World War II Memories

My town became the buffer zone between the two largest armies in the world. (Afterward the front moved to Sicily Italy then to France, I was told that our town that lay in ruins was adopted by Eleanor Roosevelt). We fled the German bombs to places, which seemed secure to us, but no one in our town had any experience with war and we had to move every day from one place to another to avoid being killed. The news of dead or wounded people reached us by the hour. Our morale was so low that even our parents could not comfort us.

     The front line was changing daily. The German bombs and artillery shells followed us everywhere; in fact, we didn't know where we were going and no authority was available to direct our move. After hours of walking, we finally landed on a French farm, where we stayed for a few weeks. There we joined some members of our family and many friends from our town. Many of them had arrived on that farm long before us. 

     We didn't have any occupation, no homework, no school, we were entirely free. Our parents had to care for us and to find food. I was happy to live in the countryside with so many children of our age. It was the first time that we slept on that farm. It was winter, the sky was grey, and the nights were grim. The sadness invaded our hearts; the fear paralyzed and froze our souls. It was an awful situation.

After the sunset, the children were crying and the grown-ups were screaming at them, the noise of the canon shells, the barking of the dogs that were unleashed in the evening, all these noises created an unbearable commotion. This was the daily scene. Seeing us in that mood, the parents were unhappy and desperate. No one knew what to do in such a situation. No map was available, we just realized that the bombshells where coming from one direction and the allied planes where flying to that direction. We were not sure but we guessed where the enemy line was. My father, whom everyone respected, trying to give a sense to the nonsense of the war, decided to tell us his stories. He created an atmosphere of serenity and a feeling of security. He succeeded in maintaining the silence during the evening hours. The children could then sleep quietly, and the grown-ups were listening attentively. Once in a while, a voice asked a question such as:

     "What will happen if the Germans succeed?" Or

     "Who cares, they cannot kill us all!" No one was aware that they were in fact able to do so. Father told his stories, against the background sound of the cannon shells, which exploded everywhere. Sometimes the heavy noise of the Messerschmitt bombers interrupted my father's story. When the motor noise was very loud, we stopped listening, as we knew that the explosions had to follow as the planes had just dropped their bomb load. We all closed our eyes and together prayed in a loud voice:

     " God of the Christians, God of the Jews, , God of the Moslems save us." My father who did not believe in this human bargaining with the Gods was saying:

     "You forgot to mention another God!" He wanted to break the fear in our hearts. Just after the explosion, my father was quick to capture our attention for what he was saying. The sound of the bullets became like an acoustical background. Finally, and after a week, we forgot, at least for a short time, that we where in the middle of a cruel war. Once in a while, close explosions reminded us of the reality we were in, but my father was quick to tell us:

     "Did you hear this explosion?" Everyone like in a choir, answered:

     "Of course, please continue!"

Every day, as soon as the light receded and the night advanced, father's stories became our escape from the bombs and from the fear in us. Even the youngest among us waited patiently for this moment. Outside one could hear the barking of the dogs that were scared too by the sound of the explosions. The fear and terror had brought some parents to a situation of a nervous breakdown, but to us children, the stories gave a sense of confidence and comfort.