When France was occupied by the Nazis during World War II, they set up their headquarters in certain large often beautiful French homes throughout France. My Belle Mere's (Mother-in-Law's) parents' home in Rennes was chosen for such a purpose. My Belle Mere was sixteen at the time, she and her family were allowed to live in the basement while the Nazis took over their home.
At the same time, my Belle Mere's family who lived in Paris were afraid that Paris would be destroyed came to Rennes because they thought they would be safer, they moved in with my Belle Mere and her family, forty-five of them lived in the basement.
My Belle Mere's Father was active in the French Resistance. Living underneath them in the basement provided a sneaky eye's view on what was going on. It also proved a place easy to eavesdrop on the Nazi officers' conversations. He was allowed to ride his bicycle into the countryside to collect fresh produce and dairy products, a note or two was often slipped into the potato sack. Certainly, he feared for his life and the life of his family. But "…to sit and do nothing was like death itself." he later said.
My French family has many stories about life with the Nazi officers, oddly none of them are brutal nor ugly, seemingly surreal. The head Nazi officer was a family man and his wife like my Belle Mere's mother was pregnant. When my Belle Mere's mother went into labor, the head officer took her to the hospital and made sure that she had everything she needed.
I often wonder how it was to live like that? How it must have felt to be treated with an odd respect, yet knowing a violent war surrounded them. To see the enemy as human, to see their lives similar and intertwine. It was as if the Nazi officers in their home were not part of the war. The twisted twist of being involved and yet not wanting to be.
As horrendous and evil as that war was, it seemed some small acts of kindness sipped out of such ugliness. Often at night, the Nazi officers played the piano, and the music seemed to settle their frayed nerves. Though my Belle Mere's family never once let down their guard and knew that death was as close as their doorstep. The expression, "killing with kindness," seemed to hold a raw meaning for them in times like this.
A family in my village (whose home was also occupied during WWII) told me that their Great grandmother was told after celebrating Christmas with the Nazi officers that occupied their home, "We have had a wonderful Christmas celebrating with you, we have enjoyed our evening together but if tonight we receive orders to kill you, we will." He said as he smiled and went upstairs to bed.
Photo: A French food ration chart from WWII that I found years ago at the brocante. The food chart lists the food items available, the cost and how much per person. Fresh fruits, vegetables, milk, and meat are not on the list.
The WWII food ration chart is hand-printed on canvas and hangs in our kitchen.
Today August 22nd, our town in Provence celebrates the day it was liberated, as it does every 22nd of August, with a parade celebrating the American and British soldiers, a moment of silence, then a party in the streets. I will post videos to my stories on Instagram.
On this day over twenty years ago I met Annie when she came to my door and said, "I didn't know an American to thank at the end of the war, and since I heard you are American I came to say thank you to you."
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