Service du Travail Obligatoire (Compulsory Work Service)− A parenthesis of several months

Author:

Louis PESNEL

Critical edition and notes Etienne Marie-Orléach

Translation Jean-Louis Beaufrère and Gilles Carré

Proofreading Gillian Hurley, Richard Buskell and Lorie-Anne Duech

Louis Pesnel was born in 1922. He was still at school when the war started. When the Germans arrived in Normandy in 1940 the young man went back to his family’s in Montfarville. He then worked at sea with his father, and in the fields with his mother. The first part of this testimony is the result of an inquiry conducted in 1995 about the STO. The Germans needed French workers. The STO, instituted by the law of Feb 16, 1943, requisitioned young men born in 1920, 1921 and 1922 to send them to Germany for two years. Louis Pesnel left in March 1943 to the work camp in Wilhelmshaven, a coastal town in Lower Saxony. Louis Pesnel’s answers shed light on the circumstances of his departure, the everyday life of forced labour in Germany and the relationships with Germans until he took advantage of a furlough to come back to Normandy in Dec 1943. When he decided not to go back to Germany, he opened a new page in his life: no longer a labour conscript, he became a draft dodger. At first, Louis Pesnel hid in various farms in the vicinity of Bayeux, and then went to Montfarville where he was during the feverish weeks of the Landing/D-Day and the arrival of Allied troops. This “parenthesis” was described in 1988.

STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE

I. Circumstances before departing

Family circumstances:

Father: fisherman. Retired gendarme. WW1 veteran recalled to service in 1939-40 to work on a minesweeper in Dunkirk, discharged before the French surrender because of his age.

Personal circumstances:

Aged 20, bachelor.

Professional circumstances:

Number 2423 in the Cherbourg District, I was an inshore fisherman working with my father on the Saint Louis, based in Barfleur and worked part-time in the fields with my mother.

Place of residence in 1939-42:

At my parents’ place in Montfarville, in the Manche department. Formerly in Asnelles, in the Calvados department.

NB: Until mid-June 1940 I was a boarder at the Letot private school in Bayeux, where I was preparing for the competitive entrance exam to the École de Maistrance (for future non-commissioned officers in the Navy) in Brest – I actually did not take the exam because of the German invasion.

II. Circumstances at the time of departing

Propaganda:

Apart from the radio and a few posters on “la relève”1 Before the STO was institutionalized, Pierre Laval had invented the system of “la relève” (relief). In order to increase the number of volunteers leaving to work in Germany, French workers were to be sent there and in exchange some prisoners of war were to be freed. This measure failed and the French government introduced the STO instead., there was no propaganda in my part of the Cotentin peninsula. Furthermore, I was too busy to read the newspaper.

On the other hand, one of the only three young “collabos” (collaborationists) in the vicinity tried to recruit me into the Todt Company2 An engineering group founded by Fritz Todt responsible for the Atlantic wall and the construction of launch platforms for V1 and V2 rockets.. My parents may have preferred me to stay in Cherbourg, but I decided to go to Germany.

Registration and call-up papers

As far as I am concerned, it was a requisition aimed at young fishermen in the Cotentin so things were done through the agency of the Maritime Registration Service.

March 1^st, 1943: Upon notice from the Barfleur port authorities we went to the Cherbourg Maritime Registration Office and were informed that we were soon to leave for Germany.

March 17^th, 1943: I received (through Maritime Registration) an order bearing the date of March 15^th, sent by the Feldkommandantur 722 in Saint-Lô, signed Gebhardt and not countersigned by the Prefecture. It said I had to report to the German employment agency in Cherbourg on March 18^th.

NB: Either the Maritime Registration Office had been guilty of passive collaboration or the Manche Prefecture had hypocritically left it to the Maritime Registration Office to perform this despicable task.

March 18^th, 1943: We all went as a group (the Barfleur fishermen) to the German employment agency in Cherbourg and we were all given a travel warrant.

March 19^th, 1943: Each of us was given a kit allowance of 1,000 francs from the Tax Office in Quettehou.

NB: To benefit from this really necessary allowance we had had to fill in a form the day before. It did not change anything to the requisition we were victims of since we had been chosen for work in Germany by the Franco-German Commission “set up in application of the law of February 16 ^th 1943 on the STO.”

Important remark: in our parts of the Cotentin – as in the rest of the peninsula – not a single fisherman made off 3 Cf. M. Boivin, Les Manchois dans la tourmente de la Seconde Guerre mondiale: 1939-1945, Tome 3, L’Occupation: l’ordre allemand, le régime de Vichy et la collaboration, Marigny, Eurocibles, 2004, p. 314. . The reason is, we were the first ones to be sent to Germany, and our administration seemed to give its assent. At the time, we were not offered any other way out. As for the Résistants, they remained quiet.

Medical examination:

It took place on March 11^th, 1943 in the premises of Quettehou’s town hall.

My memories of it are blurred. There were relatively few of us. There were no German doctors. It looked very much like a recruiting (draft) board - only not so funny.

Departure:

It was very early on Monday, March 22^nd, 1943, when we met at Cherbourg’s railway station; some of us had relatives who had come to see us off ; others not so. The Germans had control of the station and platform and only the “requis” (labour conscripts) were allowed in on presentation of their travel warrant.

As it was extremely early in the morning, there was no organized demonstration. However, the labour conscripts in the carriages, and their families on the other side of the fence did not hide their irritation at having been parted sooner than planned. Protest shouts arose. The atmosphere was tense and sad. As a group, we stuck together, fearing difficult days ahead.

III. The trip

March 22^nd: After arriving in Paris at 10.50 am we were sent to the military barracks of the rue de la Pépinière: there we were put up, subjected to various controls and given wooden-soled shoes.

March 23^rd: The train started at about midday towards Aachen where we arrived in the evening. We were put up at a distance from the station.

March 24^th: We arrived in Hanover where we were gathered in a vast room and given badges of various colours according to where we were to be sent. This is the place where I was separated from my Barfleur friends and ended up with another group of fishermen from Cotentin too, but who were being sent to Wilhelmshaven instead of Bremerhaven, so people said.

March 25^th: From Hanover, we got to Bremen and then Oldenburg where we spent the night after swallowing a cup of chicory root tea.

March 26^th: Arrival in Wilhelmshaven. This is the end of our trip, although we did not know this at the beginning.

We were then put up in a labour camp. We were and would remain the only STOs in this camp. Controls and registration. We were received, not welcomed.

NB: Conditions during the trip were normal as far as rolling stock was concerned; and we did not suffer from the cold. As for hygiene, it was different: not enough water supply points and mass latrines in some stations. Accommodation was sometimes basic and we even had to sleep on the floor of a canteen.

But what knocked the stuffing out of us was “suitcase duty” (made all the worse by our parents’ generosity) at each important stop. This is the reason why, although we had sung the Marseillaise each time the train stopped at a station between Paris and the border, and again when we arrived in Aachen, we became silent after a kilometre’s walk between Aachen and our camp. Due to muscle pain and breathlessness as we were never allowed to rest.

IV. Life in Germany

Work and everyday life:

As of March 26^th, 1943, my temporary home was going to be: Reichsbahnlager n° 1. Peterstraße Wilhelmshaven. I shared a small (120 x 40 inches) place with a young Frenchman from Étrépagny (Eure department); unheated, with one rickety table, two stools, a cupboard-cum-wardrobe and wooden bunk beds with straw mattresses. The other fishermen were all together in a dormitory in the same shack. They were from Fermanville, Réville, Saint-Marcouf-les-Gougins, Ravenoville, Saint-Germain-des-Vaux, etc.

Our camp accommodated only railway workers: about 120 Dutch railway workers in corduroy uniforms, about 10 Belgians and Italians, 8 Frenchmen under contract and our group of 12 STO fishermen in blouses and matching trousers.

Unfenced on the side of the road, the camp held three provisional buildings: between our shack, which was a later addition, and the administration building where the Lagerführer had his lodgings, there was a very large barrack, and we were all transferred to it on September 26^th, 1943: it was less cold in there, but bug-ridden. It contained catering and hygiene facilities, as well as four or five dormitories with bunk beds for 40. There was also an underground shelter – in case of emergency – for protection against shrapnel only, and a rectangular pool filled with water. All of this was situated on the north-west outskirts of the town, about twenty minutes from Wilhelmshaven railway station.

The neighbourhood included a residential suburb to the East, barracks to the West, fields to the north and waste ground to the south with provisional workshops.

Work for the Reichsbahn4 The German national railway. started on the morning of March 27^th. A foreman with three stars on his cap – a besuited quick-tempered WW1 veteran – took control and trained us on the job, as unskilled workers, in the difficult trade of the railwayman: laying and upkeeping tracks, unloading rails and sleepers as well as clinker, building materials and salvage metals. Our team, made up of about sixty men, was responsible for the upkeep of about fifteen kilometres of tracks, including through the station.

Monthly wages depended on actual working time. For the first five months : 106.54 marks in April; 132.10 in May; 128.18 in June; 128.37 in July; 120.64 in August. It was not enough to send money back to France.

A meal including soup was served in the camp every evening; on Sundays, it was either lunch or dinner, according to our preference. When we were working close to the station, we were allowed to use the canteen for the German employees for lunch. Otherwise we used to prepare a meal in a mess tin to be warmed up again, or a cold meal. We were well fed.

If unlike many STO workers we never suffered from hunger it is because, like the Dutch railway workers whose back-up workers we were somehow, we were given the same food tickets as German labourers, including supplements on holidays or when we got bombed.

NB: My friends from Barfleur who worked in Wesermünde (Bremerhaven) in a fish canning factory suffered from malnutrition – one of them died of it on his return to France in 1945.

Medical care sometimes left much to be desired. When I had severely sore throat and had to stop working between April 22^nd and 29^th, 1943, I had to go to the doctor’s on Sunday 24^th (although I still had a high temperature) so I would not have problems with the police: he got rid of me after prescribing a throat spray and I really had to insist to obtain a sick leave. At about the same time, the other man in my tiny room, who was no longer protected by vaccination, was admitted to hospital for diphtheria: he was well taken care of. During my time here there were no medical examinations, but we were seldom ill5 Michel Boivin found 91 death certificates for labour conscripts in the registry office books of the towns of the department of the Manche. The historian notes that “42.5% of deaths were due to illness (tuberculosis, appendicitis, diphtheria, meningitis)” (op. cit., p. 243). When not properly treated, these sometimes benign diseases could indeed become fatal. Besides, air raids caused 26.2% of the deaths of people from the Manche who were in Germany..

Social services were provided by the Reichsbahn offices in Oldenburg. After my visit to the doctor’s I promptly received 15 marks in compensation for wage loss after five days of actual absence from work.

There were many alerts, both by day and by night. When they happened during working hours, the order to stop work came from the foreman, even for a mere pre-alert. In case of a major alert the site had already been tidied up as a measure of safety and we proceeded to the closest shelter; this at least was the procedure in the area around the station, which was the most exposed area. With the Dutch and other nationalities, we could go to the largest shelters once the Germans and Italians were inside.

NB: The town of Wilhelmshaven was known for its military harbour so it had excellent air raid shelters, unlike other larger cities like Hamburg, Hanover or Aachen.

Meeting STO women was impossible as there were none. At the time, at least, this sub-category of the working-class was not represented in Wilhelmshaven. If you had looked closely for one, you may have found here or there a French woman who volunteered to work in Germany: we were not interested. Besides, we were tired enough not to waste our free time to “go wenching” while we needed to take care of our hygiene as well as wash and mend our clothes, see to the mail to and from our families, and prepare our meals.

There was no propaganda aimed at STO labour conscripts or other Frenchmen in the Reichsbahn camp. This may have been due to the personality of the Leader and his tolerant behaviour towards us. In the course of the summer of 1943 we attended several variety shows in other labour camps: there were no speeches or handouts or brochures either.

Yet, at the beginning of October 1943 the canteen was draped with nazi flags at the platform end, for an information session in the hope of immediately recruiting some men into the Waffen-SS. There were several speeches, beer was served on the tables, and then a debate, but to no avail. It was obviously the Dutch who were targeted since there was no French translation.

There were practically no political conversations at the camp. Dutch railwaymen and STO fishermen trusted each other; there was trust to an extent between us and French volunteers, and no trust with Belgians who seemed to us to be too close to the Germans.

NB: In our place of work, the Dutch were prompt to intercede on our behalf when we were experiencing difficulties; on the contrary, Flemish-speaking Belgians would occasionally inform on us.

The Germans:

In my experience, there was no real repression against French STO workers. Which does not mean that some individuals did not behave extremely harshly: this includes our first and long-lasting foreman, Trumpf, who would not bear any suspension of work and even came to forbid us not only to talk, but also to sing or whistle while working.

The Germans made no difference between the French workers whatever their status. Those under contract did not benefit from any privilege. One of them, a member of Trumpf’s team, having ventured into the (forbidden) harbour zone got caught trying to get in touch with a group of “convicts”, one of whom had addressed him in French. He was immediately arrested, led to the prison which was close by, interrogated, brutalized and then thrown into a cell in which he spent a dreadful night; a prisoner died near him and stamping and shouting could be heard at times in the lobby.

After four weeks of forced labour at the seaside, this “volunteer” came back limping, with a heel injury caused by shrapnel: he had not been allowed in shelters and had only been able to lie down on his face in the sand. No need to expand on his bitterness.

There was nothing surprising in the breaches of rules being countered, but ignorance often was the first cause of mistakes. For example, when I omitted requesting a travel document in order to go and visit my Barfleur friends in Wesermünde (Bremerhaven), I was turned back in Blexen, on the left bank of the Weser. On my way back I was arrested in Rodenkirchen, searched and interrogated and then driven back to Wilhelmshaven in a special railway compartment escorted by a very suspicious railroad police officer. After an inspection not far from the camp by the railroad police, I was promptly released.

NB: This incident happened on June 13 ^th, 1943 and it made me more wary. With a travel document in due form, I finally met up again with my Barfleur friends for twenty-four hours on August 8 ^th and 9 ^th, 1943.

On December 3^rd, 1943 we really understood how enviable our situation was, compared to that of other categories of foreign workers.

For seven weeks we had lost our old Nazi foreman – no regrets – and had been working further West somewhere around Sande, under the orders of a civilian in his forties who gave us more time to breathe.

That day we were supposed to replace a whole branch line, railroad points included, between the passage of trains, which exceeded the possibilities of our usual team. So we had been assigned a group of more than sixty workers from the Eastern territories who wore an OST sign and were supervised by a few Germans to carry the really heavy prefabricated set.

Right from the beginning of the operations, the brutal orders, the threat of getting hit with a pickaxe handle, the fear that could be read on our ephemeral comrades – all this was impressed on us so much that we instinctively had a hostile reaction to the guards who finally calmed down somewhat. For us, Dutch and French, it was obvious that slave workers from Eastern Europe were constantly ill-treated and accepted a fate that seemed inevitable.

When the support group had gone and we had given the work its finishing touches, we told the new foreman how outraged we were and he seemed shaken too. He made us understand that there was nothing he could do, and he was sorry…

Outside contacts:

The inhabitants of Wilhelmshaven seemed to us to feel a hidden hostility towards foreigners, a hostility caused or maintained by posters like “Silence! Foreign ears are listening!” It may simply have been indifference.

Yet, by chance a favourable sign occasionally reached us: for example, a German woman who, without revealing who she was, had somebody give me and two of my comrades a loaf of bread on July 17^th, 1943. Or, also as unusual, on a station platform, the meeting with a German civilian who, after he had explained his past experience as a German lecturer at the Université de Bordeaux in the 1920s, insisted he loved France and the French. When I learnt he worked for the Customs office, I told him of the ransacking of our family parcels by his controllers. He promised his help in case of a second offence. I appealed to him only once, after which time the “raiders” never acted again.

Clear signs of hostility were few and far between: stones thrown from a footbridge by a group of children or anger of a WW1 veteran who wanted to show that we had been harsh to him in France when he was a prisoner. Or again that shopkeeper who, being obliged to accept my food tickets, had suggested I buy rotten fruit, to the great merriment of her customers.

Generally speaking we were not interested in the Germans, and we sought contact all the less as there was the language barrier between us. This is why no one in our STO group ever stepped into a house.

Air raids must have had some influence on the inhabitants’ morale but for them air raids were not intensifying – in 1943, that is – but just going on: there was no reason for their attitude towards us to evolve.

The first raid had come as soon as September 3^rd, 1939, the day when the war was declared, and it had been followed by many more, as years went by, because of the importance of Wilhelmshaven in the German submarine war plan6 As a shipyard and U-boat base, Wilhelmshaven was one the nerve centres of the Reich’s navy.. By the end of the war, more than 100,000 bombs including 90,000 incendiary devices, had fallen from the sky: 17% on port facilities, 83% on the town.

When we had first arrived, at the end of March, there were already many ruins. Damage only increased with the attack during the night of July 26^th, 1943 which was mostly directed against the military harbour and even more so during the raid of November 3^rd, 1943, which used phosphorus bombs: it occurred in the middle of the afternoon and brought fire and destruction to most of the town. These two important raids were due to American planes. Other attacks had taken place: on May 21^st, by day, and June 11^th, by night.

After we had left the place in December, air raids were to resume with a vengeance, with the task being divided between the RAF and the US-Air Force. The last big bombing took place on March 30^th, 1945 was mounted by the US-Air Force, five months after the “death blow” given by the British on October 15^th, 1944 (cf: Rolf Uphoff; «Wilhelmshaven im Bombenkrieg», 1992, Holzberg Vertag, Oldenburg). According to this author, the population, reassured by the solidity of the shelters, did not panic and only had, if I may say so, less than 500 casualties.

We sometimes came close to the “Russians” on the sidetracks or in the “freight” part of the station of Wilhelmshaven.

On the sidetracks: women had been employed to clean the carriages of the Wilhelmshaven-Wiesbaden express or other passenger trains. Those rather young and smiling women were pretty closely supervised by German women leaders in Reichsbahn uniform. As they were not allowed to use the toilets in the station – for the sake of hygiene! – these workers could only use those in the carriages.

In the “freight” part: war prisoners had been employed to load or unload wagons. These men seemed to be well-fed and resourceful and had high spirits. They made us understand through hand signs that they wanted to start on this pile of tracks rather than on another one so they would have the time to move their potato supplies without anybody noticing.

In 1943 we sometimes met small columns of French prisoners of war who made a good impression on us; even if they were captives, they still looked great. In some cases they even considered themselves privileged.

For the record, let me describe the painful and ridiculous situation of Italian prisoners after Mussolini’s eviction. In September 1943 I was on the platform of the station of Mariensiel, close to a little camp, and I saw German soldiers force their Italian prisoners to exercise7 These exercises called “la pelote” were often disciplinary or meant to hurt their feelings. in a muddy yard under the eyes of other Italian soldiers standing on the right side of the barbed wire: the latter were still allied with the Germans as mist makers.

The unhappiest of all prisoners of war most certainly were the Yugoslavians. They used to walk past, dressed in blue horizon, with emaciated faces and hollow eyes, without a glance at us, indifferent to whatever was going on around them. Their condition must have been much the same as in concentration camps.

And precisely we did see men in striped pyjamas in broad day, but from a distance, as soon as March 27^th, 1943, the day after we arrived and the following days, at a time when the ruins caused by the big air raid of March 22^nd, 1943 had to be cleared away. We were told they were “convicts”, common law criminals. Only in 1945 was I able to link them to the victims of Nazi camps.

NB: In November 1993, I went back to Wilhelmshaven where I bought a book published in 1992 about the bombing of the city. It had an insert with an aerial view composed of a mosaic of pictures taken by American reconnaissance aircraft from a height of 6,000 meters on November 6 ^th, 1944.

And it is only now, on re-examining this aerial view, that I find proof of the existence of a “KZ8 K onzentrationslager: concentration camp.” in Wilhelmshaven – at bird’s eye view, it was about half a mile from our Reichsbahnlager.

Obviously established in a forbidden zone, the concentration camp held enough barracks for 3,000 people in a very restricted space. One always discovers more about the horrors committed close by although you had no notion they were being committed.

NB: In fact it was one of the main “Kommandos” depending on the camp of Neuengamme.

To come back to the railroad workers’ camp, we had no sports facilities. No radio and no phonograph or orchestra either. As for the cinema, we might have tried our luck in town on Sundays, but we had no wish to get rebuffed by Germans, and films were not subtitled in French. There was no library either. In over the eight months I spent there, I held only two books in my hands, and this only for a week: an English grammar book and a word list for the same level of students, lent to me by a young German student teacher in exchange for a French lesson.

In the barracks, when we had time to spare on Sundays, we used to play cards or play draughts (checkers). A “White Russian” who was a naturalized Frenchman taught me to play chess. Outside, when it was dry and we had a break, a Dutchman who was keen on martial arts showed us the techniques of judo and aikido which, all considered, was less brutal and more efficient than catch-as-catch-can usually preferred by seamen.

I tried to learn German from a little “Langenscheidt” pocket dictionary which is still published today. Although I had committed hundreds of words to memory, I unfortunately still wrestled against syntax, and I lacked practice for want of a partner. Yet, as soon as July 1943 I could make myself understood in “pidgin German” and clearly enough for me to become my fellow fishermen’s spokesman. This was important as it allowed us to break free of our Belgian interpreter’s not so sincere tutelage.

We could exchange letters freely, with censorship applied at random here as anywhere else at the time. Parcels did not always reach us because of air raids over the Ruhr, but we did receive some, depending on our families’ possibilities. In 1943 there was no major disruption to the mail service yet.

Under the subtitle “The Germans” I mentioned the repression of foreigners. I should repeat here what I hinted at in Chapter IV (subtitle “Work and everyday life”): relationships with the Dutch were warm, relatively good with the two Italians, and poor with the Belgians.

Let me add an anecdote concerning some Italian soldiers stationed in barracks in the neighbourhood and whose tasks consisted, when an alert was confirmed, in creating artificial fog over the town. On the evening of September 8^th, 19439 Date when the armistice between Italy and the Anglo-Americans was signed., some Italian soldiers came, boisterous and tipsy, with a bottle of Chianti in their hands to invite us to drink to the end of “their” war; this was all the more misplaced as they had never had a word for us before. The next day, they were sheepish and ignored us after being reprimanded by the Germans. The Franco-Italian rapprochement had lasted but an evening…

The occupants of the Reichsbahnlager were all in the same boat, for the bug-ridden straw mattresses as well as for food. It was also the case for leaves: conditions were easier here than in other places: married workers were entitled to a leave to their country of origin every three months; it was every six months for bachelors. This was the rule in the spring of 1943; but it was too good to last.

Resistance:

There was no organised resistance in our labour camp. And nobody from the outside ever got in contact with me to take part in any anti-Nazi resistance.

The Dutch always appeared to me to be hostile to the Germans even though at work they respected their instructions, like the good professionals that they were. Their spirit of resistance showed during a session of propaganda for the Waffen-SS; all the questions they asked the recruiting officers were also masked as clever objections made in order to cause a flat refusal.

In our STO group nobody was happy to be in Germany, but it was difficult to go beyond the limits of passive resistance.

My camarades did not even try to learn German, as they strongly hoped to go back soon, and their major worry was not to get noticed by our “yeller-in-chief”, so their rebelliousness was put on ice to a degree. As for me, I tried to be as incompetent as I could without going too far, so I had gained the substantial advantage of being appointed to help the craftsmen who had something to do at the station each time they needed an unskilled worker, or several. Everyone defended himself in his own way.

We were closely supervised, entry to the harbour zone was forbidden and we were assigned to the upkeep of railroad tracks, so active resistance was not an option. Teamwork being constantly controlled, what could we have sabotaged?

The misdeeds I committed were trivial: I would break a few tiles, pretending I had been clumsy when handling them, or once, when working alone on a track (because I was in quarantine) which ran along a drainage canal, I threw wedges, bolts, pads and spike screws into the water. This was a kind of silent protest, but it did not have much of an impact as the worst had been anticipated and there was a stock of rails along the ballast as well as, close to all the little metal bridges, all that was needed to repair them swiftly.

The only time I stepped into a bar, I was with a friend and wanted to take up a stupid bet I had made to shout “Crève, Hitler!” as a salute10 Die, Hitler! The French equivalent sounds more or less like “Heil Hitler”. “Hate, Hitler” would be a reasonable translation [TN]..

And if on Wednesday, July 14^th, 1943 I was the only Frenchman in the Reichsbahnlager not to go to work because of our national day, I must admit that the camp leader did not report me to the police as he was supposed to. I was hardly reprimanded: this gave the other fishermen food for thought. We were in fact ordinary boys, both isolated and unorganised.

V. Return trip

As soon as we had arrived in the Frisian region our main aim had been to make the trip in the other direction, a reaction shared by all involuntary expatriates.

Because we were reasonably well-fed and relatively reassured as far as our security was concerned, we focused our attention on our return trip to France. Not too nervously at the beginning since we had been given to hope that we might go back to France after six months for bachelors, and only three months for those who had dependents. Giving a thought to the POWs who had already been prisoners for a long time helped us resign ourselves.

Yet when June came the atmosphere had already deteriorated. On May 30^th, we had learnt that the Merchant Navy (the ministry supervising the Maritime Registry Office) had approached the German authorities in vain: their answer was, there were “no more any exemptions for our category”. Which implied – a contrario – that there had been exemptions, an opportunity the Military Headquarters of Cherbourg had not taken or known about, and now it was too late!

Another early sign of a more serious problem came when the married fishermen’s leave was postponed from June 24^th to July 15^th, in the context of a general warning caused by the increasing number of workers who “forgot” to come back to Germany at the end of their leave in France. In this case, we had been unanimous in asking those of our friends who were about to leave not to take into account the Germans’ blackmail which consisted in linking future departures to the return of those on leave11 As of September 1943, German authorities reduced the number of leaves. The reason is, many of those who benefited did not go back to Germany. The study on the labour conscripts of the Manche shows that of 758 conscripts who came back on leave, 67.7% did not return.. This psychological pressure was not enough, and made way at the beginning of September (less than a fortnight before our long anticipated departure) for a notification that leaves were cancelled, pure and simple. This measure was all the more upsetting as it was particularly aimed at the French.

I had no choice but to act, so towards mid-October I took the initiative to besiege the personnel office of Wilhelmshaven station, doing it without the Belgian interpreter and without informing our camp leader.

I was lucky enough to get a rather conciliatory office manager who granted me my first appointment and allowed me to leave work in due time, which impressed our foreman a lot. And I was able, then, to explain our case in my rudimentary German: “Fishermen from the area around Cherbourg – a temperate climate area – we were taken to this place under duress. Winter is close and our only working clothes are our canvas jackets so we will become unproductive when the first cold spell arrives. We request to be given clothing like that of the Dutch railroad workers.”

After listening patiently my interlocutor gave me another appointment, then another one, and another one, each time in the presence of different people who were higher and higher in the hierarchy. During these (sometimes tense) meetings a solution appeared – one that had discreetly been favoured by the office manager’s daughter, who was also his secretary. For want of available supplies, the people in charge decided, exceptionally, to let us go back to France to bring back warm clothing. It was the beginning of November and after a few weeks I had obtained an unhoped for promise that we would depart before mid-December! The hours and hours spent learning words in the “Langenscheidt” dictionary one by one had not been wasted.

At this stage the Belgian interpreter took things in his hands again on behalf of the camp leader and took care of the formalities: drawing those who were to have a leave, preparing the lists with all the details required, etc. He even managed to get three more leaves at a rate of 18 oz of chocolate for each leave: a transaction he also gained an advantage from.

Thanks to all this, on December 11^th, 1943, eight “fishermen-railwaymen” were leaving for France, with only two of our group staying behind in Wilhelmshaven.

NB: The two guarantors were sent back a month later, in January 1944, on one of the last trains of conscripts on leave: as nobody had come back, they had become embarrassing witnesses. They were soon to vanish into thin air too.

So at the end of January 1944, there was not a single STO fisherman left in the Reichsbahnlager whose other workers – I am thinking here mostly of our Dutch comrades – were to be released only on May 6^th, 1945 when a Polish armoured division under British high command arrived.

We left on the morning of December 11^th and managed to reach Paris on December 12^th, 1943 in the evening, after a trip interrupted many times in:

– Oldenburg, where we got off the scheduled omnibus and were given a travel stipend of 160 RM12 Reichs mark. before getting on a special train formed at the request of the head office of the Arbeitsfront in Weser-Ems.

– Somewhere in the Ruhr (between Bottrop and Oberhausen?) where, because of a major alert, we were stopped right in the middle of a marshalling yard with factories all around. In the case of an air raid, we would have been in an ideal position.

– Venlo, on the Dutch border, for a severe control. All the workers got off board with their luggage. Those who admitted owning written or printed documents – in breach of the instructions we had received – were to form a group before being sent back to the camp they had just left. After a last warning, including threats of reprisals against offenders, the others had to walk through a hatch and on their way out policemen chose those who would be submitted to a search. Meanwhile, soldiers with their dogs were inspecting the train from one end to the other: compartments, roofs and bogies (wheel trucks) – nothing could escape them, and nobody either.

– Châlons-sur-Marne, finally, where after an ultimate identity check we were given 3,200 francs in return for the 160 RM. We were also given food tickets for a period of fifteen days.

And on December 13^th, 1943 at sunset, I was reunited with my family in Montfarville.

Over the next few days I became aware of the changes which had occurred in nine months in the frame of mind and even the attitude of the population. Now that all social and occupational categories could be subjected to the STO a real wish to give help had replaced the worried embarrassment they had felt in March. This could be felt even better in my village than in Barfleur as it was a small fishing harbour and had suffered more as a consequence of the departure of labour conscripts at the beginning of spring.

NB: My fellow fishermen in Barfleur I had been separated from by ill-luck on March 25 ^th, 1943 in Hanover came back to France only after being liberated by the Allies in 1945.

Ten days after I had come back, the day before Christmas, I left Montfarville with a forged identity card in my pocket, and went to Le Tronquay, in the Calvados department. As a conscript on leave who had decided to go underground, I became a dodger as of December 28 ^th, 1943 (my card number was 36-14 and it was dated February 20 ^th, 1958).

By decision number 5 taken on July 5^th, 1957 by the departmental office of the A.C.V.G.13 A.C.V.G.: Anciens Combattants et Victimes de Guerre. of the Calvados, I was recognized as a “person constrained to work in a foreign country” for the period from March 22^nd to December 27^th, 1943.

NB: My former maritime professional booklet, kept and brought up to date by the Maritime Registration Office states at the date of March 22 ^nd, 1943, in the column for “Various apostils”: “Automatically crossed out as he was conscripted to go to Germany.”

Addition to the “STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE”

The Germans’ aloofness:

Let me first go back to the Germans’ attitude towards us: not altogether hostile but rather stand-offish and wary in most cases. It is true we were in a town that totally depended on military activity and where, furthermore, the population was under the strong grip of the NSDAP.14 National sozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei: the National Socialist German Workers' Party, led by Hitler. through passive defense. Everyone was, or thought they were, under surveillance.

When we were given help it was always in a very discreet way: it was true of the generous stranger, as well as of this quiet baker’s wife who gave me a free loaf of bread without asking for tickets when I was alone in the shop at closing time.

At the station canteen, where we were allowed to go at lunchtime, we were treated just the same as the German customers who were railway workers – and all in spite of our washed-out work clothes.

Once though, an old man sitting in a Reichsbahn farm shed, which was being rebuilt, went out of his way to show support. Having checked he was in the company of only French people, he simulated a Nazi salute then he said “Hitler!” disgustedly and spat on the ground. I first thought it was a mere reaction against the war. I now think his gesture expressed disgust in regards to the inhumanity of Hitler’s endeavour. Only a grove stood between the farm and the “KZ”, a short distance away, and he, contrary to us, could not ignore it…

A fierce squad leader:

His name was Trumpf and he had taken part in World War I. I have already mentioned him, but the two following anecdotes will add details to his psychological portrait.

One day as we were working near the goods station, a column of prisoners walked by and one of us recognized a cousin of his from the Cotentin, and greeted him. Immediately, the leading German soldier ordered the column to stop to allow the cousins to meet. This was done without taking Trumpf’s presence into consideration, who threateningly interposed between the worker and the prisoner, while berating the soldier who immediately walked his column away.

Another time, furious to see work disrupted again by an alert, he ostensibly refused to go to a shelter as anyone normal would have done, but he rather sat on a low wall with his lunch napkin, as reprobation to what he considered excessive precautions.

A congenial camp leader

A contrario, I would like to insist on the kindly nature of our Lagerführer, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten. He was a calm man in his forties who, on certain occasions, would abstain from punishing us and was even known to help us out of a tight spot. Some examples will show what he was like: the rules forbade all form of writing on the walls of the camp buildings, inside as well as outside, and a 5RM fine was set for the slightest offence. This did not prevent my friend Pinchedez and I to decorate our “digs” with crayons, thus risking a heavy financial sanction. Our offence only became public on Sunday, August 1^st, 1943, when, in front of a few German passers-by, I finished our work with the picture of a giant convolvulus dotted with butterflies on the outside panel of the door, not forgetting to write “ASYLUM” over the doorframe.

Against all odds there was no sanction. The camp leader came and examined the criminal decoration and ordered us not to tamper with it. After this it would sometimes happen that he and some friends come visit us without knocking, all so that they could appreciate the originality of the ASYLUM pensioners…

On another occasion, during a slightly dangerous game among STO fishermen around the emergency shelter, a terracotta vent pipe was inadvertently broken under the impact of a half brick. One of the kitchen maids witnessed the scene and could not but inform her employer. Well, the pipe was replaced without our being accused of anything.

One morning when I hadn’t gone to work due to a lack of soles in my shoes, the Lagerführer was generous enough to give me a pair of his own dress shoes to avoid my having greater trouble. Less than a fortnight later, the substitute shoes lost their life on the ballast.

On the day he gave me the leave I had so eagerly been expecting, he led me to understand he did not buy my promise to come back with a doubtful “Junge, Junge!” (Well, old man!) which actually meant: “I don’t believe a word of it.”

Prisoners “going out”

My friend Pinchedez, who occasionally used to go downtown, came back one evening with two Frenchmen wearing civilian jackets and military trousers. Both prisoners and members of a glazier squad stationed nearby, they “went out” several times a week with the sentinels’ consent, had a few drinks and were back to the “LAG” in due time. This privileged status had its roots in the setting up of a sort of co-operative in their mini-camp: the prisoners made marquetry boxes with material provided by their keepers, and profits were shared fairly amongst all. Sales were made under cover by the prisoners who, inevitably, had a lot of contacts among the population.

Looking for the average “STO” worker

Trying to define the average STO worker would be as easy as trying to represent France through a single postcard. Some of them, including myself, were lucky, others were less so, and statistics could not put things back into balance.

Testimonies gathered during this study should, if they were numerous enough, reveal very varied situations, which were lived according to haphazard routes. If they were to be assembled and analysed to make up a synthetic view, then the truth would inevitably be distorted again.

Second addition to my answer to the “STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE”

Work:

As an “Aushilfsarbeiter” – literally “auxiliary worker” – I was, along with my fellow fishermen, part of an extra unskilled workforce, lacking any qualifications.

Little by little, we became specialised in the laying and maintaining of railway tracks, while learning how to handle but a small number of tools: a fork to pack and unpack ballast, a pickaxe to force wooden or metal sleepers into place, a big T-spanner to tighten or loosen screw-pikes, rail-carrying tongs, a jack to lift rails and sleepers, a ram to align tracks… Team discipline was necessary for our own safety when we had to load a flatcar with rails we threw over our heads.

Over time, we sometimes cleared a street, dug a trench to replace a damaged pipe, dismantled a shed, unloaded a wagon full of bricks or tiles, shovelled coal dust, and loaded heavy scrap metal. If we were lucky, we were asked to help masons or roofers or even telephone installers to put up their poles…

All these activities were done at the expense of our trousers and blouses, and still more of our shoes, which demanded a complete, highly expensive resoling every month.

Food:

Work was often hard, but we were fed accordingly and I have already stressed our luck in that regard.

In France, as fishermen, we already had special labourers’ rationing tickets. The same was the case as railwaymen for the Reichsbahn in Wilhelmshaven.

This was not a small advantage, if you consider our weekly allotment after deduction of tickets for fat, meat, pasta and eggs for the meals we had at the camp canteen: 2500g of rye bread, 500g of white bread, 250g of sugar, 200g of jam or ersatz honey, 100g of cheese, 400g of sausage, 90g of ersatz coffee, and fruit or skimmed milk, depending on the season.

NB: 1. In addition, given in kind, 3 small glasses of spirit and 30 cigarettes

2. For Easter, as an extra: a packet of biscuits, a tin of mixed vegetables, two hard-boiled eggs, a small bottle of gin and some praline sweets.

3. To help lift the population’s morale, an extra food ration was granted in case of bombing: 300g of rye bread, 30g of butter or margarine, 50g of sausage.

In addition to these, we had foodstuffs in the parcels our families sent us, which, for me, happened twice a month. My parents did as best they could to buy non-perishable goods without spending their rationing tickets: although I was working in Germany, they still partially supported me.

Shelters:

Long before getting to Wilhelmshaven station, we were baffled by the presence of large buildings with cone-shaped roofs scattered over the urban landscape, which looked like huge medieval defense-towers. Soon enough we learnt they were shelters, and the best of their kind.

Each of these tower-shelters could house about six hundred people, with most of them being seated. Solid as rocks thanks to their shape and the thickness of their walls, they provided maximum protection. However this did not prevent women and children from screaming in fear at the first bomb blasts, when electrical circuits were disturbed by the shock of impacts and the mastodon building slowly swayed with the wavering peaty underground.

Apart from the towers – which could number as many as two dozen in 1943 – the safest shelters were situated mainly in residential areas and looked like impressive semi-detached houses. In case of night alert, we found shelter in such a building, after having reached it in the dark and steering clear of prams hurriedly pushed by panicked mothers.

Other huge shelters, underground ones, which were more common, added to this civil defense scheme, but rumour had it that they were not resistant to air-torpedoes, as the example of Bremen had shown.

As for the Reichsbahnlager earth shelter, it was a lesser evil only used by latecomers and those who were less resourceful.

Using correspondence

The problem arises to know whether memories can be trusted or whether, having become a story told to oneself, they need written confirmation.

Official evidence does exist, but very little can be put forward by those concerned: in my case, the notification and leave certificate. Other written evidence could have been found in various French or German administrative archives, if they have not been burnt or pulped…

Faced with such a lack of documentation, one could be tempted to resort to correspondence kept by families but this would only be an expedient in the search for objectivity, for the information contained in those letters was often inaccurate or conjectural.

In any case, they could not be absolutely sincere as we first had to take into account the danger of censorship by a totalitarian state, and above all the risk of alarming our relatives. So, as a principle, we insisted on the neutral, reassuring aspect of things. However, our main desire to return home appeared as a leitmotiv in the letters, with an occasional allusion to a clandestine future in the making.

A PARENTHESIS OF SEVERAL MONTHS

Some periods in life, because they are badly defined and disorderly, are lived like holidays, good or bad. Their main characteristic is their lack of uniformity, their instability. This precariousness indeed prevailed between my return from STO in December 1943 and 1944, when I joined the Gendarmerie.

I. My stay in Calvados

I had been back from Germany for but ten days when, on December 23^rd, 1943, I left Montfarville for Calvados, where some good friends of my parents’ had agreed to give me shelter at their own risk.

My leave certificate still being valid, the trip went smoothly. Besides, no police control interfered with the peacefulness of the journey from Valognes to Littry, via Bayeux, where I spent the night.

The following day I arrived in “Le Titre”, a little way from the Le Tronquay village, where my host family lived. Our generous friends Charles and Marie Langlois had offered the isolation of their small, hedged farmland to hide me. I had met them early in my childhood, as I spent my first school holidays with them in Longues-sur-Mer. Of their three children, only Simone, their youngest, lived with them. The eldest son was married and lived in Carentan, the younger son was in Châtel-Guyon, in the so-called “free” zone, where he worked as General de La Porte-du-Theil’s15 A French general, close to Maréchal Pétain, responsible for the Chantiers de la Jeunesse (Youth Work Camps). The Occupying Forces arrested him in his office in Châtel-Guyon on January 4th, 1944, for insubordination. chauffeur.

Two days later, on December 26^th, I went to M. Mouche’s place in Balleroy – he too was a friend of my parents – a gendarme who was keen on playing a role in the solidarity chain. He had found a job for me on a farm, close enough to his place to be able to have enough time to warn me in the event of a German investigation. We had made an appointement to meet on January 7^th.

On the day we had set, I met M. Mouche on a pathway in La Bazoque, a small village south-west of Balleroy, where I was to find food and board. Having walked for some time, we arrived in the rectangular yard of a reassuring, wealthy-looking cattle farm. Short introductions and insisting commendations were quickly over: my friend was eager to go back to his brigade chief.

The boss, M. Ch…, was a man of average height, thickset and sanguine. He immediately set me to work, telling me I first had to earn my supper. When I had finished preparing mangel-wurzel for the cattle, he showed me the place where I could sleep: in a free corner of a corn loft, two not-quite-clean “beds” were made, covered with sheepskins. “There is room enough for four, and there are only three of you.” At that time of year indeed, the farm worked on reduced staff and only two permanent workers were left: one of Polish origin, the other Algerian. Day labourers would be hired after winter.

Having 3,000 francs in my pocket, I mentioned it to M. Ch…, asking him to keep it somewhere safe for me. As a result, he changed his mind about my sleeping arrangements and invited me into the house and convinced his wife to offer me a proper bedroom.

I will not dwell on La Bazoque. M. Ch… was a wealthy farmer, both vain and sly, who prided himself on his situation. He was the village trustee for the allotment of fertilisers and seeds, and loved repeating in a self-important way that, on his land, he felt as if in a principality.

He was not quite wrong. Under the protection of the gendarmes, thanks to the illegals he employed occasionally, he did not fear the Germans, who came regularly for fresh supplies and were welcomed like friends.

Although nice when sober, he became “invasive” under the influence as the day went on. His words expressed brutality and contempt. His wife was visibly frightened of this country tyrant.

I had my share of various slights from a boor who, nevertheless, seemed quite respectable on Sundays when, with his wife and daughter, he went to mass in his elegant tilbury.

It was on the morning of January 12^th, that, when I asked to accompany him to Littry, to go back to my friends’ place, he realised he had gone too far. His tone became almost amiable again, but the harm was done. I had not had enough time to really know the other two workers; only the Pole had helped me with some advice. But I lamented Mme Ch…’s kindness and her daughter’s ingenuousness.

Hardly had I left my ex-boss on the Marché de la Mine in Littry when I met M. Mouche, who was both surprised and angry to see me there. After some explanation, I went back to Le Tronquay where I was quite welcome again. We had to start from scratch because I needed a port of call, which seemed extremely difficult to do. In the meantime, I would get busy with winter jobs: wood had to be sawn or chopped, bramble uprooted, cattle looked after.

Charles Langlois worked three days a week for Armand Langlois, the mayor of Campigny, whom he called “Master Armand”. On January 24^th, my friend told me that, on the following day, I would come with him to Campigny, where I could work as a gardener. I had done some vegetable growing in Montfarville, so this opportunity suited me perfectly.

On January 25^th, I planted myself in a spot in a large vegetable garden completely surrounded by a wall (as is the case in every large farm in the Bessin). As I was waiting to go in, a gendarme arrived on his bicycle, and left but a few minutes later. He was a member of the Bayeux brigade, who had just informed the mayor of imminent German house visits aimed at capturing clandestines, while adding that the young man he had seen in the yard did not look like a farm hand.

The mayor of Campigny was sorry but, under the circumstances, he could not go on with his plan. But he promised to provide me with rationing tickets as long as I would stay with my friends the Langlois.

Finding myself back in Le Tronquay for the second time, I did not want to put my protectors at risk any longer. Mme Binard, Simone’s future mother-in-law, reported worrying news: some people could hardly bear the presence of people hiding here and there when prisoners of war were still languishing in Germany.

After a phone call to warn my family, I went back to Le Val-de-Saire on January 29^th, accompanied by “le Père Charles”. We boarded the train in Le Molay-Littry and counted on having a journey as quiet as when we had come. However, in Lison we started to notice plain-clothed policemen questioning people with suitcases, suspected of being black market traffickers.

When the train stopped in Neuilly-la-Forêt, the last station in Calvados, we were curious to see if the search was still going on. We discovered the answer soon enough. Walking along the train, the stationmaster drew passengers’ attention with a tap on the window, saying: “The Gestapo is in the carriage!” The train started again. The man who came in was not a civilian in a leather coat, but a soldier with a Feldgendarmerie badge. Given his age, my companion was of no interest to him. To me he said: “Papersbitte! Where do you work?”

For the first time, I had to use my forged identity card. I stood up and answered I worked near Carentan, in Sainte-Mère-Église where I was apprenticed to a pork butcher. Had I been very convincing? Was the soldier in a hurry, or very understanding? The thing is, he did not even wait for me to take my papers out of my jacket pocket. The “good man” had turned round and closed the door of our compartment. In retrospect, I still heave a sigh of relief. In Carentan station, a dozen people left the train, clearly under arrest.

Nothing happened during the rest of the journey. In Valognes, Mme Leproist, a shopkeeper, back from the market, was waiting for me. She took me back to Montfarville in her van.

I. Quiet weeks

We had to admit it: my coming back to Montfarville was a failure. The plan engineered by my parents and their friends had turned out to be too fragile. It seemed as risky to hide in Calvados as in La Manche. Anyway, each clandestine was a threat to those who helped him.

My parents, set on accepting the risks associated with keeping a clandestine, were to keep me under their roof where I would remain cloistered. One of the first things I did was to destroy my forged papers and inform the kind person who had generously provided them. Louis Ernest Perrault, born on January 3rd, 1925 in Sainte-Mère-Église became Louis Marius Pesnel, born on September 14^th, 1922 in Montfarville again. The attempt at rejuvenation had failed.

My isolation would be somewhat relative, as I lived with my family, who would let me know about the news and local rumours. For everyone else – or almost everyone else– I had gone back to Germany at the end of my leave. I was no longer in the village, I had no rationing card. No one was to see me.

Idleness soon became a greater burden than I had thought of, even in winter, indoor work is very limited in the country. Odd jobs, getting seeds ready and planning future work is quickly over and done with.

As long as the weather remained cold, time would go by slowly. But things would change completely come spring.

Nothing is more debilitating than denying your own existence while the sun is giving new life to nature. Feeling locked-in seems all the more disheartening, as it is some sort of self-imposed punishment. No doubt my parents were relieved to know I was close to them, far from the bombs falling on Germany, but I saw they were also worried about what could happen to me at home.

For my part, I had plenty of time to ponder on the absurdity of certain situations. Conscripted into the STO I had felt more useful to my friends in Wilhelmshaven than to the Reichsbahn that employed me. I had not been treated as a slave. In Montfarville, I was reduced to hiding and shutting up. At an age when man is impatient, it is burdensome to restrain oneself, to feel forever an outsider.

I killed time re-reading books, lengthily going over past school lessons, following the news and trying to decipher what was exaggerated and what was left unsaid. Trying to guess… the progression of the Allied Forces in Italy, while at the same time on the Plateau des Glières the massacre of the maquis16 This maquis, situated in Haute-Savoie, included a few hundred maquisards, and was attacked at the end of March 1944 by German forces. About a hundred maquisards died during the attack. by the Wehrmacht. Fortune good and bad.

Weeks are beginning to seem longer and longer. My parents are worried to see me worn down by seclusion, going from excitement to despondency. My mother is the one to take the decision: in early April, she tells the neighbourhood I have come back from Germany on sick leave. People believe her or don’t. It doesn’t matter, everyone will pretend.

Besides, when I come out in the daylight, no one asks me anything. No doubt they notice I never go to Barfleur or to the village of Montfarville, and carefully tend to avoid being too close to men in uniform. No one mentions it to me. In these troubled times, curiosity does not speak out loud.

Every day I went to our field in – the aptly named – “La Planque”17 “Planque” means hideout in French. but always along the “chasses”: pathways deeply cut into the ground, at the time sheltered by hedges. I took on my old work habits, alone or in the company of my mother or my grandmother, Mémère Daireaux, an outstanding walker.

No question of boredom any more. Late cauliflowers as well as early cabbages of Tourlaville have to be picked. Here the ground has to be dug, there it has to be prepared for sowing after a superficial ploughing. Potatoes have to be planted, salads transplanted. Days go by, all alike, all different, with inner peace as a bonus. I am still an outsider, but this time with a light heart. Now that I am no longer confined inside the house I feel protected by vegetation. Worries followed by serenity…

III. Feverish weeks

Around the middle of May, it became clear the Allied Forces were indeed getting ready for the large-scale operation which had been forecast for a long time: the opening of a new front line after the Italian one.

Not only were we well-informed of the multiplication of “terrorist”18 A term used by the Vichy regime for Allied bombings and raids on French territory, it was widely used on propaganda posters. raids on French cities where stations were destroyed, as well as of the new wave of massive bombing over Germany, but the war machine had stopped ignoring us. In our quiet – not to say sleepy – Val-de-Saire, the sky was gradually becoming animated with short air raids targeted at “La Pernelle” hill, the only strategically important military site. “Black Widows”, Lightning19 American fighter plane with twin booms, with a 20 mm gun and four machine-guns, which could carry ten rockets. fighter-bombers with twin booms, ensured undisputed supremacy and dropped their rockets on the fortified zone.

About 3 miles from Montfarville, as the crow flies, “La Pernelle” was bombed seven times in May, of which five occurred in the second half of the month. The process was gathering speed, and planes strafed every convoy on the roads. There was no doubt the attack would come soon.

Although work in the field was continued, fishing had been reduced to almost nothing. As we had been ordered by the Occupying Forces to leave our radio sets in the town hall, we could no longer listen to the BBC and credible news was becoming scarce.

Every family had a makeshift shelter ready, though hoping never to have to use it. Ours was at the back of the garden. I had dug for about twenty hours into a very compact soil to make a healthy, well-ventilated T-shaped trench, protected by solid ship hold sheets under a thick layer of earth.

We had been waiting for the storm to break out when, on June 2^nd, “La Pernelle” was bombed again at night, then twice during the day on Saturday, June 3^rd. On that day, a neighbour coming back from Barfleur reported a German soldier’s remark. At the butcher’s, he had told the customers: “Do not laugh too loud, Ladies! Your English friends are getting ready in their ships! Next week, Barfleur Kaputt!” The planes came back twice on the morning of June 5^th. The atmosphere was becoming electric.

We had just gone to bed, on the evening of June 5^th, when the attack started on “La Pernelle”. It was not yet 11pm. Bombs exploded on the hill, under the light of flares. The beams of the four antiaircraft searchlights set up two days before in Montfarville were sweeping the night sky. The antiaircraft arsenal was playing its score out of time. The attack being led with pinpoint accuracy, there was no need to go to the shelter.

Later on that night, my father woke me up. Planes could still be heard, but they were humming high up: a ceaseless noise. And far away, due south, a surprising red glow was still visible on the horizon, as we heard the echoes of muffled rumbling.

And then came the morning of June 6^th, a revelation at daybreak, an unbelievable feat! From the attic windows, we could see an impressive armada of ships of all kinds over which floated captive balloons, the sea covered by the enormous convoy heading south. More than a convoy: a whole sea of ships!

Soon, from the other side of the house, flying low in a deafening noise, a large number of our twin-engined planes painted with five alternate stripes rushed forward, each one pulling a glider. Protected by fighters-planes, they too were heading south.

Small groups of Germans went by, their helmets decorated with leaves, disconcerted by this upsurge of power. Shooting the planes and gliders that was really within reach, is something they didn’t think about, or if they did, it was too late, for there was only one such bold flight.

As for the small coast batteries in Barfleur, they did not risk to set themselves apart with a direct hit on such a strikingly superior enemy. For its part, the ever-present American fighter planes flying above them returned the compliment and did not aim at them. Was this a “Gentlemen’s agreement” or tacit pact? Afterwards, rumour had it that the local German leader had wanted to avoid the destruction of Barfleur, as a means of thanking the population who had spontaneously helped a group of soldiers injured by an air raid a few days before.

By June 6^th, one thing was sure to us: D-day had started in the south, between the dune and Les Veys – the future Utah Beach. We soon had a confirmation of that and we were relieved to learn that the Allied Forces had also set foot on the Calvados shore, between Les Veys and the mouth of the Orne river, an area which we knew well. News was spread by word of mouth from “someone who owned a crystal set”. Liberation now seemed close at hand, and so naturally our optimism rose greatly. Our only worry: the weather was rather unfavourable to the landing of amphibious vehicles on the beaches.

All in all, for us, June 6^th was not “The Longest Day”. It was the most beautiful day of all. Neither the day of true liberation, nor that of the German capitulation had the same emotional charge by far.

On the morning of June 7^th, I was busy in the attic when I heard the unmistakable noise of planes flying in formation. It was a squadron of Marauder type bombers – about a dozen of them – coming from the sea and heading west at an altitude of about 1,500 metres (5,000 feet). I had a quick glance at them, long enough to understand they had just let go of their heavy projectiles.

Although I had rushed down the stairs to try and reach the garden, I had only reached the first floor at the moment of the impact. The house shook so violently under the blast wave that a window opened on its own.

I saw the enormous amount of earth lifted up by the bombs coming down again in slow motion over the village of L’Église before the smoke from the explosions was blown away. The searchlights, 600 meters (650 yards) away, were the target of the attack. We quickly learnt it had been a total success and there were no victims in the population. No other attack was made against the village of Montfarville.

On that day again, “La Pernelle” had its share of bombs and shells but the 105 mm and 170 mm guns remained silent.

On the following days, nothing worth mentioning happened, apart from an occasional flight of Allied Forces planes. Maritime convoys did not sail so close to the shore, and seemed less densely crowded. News from the south was vague and sometimes contradictory. Twenty-five kilometres (15 miles) from us, war was raging, and our little piece of land had become quiet again and, on the surface, it was to stay so.

In fact, the Germans were already considering their withdrawal to the stronghold of Cherbourg, which was to be held at any cost. They were getting ready for precisely that. Anyhow, we felt the expeditionary corps was stuck with its back to the sea, and that a setback was yet to fear. We also took stock of the extent of the destructions suffered by Norman towns.

After a few days of forced inactivity farmers went back to their fields. Vegetable plots had to be weeded and hoed, hay had to be made. From time to time, so as to better see the ant-like activity of humans, a US fighter would roar down, then rush up and away into the sky. Everyone thought it natural to enjoy this sort of immunity.

We hardly ever saw the Germans who indeed seemed to ignore us and took no policing measures towards the inhabitants, apart from the curfew. Coastal defense remained inactive, through lack of direction or on purpose. The Army battery set up in Gattemare, in the village of Gatteville, north of Barfleur, did not fire its four 155 guns. Close by, the Navy battery of Néville point, so-called “Blankensee”, did no more to change the course of events.

But fever was in our hearts, particularly because nothing else was changing around us. We saw the Americans had second thoughts about occupying the Val-de-Saire coastline before they had conquered the hills that were the spine of the Cotentin. The Germans would take advantage of them to succeed in their planned withdrawal to Cherbourg, which might be the reason for their lack of initiative in the final phase when their tactic remained purely defensive.

We had learnt that the city of Bayeux was intact after its liberation, contrary to other less important towns. We also learned that the Allied Forces were setting up a new type of wharves20 Aware that it would be difficult to conquer a sea port in a short time, the Allied Forces considered, as early as 1942, the creation of “artificial harbours”. These Mulberries (code name given to artificial harbours), made from sunken old ships and huge concrete blocks linked by floating jetties emerge off the beaches of Saint-Laurent-sur-mer and Arromanches. They allowed big ships to unload their equipment. Between June 19th and 22nd, a storm ruined the Mulberry in Saint-Laurent, and damaged the one in Arromanches. and that V1 rockets21 Vergeltungswaffeeins: Retaliation Weapon n° 1. The first of these auto pilot guided missiles was launched on June 12th, 1944 and hit the south of England. Being close to English urban centres, the Cotentin is a privileged spot for launch pads. A large number were abundantly bombed and made useless. were raining on London. As of June 16^th, the wind set to the northeast and strengthened in the following days: enough to increase worries as to reinforcement transportation.

During the night of June 18^th to 19^th, German troops very discreetly left the northern part of Quettehou canton so as to better defend the Cherbourg and Maupertus airfield. On June 19^th, more Germans turned up in Barfleur and Montfarville. In the afternoon, a motorcycle patrol from Tocqueville suddenly appeared in the rue Saint-Thomas, in Barfleur, which was profusely decked with flags in honour of American troops. The German scouts could not believe their eyes and drove back immediately, convinced the enemy was close at hand.

On June 20^th, the American cavalry group who had taken Saint-Vaast and Quettehou on the 19^th, occupied the rest of the canton. From “La Bretonne” in Barfleur, we were about twenty people of all ages walking along the D1 coast road to meet a much too timorous vanguard. We quickly met GIs whom we thanked with words and gestures. We told them the Germans had left more than a day before. They probably already knew this for they did not look surprised.

They were interested in something else: “What do you think of Général Giraud22 This anecdote shows the Allied Forces were interested in public opinion in Normandy and France. The population was questioned on many topics (bombing, supplies, and here, politics), so as to assess the current state of mind. Then, the reference to Général Giraud shows Roosevelt, who considered de Gaulle as an apprentice dictator, was trying to put forward another leader whom he found in Giraud. Giraud agreed to meet de Gaulle, and together they made up the Comité français de la Libération nationale (French Committee for National Liberation) on May 30th, 1943. He soon stepped into the background in favour of his peer and finally resigned from his position as Commander in Chief of French troops in North Africa. On the day Louis Pesnel was questioned (June 20th, 1944), de Gaulle had already put in place in Normandy (since his visit on June 14th, 1944) a General Committee of the Republic, headed by François Coulet. De Gaulle’s future was taking shape.?” a lieutenant asked. I immediately retorted we preferred Général De Gaulle! This was rather dashing. On the leading half-track, the young officer was scribbling in his notebook. Some soldiers threw chewing gum and cigarettes towards outstretched hands; meanwhile new people were arriving all the time. On each side of the road, other GIs methodically scanned the streets with their “frying pans”.

We have been liberated! Is this a pleasure to be enjoyed, to be delved upon? In Montfarville as well as in Barfleur, the occupation has lasted four years to the day.

On the morning of June 21^st, curiosity brought me on the D901 road, which, from Barfleur, heads west to Cherbourg. I rode past Tocqueville without difficulty, meeting no military and only a few civilians. But for the planes in the sky and the many bomb blasts in the distance I could have doubted the reality of the war. When I approached Saint-Pierre-Église I could distinctly hear the dry hammering sound of light artillery and the irregular hiccups of machine-guns.

I stopped one kilometre after the village, near La Lande Michaud, close to a group of bunkers north of the road. “They’ve taken Saint-Pierre, but they are fighting in Les Hauts”, claimed a chap who seemed well-informed. Indeed, the noise of skirmishes could be heard from the southwest, in the direction of Théville.

I could go back peacefully, the tide was going out. What had most surprised me, during that reconnaissance from a careful distance, was the thinness of the combat zone, a mere line of fire, a “floating” ribbon of ground where enemies were in close contact and had to move constantly. The Germans disengaged to reach Cherbourg, without panic, and under pressure from the Americans, who never left them for even a moment. It took six more days for the defense of the great Norman military harbour to fall. Some 39,000 Germans from all army corps were taken prisoner.

As I was about to start on my way back a guy offered to accompany me a short distance away to the fortified compounds abandoned by the Frisés 23 A derogatory term used for German soldiers (the Krauts).. He said we could find some expensive stuff that could be salvaged, and that this kind of work would be easier with the two of us… I left it to the daring rogue to find another accomplice.

All immediate danger being removed, our fear persisted concerning the other parts of the Norman line of fire, in particular because of the failure of operation “Epsom” west of Caen. The German army, very determined, was opposing a fierce resistance to Allied Forces. What is more, the considerable damage after the storm from June 18^th to 21^st threatened the supply of divisions on land.

We were also interested in the extra activity in Barfleur harbour that, in a few weeks, had become with Saint-Vaast-la-Hougue a busy place for the unloading of food supplies and military equipment. “Liberty ships”, unable to dock because of their draught, dropped anchor offshore. Unloading quickly started with a flood of “ducks”, amphibious vehicles that got the goods from the cargo ships that were to be carried by GMC slatted side trucks waiting near the holes. It would have been difficult to imagine such an abundance of diverse goods.

As always material tasks imposed their daily strain. In the country, June and July are slaving months.

A popular and regular entertainment was a modern version of our former town criers: a jeep from the news service of the US army went from village to village, every day at the same time, to inform the population directly. We were hungry for news. After mid-July we heard of operation “Goodwood” in the south of Caen – a half failure – then of the assassination attempt against Hitler24 This assassination attempt took place on July 20th, 1944. Instigated by members of Hitler’s entourage, it failed, and only resulted in minor injuries for the Führer. A large number of witnesses referred to this event: numerous press articles and hope for a quick ending were two reasons for that phenomenon..

On the morning of July 25^th, I was working in “La Planque” when I saw, high up in the blue sky, flying fortresses heading south in numerous, close formations. The heavy bombers came by the hundreds. I counted more than a thousand. On that day, 5,000 tons of bombs were to be dropped west of Saint-Lô, on a corridor covering twelve square kilometres (3,000 acres). It was the beginning of operation “Cobra”25 On operation Cobra, see note 13 of Julien Le Bas’s testimony. which would be decisive for the rest of the war.

In early August, the breakthrough in Avranches was a good omen for future fights. At last the defensive armour had cracked. But, as time went on, we felt like participating in it all, if it was not too late. Several of us in Montfarville and Barfleur wanted to join the national Navy. In Cherbourg, on our arrival in the arsenal, we were told the Navy did not need any new recruits: a disappointment that deeply affected me.

IV. Waiting for our future to come

The Navy’s flat refusal had suddenly awakened some doubts as to my professional perspectives. Until then, I had believed – on the grounds of a first application to the entrance exam of the École de Maistrance (Navy Officer School) in 1940 – that myself, and a few others, could, by dispensation, be allowed to take the course, as an exception. I had seen that it was impossible and I now had to find a new destination; but where to?

Since I had started living in Montfarville, I had often turned to the “Guide des carriers Carus” (Carus Careers Guide), the purpose of which was not so much to inform the reader on the natural or acquired qualities needed for each job as to introduce correspondence courses to prepare administrative exams or vocational diplomas.

Sailing was no longer possible, and the uncertain fate of substitute teachers did not appeal to me, so I would soon have to choose between a civil servant job in the postal service, railroads, civil engineering or the reconstruction which, no doubt, would offer a wide range of opportunities. Furthermore, there was the arsenal in Cherbourg, which was the first job provider in the area.

But all this depended on life having gone back to normal, the State having been reorganized, and France having been completely liberated. We still had some way to go. In August 1944, the people of the Cotentin were still isolated in their peninsula, no administrative inquiry was possible, and precariousness was persisting.

In the meantime, we had plenty to do. Planting several thousand cabbages, hoeing leek fields, sowing salads, picking beans, gathering potatoes: we needed strength and perseverance. In September, we would have to pick carrots and still more beans, onions, potatoes, and then hoe cauliflowers before going on with other chores.

A larger number of American soldiers could now be seen, mostly coloured men, busy carrying and watching over supplies. The troops lived in canvas camps, and relationships with the population were superficial.

Meanwhile, history was moving on. We had got our radio sets back and listened to the evolution of operations: the German counter-attack on Mortain, and its subsequent failure26 See note n° 16 in Julien Le Bas’s testimony.; the American rush towards Le Mans, then Alençon and Argentan; the simultaneous progression of the British; the allied landings in Provence27 August 15th, 1944, operation Anvil, then Dragoon, was meant to allow Allied Forces to set foot on the south coast of France, and then join the troops from Normandy. Often mentioned in Norman testimonies.; the Germans chased out of Normandy; the liberation of big cities: Paris and Marseilles in late August, Lyon in early September.

In Barfleur, the unloading of “sundries” had been stopped in the first half of July. Fishermen were now following the rhythm of the tides again, provisionally using an American safe-conduct that had taken the place of the German Ausweiss.

My father, who was sailing again, had to give up once more. As he could still be mobilized, he had just been called and appointed to the gendarmerie brigade in Saint-Vaast-la-Hougue. In October 1944, he informed me that they were recruiting young auxiliaries. I did not hesitate: grabbing the line chance was throwing, I joined without further ado.

Thus, through an opening in real life comes the end of that chaotic period I lived as an attentive spectator, these months suspended in time, full of hope, luck and freedom.

1. Before the STO was institutionalized, Pierre Laval had invented the system of “la relève” (relief). In order to increase the number of volunteers leaving to work in Germany, French workers were to be sent there and in exchange some prisoners of war were to be freed. This measure failed and the French government introduced the STO instead.
2. An engineering group founded by Fritz Todt responsible for the Atlantic wall and the construction of launch platforms for V1 and V2 rockets.
3. Cf. M. Boivin, Les Manchois dans la tourmente de la Seconde Guerre mondiale: 1939-1945, Tome 3, L’Occupation: l’ordre allemand, le régime de Vichy et la collaboration, Marigny, Eurocibles, 2004, p. 314.
4. The German national railway.
5. Michel Boivin found 91 death certificates for labour conscripts in the registry office books of the towns of the department of the Manche. The historian notes that “42.5% of deaths were due to illness (tuberculosis, appendicitis, diphtheria, meningitis)” (op. cit., p. 243). When not properly treated, these sometimes benign diseases could indeed become fatal. Besides, air raids caused 26.2% of the deaths of people from the Manche who were in Germany.
6. As a shipyard and U-boat base, Wilhelmshaven was one the nerve centres of the Reich’s navy.
7. These exercises called “la pelote” were often disciplinary or meant to hurt their feelings.
8. K onzentrationslager: concentration camp.
9. Date when the armistice between Italy and the Anglo-Americans was signed.
10. Die, Hitler! The French equivalent sounds more or less like “Heil Hitler”. “Hate, Hitler” would be a reasonable translation [TN].
11. As of September 1943, German authorities reduced the number of leaves. The reason is, many of those who benefited did not go back to Germany. The study on the labour conscripts of the Manche shows that of 758 conscripts who came back on leave, 67.7% did not return.
12. Reichs mark.
13. A.C.V.G.: Anciens Combattants et Victimes de Guerre.
14. National sozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei: the National Socialist German Workers' Party, led by Hitler.
15. A French general, close to Maréchal Pétain, responsible for the Chantiers de la Jeunesse (Youth Work Camps). The Occupying Forces arrested him in his office in Châtel-Guyon on January 4^th, 1944, for insubordination.
16. This maquis, situated in Haute-Savoie, included a few hundred maquisards, and was attacked at the end of March 1944 by German forces. About a hundred maquisards died during the attack.
17. “Planque” means hideout in French.
18. A term used by the Vichy regime for Allied bombings and raids on French territory, it was widely used on propaganda posters.
19. American fighter plane with twin booms, with a 20 mm gun and four machine-guns, which could carry ten rockets.
20. Aware that it would be difficult to conquer a sea port in a short time, the Allied Forces considered, as early as 1942, the creation of “artificial harbours”. These Mulberries (code name given to artificial harbours), made from sunken old ships and huge concrete blocks linked by floating jetties emerge off the beaches of Saint-Laurent-sur-mer and Arromanches. They allowed big ships to unload their equipment. Between June 19^th and 22^nd, a storm ruined the Mulberry in Saint-Laurent, and damaged the one in Arromanches.
21. Vergeltungswaffeeins: Retaliation Weapon n° 1. The first of these auto pilot guided missiles was launched on June 12^th, 1944 and hit the south of England. Being close to English urban centres, the Cotentin is a privileged spot for launch pads. A large number were abundantly bombed and made useless.
22. This anecdote shows the Allied Forces were interested in public opinion in Normandy and France. The population was questioned on many topics (bombing, supplies, and here, politics), so as to assess the current state of mind. Then, the reference to Général Giraud shows Roosevelt, who considered de Gaulle as an apprentice dictator, was trying to put forward another leader whom he found in Giraud. Giraud agreed to meet de Gaulle, and together they made up the Comité français de la Libération nationale (French Committee for National Liberation) on May 30^th, 1943. He soon stepped into the background in favour of his peer and finally resigned from his position as Commander in Chief of French troops in North Africa. On the day Louis Pesnel was questioned (June 20^th, 1944), de Gaulle had already put in place in Normandy (since his visit on June 14^th, 1944) a General Committee of the Republic, headed by François Coulet. De Gaulle’s future was taking shape.
23. A derogatory term used for German soldiers (the Krauts).
24. This assassination attempt took place on July 20^th, 1944. Instigated by members of Hitler’s entourage, it failed, and only resulted in minor injuries for the Führer. A large number of witnesses referred to this event: numerous press articles and hope for a quick ending were two reasons for that phenomenon.
25. On operation Cobra, see note 13 of Julien Le Bas’s testimony.
26. See note n° 16 in Julien Le Bas’s testimony.
27. August 15^th, 1944, operation Anvil, then Dragoon, was meant to allow Allied Forces to set foot on the south coast of France, and then join the troops from Normandy. Often mentioned in Norman testimonies.

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Archive Number:

Numéro: TE364
Lieu: Mémorial de Caen

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Service du Travail Obligatoire (Compulsory Work Service)− A parenthesis of several months

STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE

I. Circumstances before departing

II. Circumstances at the time of departing

III. The trip

IV. Life in Germany

V. Return trip

Addition to the “STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE”

Second addition to my answer to the “STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE”

A PARENTHESIS OF SEVERAL MONTHS

I. My stay in Calvados

I. Quiet weeks

III. Feverish weeks

IV. Waiting for our future to come

Chapitres

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Formulaire de recherche

Vous êtes ici

Service du Travail Obligatoire (Compulsory Work Service)− A parenthesis of several months

STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE

I. Circumstances before departing

II. Circumstances at the time of departing

III. The trip

IV. Life in Germany

V. Return trip

Addition to the “STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE”

Second addition to my answer to the “STO (CWS) QUESTIONNAIRE”

A PARENTHESIS OF SEVERAL MONTHS

I. My stay in Calvados

I. Quiet weeks

III. Feverish weeks

IV. Waiting for our future to come

Chapitres

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