One Day in Oradour Read online

  A cheer went round the room and Alfred felt a little happier as he took out his pencil and exercise book and began to write. Alfred liked history and was fascinated by the stories Monsieur Gravois had told the class about the Romans. He found it hard to believe that, so long ago, they had already invented so many amazing things and built incredible structures like the Colosseum.

  But Alfred was also intrigued by the way in which the Romans’ great love of art, of beauty and of poetry and literature, was offset by an equally great capacity for cruelty. He wondered if the people who lived in France in the first century BC felt the same about the Romans taking over their land as his family and friends did about the Germans coming.

  As he daydreamed about life all those years ago, Alfred stared out of the window down towards the river. The meadow across the road from the school looked as though it was covered in a blanket of snow – in fact, it was a soft, undulating field of white narcissi, flecked here and there with dense pockets of dark purple pansies. On the far side, he could just make out the fishermen he had seen earlier getting off the tram, dotted along the river bank, sitting patiently in the shade of the trees, waiting for a bite. Alfred imagined the pike and the perch darting around the rocks in the crystal clear waters and the carp lurking in the deep pools between the tree roots by the banks. He wished he was out in the fresh air too, and wondered if his friend Monsieur Babin the clog-maker would be able to take him fishing later on, after he had closed up his shop.

  Just before noon, Monsieur Gravois let the children go off for their lunch break. Unfortunately for Alfred and his sisters, they were among the group who had not yet been seen by Doctor Depaul.

  ‘If you have had your medical check, you can go home,’ said Monsieur Gravois. ‘I want the rest of you back here for one o’clock sharp. The sooner we get started again, the sooner you will be free.’

  Alfred, Christelle and Sabine walked together in the sunshine up the street towards the fairground, the sound of all the happy lunchtime chatter in the village centre growing louder with each step. This was the Oradour Alfred loved: bursting with life, everyone in high spirits. All the tables outside the street cafés were full of happy customers and the streets were a splash of colour, the perfect setting for tomorrow’s procession, lined with tubs of pink and lilac petunias and with waterfalls of red and white geraniums tumbling overhead from dozens of hanging baskets.

  At the bakery the children met up with their father, who had just finished his shift. He was bringing home three long baguettes wrapped in brown paper and the delicious smell of the warm, crusty bread made Alfred’s stomach rumble. He took his father’s hand.

  ‘What’ve you been learning about in school today, then, Alfie?’ his father enquired with a smile.

  ‘The Romans,’ said Alfred, ‘which is good, ‘cause I like them, but I’d still rather be outside playing. And it’s not fair. Christelle, Sabine and I and some of the other kids have to go back after lunch as we haven’t seen the doctor yet. The others get the afternoon off.’

  Just then Alfred saw a long line of men outside the tabac. ‘Who are they?’ he asked, pointing to the queue. He only recognised a couple of the men. The rest must have come into village that day.

  ‘They’re queuing for their tobacco rations. How could I have forgotten! Today’s tobacco delivery day. I’ll come back for mine after lunch. I need to pick up my ration card from home first. Hey, look over there!’

  Leon had seen their old friends Ethan and Rachael having lunch on the terrace of the Hotel de la Glane.

  ‘Come on, let’s pop over and say hello. I haven’t seen them for a couple of weeks. But don’t forget, it’s Monsieur and Madam Bonheur now.’

  Soon after he and his wife had arrived in Oradour with the Fourniers, Ethan had followed the advice of his brother, Joseph, and had changed their names to Emile and Rochelle Bonheur. Oradour had so far remained a safe bolthole for Jews but there was no sense in advertising their origins.

  Ethan and Rachael greeted Leon, Christelle, Sabine and Alfred with warm hugs and kisses. Their traumatic shared journey across France four years previously had been the beginning of a firm friendship between the two families, and the old couple treated the Fournier children like adopted grandchildren.

  ‘Look at you,’ Rachael said to Alfred, ruffling his fringe. ‘I swear you get at least two centimetres taller every time I see you. Oh, and girls, you must come and see me soon. I have just bought some gorgeous floral fabric from the draper’s shop and I would be happy to make you a blouse each from it. I thought of you two when I saw it. The colours are perfect for you.’

  Leon noticed Alfred gazing longingly at the mouth-watering roast pike laid out on the big oval platter in between Ethan and Rachael.

  ‘That would be very kind of you, Rach… er, Rochelle,’ he said, ‘but we mustn’t keep you from your meal any longer. The children have to be back at school soon too, so we’d better leave you in peace. We just wanted to say hello.’

  As Alfred continued on his way home alongside his father and sisters, he sensed a movement behind him. It was Bobby, eyes shining, bursting with pride at having found his friend amongst the crowds milling around the village centre.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ Alfred said softly, crouching to cuddle the little dog. ‘You are a clever thing, finding me today. There are so many people here. Fancy a race home?’

  Straightening up, Alfred began to jog along the road, laughing out loud as, every couple of metres, the little dog leapt up into the air at his side like a spring lamb.

  Behind them, Leon put one arm around each of his daughters’ shoulders and smiled. He suddenly felt content. Perhaps his family was finally beginning to move on. Charly, their old life, their eviction, it didn’t matter so much any more. What mattered most to him was right here, all around him in this beautiful village, and he realised how lucky they were to have found their way to Oradour, a place where they had friends, a haven of peace amid all the chaos and horror of the war. His family had been given a new chance, a new life and, at that moment, he realised that he would do anything, anything at all, to protect it.

  9: The Gathering of the Troops

  As the station clock opposite the Hotel de la Gare struck one, twenty officers and a hundred and eighty-seven men from 3rd Company began to assemble their convoy, ready to move out of Saint Junien as Dietrich had ordered. The atmosphere as the soldiers gathered around their vehicles was alive with an explosive mix of excitement and trepidation. No one yet knew where they were headed nor why they suddenly found themselves in the command of Major Dietrich rather than their own commanding officer, Captain Krüger, but they had a sense that they were about to be involved in something big.

  Major Dietrich had been pacing about intently, rushing up and down the line of vehicles, organising the men, giving out instructions and checking their weapons. Meanwhile, as he waited patiently by the Major’s car, his driver Ragnar marvelled at Dietrich’s efficiency and focus. Like him or not, he thought, you had to admire the man’s dogged determination. He had a clear plan and if to achieve it he had to brush aside someone like Captain Krüger and take over the command of his men, he would do it without batting an eyelid. Dietrich had an undeniable talent for getting people to do what he wanted. With his imposing height, steely gaze and sharp eyes, he seemed to command an instant response from any soldier he spoke to. It had taken only minutes for Dietrich to galvanise the men into action and here they were, an hour after the briefing at the hotel, virtually ready to go.

  Most of the soldiers were young, around eighteen to twenty years of age, and many were carrying standard issue K98 rifles, while several others, whom Dietrich instructed to travel in the trucks towards the back of the convoy, were carrying KP/31 submachine guns.

  One particular group of soldiers had caught Ragnar’s eye. Earlier, he had seen them huddled outside the ammunitions store long after the other men had started gathering by the convoy vehicles. Dietrich had spent an intense ten minutes t
alking to them and had seemed especially animated. Ragnar had watched him sketching something out in a notebook.

  Now that same party of men was quietly loading something into the back of one of the trucks, which was set apart from the rest of the convoy. Ragnar took a few steps around to the rear of his car to get a better look. There appeared to be three or four similar objects and, from the way the men were carrying them – cautiously, one by one from the ammunitions store – they looked reasonably heavy and were either very fragile or extremely hazardous.

  Ragnar moved a little closer. He was desperate to get a clearer view but didn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he ducked down, pretending to do up his shoelace. The men had now finished loading and were rapidly covering the back of the truck with a tarpaulin, but Ragnar was just able to catch a glimpse of one of the objects. It was a jerrycan, the standard steel type, built to hold about twenty litres of fuel. Nothing unusual about that, he thought, except that this jerrycan had been hastily modified. Two pieces of wire were tightly taped around it, holding in place a smoke stick grenade.

  Ragnar backed slowly towards his car, feeling the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. What had Dietrich got planned? Was this what he had meant by ‘shaking the beehive’ in Oradour?

  Ragnar knew that his boss was ambitious and that he liked to make his mark. How else had he managed to claw his way up through the ranks in the SS so rapidly? Moreover, Ragnar knew that Dietrich was relishing the task of finding the missing Major Klausner before anyone else could. He loved a difficult challenge. He thrived on proving that he was better than all the rest. But what lengths would he really go to? How many times would he feel the need to prove himself to his beloved SS leaders?

  Ragnar could see Dietrich now, striding across to the car, gesturing to him to get in. Whatever worries he had, he would have to bury them for the moment. Dietrich was impatient to leave and definitely not in the mood to tolerate any delay.

  Dietrich jumped into the seat next to Ragnar and ordered him to speed to the front of the convoy as it pulled out of Saint Junien.

  ‘Follow my directions and don’t get too far ahead,’ he said quickly, waving a map in his leather-clad hand.

  Ragnar nodded, ‘We’re still heading for Oradour, though, Major, yes?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Dietrich replied, studying the map. ‘But I won’t make it easy for the Resistance to track us. If there are any rebels out there, we’re going to give them a bit of a run-around. No use in broadcasting our intentions.’

  ‘What exactly are our intentions, Major?’ Ragnar asked tentatively, glancing sideways at his boss.

  ‘To take care of one hell of a mess,’ said Dietrich through gritted teeth. ‘Turn right here. We’ll go round through Saint Victurnien then back onto this road where it crosses the Vienne.’

  ‘But Major General Scholz’s orders still stand? We have to establish whether Oradour has any involvement in the kidnapping?’

  ‘Oh, his orders haven’t changed,’ snorted Dietrich. ‘We’ll do a thorough search, don’t you worry. There’ll be nothing left in Oradour to search by the time we leave.’

  ‘And if we do find Major Klausner? If the Resistance have been keeping him there, do we still take hostages? Still negotiate?’ Ragnar had the distinct impression that Dietrich was holding something back.

  ‘Whatever we find,’ Dietrich said icily, ‘it’s far too late to negotiate.’ Then, seeing the look of concern on Ragnar’s face, he added, ‘Don’t you worry, my friend. By the end of the day, Major General Scholz will be thanking me. As will the whole German army. I’m about to make our relationship with the Resistance a whole lot easier, and that’s what General Müller wants, I know that for certain.’

  Ragnar stared straight ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he negotiated the narrow lanes approaching the River Vienne. He decided that Major Gustav Dietrich was a very dangerous man indeed. As soon as the convoy had crossed the River Vienne, Dietrich ordered Ragnar to turn up a small lane which curved out of sight of the main road and ran down into a grassy field sloping away to the river. The halting convoy parked in the shade of the weeping willow trees lining the river bank and Dietrich called out to the troops to assemble for their briefing papers.

  An advance platoon was ordered to leave immediately and to search all the outlying buildings and farms between the Vienne and Oradour. As he explained the route they had to take, Dietrich revealed the first part of his plan.

  ‘Round up anyone you can find. I want them all to be brought into the village. You must not leave any barn, any building, any haystack unturned. No one must be missed. And make it impossible for anyone to go back. If they have slipped through the net, there must be nowhere for them to return to. Nowhere to hide. So burn every building to the ground before you move on.’

  A second platoon was instructed to divide up and to seal off all four roads into Oradour. ‘We have the advantage of surprise,’ said Dietrich. ‘And Oradour is defenceless and easy to encircle. There are just four ways in and out: the road to Limoges to the south-east across the River Glane, the road we will use, coming in from Saint Junien, the road to Peyrilhac to the north-east and the road towards Confolens to the north-west. This last road is the main street through the village, Rue Depaul. Once we have sealed off the village, not a soul is to come in or out of that village until I give the order, unless they belong to 3rd Battalion. Is that understood?’

  The men nodded, offering a chorus of ‘Yes, Major.’

  ‘And I need at least two of you to be ready to stop the trams coming in from Limoges. The station is at the top of the village in Rue Depaul so you will have to intercept them before the road block by the river bridge. Bring the drivers and all the passengers into the village and make sure that no tram leaves before we have completed our mission.’

  Three platoons were then given maps of Oradour with orders to cover specific buildings or sections of the streets. The plan, they were told, was simple: they had to evacuate every property in the village and gather the entire population in the village green, known as the fairground. Once the buildings were empty, a full search could be carried out. The search parties were to report to Dietrich, who would be based in the fairground coordinating the mission, and then await their next orders.

  Dietrich paused to give his men time to digest what he had said. One of the youngest soldiers, a pimply, blond-haired, nervous-looking man, half raised his hand and dared to speak. ‘Major Dietrich… er, permission to ask a question please, Major?’

  Dietrich spun his head round to find the source of the thin, shaky voice. ‘Yes? What is it?’

  The rest of the troops stared on in stony silence.

  ‘Major, what should we do if anyone refuses to come to the fairground?’

  Dietrich shook his head, as if the answer was obvious. ‘No one has a choice. It’s your job to make sure everyone knows that. I remind you that we have permission from General Müller to take reprisals against anyone who allies themselves with the Resistance. Major General Scholz has asked us to search Oradour for evidence of the kidnap of an SS officer. So treat anyone who refuses to cooperate with suspicion. If they can walk to the fairground, then they must go. No questions asked.’

  ‘But Major…’ the young soldier continued despite receiving a hostile glare from Dietrich. ‘What if someone is too old or too sick to move? We can’t assume that they support the Resistance.’

  ‘Silence!’ screamed Dietrich, as a couple of sniggers ran round the gathered troop. ‘If they are too old or too sick to walk then just shoot them.’

  Dietrich didn’t see the look of shock on the young soldier’s face as he was already storming off to brief the last group of men.

  This final platoon was armed with heavy machine guns. They were given protection duty. They were to provide the troops inside Oradour with any necessary covering fire, explained Dietrich, should there be any attack or trouble outside the road blocks.

  As he wat
ched Dietrich moving among his men, clarifying his commands, Ragnar couldn’t quell his sense of unease. If this was just a search and rescue mission, why did they need incendiary devices? What had Dietrich really meant when he’d said there would be nothing left in Oradour to search?

  With their watches synchronised, and satisfied that his men understood their orders, Dietrich gave the advance parties the signal to move out. They had until two o’clock to search the outlying farms and seal off the roads into Oradour before the bulk of the battalion would go in and begin the evacuation of all the buildings. Dietrich would wait there at the Vienne with one final group of men, and would bring up the rear, arriving at the fairground at 2.30.

  Dietrich felt a bubble of excitement in his stomach as he watched the first vehicles driving off. It was more than just the pleasure of seeing his plans being put into action, it was the unquestioning respect with which his men carried out his orders. The power, the control, it was always a rush. When he was in charge of his men, he felt in charge of his life.

  He strolled confidently over to the river bank and climbed up onto the crumbling wall which formed the old doorway into an abandoned leather works. The noise of the rushing water filled his ears and Dietrich checked his footing as he looked down over the edge into the deep, dark, swirling river. In some places so tranquil and peaceful, here the Vienne was deadly and foreboding.

  Dietrich recalled the time when he was seven years old and his mother had persuaded his father to come out of his study and join them for a Sunday picnic on the Dreisam River near Freiburg. It was a hot, sticky summer afternoon and his mother had let Gustav walk down to the river in his bathing suit and sandals. After they had eaten their lunch, Dietrich was allowed to go and play at the water’s edge. He had loved playing on the beach, paddling, making dams in the sand and skimming stones across the river. Then he had noticed the deep pool underneath the footbridge. The water looked so cool and clear and he knew how to swim, so he scrambled along the bank and onto the bridge.