Chapter Ten

     By now our unit had been transferred from Fighter Command to the control of Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force, now based at the Palais of Versailles. In late January 1945 I was sent to Paris for special training for two weeks and was billeted in Les Petits Ecuries - the stables, of that famous palace. Fortunately they had removed the horses!

     Paris was a sad city. Food was short. Daily collaborators were being exposed and punished. The women who had consorted with German soldiers had their heads shaved. The men who collaborated received harsher punishment from the Resistance fighters. The Palace of Versailles was in a sorry state, devoid of most of its furniture and art, stolen by Goering and his cohorts. But the flower sellers still managed to provide displays of lovely flowers.

     During my visit, I contacted my brother’s French pen friend, Roger Sirdey, initiating a long and still-continuing friendship with his family. At sixteen he had joined the resistance movement. He worked for a hardware shop: the owner was the leader of the local Resistance cell. Roger made deliveries on his bike to the German barracks opposite. He was ordered to appear friendly and talk with the soldiers, picking up any information he could. Any hint of troop movements he heard was passed on to the Resistance. When the war ended, some local people thought he had collaborated with the enemy and they seized him. Just in time he was rescued by his boss, who had to explain the work he had done. It was a strange time. People were suspicious of each other.

     Paris at once brought to mind the Boucher family with whom I had worked and stayed just before the war in their summer home of Contrexiville. I had often wondered how they had fared. On one of my free days, I set off to find them. I located one of Madame’s hotels, Hotel La Tremouille and entered the foyer. It was immediately obvious that it had been taken over by the American forces. A major was seated in Reception. I introduced myself and was greeted warmly. Then I explained I had come looking for the Boucher family. At once his attitude changed. He demanded to see my papers, asked what I knew of them, why I was making these enquiries.  I showed him my credentials and explained I had once worked for them as an au pair before the war. He seemed very suspicious of me and I was virtually dismissed. He said ‘I cannot disclose anything to you, it is better you forget about them’. No reason was given. I left perplexed, trying to imagine what had happened during the occupation.

     It was many years later before I learned the truth. Marcel Boucher, the Deputé, was a collaborator. Alsace Lorraine had once been in German hands and there was always some support remaining for the Herrenvolk. The organisation in the Vosges that he headed “Les Compagnons de Jeanne d’Arc” became pro-German and he had offered his wife’s hotel to the German invaders. It had then become a Gestapo Headquarters and a scene of torture.

     After the war, Marcel was named as a collaborator and fled the country. I learned later that Giscard d’Estang finally gave him a pardon but not before his wife had divorced him. I still wonder what happened to those three children I taught so long ago.

     On my return to Malines, the Battle of the Bulge was over, Rundstedt was defeated and his bid to split the Allied Forces had failed. Our own position was now safe. Meanwhile the combined efforts of 33 Wing and Mark 9 RADAR units together with the Fighter pilots' success resulted in destroying all the V2 launch vehicles despite Germany still having vast supplies of missiles. This meant that by March 1945, the port of Antwerp was secured and free of bombardment. Our activities became less frequent until the morning of May 8th when we learned that peace had been declared. The European war was at last over.

     I crossed the road early that morning prior to that momentous announcement. I was returning to the Mess for breakfast after night duty. A small black open car stopped alongside me. There were two RAF officers in it, wearing pilot’s wings. On the side of the car was written in chalk “Ex-POWs”. They hailed me with great excitement and said “Great, you are the first English girl we have seen since 1940!”

     You can imagine my surprise and their joy. They were from a Wellington crew shot down in ’40 and ever since had been in a prisoner of war camp near Hanover. A few days previously they had taken their opportunity to escape, stealing an SS car, as their guards sensing defeat had quietly faded away! I immediately took them into the Mess for a substantial celebratory breakfast.

     I tried to imagine their feelings; freedom after five years incarceration. They were able to drive a car once more, talk to an English woman and eat whatever they chose, rather than what was put in front of them. The transformation in their lives must have been enormous. I realised how relieved they must feel.

    About 11 o’clock that morning we learned peace had been finally declared. Germany had surrendered. The war in Europe was over. The two pilots insisted they wanted to return to Rotterdam right away and take some food to the nurses who had cared for them after their aircraft had crashed. My C.O. decided a couple of us should stay with them as they would be “bomb happy” with the excitement of their freedom. After collecting from the Mess kitchen, tins of corned beef, packets of biscuits, jars of jam and anything else we could find, we set off. Travelling through Holland was a delight. Everywhere there were celebrations. In village after village we met parades of farm wagons, full of the orange flower of the gorse bush, a tribute to their Royal family. In the towns, the street and bars were full of people celebrating, relieved and delirious with the news of peace at last.

     When we eventually reached the banks of the River Rhine, we were devastated to find all the bridges destroyed. After all our efforts, it seemed we were defeated. Rotterdam was on the far bank and we were unable to cross. We drove up and down the river bank looking for help. Eventually we found a ferryman unloading his small boat which he used to bring supplies to the villages nearby. We asked him to take us across the river but sadly, he told us it was forbidden as it was too dangerous. There were still small pockets of snipers in the city.

     The two pilots were so disappointed that they couldn’t express their thanks to these Dutch women who had saved their lives five years earlier. The ferryman then offered to take the food to the hospital. Reluctantly, we decided to give him the box of supplies together with the names of the nurses, since he promised he would get it to them without fail. At the time, he seemed sincere enough but of course food was short everywhere and could be bartered for other necessities. I often wonder whether they ever did receive it.

     Retracing our steps through happy celebrating Holland, we arrived back at the Mess by 6 pm. By then I was exhausted although elated, having not slept for 30 hours. My mind was working frantically. This would be the end of the V2s, the end of the killing – at least in Europe. Maybe we would all be going home. It had been quite a day.

     On our return, the Medical Officer realised I needed relaxing and gave me a sleeping tablet to help me sleep. Immediately after taking it as I got into bed, I realised everyone was going to Brussels to celebrate. After all, it was VE Day! How could I possibly sleep through that? So up I got, had a quick wash and back into my uniform. When the MO saw I was getting in the car with the pilots, he said ‘You better have one of these!’ and thrust a Benzedrine tablet in my hand! Six of us crammed into the once Stormtrooper’s car and off we went. I can’t remember much about the night except that we were feted and kissed by the people in the streets of Brussels. They handed us flowers. I was just about coming alive again when the rest were worn out and ready to go home! That was my first and last time taking a “downer” and an “upper”!

     Meanwhile back in Britain, Peter was hoping I would be sent home at once now the war in Europe was over. I was not so sure. I had been unable to tell him what my duties were as the Official Secrets Act covered me for the next 30 years! He was therefore very upset and surprised when I wrote to say that I would have to stay in Belgium until June. The war torn regions needed a lot of help. We would all be found new posts to fill. Town Majors were set up to work with the local Councillors. I waited to see what they had in store for me.

    I suppose I had become accustomed to the discipline of the Services and was prepared to accept whatever was the next order I was given. I had only been married a few weeks before I went to Belgium. It was now eight months later. I barely knew Peter. We had met only four months before our marriage and much of that time was spent apart. It didn’t seem real to me. Then I received my orders.

Not so Gay Paree!

Bridging the Centuries 

By Eileen Younghusband