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| against a German tank
brigade. As we rolled over the bridge crossing the Loire, we saw
demolition teams crawling all over the structure in their vain attempt
to slow down the German advance. A few minutes after we passed over,
we heard the mighty roar of its destruction. We were the last train
to escape across the Loire from Angers.
Our railroad cars, which bore the inscription "8 horses or 40 men" were quite uncomfortable. There was no straw on the floor and we slept in two rows of about twenty men. As the railroad car was only nine feet wide, our legs overlapped, so each row of men had their feet on top for half the night. The rows were also so close that if one man wanted to turn from one side to the other, the entire row had to turn with him. Our little locomotive churned along without a major incident. We had only one bombing alert, which turned out to be a false one, as the Messerschmitts paid no attention to us. Sitting in the ditches along the track, we envisioned what the Germans could have done if they had wanted to bother to attack our sad column. On the roads parallel to the tracks we saw an interminable stream of refugees moving at a snail's pace toward an improbable salvation. There were cars of all descriptions piled high with mattresses and other household goods. There were farm vehicles and even pushcarts loaded with children and elderly people. All of France seemed to be on the road in an attempt to escape the inevitable. Our trek ended on the day of the Armistice, when we stopped in Albi not far from Toulouse. We were housed in the wooden barracks of a Colonial Regiment, which became our regiment as well for the time being. There was no need for an alpine outfit in the foothills of the Central Plateau. Survival was now our chief concern. As food became scarce, we needed money. The situation soon became desperate, especially in a nearby camp of Spanish refugees from the Civil War. My brother and I had given shelter to a stray dog, a beautiful black Dane we called "Blackie." One day Blackie failed to return from his daily rounds. That very evening our Spanish neighbors tried to peddle some aromatic hamburger patties in our camp. Since we did not share our neighbor's fondness for dogs and cats sautéed in olive oil, we had to look for other sources of food and income. A sewage company, which needed to excavate deep ditches, hired us for the task. Throwing earth out of the ditch way above our heads required a technique of shoveling which we learned after a few days on the job, and which has helped me ever since on many occasions. Another source of income was darning the socks of fellow soldiers. I am able to produce, to this day, an impeccable weave for even the largest holes. But nylon has replaced the cotton of yore and nobody has to darn socks anymore, to the disappointment of a true artist in sock mending, which I became in 1940. Toward the end of June
our new Colonel began the process of demobilizing his troops, which France
no longer needed. The country had been cut in two, with most of the
South under the authority of the Maréchal Pétain, who now
resided in the new capital of Vichy in central France. Paris and
the North, together with a strip along the Atlantic, were under direct
German supervision. There was also an Italian |
