Short URL for this page:
bit.ly/BMYCAP9


[image ALT: Much of my site will be useless to you if you've got the images turned off!]
mail: Bill Thayer 
[image ALT: Faire clic ici pour une page d'aide en français.]
Français

[image ALT: Cliccare qui per una pagina di aiuto in Italiano.]
Italiano

[Link to a series of help pages]
Help
[Link to the next level up]
Up
[Link to my homepage]
Home
previous:

[image ALT: link to previous section]
Chapter 8

This webpage reproduces a chapter of

Captured

by
Bessy Myers

published by
D. Appleton Century Company,
New York and London,
1942

the text of which is in the public domain.

This text has been carefully proofread
and I believe it to be free of errors.
If you find a mistake though,
please let me know!

next:

[image ALT: link to next section]
Chapter 10

The reader is reminded that the name of the dog referred to on this page, which would be unacceptable today, is that given it by Herman Huffer; it reflects his time and background.

 p235  9
"A German City"

We woke up and gazed about our room — neither of us had any inclination to get up. We turned in our beds for the sheer joy of being in a comfortable bed with clean white sheets. Darby occasionally muttered, "We should get up and have a bath."

I paid no attention — I was too comfortable to let thoughts of things which we should have to do to‑day perturb me; I buried my face farther into the soft pillow and pulled the clothes around. The next time Darby mentioned a bath I asked her to have one, and, if possible, to talk less about it, adding that seldom had I known any one who could be so fiendishly chatty in the mornings. Silence reigned, till Darby announced that it was nine-thirty. "Didn't Claire say breakfast at nine o'clock?" I asked. Darby thought that she did. We were both out of bed in a flash. I flung on my greatcoat and Darby her mackintosh — we didn't bother to wash, the thought that we might have missed breakfast drove us at top speed to Claire's room.

We were half an hour late, but tea, toast, butter, and marmalade were awaiting us. Claire and Paul could hardly get a word in edgeways; we never stopped telling them how much we appreciated having breakfast after so long.

They wanted to know if the food at Fresnes was so very  p236 bad. We explained that one could cut the soup out altogether from any food point of view, but if one liked drinking clear, colorless, warmish water one could do so twice a day, and one could cut as much dry bread as one liked. I should imagine it is possible to live on bread and water for a considerable time, but tea, toast, butter, and marmalade all at once — the joys of life are innumerable.

We arranged to meet Claire and Paul at six in the evening; they wished us a successful day. Claire had told us the only bathroom in the hotel was generally occupied. We tried it once, but decided it was no use waiting — the morning was already getting on. We cursed ourselves for not having washed our filthy camiknickers the night before. Claire's clothes fitted us fairly well, but our heavy brown service shoes rather spoilt our tout ensemble.

The proprietor of the hotel was helpful in trying to get telephone numbers we wanted, but each time we drew a blank. In some cases the phone rang, but there was no reply; all our other numbers were unobtainable — presumably the telephone had been cut off.

Huffer's name was not in the telephone book. Again the proprietor did the best he could. He got a map of the Métro, and from the addresses we had given him worked out the quickest way by Métro.

It was quicker to go first to Darea, an old friend of mine, then on to Huffer's flat, which was near‑by. The proprietor thought that the fact that we could not get in touch with our friends did not mean that they were not there. The telephone, he told us, was very unreliable these days.

He asked us to fill in the hotel registration forms before we  p237 left. I was busy filling in mine when Darby exclaimed, "Where shall we say we have come from?"

"The Cherche-Midi, or Fresnes, or both."

"We can't possibly put that."

"Why not?" As Darby seemed more sensitive about our prison records, I suggested Soissons. Darby, who is accurate by nature, objected to writing Soissons, as it was not true.

"My dear, I don't care two hoots about what we put, but let's write something — the morning's half gone already."

Darby decided to ask the proprietor to fill in that part of the forms, and he whisked them away. I never found out what he wrote; I heard no more about them.

The boulevards looked as beautiful as ever; we arrived at the Étoile, which was near to Darea's flat. The concierge said she had left on the 12th of June: she had given an address for her letters to be forwarded, but they had been returned. Like many who had left Paris in that ghastly rush, there was no further news of her. I left a note in case she should return.

We walked toward Huffer's flat. Though we had little hopes of finding him there, we were not unduly depressed; we still had three more friends whom we hoped we might find. A few minutes' walk brought us to the Avenue Henri Martin. I suggested sitting on one of the benches — I felt I must smoke; Darby readily agreed.

"You know, Myers, we've done absolutely nothing to‑day, but I feel quite tired — do you?"

I thought the matter over and decided that I did.

Darby said, "Did you ever notice how slowly we all took the stairs after promenade the last weeks in the Cherche-Midi?"

 p238  "No, I can't say I noticed."

"Oh, I did; it always struck me."

We wandered on to Huffer's flat. Darby had been there before, when Huffer had given a dinner party for the Château de Blois unit the night before they left for the front. We inquired of the concierge whether he was in.

"Il est sorti," she replied.

She had said, "sorti," not "parti"; it seemed too good to be true. "Quand reviendra‑t‑il ?"

She didn't know, but told us his valet was upstairs in the flat; we could call to him from the courtyard. We followed her there almost dazed; could it be as simple as this? We knew if we could only find him he would be delighted to see us, and we never questioned that he would do his utmost for us. Once he set his mind on doing a job, he saw it through. That Herman Huffer, Jr., was to spend the next few days as a modern Scarlet Pimpernel; that he was to risk his personal liberty and give us carte blanche with his time and money — all this, I regret to say, we took as a matter of course at the time. We often said, "Well, thank goodness we have Huffer to help us," but we never fully appreciated how much he had risked for us until weeks afterwards, when we were hacking our way along the South of France. It was then, when we were sometimes in the depths of despair, that we realized we should not have got as far as we had, or reached England during the war, had not Herman Huffer made it possible that we should not lack money in the event of any emergency, and, regardless of the consequences to himself, set us on the path home.

In response to the shrill cries of the concierge, Pierre, Huffer's valet, put his head out of the window; he recognized  p239 Darby at once. Further explanations were unnecessary; he was in the courtyard in a second. The words poured forth. Monsieur Huffer had just gone out, Monsieur would be désolé to have missed us. Monsieur had been so worried. He would be back by five-thirty. He himself just could not tell us how upset he had been when he heard that two of Monsieur's conductrices anglaises were prisonnières. . . .

"Could we go upstairs and leave a message for Monsieur Huffer?" The flat, we were told, was entirely at our disposal.

We wrote a brief note saying we should be back at five-thirty.

Pierre was very concerned about us. Where had we been all this time? When we mentioned the Cherche-Midi we impressed him. A friend of his, a soldier, had been imprisoned there for a military offence; he had been allowed to see him, "mais cette prison, c'est formidable ; pour les soldats on peut comprendre, mais jamais pour les femmes."

There it was, we told him. We had spent nearly a month there, and in solitary confinement, except for the bugs.

That amazed him more than ever. "Jamais de la vie, tut, tut. Oh, la la !" He said his friend and the soldiers generally had never been kept in solitary confinement; they had spent much of their time in their cells, but they always had their meals in the dining-room, where they had been allowed to spend many hours. "Comme vous avez souffert !"

It was the first time we had had sympathy oozed at us. Claire and Paul could not have been nicer, but we had been so busy exchanging views and making plans that there had been no time for sympathy other than a complete understanding of each other's difficulties. Now that sympathy was being  p240 poured upon us we readily accepted; it was true enough we had had a pretty rough time. . . .

Pierre asked if he could lend us some money. We thanked him and explained we had ample until we met Monsieur Huffer.

We floated along the Avenue Henri Martin with soaring spirits. Lunch now was the chief topic of conversation; to spend five hundred francs on lunch seemed possible, but rather extravagant. I thought it would be fitting but expensive to lunch at the Pavillon Royal; I was going through a long list of the possible things we might eat, when I was interrupted by a piercing scream from Darby: "Huffer! Mr. Huffer!"

A Château de Blois ambulance flashed by, a screeching of brakes. Nigger barking excitedly, Darby and I running toward Huffer's amazed face: "God dammit, God dammit, where have you two been?"

"In the Cherche-Midi."

"Why didn't you communicate with me? I've been back some weeks." To give a coherent account in the middle of the road of the whys and wherefores since we had last met was difficult. Huffer wanted to know when we were released.

"Last night."

"Why didn't you phone me?"

"You are not in the telephone book."

"Why didn't you get on to my sister? You know her name."

This stumped us; we had not thought about it. Huffer considered we should have done; then instead of his having to dash off to lunch now we could have got together and talked. As it was, he could not be back until five-thirty.

"Have you got any money?"

 p241  "Yes, thanks, heaps till this evening."

"Well, you had better take this," Huffer said, handing us a thousand-franc note. "There are sure to be odds and ends you want to buy — never yet met a woman who didn't. And where are you off to now?" We told him we were just going to lunch. Huffer would not hear of it; his cook could easily fix up something, and in any case he thought the occasion demanded a drink. We returned to his flat, which was large and beautifully furnished. From the Cherche-Midi and Fresnes to a luxurious block of flats was a far cry.

In a few minutes we had given Huffer a brief picture of our wanderings, and he gave us an account of his. Kruger, Otto, Lloyd Bennet had got through safely with Drs. le Maire and le Nègre and had joined Huffer, Heard, and Angus at Saint-Valérien on the 14th of June. They realized France was collapsing, and Huffer decided the best thing was to make for Bordeaux immediately. Angus and Heard took three wounded R. A. F. men on to Orléans: Huffer had not heard from them since. They might, he thought, have been taken prisoners, or contacted an R. A. F. base and got home. Kruger, Otto, Lloyd Bennet, and he, after a tremendous fight on packed roads, made Bordeaux, where they met the Hadfield Spears and other units of the M. T. C. who had arrived there safely. They sailed for England, and Huffer returned to Paris.

"Déjeuner est servi," Pierre announced. Huffer had to go. We started lunch.

It was some time since we had said that nothing would ever surprise us again; we were not actually surprised, but the meal seemed strange and unreal. There were so many excellent courses excellently cooked and perfectly served, our surroundings were redolent of comfort, the cut glass sparkled in the sunlight, the  p242 wines were delicious — this after bread and water at Fresnes, it was too big a gap to jump in less than twenty-four hours. We said, "Well, well, it's a great life if you don't weaken," as we gobbled down a second and sometimes a third helping of each course; the climax came when Pierre brought in a tart au rhum when we imagined we had eaten to our capacities. We were reduced almost to tears, until we realized that we could take a deep breath and large helpings; little of the tart was left. A clock chimed two.

"You know, Darby, I think the hours of ten and three will always make me shudder. In one hour they will be tackling that soup and bread, and some of them will be tackling that soup and bread for years to come."

Darby said, "It's simply useless thinking about it."

But the mere glancing thought had made my appetite return. I got through some cheese, butter, and biscuits with ease. Darby did the same. We discussed how best to spend our money. Our resources would not buy both of us dresses, stockings, and shoes. Darby said having her hair washed was the chief thing as far as she was concerned. Mine was a dress. I asked Pierre if the Galeries Lafayette were about the cheapest and best place to try, and could I buy a dress for three or four hundred francs. He thought I might be able to, and offered to lend us a thousand francs. We thanked him, but refused.

We returned to the study and sat in the window-seat. Being able to look out of unbarred windows remained one of my greatest joys for some time. Pierre came in with coffee and liqueurs; a thousand-franc note was discreetly placed under the coffee‑pot. As soon as he left the room we burst out laughing. It was almost too much; the thousand francs, the  p243 coffee and liqueurs were the finishing touch to a perfect lunch.

Darby decided to go to the Galeries Lafayette with me. The Métro was the only form of transport; everywhere, to left, to right, behind, and in front of one, were German soldiers; they were neither loud nor noisy, but en masse they surrounded one.

On arrival at the Galeries Lafayette I explained to the vendeuse that I wanted what most women required — an extremely nice dress for very little money. She was overwhelmed to hear my English accent. "You are English, mademoiselle, surely you are English?" Nothing could give her greater pleasure than to serve "une Anglaise . . . après ces sales Boches."

"Oh, do be careful what you say. If a German overhears you can get two years' imprisonment."

"It's not possible!"

"It is not only possible, but true. I have just come from the Cherche-Midi, where two Frenchwomen were sentenced for that alone."

The vendeuse gaped at me — why had I been there, was one of the many questions she rattled off. I gave her a brief summary. I was whisked off to a fitting-room, she brought me her best models, told me to choose and not to worry about the price; the buyer would soon be along, something could be arranged.

Quite a lot was arranged. The dress I chose was 928 francs; the buyer and several other vendeuses who had accumulated in the fitting-room asked me anxiously if I could pay 650 francs. I readily agreed and felt rather mean; I had only to wait until I saw Huffer that night and I could pay the full price. They  p244 threw in a heavy crêpe de Chine slip and all alterations for nothing.

Had I powder, lipstick, scent? An affirmative did not satisfy them; I showed them what I had. "Oh, but you can never tell, you will require more than that." They insisted upon my taking what they offered. Had I sufficient money to see me through the next few days? was their next question. I assured them that I had. Was I absolutely certain; they could so easily have a quick whip around their department and raise at least a thousand francs.

There was little I could say to thank them adequately, and again assured them it was not necessary, but names and addresses were hastily written down. "Mademoiselle, one can never be too sure in this life — and will you go back to England?"

"Yes, that's my intention."

"But is it possible these days?"

"I don't know yet, but I shall try."

"Vive l'Angleterre !"

"Vive la France !"

I left them with quite a lump in my throat. I had arranged to return in an hour's time, when the alterations would be finished. Meanwhile my quest was for shoes. Darby had not bought a dress; she had dashed off to have her hair done, and we were to meet at Huffer's flat.

I wandered up and down the adjoining streets and boulevards which form the busiest shopping center of Paris. The difficulty was not that the shops lacked any display of shoes; they were all full of them, and customers. What they lacked was variety of sizes. I take a small size which is in most frequent demand in Paris, but in other than evening shoes my  p245 size seemed to have disappeared. I wandered from shop to shop.

Occasionally while waiting to be served I watched with amused interest a German officer buying Paris shoes for his wife: she infinitely patient, he politeness itself, the vendeuse discreet and obliging. The difficulty was that the average French shoe was never made for the feet of the German Hausfrau.

There were not many German women in Paris while I was there (August 9‑14), but the ones I did see were dressed in reasonably good materials. They all looked in glowing health and well nourished to the point of fatness. They might have bought their clothes in Paris during the few weeks they had been there, but they certainly could not have put on all that weight in such short time; presumably they were the wives and friends of Nazi officials who lived on what fat there was in Germany.

I became hot and exhausted and gave up my quest for shoes. I chose a seat on the pavement of a near‑by café, as I liked to watch what was going on.

Paris was quite 50 per cent fuller of civilians than on that wretched day Darby and I had been brought there from Laon by the German officer in charge of us. All the cafés were now reasonably full with a mixture chiefly French. Despite the innumerable German soldiers, the majority of the people walking in the streets were French, but all the traffic was utterly German, and as I watched the streamlined cars stop and draw up at the cafés, and saw German officers — some with their womenfolk — step out, I thought how galling, how very galling, for the French. Thank goodness this was Paris, not London.

 p246  The theaters had not yet reopened. There were a few cinemas showing French films, but the majority were plastered all over with German notices, and films were being shown for the German soldiers.

Well, this was Paris, not London. . . .

Time was slipping by. I returned to the Galeries Lafayette and again was impressed by the packed shops. German soldiers were everywhere buying what they could. It amused me to see them buying scent, powder, rouge, lipstick, to send back to Germany; they could not object to make‑up so much after all.

Huffer's cook later told me that when the Germans first came to Paris they went into all the dairies and ate pounds of butter raw. Huffer also told me they were buying up all available stocks of goods. His shirt-maker, for example, had sold out all his old and present stocks, and, much to Huffer's annoyance, was unable to make him any more. Silk stockings were practically unobtainable; they had all been sold to the Germans who paid in marks. This mark had an entirely fictitious value, but nevertheless one day the Bank of France would have to meet it in francs. Complete bankruptcy was not far off for occupied France.

Henri at Soissons had said that the Germans would go gently with the French at first, and up to a point I could see it was true. There was no boastfulness in their demeanor, one could not point a finger at any objectionable public behavior; if they wanted to inquire their way about they did so politely. They attempted little looting, except from the Jews; even that was done discreetly. Parisians had to be indoors by 11 P.M., but while I was there the time  p247 was changed to ten‑thirty. After that hour the perpetual rumblings of lorries could be heard. All Jewish property was removed under cover of darkness. If an occasional masterpiece was missing from a Frenchman's home it was just too bad — had he been there it would not have happened; when he returned who could say definitely who had stolen it?

The French, who were unaware of or shut their eyes to the horrors of the German political system, said, "They are so correct, one can not say otherwise — they are correct." It did not astonish me at all; the German Army had its orders and obeyed them. After all, human nature is such that it is difficult to work it up to a pitch when it is possible to hate all nations at the same time. They had been told to go gently with the French, but even so they could hate as much as they pleased the Poles, the Czechs, and all other races whom they considered inferior. They could hate England as much as they liked. I knew they did not despise her; they feared her more than they cared to admit. England stood between them and world "living-space."

When I arrived back at the Galeries Lafayette the vendeuse and I missed having hysterics by a narrow margin only. She had just finished serving a German woman accompanied by an officer bedecked with ribbons. As they were leaving, quite suddenly and unexpectedly his arm shot up in the air. "Heil, Hitler!" The vendeuse caught my eye. This amongst the model dresses was too much for me — it was tragedy, pathos, anything one liked, but at the time I could see only the sheer idiocy of it. I collapsed on a near‑by sofa shaking with laughter. The vendeuse kept an expressionless face until the Germans had turned their backs. Then she joined me. "I am  p248 glad that you laugh, mademoiselle; otherwise I should have cried."​a

Huffer, a connoisseur of clothes, thought my dress a great success; I had been unable to buy any stockings, and I thought my legs, such as they were, were better bare with a Paris model than khaki stockings. Huffer was of two minds; my legs really shocked him.

Our dinner at his flat was as good as the lunch. I was astonished at the amount Darby and I could eat. We told Huffer word for word what had happened, and we all wondered who the snake in the grass at Soissons could be.

Huffer thought that apart from my bites I looked exactly the same as when he last saw me, but that Darby looked the worse for wear. I was so used to seeing her that I had not realized how much she had changed. Darby said that however grim she might look, it could not compare with me the first week in the Cherche-Midi.

"Did I really look so awful?"

"Simply appalling, my dear, but afterwards you looked much better."

"Well, I felt better. After the first week nothing worried me."

We put our heads together and plotted and planned. We knew that the difficulties facing us in getting from occupied to unoccupied France would be as hazardous as trying to get from one country to another in wartime without a passport. One could obtain from the Kommandantur a traveling permit, but in our case it was thought that permission would have to be granted from Berlin, which would mean months of delay. At the moment the Germans were not interning  p249 Englishwomen in France, but from day to day one could not tell how the political situation might develop,

Huffer said, "I will get the girls to Vichy myself."

It was getting on for curfew time — eleven o'clock. Huffer saw us back to our hotel. We promised to meet him at his bank early the following morning. We were very tired, and as I crawled into bed I ate the three remaining bars of chocolat Menier, Darby thought that after our colossal lunch and dinner I was bound to be sick, but I didn't think so. "Darby, it's a curious thing," I said, "but now I can't stop eating. Unless I feel so stuffed that I simply can't put any more down, I don't feel that I've had nearly enough to eat."

"I didn't suffer from hunger nearly as much as you did. Perhaps it's because you had to give up smoking?"

"Maybe."

I slept, but Darby spent most of the night awake suffering violent pains of indigestion.

Our few days in Paris were one long exciting rush. We saw little of Claire and Paul. Claire had to leave Paris, and it was one of my regrets that we left before she returned. Paul always managed to provide breakfast for us.

The Banzets, friends of Huffer who lived in the same block, were anxious to meet us. It was Sunday, and Huffer suggested we should go up to their flat. We met Monsieur and Madame Banzet, two daughters, two boys, and the grandmother. They were a delightful family. They had left for Bordeaux before the German occupation, and they gave us a graphic description of their return.

People who had fled on the nights of the 12th, 13th, and 14th of June had mostly become jammed on the roads between the two armies, and had suffered accordingly. Those  p250 who were not caught were lucky if their petrol was sufficient and the roads clear enough for them to make their way. Thousands were killed in car accidents. People in their wild dash for escape had innumerable crashes; often wrecked cars piled on the roads to such an extent as to make them impassable. The hale and hearty walked on to the next village, which was generally full to capacity, with little food to spare. They would then walk on and hope for the best. Many camped in the fields with only such protection from the elements as they had brought with them. Some had bedding and blankets, others had not. None had food for more than a few days. The wrecked cars and peasant carts piled up behind them, a few near enough to Paris walked back, but many of the infirm, the aged, and the young died of exhaustion and starvation in the fields.

The Banzets told us that on their return journey from Bordeaux to Tours and from Tours to Paris it was impossible to count the number of wrecked cars now dragged off the road and piled up in the ditches — one long graveyard of twisted metal. All the roads leading from Paris were the same.

Madame Banzet's clothes fitted Darby, I was roughly the daughters' size. It was not so much the dresses, underclothes, shoes, stockings, bags and gloves which they gave us as the manner in which they gave them that will always be a pleasure for me to recall.

It was nearly teatime before we had finished; we promised to have coffee with them after dinner, and went down to Huffer's flat dressed in their clothes.

We strolled to the Sports Club in the Bois de Boulogne. Huffer was annoyed to find that the Germans controlled it, and members were not permitted to bring in guests over the  p251 week‑end. He had played tennis there several times recently, and had been infuriated at seeing so many young Frenchmen lounging about sun‑bathing while the harvest was lying idle in the fields. We had tea at the Pavillon Royal. It had changed considerably, it was no longer a smart restaurant, but a Biergarten under the trees. It was not even frequented you German officers. German soldiers with their wives and sweethearts sat drinking beer — it depressed us so that we soon left. As we reached the outskirts of the Bois two shots rang out; during the evening we heard two more being fired. We learned that the first shots had been fired by a Frenchman at some German soldiers. The Bois de Boulogne was closed from that day to the public. The second shots, rumor said, were caused by two German naval officers committing suicide.

We had a delightful evening with the Banzets. They asked me what it felt like to be free. I explained that from the depths of misery to such heights of luxury was so big a jump that it was difficult to keep one's thoughts balanced.

"We can not imagine what solitary confinement can be like," the Banzets said.

"I don't think any one can. You might think it's like this, that, or the other, but I don't think any one can know what it is like until he experiences it. I don't think it would be quite so bad if one at least knew how long one's sentence was for."

The next day the two Mesdemoiselles from Darby's old school came to have tea at Huffer's flat. I was late, as I at last had had my hair done. Huffer had recommended a coiffeur, and I had made an appointment. I apologized for the filth of my hair, explaining that I had had no opportunity to wash it. The coiffeur waved my apologies aside. He said  p252 that until two weeks ago he had been a prisoner of war and had escaped from a town where the water had been entirely cut off.

"Really? Which town was that?"

"Soissons."

I jerked my head up, getting the soap into my eyes. "Were you at the barracks, the camp, or the hôpital militaire?"

"I was at the barracks, but I had to work for the Germans their side of the hôpital militaire."

"Then you must know Henri de C., the official interpreter?"

"Of course. Your face, mademoiselle, is familiar."

"I was there, too."

He could tell me nothing of Henri except that three weeks ago he was still there.

Darby's Mesdemoiselles, who were dear old ladies nearing eighty, had a strange tale to tell; they had received Darby's postcard from Soissons, and went to the American Embassy to inquire the best way to forward her message to her mother. They had rewritten the message on a postcard and addressed it to England, with a short note from themselves. As they were approaching the Embassy they saw a Château de Blois ambulance draw up and a tall man descend. They rather timidly approached him; they knew Darby had been attached to that ambulance corps. It appears that it was Huffer. He said it was infuriating meeting those two old dears and getting so far and no farther, for Darby had been told at Soissons not to put her address on the card. The old ladies made us laugh; they had sent the postcard off, and it had gone via Cologne. About a month later two German officers called on them with the postcard they had sent. They were wanted for an hour  p253 and showed the Germans the original card which Darby had sent, but of course could tell them nothing more.

They lived on the outskirts of Paris, and had decided they were too old to try to evacuate.

During the afternoon of the 13th of June bells had been rung in the streets, and every one was told the bridges would be blown up — "Sauve qui peut."

"Were the bridges blown up?" I asked.

"Yes, but that is what was so absurd. What was the point of blowing up bridges the south side of Paris when the Germans would be entering from the northwest and east? It simply meant that after they were blown up one could not leave Paris."

"What did you do?"

"As every one was told to leave, we packed a few things into a suitcase and took the next train into Paris, but it was impossible to get anywhere near a railway station; all the streets leading to them were blocked by crowds of people. We saw it was hopeless. We were lucky, though, for some relatives who live in Paris had made no attempt to leave. They had a spare room and put us up. Everything was very quiet when the Germans entered; people did not leave their houses, but gradually they ventured into the streets, and after a week we returned to our home."

"What a tragedy those packed roads must have been," I remarked.

"They must have been appalling, mademoiselle. The family who had a flat underneath my relatives left just before the Germans entered. A few days afterwards a German soldier knocked at our door to make inquiries about them; they had gone in a hurry and had left no address. My relatives could tell  p254 him nothing. It was very sad, for he had in his arms their six‑months‑old son whose jaw was broken and one arm had been amputated. The Germans had found him on the road just outside part with his name and address tied around his neck. The baby was taken to hospital."

"Did you ever hear what happened to the rest of the family?"

"No, they have not returned, and my relatives know nothing more, but they visit the baby in hospital; he is progressing."

We saw the dear old ladies to the Métro, and dashed off to do our shopping. Lists had been posted up in Paris giving the visiting days for each prison. On the next visiting day at Fresnes Paul had promised to take some things there for us. We had already bought some fruit, but wanted something more substantial. Tinned food was practically unobtainable, and there were long queues outside every food shop. However, we were very lucky, for in the end we managed to get three tins of canned fish and twenty jars of meat paste. A jar of paste is only a jar of paste, but we knew that with careful management it could give immense pleasure for a week.

As we were very late for dinner, we expected Huffer to be rather annoyed — he had several people dining with him. He made every excuse for us when we did arrive; Darby and I suspected we had become the Blue-eyed Girls. Huffer always introduced us with great élan as "My two ambulance drivers from the Cherche-Midi."

The Duchesse de Pozzo di Borgo was among his guests, and Huffer, who, although he had a sense of humor, apparently saw nothing funny in his remark, said, "Myers, show the Duchess your legs."

 p255  The Duchesse was a charming and most interesting woman. She told me her husband had been imprisoned for his political views. I gathered that with Colonel de la Rocque he had been one of the founders of the Croix de Feu.​b

Huffer saw us back to our hotel. Darby was still suffering from indigestion. We had both eaten so much that I was wondering when my turn would come.

"Darby, have you noticed that Huffer seems to have the most enormous appetite, too?"

"No, I haven't, but now I come to think of it of course he has."

"You don't think by any chance he's being the perfect host?"

"I shouldn't be surprised."

"Dear old Huffer. I wonder if he's got indigestion, too."

Darby sat on her bed staring blankly in front of her.

"Darby, for heaven's sake get out of that habit of biting your nails and gazing at nothing."

Darby came to. She told me she never bit her nails, only her cuticles, and she never realized when she was doing it.

The next two days passed so quickly that we hardly realized they had gone. It was the 14th of August. Our plans were set, they were simple in the extreme; they would either work or they would not.

We set off. Everything was according to plan. The sun was sinking as we arrived in Vichy.​c


Thayer's Notes:

a A vignette worthy of Molière; . . . lorsqu'on vient d'en rire, on devrait en pleurer.

[decorative delimiter]

b Valerie Norrie was the American wife of Duke Joseph Pozzo di Borgo, who had been involved with the Croix-de‑Feu until 1936; in 1940 he was active in more radical far-right and antisemitic groups, but also in the Comité France-Amérique and in the Résistance.

[decorative delimiter]

c A striking cinematic cut that no doubt is meant to conceal how exactly the author crossed the border between occupied and unoccupied France and got to Vichy; serving as a reminder to us that the book was published during the war, and this was information that had to stay protected.


[image ALT: Valid HTML 4.01.]

Page updated: 8 Dec 20