One Day in Oradour (10 page)

The Mayor, he was told, lived just across the fairground and was on his way. His son, Patric, had already been to alert him to the Germans’ arrival.

Despite the heat of the June afternoon, the burly authoritative figure who marched across the grass towards Dietrich was dressed in a smart dark suit, complete with a crisply-pressed jacket and tie. The glare of the bright afternoon sun on his white hair gave his face an almost ethereal glow and, as he grew closer, Dietrich could see a firm, square jawline and a mouth framed by a neatly trimmed handlebar moustache. Dietrich was amused by the fact that, in his left hand, the Mayor carried a leather briefcase, as if he was entering a routine business meeting.

Walking closely at his side was a younger man wearing a mechanic’s overall. Despite the differences in their attire, there was enough of a similarity between the two for Dietrich to deduce that they were father and son.

The Mayor did not look happy. He was outraged at this sudden intrusion into his otherwise peaceful village, and he was muttering something under his breath to his son as he approached.

The two men came face to face and the Mayor didn’t wait to be addressed.

‘I’m Henri Depaul. I’m the Mayor of this village. Would you mind telling me what’s going on?’

Dietrich’s interpreter stepped forward and gestured to Henri as he translated the Mayor’s words into German.

‘I am sure you’d like to know,’ Dietrich answered, smiling patronisingly at the Mayor. ‘I am Major Gustav Dietrich and I have orders to carry out a thorough identity check here in your fine little village. We need to round up every last person here – not just residents of Oradour, we want to see all visitors, too.’

Henri forced a smile. He didn’t like this cocky young officer with his SS cap, complete with silver skull-and-crossbones, tilted arrogantly to one side. But he could see from the Iron Cross on his breast pocket, and the
way his men kowtowed around him, that he was not someone it would be wise to antagonise.

‘Of course. We will help in any way we can. But, Major, can I ask what it is that has brought you here? Why Oradour?’

‘That’s of no concern to you at this stage,’ Dietrich replied through the interpreter. ‘Just help us to get everyone down here to the fairground, and quickly. Tell them that all we want to do is check papers. You have fifteen minutes.’

Henri turned to Patric and asked him to fetch the town crier and set him to work immediately.

‘Wait!’ shouted Dietrich, pushing one of his SS officers towards Patric. ‘Take this officer with you. He can speak fluent French. He’s to accompany the town crier at all times. Now go.
Schnell! Vite!
’

As they stood on the other side of the fairground, Sylvie and Leon Fournier watched this exchange anxiously, holding little Paulette and Louis tightly by the hand.

‘Did you hear that, Sylvie?’ Leon whispered. ‘It’s going to be alright. They only want to check that everyone has their identity papers. We should be fine. All our papers are in order, I’ll just run back and get them. It won’t take me long. You stay here with the children. Just do whatever they ask.’

‘But Leon, this isn’t what we agreed,’ Sylvie declared, fear making her voice shake. ‘If Alfie and the girls see the Germans here they’ll go straight to the cemetery. We should do the same. We should stay together.’

‘What’s wrong, Maman?’ It was Louis, feeling his mother’s hand trembling in his.

Leon glared at his wife. ‘Come on, Sylvie. You have to stay calm. You’re frightening the children. I’ll be ten minutes at the most, I promise.’

Sylvie relented, her thoughts suddenly turning to their friends, Ethan and Rachael. She let go of Louis’ hand and grasped her husband’s arm. Looking quickly around her to check that she was well out of anyone’s earshot, she said in a low voice, ‘You’ve got to warn Rachael and Ethan. If the Germans suspect that they’re Jewish, they’ll be in real trouble. Maybe they should try and get out of Oradour? If they risk coming here to the fairground…’

Leon nodded. ‘Yes, good idea. I’d better hurry.’

He gave his wife a hug, smiled at the children and then ran off up the street in the direction of home, passing the town crier, now banging his drum in a solemn but steady rhythm, broadcasting his message around the streets.

Following Dietrich’s orders, the soldiers of the 3rd Battalion swept their way through Oradour, home by home, shop by shop, street by street, hammering on doors, breaking into locked rooms, checking all the alleyways and searching back yards.

Gradually, the fairground began to fill with the people they rounded up. Despite the suddenness of the Germans’ arrival, everyone remained relatively calm, accepting the reassurance being offered that this was simply an identity check.

Sylvie gathered the children close to her skirt and went to sit in the shade of the tree. She was determined to stay out of the way and out of any trouble. She saw some of her friends and neighbours coming into the fairground. One of the first was Jean Neville, still wearing his white barber’s shirt and leading a small band of disgruntled clients. His customer from Confolens, a short, dumpy man with a thin black moustache, was cursing and gesticulating rudely. Jean had been half way through his haircut when the German soldier had come into the shop to order them outside and he was embarrassed to be seen with one side of his hair shorter than the other. Another client was wiping the shaving foam from his face with his sleeve as he walked.

Then Sylvie saw Leon’s boss, Benoit, leading his wife Blanche across the road, his floury arm placed
protectively around her shoulder. He sat Blanche down next to Sylvie then went over to one of the soldiers standing guard.

‘How long is this going to take?’ he asked. ‘I still have bread in the ovens and it’s going to spoil if I don’t get back quickly. No one likes burned bread.’

But the soldier either didn’t understand French or didn’t know the answer to the question, as he just pushed Benoit away with the end of his rifle and flicked his head to one side, to direct him to go and sit down.

‘How very rude. That’s most unnecessary,’ commented Blanche disapprovingly. Then she nudged Sylvie and pointed up towards the village well. ‘Oh my goodness, look at that! The poor dear.’

Madame Roux, the headmistress of the Oradour School for Girls was shuffling sheepishly into the fairground wearing a quilted dressing gown over a bright pink nightdress. Madame Roux had been at home nursing a nasty case of flu and a raging temperature, yet even so she had been dragged out to join her fellow villagers. Normally such a proud lady, she was cringing with the shame of being seen out in her bed clothes and looking so dishevelled. As she stood blowing her nose in the middle of the growing crowd, Sylvie could see her swaying. She looked quite dizzy and very sorry for herself.

Sylvie also noticed that, as they arrived in the fairground, all the men were being asked to surrender any weapons. Most of them reluctantly complied, not wanting to stir up any trouble, but for Philippe, buoyant and full of confidence after having his proposal of marriage to his sweetheart accepted just a few moments before, this was a step too far. With his new fiancée at his side he was determined not to be pushed around.

‘Look, I’m a farmer. This is for hunting,’ he argued, when the SS officer demanded that he hand over his shotgun. ‘It’s my right to carry it. Since when was it a crime to put food on the table?’

‘Hand it over now, or I’ll shoot you
and
your girlfriend,’ the soldier yelled, aiming his rifle in Philippe’s face.

Sylvie pulled Paulette and Louis to her breast so that they couldn’t watch.

‘Alright, alright,’ Philippe said, immediately dropping his gun to the floor and kicking it across to the German. ‘I’m sorry.’

He turned away, red-faced, and took Nadia’s hand with a sheepish smile. Nadia was clearly not impressed and shook her head at him crossly, muttering in his ear.

Sylvie could hear Philippe offering more apologies as the couple pulled back into the crowd.
Foolish boy
, she thought to herself.
He’s got no idea
.
As the minutes passed, the noise level in the fairground started to rise. The tapping of the children’s clogs on the cobbles, the heavy thud of the soldiers’ boots, the distant shouting from the German search parties, the anxious chatter of the villagers as they debated what would happen next, all a far contrast to the silence which rapidly descended on the now empty streets.

The grassy area in front of Sylvie was filling up – day trippers, shopkeepers, farmers, fishermen, mothers cuddling young babies, older sisters and brothers helping to push prams – and Sylvie had to keep standing up and straining her neck to see over the crowd, to see if she could spot Leon returning with their papers. Every so often, she glanced in the other direction, towards the road out to Peyrilhac and the refugee school. Some of the pupils who had been allowed to finish at lunchtime were milling around in the fairground, hanging off their parents’ arms or kicking around in the dust, looking irritable and bored. Sylvie prayed that Christelle, Sabine and Alfie were still safe in the classroom.

‘So much for getting the flower arrangements done!’

Sylvie jumped up as Madame Rousseau’s imposing shadow fell across her lap.

‘Oh, Audrey, I’m so sorry. I was on my way to the church when all this started. I had to come and find the children, I hope you understand.’

‘Of course I do, dear,’ said Audrey, patting her arm. ‘You must have been quite scared. I know this must bring back some bad memories. And don’t worry, Patric told me where you were.’

There it was again, that gentle thoughtfulness that lay underneath the prickly outer layer, the side that Audrey had revealed when the Fourniers had first arrived in Oradour. Sylvie felt a sudden rush of warmth for her neighbour and more than a little guilt about her reluctance to spend time with her.

‘He’s a good man, Patric Depaul,’ Audrey added. ‘I know he was anxious to get up here quickly, to warn his father, but he still took the time to walk with me. I think he could tell I was worried. They’ve been bursting into people’s houses you know, dragging them out. Old Armand the butcher’s father, came out half-dressed, still in his vest. Poor old soul. I really don’t know why they have to rush everyone so much.’

Sylvie was only half listening to Audrey. Her fears multiplying, she was still searching the growing mass of people, looking for Leon. Then, to her relief, she saw him, pushing his way through the crowd towards her and the children, their identity documents clutched in his hand.

‘Did you get everything?’ Sylvie asked, raising her eyebrows to hint at what she was really enquiring about.

‘Yes, I did. All safe.’ Leon smiled at Audrey politely and then took Sylvie to one side. ‘They’re hiding,’ he whispered. ‘In a cubby hole under the stairs. Rachael was distraught but I think I managed to calm her down when I told her they were just checking identity papers. So as long as they stay well out of sight for a while, they should be fine.’

‘Good,’ said Sylvie, although she was not completely reassured.

‘I think quite a few others are hiding too,’ Leon added quietly. ‘I met Patric by the hotel and he told me that Monsieur Lefevre didn’t want to wait to find out what the Germans wanted. He snuck out the back of his smithy as soon as he saw them coming over the bridge. He’s run off over the fields towards Peyrilhac. The family from the mill have gone with him, but they are Jewish, so I can’t blame them.’

‘Then we should go too, Leon,’ pleaded Sylvie. ‘That’s what we always agreed. We should go to the cemetery. If anything happens, at least Alfred and the girls will know where to look for us.’

‘Not yet,’ whispered Leon. ‘The Germans are searching everywhere. Another tram came into town just now and the driver said he’d seen troops searching all the farms around here. He saw them probing haystacks with bayonets. So they’re bound to check the
cemetery. If they found us there they’d think we were resisting or had something to hide. No. Our papers are in order and we should wait this out.’

Sylvie nodded and sat down again next to Louis and Paulette, who were busy digging holes in the dirt with a stick. She knew that Leon was making sense and she knew that he would do anything to keep the family safe. He had brought them all the way across France, after all, here to Oradour. He’d given them a fresh start, new hope. She had to trust him.

But there was one thing that was still bothering her. If this was really just an identity check, why had no one, not a soul so far as she could see, been asked to show their papers?

Less than an hour after the first German convoy arrived in Oradour, more than six hundred people made their way into the fairground: the villagers, all the day visitors, and the hundred and fifty or more folk who had been brought in by German trucks from neighbouring villages and surrounding farms.

All the time, Major Gustav Dietrich was strutting about in the centre of the crowd like a cockerel in a yard. It was now time for him to crow. He climbed up onto the bonnet of one of the battalion’s jeeps and announced that he wanted to speak to the Mayor again.

Henri Depaul had been busy trying to reassure the people of his village, moving among them on the field and doing his best to keep everyone calm. Now he heard his name being called and, supposing the Major wanted him to help organise the identity paper inspections, wasted no time in heading across to hear what Dietrich had to say.

As soon as Dietrich spied the Mayor approaching, he raised his hand in the air and the crowd fell silent.

‘Now we have you all gathered here, we can get down to business.’

As he paused to allow his interpreter to translate, Dietrich scanned all the faces looking expectantly up at him. He smiled, like a host getting ready to welcome his party guests. But as he spoke his next words, his face fell deadly serious and his voice took on a steely edge.

‘A German officer, a major in the SS, has been taken hostage. We are here to give you people the chance to tell us where he is.’