Chapter Four

     Arriving at Contrexeville station on a late May evening, I was met by Madame Boucher, an elegant and rather intimidating lady. We drove to the house in a large chauffeured Mercedes. Le Val was a beautiful villa in extensive wooded grounds and furnished in a grand style. I was shown to my pleasant room overlooking the garden and then taken to meet my charges; Helene aged 6, Jean 9 and Francois 11.

     By then I was tired by the journey and at seventeen, intimidated by the unaccustomed luxury of my surroundings. It needed a lot of courage to face them. I need not have worried. They were delightful children and they greeted me with well-rehearsed speeches of welcome in halting English. I took to them at once and felt I was going to enjoy this new post.

     Having regained my courage, I changed my clothes to something more formal and went down to the sitting room to meet Monsieur Boucher. He was a tall elegant Frenchman who although rather distant, greeted me and escorted me into the dining room. There I was confronted with a long dining table, elaborately set with damask cloth, silver cutlery, elegant central silver candelabra and two large bowls of cut flowers from the garden. The three children joined their parents and we sat down for my first formal meal in my new home. We were to speak only French.

     This initial evening meal with my new family was an eye-opener. Every meal from then on was superb. Their Alsace cook was a star of her profession. Sometimes there were guests, perhaps politicians, friends and sometimes foreign visitors. Always the finest French wines were offered. It was such a pity that at that time I was an avowed teetotaller, a fault corrected much later on. Unfortunately I missed a great opportunity to sample some the finest wines France could offer.

     Monsieur Marcel Boucher, as a member of the French government was often away but when home, he entertained frequently. I recall being present at a dinner with the then Rumanian Prime Minister who told me my French was far better than his! It was at that dinner that a Croquembouche was served for dessert. This is a pièce montée, a spectacular mounted cake, consisting of many small profiteroles built into a tower around thick cream on a praline base and topped with a praline decoration of the Fleur de Lis.

     Contrexeville was a well-known spa town in the Vosges Mountains. During my spare time, I often walked to the centre and saw the many visitors taking the walkers. I only tried it once and found the metallic taste quite unpleasant. However, its’ supposed beneficial effects attracted many foreigners, especially Germans from the nearby border towns. Of course, Alsace had been under German control in earlier years and there was still a strong affinity with the local residents.

     I soon established a regular routine, teaching the children English for an hour every morning, having lunch with them in their study and playing games with them during the afternoon after they had finished their other lessons. At five o’clock we were served English tea and a tartine, a jam sandwich made in a newly baked baguette. They were delightful children.  Jean was eleven years old, his brother Francois two years younger and Helene the baby seven. Living this life of luxury, they could have had no idea of the turmoil that would take place in their lives in later years.

     They had two live-in tutors, a German woman of about 50 for German and mathematics and a young French teacher for all the other subjects. These two older women lived in a flat over the coach house and I had very little to do with them. Despite having private golf and swimming lessons several times a week, the children still preferred playing make-believe games in the woods with me. Their favourite was Robin Hood when we made bows and arrows from the branches of trees and strong twine and we hid and played in the woods. They enjoyed a life of wealth with every opportunity to succeed, a life very alien to my own. Living this life of luxury, they could have had no idea of the turmoil that would take place in their lives in later years. I often wonder what became of them especially in view of what happened to their father after the war.

     The days passed quickly. In late August, M. Boucher, a Major in the reservist army, went to annual camp near Strasbourg on the banks of the Rhine. The year was 1938 and unknown to most of us; we were heading for the Munich crisis.  A few days after he left, Madame Boucher received an urgent call from her husband. He was very concerned. The German Army was massing on the opposite bank.    

     They had mined the river. He felt war was inevitable and it was too dangerous for me to remain. He gave orders for plans were to be made for me to return home at once. I often wonder how much more he knew, since in later years, he was found to be a Nazi collaborator.

     Both the children and I were most disappointed that I had to leave so suddenly as we were getting on well and we were all looking forward to returning to their Paris home once summer was over. I had by then learned that Madame was very wealthy in her own right and owned three hotels, the famous Georges V, the Hotel de la Tremouille - both in Paris, and the Carlton at Cannes. I very much regret I never experienced the opportunity of living with the family in Paris and perhaps enjoying the delights of these famous hotels.

     I was given rail and boat tickets, and in no time I was in a crowded train, on my way to Paris. I was apprehensive, wondering if I would get home before war broke out. I arrived in the late afternoon in a Paris where there was already a sense of fear in the air. My train to Calais had already left. There was not another until the next morning. I walked the streets looking for accommodation and eventually found a bed in the Centre d’Accueil in the Boulevard Haussman, a youth centre run by a religious organisation. I slept in a curtained alcove with a small chest of drawers and a French bible. I remember so well the breakfast next morning. In a huge bare refectory I was served delicious hot chocolate in a large thick bowl accompanied by a small baguette and a bowl of apricot preserve. I paid five francs for my stay and then set off for the Gare du Nord and my train. It came in from East France and was already crowded. Finding a seat was difficult. I eventually squeezed into a carriage, almost full.

     I soon realised that it was full of refugees, escaping from Hitler’s Germany, mostly Jewish families. Their luggage was piled around them, bundles of goods tied up in old curtains and sheets as well as in suitcases and boxes. As they left Paris for Calais and eventual freedom in Britain, I could sense them gradually relaxing. Soon they were opening boxes, extracting hidden jewellery. The tension gradually left their faces. They put on their rings and brooches and ear-rings and began to smile. I arrived in London to an unknown future.

On the Continent

Bridging the Centuries 

By Eileen Younghusband