As Chloe rolled out of the bed, she said, “Take your time this morning. Everyone will be moving a bit slower today. Pierre will drive us to the train. He said to be ready at three o’clock since the train leaves at four. See, I still prefer to tell time our way.”
“Yeah, I have difficulty with that too. I hope we can go down and see the kids again,” Nora said.
“Yes, definitely!” Chloe, so excited, let out a hushed shriek and threw her arms in the air. “Pas de question!”
Nora didn’t feel right lounging about. She had a quick shower and packed her things, then went down to see if there was anything she could do to help clean up in the kitchen.
She stifled a chuckle as she saw Mami and Papi, both in aprons, busy wiping and sweeping.
“Please let me help. There must be so much to do after last night’s wonderful feast.”
“Ah, mais non, ma belle,” Papi said. “This is part of my Christmas promise to Mami. Every year I am her assistant for the clean-up. In fact, I believe she made me promise it in our marriage vows.”
He pulled out a chair and gestured for Nora to sit down in front of a place setting on the table. He moved the basket of breakfast pastries closer to her with a flourish. Mami was already preparing a café au lait for her.
Nora complimented them on their teamwork when they sat at the table with her. “You both are such inspirations.”
Mami put her hand on Nora’s and said, “It has been such a pleasure to have you here with us, and we hope you will return many times to enjoy the changing seasons of Provence. We love Chloe, and now we love you too. We are all family.”
Nora squeezed back tears, not surprised at how emotional she was. “I cannot thank you enough for loving my daughter. I feel the same way about Olivier and am so happy they found each other. You have been so kind and welcoming. It’s such a pleasure to get to know you as family and to share in the amazing traditions of Provence.”
Mami’s voice became solemn as she said, “Chloe and Olivier told us how you are helping an elderly woman in Paris record her memories of the Occupation. Olivier suggested we might describe to you how things were here in the countryside of Provence.”
“Oh goodness. You are so thoughtful. But only if the memories don’t cause you discomfort or sorrow.”
Papi said, “The passage of time has eased the pain, and of course what we know we learned from our parents and extended family who lived through it before we were born. Two of my uncles were Maquis, killed fighting with the Resistance.”
“Would you mind if I recorded our conversation?”
“Not at all. We are happy if this is helpful to you. We think it is wonderful you are helping the woman in Paris. These stories need to stay alive.”
For the better part of an hour, Nora worked at keeping her emotions in check as these two dear people recounted what they knew. They told her stories of bravery and betrayal, which for the people of France were part of everyday life during those years.
Nora saw their eyes darken with memory. Papi’s mouth tightened around words that still burned. She began to understand so much more about the scars that even the later generations carried.
They spoke of the strict rationing that began right away, and the ruthless treatment of Jews. At first, their region was under the rule of the Vichy France government—French officials who collaborated with the Nazis. They told her about their family’s disbelief their own countrymen could turn against them.
They described how after 1942, Germany took over all control of the south, but this part of Provence was under Italian soldiers until Italy surrendered in November 1943.
“I remember my mother saying some of the Italian soldiers had souls and could actually show some kindness,” Mami said. “But when German soldiers took over, cruelty one could never imagine became part of life.”
Papi added, “Everyone was under suspicion, and no one was spared. Collaborators betrayed neighbors, sometimes with untrue stories, simply to gain protection. “
Nora saw grief flicker in the lines around their eyes. She looked down often and swallowed hard, fighting tears.
The stories continued. Farmers had to give over most of their harvests and animals to the German soldiers, leaving little for locals. Many schools closed, and children foraged in the forest to help feed their families.
The Resistance, the Maquis, grew strong in the forests and rocky terrain of the hills. Papi related a story passed on in his family of his grandparents hiding maquisards in one of their barns, beneath a trapdoor in a pigsty.
“It smelled so vile, they knew no one would suspect them of concealing anyone there. At times they even hid downed Allied pilots recovering from injuries, who were later led out of the country.”
His voice trembled with pride when he spoke of how they risked death but felt it was their duty to fight back any way possible and defy the hated Nazis.
“It is difficult for us to feel the terror and despair of those years, but we know through these stories how brave they were, and our hearts still ache.”
Olivier had come into the kitchen, and after listening for a few moments, came to the table and sat with his grandparents. He added some details of bravery he recalled being told as he was growing up. In particular, he told a story from a nearby village which featured a beloved statue of a drummer boy who had saved the town during the Napoleonic wars.
The Germans demanded everything metal, especially bronze, copper and brass. They looked for anything they could find, including statues, gates, and fences, to repurpose for war materials. Late at night over a period of days, at great risk, farmers dug a big hole in a field and the villagers joined together to transport the statue and bury it. After the war, it was recovered and joyfully returned to the village square.
