Alone in their thoughts

We departed the Loire Valley today to head to the Dordogne Valley. The road is winding, the distances seem longer than they are because of the type of roads we traverse for parts of the journey, and today’s fare was heavier than most. After a stop to collect lunch provisions, we arrived at our first destination and took a lunch break before walking into town.

Solemnity has its place and if it exists anywhere, it exists not just in our hearts and minds, but also in those places that have suffered collective events that mark them. There are few places that are memorialized in a manner such as Oradour-sur-Glane. Situated in the Massif Central outside of Limoges, it is what is referred to as a martyr village. The event that happened here and the evidence left is very powerful. The town is left exactly like it was from the day of the event. Pots are left on stoves, bicycles and strollers rusted out remain in homes; the tramway line and electrical lines are still intact.

The following testament comes from Madame Marguerite Rouffanche, the only survivor from the church. Over the years following the massacre she gave her statement many times to different people, including the court in Bordeaux in 1953. She died in 1988 at the age of 91 and is buried in the cemetery at Oradour. The men were all shot execution style after the women and children had been put into the church. What happened in the church is revealed to us in Mme. Rouffanche’s own words.

“At about 2 p.m. on the 10th of June 1944, German soldiers burst into my home and ordered me to go to the fairground together with my husband, son, two daughters and granddaughter.

A number from the town were already assembled and men and women were flocking in from all directions. They were followed by the schoolchildren, who arrived separately. The Germans divided us into two groups, women and children on one side and men on the other. The first group that I was in was taken under armed guard to the church. It consisted of all the women from the town, especially mothers, who entered the House of God carrying their babies in their arms, or pushing them in their strollers. All the schoolchildren were there as well. We must have numbered several hundred.

Crammed inside the church, we waited in growing anxiety to see what would happen next. Around 4 p.m. a few soldier, about 20 years of age brought into the nave, close to the choir, a large box, fro which hung strings, which trailed to the ground. When the trailing strings were lit, the device suddenly exploded with a loud bang and gave off a thick black suffocating smoke. Women and children, half-choking and screaming in terror, rushed to those parts of the church where the air was still breathable. It was thus that the door to the sacristy was broken down under the irresistible pressure of a terrified crowd. I followed them and at down on a step. My daughter joined them. The Germans saw that people had escaped into the room and cold-bloodedly shot down everyone who was hiding there. My daughter was killed where she stood by a shot fired from outside. I owe my life to my closing my eyes and feigning death.

Firing burst out in the church (from an entrance door), and then straw, firewood, and chairs were thrown in a heap onto the bodies lying on the flagstones. I had escaped the slaughter unwounded and took advantage of a cloud of smoke to hide behind the altar. In that part of the church there were three windows. I went to the middle one, the biggest and with the aid of the stool used to light the candles, tried to reach it. I don’t know how, but my strength was multiplied. I heaved myself up to it as best I could and threw myself out of the opening that was offered to me by the already shattered window. I fell about 10 feet.When I looked u; I saw that I had been followed by a woman, who was holding out her baby to me from the window. She fell down next to me, but the Germans alerted by the child’s cries fired at us. The woman and child were killed. I myself was wounded as I made my way up to a nearby garden. I hid amongst some rows of peas and waited in terror for help to arrive. That was not until the following day at about 5 p.m.

There are not many places where the ravages of war can be so vividly seen by the ruins of what used to be a thriving town frozen in time and left as is. I have seen the bombed ruins of the cathedral in Coventry, England. In this city the cathedral has been left as it was after the bombing and the rest of the town was rebuilt around it. Here in Oradour the entire ruins of the town are a stark memorial and both the cemetery and the museum contain physical artifacts and remembrances. Students may learn about wars and see them as abstract historical events. This experience is one that helps them to understand the very real costs of war, and to put into context what happened during WWII, and also why the beginnings of the European Union were formed after this war and how absolutely essential it was to this continent that another war of this type not be fought here again. To me, it is amazing how far the relations have come between France and Germany. Today they are more tightly aligned than one could ever imagine after seeing the remains of this town.

The students kept silence throughout their visit in the town which feels in many ways like a shrine. I think they were powerfully moved. The bus was silent for quite some time which is most uncharacteristic of this group. The emotions of an experience such as this take some time to process.

Our next stop was Limoges and we toured the Haviland porcelain factory and found out about how the porcelain is made and got to make purchases in their showroom. After this we drove to a service station to get some gasoline. Our 15 minute stop turned into a one hour stop when the bus driver’s credit card did not work and when he tried to phone his boss found out that he is in Morocco on holiday. In general Sundays in France are days when it can be difficult to get things done. We have had issues with this driver from the start. He seems to have no clue what the route is and this has been an issue for Tristan pretty much the whole way. He has had to try to double check the route on numerous occasions. Let’s just say that he gets us there safely every day – no problem there – but it is a bit sporting at times as we go in circles or have to turn around and go back the other way. For some reason this seems to be a somewhat common thing in Europe. I have had more than one trip when the driver seemed to not be acquainted with the area. One trip I was on in Sicily the travelers pretty much staged a mutiny and bought our own maps and plotted the route each day. We are not at that point yet…but it is most unfortunate that he seems fairly clueless.

We are currently in the bus heading to Sarlat, our ultimate destination today. I do not think that any of the students have taped the bus delay event on their cell phones, so I do not think that it is likely to be posted on You Tube.

I am now posting in the lobby of our new hotel and we are off to dinner soon. I will most likely be posting photos later on this evening. We are all tired tonight....well let me correct that....the adults are tired tonight. Your children tend to sleep some on the bus so they are all energized unlike us!!!