The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [89]
“We had much work to do to get clothing for the aviateurs. The shoemaker in the village produced some coarse work boots, and I measured them for vests and trousers. I remember there was a beret that we had to stretch.”
In the end, the baker drove the airmen to another village in his car. He was allowed a car and a pass into the forbidden coastal zone, for he had to deliver his bread to the Germans. By then the Americans were dressed as French workers, with false papers. The baker knew a group that could arrange their passage across the Pyrenees.
“I was so nervous. I thought we would never get all the details to work. On the Sunday before they left, I went to the house where they were staying to give them some instructions, and a German spotted me on the road.
“ ‘What are you doing, miss?’ he asked. ‘You usually go home to your parents on the weekends.’
“ ‘Oh, I couldn’t go this weekend,’ I said. ‘I had schoolwork to do. What are you doing here, monsieur?’
“ ‘I am looking for my lost dog,’ he said.
“The aviateurs returned to England safely. The Résistance received a message through the BBC. But after the war, the aviateurs never answered my letters. I kept their American dollars for them. I had told them they must not be caught with American dollars. I didn’t know what to do with the money. I kept it until 1947, and finally my mother suggested I give it to charity.”
Odile took a sip of her wine, set the glass down, and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Marshall was moved, identifying with the parachutists, remembering being dressed as a workman and plunked down in someone’s car, being driven along dark roads.
Annette said, “Thank you, Odile. You see, Marshall, here is courage.”
“The parachutes—we gathered them, and after the war we sewed them into clothing. I made my wedding dress from one of the parachutes.” Odile smiled. “My Jean returned to me.”
Annette, her voice slightly unsteady, urged Marshall to tell about his own evasion.
He gave Odile a truncated account of his escape from France, making light of his own actions while praising the families who had helped him.
“I might not be alive if it weren’t for people like Annette and her family,” Marshall said.
“Bien sûr, monsieur. It is my effort to make all the witnesses of that time go out to the public and speak about it, but Annette has not been ready to do this yet.” Odile nudged Annette affectionately. “At the school I am able to talk about it, although some of the parents might prefer I did not. I don’t frighten the children. I merely talk to them of history and what France endured when our country was assaulted, when it was taken over and we were robbed of our resources. The children take notice. They sense that there is something in the past, a great storm cloud hanging over us. They know this from home.”
“Tell us about the boy who drew the swastika in his notebook,” Annette said.
“Oh, mon Dieu! I said, ‘Do you know what that is, young man?’ I was very stern. He was terrified and he said no.
“ ‘It is the Nazi symbol of hatred, of all the darkness that was rained down upon France.’ I told him this with much severity! I made him hold out his palm for the ruler. It made him cry, and it is necessary for the boys to hold their tears.” She sighed. “I was filled with remorse later, but I decided that what I did was correct.”
“So many don’t know,” said Annette. “It is too painful for their parents to tell them.”
“Yes. And now there are attempts to change the history, to say the worst atrocities never happened.” Odile’s voice grew shrill.
“The négationistes!” Annette said.
“Annette teaches art classes. That is perfect, because she could instruct the young ones about what it was like during the war, but perhaps she hasn’t the heart.