kit. Not a sole or a light was to be seen -it was an eerie moment! For all I knew to the contrary, I might be walking straight into a Gestapo post! Approaching the first house I thought it might be best to try the back door. I knocked several times but without any response. I tried the next house, but still had no luck. The third house was also empty. I began to think that the village must be deserted. I walked back into the street and cautiously examined each house, but could neither see or hear any sign of life. Finally, and, I confess almost in despair, I came to the last house, which lay a little apart from the others and was a few minutes walk from the main road and canal. Here I found the front door ajar and a chink of light fell on the snow. With considerable trepidation, I pushed the door open and walked in. I was surprised to find the light came from an electric bulb. The room was a kitchen with a large table in the centre, on which I banged several times. The door opened and in walked a middle aged man of medium height with a large bushy moustache. He looked exactly what, in fact, he was -a typical sturdy French peasant. This was a dramatic moment, I held my breath! He was obviously startled at what must have appeared to him an apparition. I pulled out my invaluable phrase card, and by pointing to the appropriate sentences, managed to convey to him who I was and how I came to be there. The French man looked me up and down smiled broadly but said nothing. He left me abruptly and went into the adjoining room, carefully shutting the door behind him. I felt exhausted physically and mentally. I knew that my fate perhaps my life depended on what was going on behind that door. Then, after what seemed an interminable space of time, the door opened and in walked five people-the Frenchman and his wife, a small wizened woman, another woman with a shawl over her head, and finally Grandmother and Grandfather, both very ancient and toothless. I was taken aback and not a little touched when the woman with the shawl, who happened to be the next door neighbour of my hosts, rushed up and kissed me on both cheeks. The relief of this traditional signal of friendship was almost unbearable. The explanation was that this woman had two sons fighting with the de Gaullists in Italy. We all laughed and shook hands. In no time a meal was prepared consisting of bread, cheese, wine and coffee. As soon as the meal was over my head was nodding and I could hardly keep awake. I was led upstairs into the spare room. The furniture consisted of nothing but an enormous bed, and to see it was the very lap of luxury. I was so exhausted that I hardly remembered they even heated the bed with a hot brick. I flung off every stitch of clothing, got into the bed and slept like a log until daybreak. I next remember my hostess coming up with a breakfast of coffee and bread. Next Monsieur and Madame came up with their Grandparents-accompanying them was a young man of very striking appearance fair, clean-shaven and over six feet tall -with him was his father. The young man’s name was Paul Bodot, and to my great joy he could speak a few words of English. He had been a pilot in the French Air Force in 1938 but had been obliged to give up flying owing to defective eyesight .He was now an engineer in charge of a section and a lock of the nearby Marne-Rhinecanal. Before the war PauI had corresponded with two girls in Canada, and because of this he said he might be able to communicate with my sister in Australia. This was in response to the hope I expressed that I might in someway or other be able to let my people in Australia know of my miraculous escape. It seemed very risky to me, but Paul said he had some underground means of sending letters through secret agents in Spain. Unfortunately, he was not able to get a letter through until the Americans had driven the Germans from France. At that time Paul did not know what had happened to me. I mention the incident to show the kind of man Paul Bodet is. To relieve my anxiety and that of my people. he was ready to take a risk which might have delivered him into the hands of the Gestapo. Paul explained that he would immediately . . . visit the H.Q. of the Resistance Movement in Nancy and tell them about me !
Posted on: Wed, 21 Aug 2013 03:13:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015