“We say the same,” Marie-Louise told her. “Ne dis jamais ‘jamais.’ How many times have I said that to myself or to others. But I feel now I must accept things I refused to before. Being ninety brings its own truths along with it.”
Yvette quietly excused herself after thanking Nora for her gifts. As she left the room, she smiled warmly at Marie-Louise and said, “Now I want to go to Provence soon again too. Madame, perhaps we will go together.”
“I am at an age where I must be realistic, ma belle,” Marie-Louise called out after her. She turned to Nora and continued her train of thought. “There comes a time when we need to be happy with our memories and accept they are enough. This is where I find myself now … and I’m content, although I have a few regrets. My advice to you is, try to live your life with no regrets. Keep making memories.”
Nora reached over and gently patted her hand. “We have spent so much time talking about the worst time in your life. Today, why don’t you tell me about some of the best? We can go back to the other memories tomorrow.”
“Bonne idée! Let us linger on happy reminiscences today.”
Yvette’s timing was impeccable, and she brought in a tray with a pot of tea and still-warm scones, jam, and clotted cream. She suggested they move to a small table and chairs by the window. Once she had assisted Marie-Louise, she filled their elegant teacups.
Marie-Louise let out a quiet laugh. “Bless Yvette. I gave her a hint that I would like to share with you some of my history in England after the war, and look at this. She is so very thoughtful.”
Nora knew Marie-Louise had been in England after the war, and this afternoon she would get to hear the details. As the older woman disclosed more information, Nora asked if she could record. Marie-Louise agreed.
“I am not going to speak of the last year of the war or the following months now. We can get back to that tomorrow. I want to tell you how and why I went to England.” She rang a little bell hanging from her chair, and Yvette appeared right away.
After a few words of instruction, Yvette left and returned with a small wooden box, which she placed in front of Marie-Louise.
“In the summer of 1945, I turned thirteen. Life was still hard in Paris. Food was scarce, people were tired—of everything. There had been a lot of suspicion and revenge. I won’t speak of that now. But around my birthday, a happy stage in my life began.” She opened the box and took out a tattered envelope, from which she carefully withdrew a letter, yellowed with age.
“This letter was hand-delivered to my mother. We still did not know if my father was alive, and she was taking care of everything. The envelope was sealed. See? There is a little of the wax. It was very official and frightened us.” She handed it to Nora.
Nora’s hand trembled as she realized it was dated eighty years prior and it was from the French Government.
She handed it back, asking Marie-Louise to read it in French. She did, and then proudly translated it into English for Nora without looking at the paper:
In recognition of extraordinary service in the defense of France during the occupation, Mademoiselle Marie-Louise Tremblayis hereby invited to attend Kingsmoor School in Glossop, Derbyshire, as part of a program to restore the education of young patriots.
“Can you imagine how many times I have read that? I will never forget the first time … and the second … and the third. I did not really understand it. My mother had mixed feelings about my leaving. She was excited about the wonderful academic opportunity but so afraid of us being apart. When I discovered two of my friends had also been invited, I became all for it.
“Maman explained we would take a train to Calais and then a ferry to England. I had never been on a boat, and that part was a bit scary. I already knew what it was like to feel true fear, and this was not even close. Being parted from Maman was most scary of all.”
Nora sat quietly for a moment, considering what a momentous journey the opportunity would have been for those children. But she also tried to put herself in their place. They had faced fear and bravery—and everything in between—for almost five years in the most extreme ways. She wondered how they could even feel anything after that.
She felt a lump in her throat that was hard to swallow.
As if reading her thoughts, Marie-Louise said, “Eh bien. There is much for us to talk about regarding this time, and we will save it for tomorrow. I just wanted to show you how I first got to England. Let us continue with happy memories now.”
She carefully refolded the paper, put it in the tattered envelope, and returned it to the box.
“Before I knew it, Maman and I were on the train to Calais with five other children from Paris. There were no other parents, and I learned later I was the only one who still had a mother. A few had fathers, but they still could not travel and were protected. The only people I knew were my friend Nicole and her sister, whom I had met in school before the war. I did not know they were couriers too. Then there were four boys I had never seen before. My mother only went as far as Calais. A man in a soldier’s uniform helped us board the boat and then remained on board with us.”
“How did you feel about leaving your mother?” Nora asked, feeling a deep sense of sadness.
“I have often thought about it through the years. I have reached the conclusion that we were all accustomed to not showing emotion during the war. How sad is that? We children were more excited about getting ice cream on the boat.”
“And your mother? Was she emotional?”
“She whispered she loved me and would be waiting for me to come home. We had held our emotions in check for almost five years. It was not easy to show them then.”
“I can understand that … but it is difficult.” Nora put her arm on the table and her chin in her hand. It almost hurt to try to understand.
“We will talk about it more tomorrow. Now for the happy times. I am just going to tell you how the change began for me, and then we will be finished for today.”
Nora sat up straight again and encouraged her friend. “Certainly, you should only share what you wish.”
Marie-Louise sipped her tea. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and solemn.
