Autobiography of Rene Reppel (1923 - 1982)

Notes in red were added by Margaret G Sasser

Being 16 years old in 1939

The fifth boy of seven children, I lost my father in 1936, when I was barely 13 years old. It was no small matter for Maman to be a widow and mother of six boys and a girl of seven years. Our father had envisioned that two sons would be scholars, two would go into agriculture and two would become bakers. 

I was in the 3rd category, destined to learn the bakery trade, if this could be called a trade in 1937 when we baked the demi-fournée (short loaves) of bread daily. On Sundays there were 3 bunches of long loaves and a lot of rolls (sous-brot) sold door-to-door in the village. It was interesting and everyone was involved with it. After waking up at five thirty, Maman prepared a route for each of us: two of us left with baskets filled with bread, the others with two four - wheel carts (Faldkutsch). All this would have continued, except for the threat of war.

My three older brothers, Marcel the student, Maurice the farmer and Julien the baker, were of the age to be mobilized. So in September 1939, what we feared came to pass; a general mobilization order was issued. On September 3^rd, France and England declared war on Germany. My three brothers left for the war. Poor mother! She knew what war meant, she had lived through the war in 1914-18; we didn’t understand it as well.

I was not quite 16 years old.  I tried to bake the bread all by myself; I wasn’t very successful in the beginning, but it was OK. It was war, it was not the time to be demanding; the main thing was that there was bread. As for the farming, it wasn’t a problem either. The land was plowed and sowed early in the autumn as in previous years, with the help of Mr. Louis Schnell, an elderly neighbor who was nice and helpful.

What worried Maman was that we had to prepare to be evacuated. Several villages, closer to the border and to the Maginot Line, had already been evacuated. But fortunately we would spend the first winter of war 1939-40 at home in the village. We hoped that it would be the only one. Alas! In the middle of May, 1940, it appeared that the Huns were going to attack, cross the Rhine and perhaps even break through the Maginot Line. We did not believe in it, we knew the fortifications; they were solid, impregnable, alas! We were ordered to evacuate to Ribeauvillé.

June 1940: Evacuation

So we were evacuated to Ribeauvillé along the present day wine route. The cattle were evacuated on Friday the 7th and the people on Saturday June 8th. We loaded everything that we were allowed take, mattresses, blankets and provisions, onto a cart with a sideboard drawn by a horse and an ox. The other animals, such as pigs and cows, were relocated to farms and villages further from the border. So we left for Ribeauvillé, my mother and sister Helene driven by car, and my other two brothers Robert and Edmond, and I were in our cart.

The column that left the village was impressive. We were not in a hurry, no one passed us. It was already dark when we reached our destination, 20 km from our village. But then, what a mess until everyone got situated; first the people then the animals. We were assigned to house on the main street an impeccable apartment all polished on the first floor, with a lady who was a widow.

There we were, with our mattresses, blankets and sacks of provisions, in our big dusty walking boots. The old woman, cried, and begged, but there was nothing she could do. We settled in whether she liked it or not. 

Mother had her bed, we youngsters slept on a mattress on the floor. It wasn’t too bad, at our age it's was a real adventure. Our animals, the horse and the ox, were stabled in the upper part of the town; morning and evening we tended to them. Everything was more or less in order for us, but for the town what a problem.

From the early days, a villager asked me if I would like to help out in the bakery; I wanted nothing more. Besides, with all these people, there was no shortage of work. Then the news became more alarming, Belgium and France were invaded, what was going to happen to us? One fine morning we heard cannon shots?

The owner of the bakery asked us to carry 100 kg bags of flour to the 3rd floor to hide them. After the cannons, we heard machine guns. That was it, the Germans were coming. We took refuge in the kitchen, the boss and the three employees. We waited for them, there would be no miracle; they would come. I ventured into the shop to look outside; there was no one in the streets. From time to time there were gunshots, and bursts of machine gun fire, but nobody, not even a dog was out.

So there I was at the door of the shop, expecting to see them arrive from the bottom of the town, and suddenly there is a soldier next to me. He came from above, on a bicycle, armed to the teeth as they say, with a machine-gun, bullets and grenades, nothing was missing. This was the Hun, the invader! As soon as he saw me, he dropped his bicycle and came towards me, shouting something that I did not understand.

My boss heard and understood him, he pointed to the house opposite; it was the town hall he was looking for. I did not know it was called Bürgermeisteramt in German. And even if I had known, I couldn’t answer him. I was so stunned by his appearance. I have never been able to define the effect of this soldier who was so different from ours, had on me… Was I scared, or panicked, or frightened, in any case, I wanted to cry, without knowing why.

Eight days later we returned home. It was June 22nd, the day of the Armistice. So we loaded our gear and returned to our village. The next morning, after making the bread, I went in search of our animals. I brought the pig back from Blienschwiller in a trailer; those people were classy, they didn’t request any compensation for the food they had given the pig. At Bernardsville I looked for the cow; twenty kilometers by foot with a cow, what a walk! But life could restart; there wasn’t too much damage. We recovered the silverware that we had buried at the back of the courtyard. We returned to harvesting the hay. Meanwhile my brothers returned, freed from prison camps by the Germans.

Baker in Strasbourg, under the Hitler regime

As I approached my birthday I wanted to leave home, since they no longer needed me at the house. Thanks to an ad to the newspaper, I found a job in Strasbourg. It was a fairly large bakery compared to ours. There were three of us, the boss, an apprentice and me. I did not earn a lot because I was not licensed, but on the other hand I learned a lot of things. I realized that I knew very little about my trade and despite a very demanding boss I stayed, I still had so much to learn. I also had a few other satisfactions that also made me feel good. It was now 1941, and being over 18 years of age I was required to join the Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth) which I neglected to do. In Strasbourg I pretended to be registered in my village, and at home I told to all who asked that I was enrolled in Hitlerjugend in Strasbourg.

Another way I got satisfaction was to tease the German police. Berets, a signs of Francophile, were forbidden. We wore them despite everything, in the morning, during our bread distribution routes. As we knew the little alleys we almost always escaped them. Twice, however, they took me to the police station. The first time it went fairly well, I received a lecture and my beret was confiscated. But the following week, I was again spotted with a beret and was taken back to the police station. This time the punishment was more severe, these were slaps and the threat of being taken to Schirmeck labor camp if they caught me again. I was given the necessary money to purchase a cap. I understood, and from then on I carried the bread, hatless; my boss didn’t like it, he said it wasn't hygienic. Never mind!

One Sunday afternoon near the end of the 1941, I had gone for a walk in the city. When I arrived at the Place Kleber (the largest square in Strasbourg at the heart of the city), there was a crowd of German soldiers; they had replaced the statue of Kleber with a statue of Karl Roos. There was a large military parade. I was standing in front of the Kohler-Rehm shop watching with my hands in my pockets. Suddenly, a slap and a shout! I had to stand at attention for the German national anthem; my hands in my pockets, was an insult to "Greater Germany"! Again I understood. On that day, I made my decision, I would not stay there; at the first opportunity I would flee to free France.

Escape to Free France

So I spoke to my mother about it the following Sunday. She and my brothers agreed. It wouldn’t be easy to arrange my escape; it was not easy to cross the frontier in the Vosges mountains, then the border between occupied France and free France. I spoke of my plans to escape to my friend, Paul Bulber (class of 41). He decided to go with me, we would leave together. Maman had not exchanged all the French francs for marks, she had kept hope. So she exchanged my marks for francs.

My eldest brother Marcel who working in Metz at the Ecole Nationale Vocational (National Vocational School)  had connections with the railway men. Their assistance was necessary to cross the border. We decided on a date: January 12, 1942. I arrived alone in Metz; the day before my friend had changed his mind at the last moment. I think it was his mother who advised him not to leave.

I spent the night in Metz and the next evening I took the train towards Amanvillers, the last station before the border. I exited the train and found my railway man who was smoking a pipe, as agreed. Pretending to not see me, he signaled me to go behind the train. He stayed on the platform and spoke to me while looking in another direction. He explained that I needed to climb in the last compartment when he told me to. To thank him, I tried to give him a few packs of cigarettes which he refused to take. When the Germans got off the train, he signaled to me that it was time  to board the train. I climbed on the train as it was leaving, and when it stopped I was in France at Conflans-en-Jarnisy. As I exited the train, I bypassed the station and found a small hotel to spend the night. The next morning I got up early, got a coffee, and inquired about the train schedules for Nancy.

I had a fright when a guy wearing an overcoat and a hat approached me and asked me directly if I was seeking to go to Free France. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t trust him. He understood and told me to follow him; we’ll go to Nancy together. On the train there was a control check, a German and a Frenchman who asked me for my papers. I didn’t have any, my companion pulled out the card that I needed and declared that I was traveling with him.

"That's it, I'm caught, it’s over," I thought. At the railway station exit in Nancy, he asked me to wait for him while he ran an errand. He entered a building; when I inspected the entrance, I found written among other things, the inscription "Feldgendarmerie" (military police). As if stung by a wasp, I took my suitcase and crossed a wide street where I hid while waiting for my man. If he wasn’t alone when he exited, I would have time to get away. But he came out alone, so I went to meet him. He told me I would have to spend two days in Nancy, in order to obtain identity papers. I spent the two days on the Rue Molitor at M. Schneider, a baker. Indeed, two days later, I had everything I needed, papers and my itinerary to Free France, I was lucky to have fallen into a network of smugglers.

So I went to Paris, my suitcase full of food Maman had prepared for me, bacon, ham, cheese, sardines, enough to feed me for ten days. In Paris, I had to wait a few hours for the train for Tours, and I was getting hungry. I left the station looking for a small bistro where I could quietly break my fast. In a little corner I opened my suitcase, I took out a piece of white bread, a piece of bacon, and some cheese, I was happy with everything that I was set to eat, but I forgot I was in Paris, in January '42 and people were starving. I was sitting there less than ten minutes when I found myself surrounded by a crowd of Parisians, looking at my white bread and all the rest. I understood immediately.  I left everything I had taken out of my suitcase, on the table.  I closed my suitcase and fled in haste back to the station; I wasn’t hungry anymore. Later I had a small bite to eat in the toilet before arriving at Tours.

I arrived in Tours around 11 pm; but there was a 9 o'clock curfew, so I had to either stay in the waiting room and risk being picked up during the night or to go to the Command center to obtain a pass. I chose this second solution, which went well, since I was in possession of papers, although false. So I went to find the hotel whose name I had memorized. I was well received; nothing was asked of me, neither papers nor money. I spent the night in that hotel, ate breakfast and disappeared by bus, neither seen nor recognized. I don’t think I said two words, other than hello, goodbye and thank you.

I went by bus to La Haye Descartes, where I had to find a priest, who welcomed me.  At his home I ate potatoes and emptied my suitcase. After spending the night in the hotel across the street, I found the old priest very early the next morning, accompanied by a young lady about my age. She was my ferryman (mule), she knew the schedules of the German patrols. Then we left walking through a forest until we reached the river Cher where my ferryman gave me some final instructions: follow the river, not too close so as not to be seen from the other side, or too far to get lost in the woods. Walk as quickly as possible; when you reach the first house you will be in the free zone. She turned around, and I ran toward my salvation.

Half an hour later the French gendarmes welcomed me saying that I was in free France. I cried, it was not easy and I had been very lucky. From there, I met a cousin of my father, M. Burckel, who owned a farm in the Dordogne, at Le Fleix, near Sainte Foy la Grande. I received my ration cards for bread, meat and other commodities. I found work in a mill-bakery until November 11^th, 1942, when the Germans invaded the unoccupied French zone. Now we had to be cautious. When I received my summons for the youth camps, I wonder whether I should go or not. I decided to go there.

Held Prisoner

Everything went very well until October 11th, 1943. We were woken up at four o'clock in the morning, when the camp was surrounded by the Germans, for a simple identity check. Fearing what would happen if my papers were discovered to be false, I with a fellow Lorraine decided to hide in the surrounding forests. We were in Corrèze, which is surrounded by many forests.

It was a loss, around 9 o'clock we were spotted by the police dogs and taken to a quarry. The other comrades were already there, facing the wall with their hands in the air. Kicked and slapped, none were spared. We were a hundred, the Germans at least a thousand. I believed my last hour had come; that they would kill us in the quarry as they had done elsewhere. That my family would never know where I was buried! Time passed. Some officers demanded that we all die, others wanted to take us as hostages. I was the only one who understood those terrible words, being the only one who knew German. I was also the one who was seized by the greatest fear.

It was towards evening that a few trucks arrived, on which we were loaded, tight like sardines. The trucks were covered with tarpaulins. After a few hours the trucks stopped. We were unloaded in a courtyard, in a monastery or a prison, I didn’t know which, it was night. With blows from a rifle butt they locked us all in a kind of refectory (dining room), with a few bundles of straw on the floor. 

After checking our identities, a certain French or German gentleman explained to us that we were there as hostages. For every German soldier killed by the guerrillas (French Resistance), there would be three of us publicly shot; for an officer killed, 10 of us would have to pay. It was not very reassuring and when I heard the boots in the corridor the next morning I wondered if it my time had come. In the morning we were given a single slice of black bread and a kind of coffee. Personally this was enough for me as I never had a big appetite, but some friends didn’t do well with this diet and after a fortnight we were already fewer; were our missing comrades in the infirmary or had they been shot?

Now we knew we were in the barracks at Clermont-Ferrand, but there was no way out. Even in the toilet, the guard remained with us, attached to the barrel of the gun. After another fortnight, we were gathered together one morning in the courtyard. I wondered what would happen to us, but it was not so serious. They asked for volunteers for a work detail. I was the only one to volunteer; since there was no way to escape from that sinister place, I decided to try elsewhere.

Two guards took me, I was not reassured; what if it was a trick to kill me somewhere else? But outside a bus was waiting with other prisoners. We were taken to Aulnat, the airfield located outside the city. Our objective: to drill holes for the installation of DCA parts. We were guarded by a very young soldier, rather friendly for a German. After work, we were given a snack and returned to the barracks in the evening. The next day, there was a dozen of us. On that day I began to speak German with my guard.

He was flabbergasted. He expected everything, but certainly not this. I explained that I was of Alsatian origin; he understood me and, in the evening before returning he gave me a big piece of bread. He promised to bring me even more the following day. It would be enough if I was one of the ten prisoners whom he was charged to guard. I would not miss this opportunity, especially since I had already drafted a plan to save myself. I had time to explore the surroundings and now I had won the trust of the guard. Two days later I told my comrades that tonight we would return; we were going to escape together. I explained my plan to snatch the rifle from the guard, and before he had a chance to realize what was happening we would be far away.

When the time came I jostled the guard, and the rifle flew away, but alas I left alone, no one else followed me; too bad. I ran as fast as I could through woods and ditches until I reached a railway line. Not knowing the direction I followed the tracks, passing through a small tunnel. At the exit of the tunnel I spotted a farm. I went there but I nobody was around. I exchanged my leather jacket that made me too recognizable for a jacket that was hung in a shed, and I resumed my journey along the rails.

It was starting to get dark when I came to the gate-keeper's house. I entered, because I trusted the railway workers. I explain my situation to the lady and the gentleman who were sitting there eating. They made me sit and eat with them, potatoes and cooked apples, a real delight! I learned then, miracle of miracles, that I was on the Montlucon-Lyon line. I was on the right path, since I hoped to go to Saône-et-Loire where my elder brother lived, who also escaped to Free France with his wife. But without papers or money, I would not go very far.

But the gatekeeper bailed me out. He stopped a freight train which was traveling to Lyons and gave me money to go from Lyons to Macon and to Cluny. Again, luck was on my side. "But be careful," he said, "do not get picked up at the Lyons station, it's very dangerous there." Ah, those good people, if I could find them one day and thank them!


Outlaw in Cluny

So I arrived at Cluny in November 1943. "Here you will be safe," my brother said to me, "we have never seen the Germans here!" But a few days later, there they were! During a raid at the School of Arts, they took several leaders and teachers to Germany. They would never return, the Germans pretended that the school sheltered maquisards (French Resistance fighters).

At Cluny I was hired at a sawmill, without papers. I was an outlaw but I had work. I was not the only fugitive from the STO (Service du travail obligatoire), the compulsory labor service, to hide in the factory. We had to be very careful, to disappear during identity control checks.

I’d been there a few weeks, but I didn’t really like the job. There was not enough to do so the days seemed endless. One day a man on a bike approached me (I was carrying a sack of ashes for my brother) and asked if I wanted to work on a farm, I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I promised him I would be there come Sunday. He gave me directions to Collonges, a hamlet with six farms and a few houses lost on a hill about 8 km from Cluny. I liked it, I’ve always enjoyed working on a farm, and I always loved animals.

So I went to work for the Simonet family, a well-known farmer in the region, very, very good people, I was at home there, they trusted me and I trusted them as well. No work was too painful for me. On Sundays I went to Mass at Lournand, a small village 2 km away, with a few other youngsters. I was well placed to help my brother and his wife with food supplies, which was significant in late 1943 and early 1944.

There was a Maquis in the region, but I didn’t want to actively participate. Nevertheless I learned to handle weapons from them; I also accompanied them in vehicles or with the horses when they had a parachute drop to pick up. But I remained at the farm until the 6th of June, the day of landing in Normandy.

Service in the French Army

Everything changed on June 6th, From that day everything changed; there were tears on the farm when I left via the forest, but it was war, I had to participate. We took our position with a British submachine gun at the edge of a wood, at the White Cross between Mâcon and Cluny, where clashes with the German army had occurred a few weeks earlier.

There was little to do, except to man watchtowers and signal the enemy’s approach. While I was there, there was only one. The Germans didn’t persist; they left after setting fire to three farms. On the other hand we were fired on by enemy aircraft on the 11th of August, without suffering too many losses. The French troops of the 1st Army of General De Lattre, who had landed in Provence, arrived towards the end of August. There were a few parties and balls, but we had to go, the war was not over.

The former Maquisards (guerrillas) of the Cluny area, formed a battalion of volunteers who signed a commitment for the duration of the war against Germany. I was one of them. We were given the name Commando de Cluny. We were attached to the 1st French Army. In October, after two months of training, we were sent to the front which was in Doubs. At that time, the front had stabilized to allow the for refueling the troops.

We took a position on the outskirts of the village of Longevelle. Apart from German artillery fire, it was very quiet. From time to time volunteers patrolled for the enemy. This activity took place at dawn; ten men, four rifles, submachine guns and one machine-gun. That was my specialty, I was attached to my F.M. (Fusil-mitrailleur Modèle machine gun); with it I felt well protected. Once we spotted the enemy, we triggered bursts of machine guns or mortars fire. Our duty was to determine the exact origin of these shots in order to know what was in front of us.

On November 13th, we were ordered to attack the next morning. It was still dark when Captain Fruitier gathered us together and told us that it would be serious, that we must be men ready to give our lives for France. This did not reassure us. An artillery fire preceded us and we liberated the village. It was empty; the Germans had left the day before. Thus we advanced from one village to another without encountering resistance until November 18th. Towards evening we were fired on by heavy machine guns. We stayed there during the night, ready for the attack the next day. The Germans were well dug in along a canal and were waiting for us. There was a minefield and several of our men tripped a mine, and they were not always the first in the line.

As we approached of the village of Franey, they met us with force! But we had orders to enter the village, despite the dead and wounded. I was lying with my FM, and I fired in the direction of the channel without looking around too much as my buddy loaded my gun for me as soon as it was empty. Suddenly he said to me: "Rene, I am dying, say goodbye to the family, and mates". At first I thought he was joking, but he was looking at me, his eyes wide open, while blood ran from his mouth and his nose, poor André Perrot. He was dead. I had no one to load my F.M. so I took the bag containing the ammunition and continued to shoot, sheltered behind his body.

I was afraid; I was waiting for my bullet! A few more leaps and I was at the first house. Phew, I found a little safety behind a wall, it was better than nothing. They shot with precision, those sacred Schleus! (Term originally used by the French military to mean "one who couldn't speak French" later applied to the Germans during WWII). Christen lost the tip of his nose; Cognard a piece of his finger. They hit us hard from all sides and it was evening before calm returned. Their attack stopped. Wanting a bite to eat I realized that my rations of "beans" had been pierced by bullets or shrapnel, and were inedible. After night fell, we buried our dead. It is the saddest part of war, when you have to bury your pals. The next morning was calm; there were the German dead and wounded that they left behind. It was then the task for the nurses.

A few days later we approached Belfort, where the French soldiers had met the Germans. We entered Belfort by way of Valdoie and the resistance was rather weak. We were not alone; we were accompanied by the army artillery, mortars and tanks when we crossed Belfort in single file. We were being fired on from the "Lion", the fort that dominates the city. Some Germans were hidden in houses defended themselves until their death. It lasted a few days. The city was finally liberated on November 22nd.

The episode of the brothel

We were lodged in the Alsthom factory and our only job was to stand guard. One morning Captain Fruitier called for twelve soldiers. Nobody knew why. I remember his words. With a little smile at the corner of the lips, he explained our mission: "I have called you because you seem to be serious types for an extraordinary mission. The authorities asked me to send twelve men to protect the women in a brothel of brothel in the city center." We expected anything, but not that! Since there were enormous numbers of soldiers in this city, Americans, Frenchmen, Africans, there had been fights in front of and in these houses. We were taken by truck to the square where the owner met us with Champagne and explained our work. The house opened at ten o'clock, if there were any among us who wanted something, there was a choice. No one moved, we took our positions, a few outside and one at each door. As there were not enough women, there was a line several meters long before 10 o'clock.

I was stationed in front of a door; my mission was to control the entry time of each soldier, to get him out after ten minutes and to ensure that he left the house and didn’t return to the line. It lasted until eight o'clock in the evening. Then we could eat and drink at will, what a bargain! But the party didn’t last long, perhaps a week, then we had to return to the front, which moved north towards Alsace.

Liberation of Alsace! 

I had been waiting waiting for this moment, it was with enormous joy that I went to the front, even if it was necessary to mount the attack. It was no longer the same since I was home, it was no longer so cruel to die.

We started off in American GMC trucks. On the approach to the front we advanced by foot. We reached Bourbach-le-Haut at the beginning of night, which we spent in barns and hay lofts. At daybreak we went on attack going behind the cemetery towards a hill. But we discovered that German mortars welcomed us, forcing us to dig holes to shelter in while waiting for the order to advance. It was cold and rainy, but you had to go, jumping from hole to hole and run up the hill you have to take at all costs.

This was not easy with a powerful mortar field. We had to turn back, dragging our dead and wounded to our point we started. We spent the next night, standing guard in turn. I still see the two corpses next to my hole, they were Ferry and Zanner, all washed out by the rain. Why was not it me? It was not my turn yet, perhaps tomorrow? The next morning they asked for volunteers for a patrol, I went and we located a few German posts at the entrance of a wood. Less than five meters separated us. This was a huge surprise; our first reflex was to fall flat on our stomach. They didn’t open fire, we didn’t either. Then they were gone.

Before daybreak we were back and gathered reinforcements for our command, a few tanks, half-tracks with guns, well hidden underneath, and marine sharp shooters. We felt reassured in our holes though not for long because we spotted three enemy Tiger tanks maneuvering up the hill. Tiger tanks, against our rifles, we were easy targets in our holes. But we were no longer alone; our guns followed their maneuver had followed the maneuver of the German tanks, no doubt they waited for them to be in a good position because after a few cannon shots the Tigers were on fire, to our great relief.

That day we set off towards the Hundsrück, a fairly high mountain summit above Thann and Ramersmatt. We spent the night in a Vosgian chalet, pressed tight against each other. Towards morning we took a position on the downward slope towards Ramersmatt. There we were detained by mortars and heavy machine guns fire, coming from the opposite slope. There was a little valley that separated us from them.

Our company commander asks for reinforcements, we needed more than our rifles to advance. This is where my sergeant Gallieni, grandson of the great general, was wounded in the thigh. He did not want to be evacuated, but when he saw that he could not walk anymore, he agreed to be taken away.

Volunteer to defend the bridge at Ramersmatt

Our section was gathered together when Captain Fruitier asked for a machine-gun volunteer to go down into the small valley in order to prevent the Germans from blowing up the bridge which would have prevented our armored vehicles from moving forward, because these tanks were our reinforcements.

I was one of four machine-gunners; as none of the others moved, I volunteered for this mission. The captain gave me the details. I refused to be accompanied by a comrade loader, as I was too afraid to lose a second one. I filled a bag with ammunition and I left. I went downhill quickly as possible, without stopping.

When I arrived at the bottom, I laid down in the small stream which ran along the road. I was in cold water, but quite covered and sheltered from enemy machine guns, so I could easily control the access to the bridge. A little later, a German patrol exited the woods; I could easily observe their slow approach. Believing they were close enough, I shot off a few rounds from my F.M.; then I didn’t see anything, they had turned around. After a few hours our tanks were at down at my level, with their cannons they dislodged the machine gun nests on the hill face. We descended to Ramersmatt towards the night with some prisoners.

The next day we walked towards Thann meeting little resistance, we were greeted warmly everywhere we went. The enemy landed at Vieux-Thann. We remained at Thann, guarding the outposts in the vicinity of the chemical plant. We were given gas masks in case a shell fell on the factory, which happened, but without too much damage. On the other hand our ammunition depot was hit, which caused a beautiful fireworks display.

We spent Christmas and New Year in Thann. We had a real feast at Christmas, with turkey, champagne, without escaping guard duty naturally. On New Year's Eve, the Germans wished us a Happy New Year with strong mortar fire. When I replaced Cherrot for my midnight shift, my friend had just been hit by a shell directly on his F.M. which was in pieces. It was not encouraging for me, stuck for three hours in my hole, on January 1, 1945. Again I was lucky; the shells fell around me, without hitting me.

We were still in Thann before returning to Rouffach. The Colmar pocket was liquidated on February 2. At Rouffach our battalion, whose strength was greatly diminished, was restructured, it became the 4th battalion of storm troopers. We expected that we would have to cross the Rhine.

Finally home

From Rouffach to Mussig is about forty kilometers, I was sure the village had been liberated. I decided to go home, see how my family and my village had faired. A military truck took me to Sélestat; from there I walked the last eight kilometers on foot. All the bridges, a good ten of them, between Sélestat and Mussig, had been bombed.

At last I was home; the house had not suffered too much, a few shell fragments in the walls. I found my mother and my sister, but my five brothers were still absent, 3 in the German army and 2 in the French army. I should mention that in Montbéliard I happened by chance to meet one of my brothers, Edmond who had escaped from the German army in Italy and was serving in the French army.

Germany

Around April 15^th, our battalion left Rouffach; in trucks we crossed Alsace to the north, on the side of Wissembourg. In canoes we crossed the Rhine at Guermersheim, without encountering resistance. Others may have passed before us. The next day we occupied a small town, Neustadt, from which the people had fled. We took the opportunity to break everything as was done to our homes. We ate from beautiful dishes, but instead of washing them, we threw them out and used another one at the next meal.

Then we crossed the Black Forest in trucks; there was nothing to report, except for a few isolated shots. One evening we arrived at Biberach. Worn out, we only wanted to go to sleep, anywhere. There was a movie theater and of course there was no light. There were a lot of clothes on the floor; upon awakening, we realized that there were also dead bodies among the clothes; a horrible spectacle at the end of war.

We left again in the morning passing through many villages, often welcomed by French prisoners in irons. They handed us papers, on behalf of the German families, asking us not to abuse them, because they had been understanding and sympathetic with the prisoners.

In the afternoon, we arrived at Schussenried, a larger place where we stayed for some time. Acting as an interpreter to the adjutant, I organized the encampment of our troops. I was once again the only one who could speak German fluently. Needless to say, the nicest rooms were reserved for us. From that day on, I stayed in the officers' quarters, since they often needed my services. Finally the good life, no patrol, no guard duty. It was at Winterstettendorf, about ten kilometers from Schussenried that we learn of the end of this long war. It was May 8, 1945.

May 8, 1945 - Victory in Europe Day

What a celebration for our soldiers! And what mourning for the Germans. Everywhere we saw them crying, Hitler had promised them a miracle. As long as there was war, there was hope, but now all hope was gone. 

Our unit was part of the occupation troops; first at Constance, then at Lindau, on the shores of Lake Constance, then at Ravensburg, It was a good life until my demobilization in November 1945. During this time, the 1st French army went to Thann to participate in a Victory ceremony.

Return to Civilian Life

I was awarded the Croix de Guerre (War Cross) for a distinguished service at Ramersmatt followed by the Médaille militaire, I returned to civilian life.

Maman was very seriously ill when I returned, likely because of the war. Not only had her six sons been spread everywhere in Europe on different fronts in different armies, in this terrible war, but she suffered multiple harassment on the part of the Germans, because they said she was anti-German, but also because she had sons in the French army.

My older brother, Julien the baker, who my parents expected to continue the bakery, had not yet returned from the war. Maman and I decided to reopen the store/Bakery, which had been closed for more than two years. Since we had no money, no flour and no wood to heat the oven, riding my bike, I sought help, somewhere in the family.

First I went to Scherwiller to see a friend of my parents, but had no luck at the meeting. Were they lacking in resources or in confidence? Then I rode the bike to Itterswiller to my my maternal uncle Cyrille Schwartz there I was more lucky. He advanced a sum of money which allowed me to buy flour, wood and everything necessary to resume work in the bakery. I was 22 years old and courageous after a few years I was able to repay my uncle. Maman was better but my missing brother still did not return.

So it was up to me to continue the trade that my parents and grandparents had created which I wanted to reclaim. Given my limited knowledge, I didn’t do too badly.

In 1947, I married Lucie Koenig of Sélestat. We had 4 beautiful children. After 32 years of hard work, I handed it over to my son. My wife who assisted me in the trade and I retired to a house we had built 10 years prior. Hopefully we can enjoy the fruits of our labor for a few more years.

Rene died in Mussig on March 8, 1982.

Rene’s son Richard was the fourth generation to operate the Reppel bakery.

Edmond Reppel - From the Wehrmacht to the French Army

The "Malgré Nous" - According to Wikipedia, the term Malgré-nous (French: “against our will”) refers to men of the Alsace-Moselle regions who were conscripted into the German Wehrmacht or in the Waffen-SS, during the Second World War."

The following is an autobiographical account written by Edmond Reppel between 1990 and 1991. I, Margaret have translated it from French to English. Any errors are unintended.  I have added a few notes for greater clarity, they are written in red italics.
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Edmond Reppel - Memoirs of a "Malgré Nous"

"Yes, I'm going to get started, I have decided to tell the story of the tragedy experienced by my family from 1939 to 1945, as experienced by so many other families in Alsace and Lorraine. Our children and grandchildren need to know, that most people should know what happened, never forget and that it should never happen again. The risk of forgetting is great ...

We have forgotten the war of 1870, and the much more terrible and more deadly War of 1914-1918, not to mention the previous wars. History did not stop in 1918, nor in 1945, and it continues now. What happened so many times can happen again, and with modern armaments this can be the apocalypse, wherever war breaks out.

The last two wars were terrible, the wars of the future will be infinitely worse still. It is true that one must have been at war on the front line, to know what that is like. And when one has lived it they are obsessed with it the rest of their life. I hope that by writing my memories of this period I will free myself a little.

There is a thought that comes to mind, I don't remember who said it, "Every man who dies is a library that burns." I do not pretend to be a great library, but I still want to put in black and white what I know about myself and my family; I will try to save from oblivion what I can.

All my brothers lived the same drama, and I will relate what I know about them in relation to this period. Unfortunately, four of them have already left us and, of the six boys in our family, in 1991 there are only two remaining, my brother Maurice and myself. Julien, did not return from the war, René, died in 1982 at the age of 59, Marcel died in 1987 at the age of 73 and Robert, who was the youngest, died in 1990 at the age of 61. Maurice was born in 1916 and myself in 1921. We do not know when our turn will come. 

I write also because, in general, the rest of France does not know or only has a vague idea of what exactly happened in Alsace-Lorraine during the last world war, between June 1940 and our liberation in 1945. Even in Alsace-Lorraine the younger generations are often ignorant of it. 

During this period, the Vichy government did not say a word, either on the radio or in the press, about what was happening in these two provinces. It was as if they were no longer or had never been part of France. To appease the Germans, they pretended that Alsace and Lorraine were not "occupied", but "annexed", that is to say, fully integrated into Hitler's Germany. The Vichy government claimed to have protested to the Germans against this state of affairs, but if there were any protests, they were never public and nobody ever knew anything about it.

Small caveat: I said that Lorraine was annexed; in fact it was only part of it, the part in which a German dialect is spoken, as in Alsace. The area correlates roughly to the department of the Moselle, about one third of Lorraine. It must be added that the same shameful treatment was inflicted on Luxembourg, contrary to all international law and to all morals.

But now let’s turn to the drama lived by my family from 1939 to 1945. My mother was widowed in 1936 and was the head of a large family of 7 children, 6 boys and a girl, Hélène, born in 1929, the youngest. 

The Battle of France

My family lived Mussig, a village of about 900 inhabitants, 8 km east of Sélestat and 10 km from Marckolsheim; it was very near the Rhine River. We had a bakery/grocery store and farmed about 6 hectares of land (14.8 acres). We had a horse and two cows. In 1939 my three older brothers, Marcel, Maurice and Julien were mobilized and sent to the front. Back home we managed as best we could. My brother René, 16, replaced Julien manning the oven and my brother Robert, 13, helped by a very devoted old neighbor, and myself as much as possible, replaced Maurice in the fields. I continued to go to college in Sélestat where classes were held in the basement when there was aircraft alert, which happened quite often, because we were only about fifteen km from the Rhine, that is, the front.

In the summer of 1939, Strasbourg and about a third of the population of Alsace were evacuated towards the interior of the country, near Dordogne. All villages within 10 km of the German border were evacuated. Mussig was not, but a village two kilometers to the east was. Our village was eventually evacuated on June 11, 1940, under the threat of the German offensive on the Rhine. We completed the evacuation in a single day, from morning to evening. We returned non-essential goods to the stores where possible. Then we loaded our car with what we considered essential. We hitched our horse, and got on the evacuation roads of the exodus! We didn't go far, about thirty km, to Ribeauvillé, a beautiful little town at the foot of the Vosges mountains.

On June 15 the Germans attacked on the Rhine, between Schoenau and Neuf-Brisach, and by June 17 they were already in Ribeauvillé! We were dismayed. We stayed a few more days in Ribeauvillé and then returned to Mussig. Although we were happy to return home, it was not pleasant; there was no flour, no groceries, no animals in the stable, or the pigsty, no rabbits, no chickens. And in addition, given the events, there were immediately shortages in all areas.

A great consolation and a great relief, however: my three brothers who had been at war, all at the front, returned safe and sound. Marcel, who had been on the North Front, sergeant with Algerian riflemen, who took part in the battles on the Somme, and the Loire, was not taken prisoner. Julien, who was engaged in fighting near Sedan and Verdun, was taken prisoner; he spent a fortnight (2 weeks) in a prison camp before being released because he was Alsatian.

WWII German flamethrower

Maurice, was assigned to the 45/1 Sponeck case-mate (part of the Maginot Line fortifications), a few miles south of Marckolsheim. The casement was located on the dike that flanked the left bank of the Rhine. There was no fighting prior to the big German offensive of June 15th at 9 am between Schoenau and Neuf-Brisach. The battle began with direct artillery fire from the German side of the Rhine. After an hour the casement was pentrated. The Germans then attacked under the protection of artificial fog and, once the Rhine crossed, with flamethrowers. 

Immediately the interior of the casement was on fire. The occupants were able to leave because, fortunately for them, they had not locked the exit door. If that had been done, they would all have been burned alive. Two soldiers suffered burns and two were wounded. So they exited the bunker and retreated. They were taken prisoners in the Vosges. After a fortnight Maurice was released because he was Alsatian and came home.

It would have been better for the Alsatians if they were held as prisoner, because they would probably all have survived the war. But how could they suspect what would happen two or three years later, that they would be "forcibly incorporated" into the German army and sent to slaughter on the Russian front? They were released and they preferred freedom to prison camps in Germany; nothing more human, more normal.

Some Alsatian officers, however, refused to be released, their honor dictated that they stay with their men. It hurt them in the end, because they were Alsatians the Germans ordered a "favorable" treatment for them. They were put in concentration camps and they did not come back. 

The situation in Alsace-Lorraine (departments of Haut-Rhin, Bas-Rhin and Moselle), and in Luxembourg as well, was identical. 

June 1940 – The Armistice

The Armistice of June 22, 1940 was the provisional end of the war. To our great consolation when we returned home, after our evacuation to Ribeauvillé; my three older brothers Marcel, Maurice and Julien all returned safe and sound after fighting with the French Army. 

We returned to civilian life and work, Marcel to Metz, Maurice and Julien to Mussig. I went back to college. Now under the Germans, my bachelor degree considered invalid. I was required to pass the German equivalent of the baccalaureate. All instruction in all subjects was given in German. There was no teaching in French as it was forbidden to speak French, under penalty of arrest and confinement to the Schirmeck "reeducation" camp. In June 1941, I passed the "Reifeprüfung" (Graduation Exam) with "High Honors". 

I wanted to continue studying, thinking that it would always benefit me. I enrolled at the University of Strasbourg, in geography, English and, inevitably, German. The teachers of English were good, those of German very good, that of French on the other hand lousy, so that everyone dropped that class. I boarded with my uncle and godfather Marcel Schwartz, who lived in Schiltigheim, a suburb of Strasbourg.

In the clauses of the armistice there was no reference to the Alsatian-Lorraine departments and their population. They should have suffered the same fate of the other occupied French territories. It was not so because they were simply annexed by Germany, not officially but defacto. From June 1940 the French government was replaced by a German government, the local officials replaced by officials from Germany.

German control post

As early as July 24, 1940, the border markers were moved and put back along the route of 1870. They were even preceded by a glacis (a slope that runs downward from a fortification), a forbidden zone, about 3 km wide. Anyone who was there while not living there, was suspicious and immediately arrested. 

Political parties and all associations were dissolved and banned. The whole civil government was reorganized based on the the German model. At the head of each community was a "Bürgermeister" (mayor) appointed by the head of the "Zivilverwaltung" (civil administration), namely Robert Wagner for Alsace. In my village of Mussig, they appointed Joseph Will, son of Germans who settled in Alsace after 1870 and who had been allowed to stay there after 1918.

The government reorganization was followed rapidly by the introduction of German law and a judicial reorganization. The entire Nazi police apparatus was immediately establish with the utmost care. German was proclaimed the official language and the only language allowed to be spoken and written. French was no longer taught in primary school or in any college or high school. The names of the villages were Germanized as were all the first names. We could no longer be called René or Jacques but instead were called Reinhard and Jakob. Cafes, grocery stores, bakeries, etc. had to be displayed in German. By pressure or by decrees, or by laws, people were obliged to join associations which were created and which were automatically qualified as national socialists. For example, the peasants: if they wanted to obtain fertilizers or seeds, they had to join the national socialist peasant association. 

By order of January 2, 1942 all young people were forced to enter the Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth organization) under penalty of punishment against parents. By the decree of August 23, 1942 the Alsatians, Lorrainers and Luxemburgers were granted German citizenship and as a logical consequence on August 25th, rendering military service compulsory in the Wehrmacht (German Army).

We were then gradually forcibly incorporated into the RAD ("Reichsarbeitsdienst"), a sort of pre-military service, and then into the German army. Resistors were automatically considered deserters and the most severe penalties were applied to themselves and to their families who were displaced to Germany and Poland. It was terrible for us, we had to fight alone, with the bitter feeling of being completely abandoned by the French government. What does one do when faced of the threat of being incorporated into the German Army?

Apparently the Vichy government protested the treatment of Alsace Lorraine. By his own admission at the Nuremberg trial, he never made it publicly, so no one ever knew, especially not in Alsace. We had to fight alone, with the bitter feeling of being completely abandoned by official France. It was terrible for us. What to do in the face of the threat of being incorporated into the German army? 

It was not easy to clandestinely cross the new border of the Vosges Mountains into the occupied zone, then to cross into the free zone. It was very dangerous, especially for an Alsatian deserter. And then, their families were threatened of reprisals, and deportation. 

My brother René - Escape to Free Zone

The first of us to take this route, after much discussion with the rest of the family, was my brother René, aged 19. He was the first to fall under the compulsory incorporation order. It was true that he no longer lived in Mussig, but worked as a bakery worker in Strasbourg. He was required to join the HitlerJugend. When questioned in Strasbourg he told them he was officially on Mussig's role, and in Mussig he said he was on Strasbourg's role. 

He found a network of smugglers and, on January 11, 1942, went to Metz, to our brother Marcel. Marcel's father-in-law, more precisely his future father-in-law, had been deputy head of Metz railroad station and knew a network of smugglers. René, assisted by this network of smugglers escaped to the occupied zone. In Nancy he was given false papers and later he went into the free zone to take refuge with the Burkel family (vague cousins), farmers at Le Fleix near Sainte Foy-la-Grande. Later some bad luck forced him into the "youth camps." 

On October 11th, 1943 in response to some French resistance activities in the local area, the youth camp was surrounded by German police. They were arrested and taken to the barracks of the 92nd Infantry Regiment in Clermont-Ferrand where they were held as hostages. They were threatened to be executed if any additional German soldiers were killed because of the French resistance. 

One day when René was working with others on the edge of an airfield, he knocked the guard down and escaped. Upon arriving at the house of a railway gatekeeper, he explained his situation. The gatekeeper put him on a freight train heading towards Lyon after giving him some money. 

Since he had a little money, after arriving in Lyon, he continued on to Cluny. In Cluny he met up with our brother Marcel who had also fled to the free zone with his wife Marthe, instead of being forcibly incorporated into the German Army. 

René worked on a farm in the Cluny area and then entered the Maquis of Cluny (French Resistence Cell). When the region was liberated he enlisted for the duration of the war in the "Commando de Cluny", one of the spearheads of the first French army. I, myself, had been  in this army for more than a year, and at many of the same places, but we knew nothing of each other.

He took an active part in the fighting in the Doubs. He was a machine gunner, firing the FM (machine gun), his comrade André Perrot was his charger (assistant). On the morning of November 19 during an offensive near the village of Frahier, his comrade was killed on the spot. The village was taken and in the evening the Germans won the battle.

Next came the capture of Belfort and the entry into Alsace. There he again participated in hard fights, with many dead near Burbach-le-Haut. Then there was fighting on the Hundsrück above Thann and Ramersmatt.

He volunteered for a very dangerous mission, to protect a bridge. All alone, with his FM, he saved the bridge that the Germans were preparing to destroy. His conduct earned him the Croix de Guerre Croix de Guerre (War Cross) and the Médaille militaire (Military medal). He spent Christmas and New Year in Thann, then departed for Germany. They crossed the Rhine at Guermersheim in canoes. There was hardly any German resistance. They occupied Neustadt, Biberach, etc., and then ended the war on the shores of Lake Constance, precisely where I was also at the same time, but without knowing it and without us meeting. I was demobilized on May 25 and René in November 1945.

I forgot to say that after René escaped from Alsace our family was not bothered. René was not living in Mussig but in Strasbourg, his escape was not detected. The authorities in Strasbourg believed he was still on the lists of Mussig, In Mussig he had made them believe that he was registered in Strasbourg.

After Marcel and his wife escaped from Lorraine on May 7, 1943, his father-in-law was arrested and deported to a concentration camp in Dachau. He returned in 1945, but oh in such a state! My mother was not deported; but she was interrogated for hours by the Gestapo, and released on bail after paying a large bond, and entered on a "watch list" that was discovered in 1945. That she was not deported was probably because she could argue that if she had two deserters, she also had three sons, Maurice, Julien, and myself still at the time in the German army, on the Russian front. We did not dare. The military hierarchy of the three sons in the army would also have, no doubt, protested, because the German army was not 100% Nazi, especially more in 1943, and had a certain independence, a certain dignity, to defend face to the all-powerful Nazi party.

My brothers Maurice & Julien - Drafted into the Wehrmacht

In 1943 there were three of us in the German army. I want to talk first about Maurice and Julien. They were both forced into the Wehrmacht on April 19, 1943. The day before they had a farewell dinner attended by our cousin Maria (Mimi) Schwartz of Strasbourg. Also present were Marcel's future father-in-law, Mr. Alexis Hory, and a German refugee from the Ruhr, who had been forced to live with her daughter. During the meal we made the mistake of speaking politics, worse still in French, in the presence of this German. It was said that the Germans were going to lose the war, etc., etc. Mom, cautious, did not say anything, and tried to stop these discussions. She suspected what would happen. 

Indeed, the next day, the German denounced everyone. My brothers, who had not said much, had left for the army, and M. Hory for Metz. My cousin Mimi was arrested and deported to the Struthof concentration camp in Schirmeck. She was, however, released after a few months. My mother was "grilled" by the Gestapo but they could not fault her, and her two sons had just left for the war. She was left at liberty but on bail. After all this, the German did not have the nerve to stay with Mom, and left Mussig.

The next day Maurice and Julien left for the German army, that is to say the war. We know little about Julien's tribulations. We had no news of each other; and Julien, who did not returned from the war, could not tell us anything. He wrote to Mama who was still in Mussig with Robert and Helen, but after the war we spoke very little about it. The memories were too painful. The last letter to Mom was dated November 12, 1944, from Naumburg. He was pronounced dead on February 2, 1945.

As for Maurice, when he came home, he put his memories in writing, but without much detail because thinking back to those terrible years hurt him too much.

As Maurice had completed his military service before the war, and then served in the war with in the French army, it was judged that he did not need additional military training. He was sent directly to the front, on the front line at Witebsk in Russia. On December 15, 1943 they were encircled, but finally managed to break free. Other hard fights took place near Casimirova and Polota, then it was the retreat towards Dorpat in September 1944. There he was wounded for the first time by a shrapnel in the left knee. This wound required two surgeries. He passed through four military hospitals, the first to be evacuated before the advance of the Russian armies. Once he was cured, he was sent to the front again, first to Steinau / Oder, then to another place. He was wounded again on 2 February 1945 in the left heel and was first hospitalized in Ulm, then from 10 March 1945 to 25 May 1945, in Geislingen, where he was released by the Americans. He returned to Mussig on May 25, 1945. 


Since then, not a day has passed without his memory of those two terrible years spent in the German uniform, that is to say the enemy, to participate in a war that was not his. In spite of this at the risk of his own life, he saved the life of a German seriously wounded at the front line. Whatever the circumstances, he was a man. What he can not forget were those two winters in Russia with temperatures of up to -40 degrees and with so much snow. He can not see me without talking to me about all this, because he knows that, more than anyone else, I can understand him because I lived about the same thing. He knows, and he says it, that he had an extraordinary luck of coming back alive, and that his two wounds did not handicap him for life.

My incorporation in the RAD and in the Wehrmacht

And now my story, my adventures and misadventures during those years of annexation to Germany and war. 

After my brother René's escape from Alsace in January 1942, I made the decision, around March or April, to try the same. I along with a friend from Strasbourg made the preparations. I went to Mussig to talk to my mother and my brothers. But they did not agree considering the enormous risks that it would place on the rest of my family. Finally, given the circumstances and after careful consideration, I gave up my project. My friend from Strasbourg left, I do not know what happened to him.

In October 1942, I was incorporated in the "Reichsarbeitsdienst" (RAD - Reich Labor Service). Service in the RAD was obligatory for all German boys and girls. This "Labor Service" was a paramilitary organization, (not to be confused with the STO Mandatory Labor Service exclusively reserved for the French of the interior). We didn't have any weapons training, instead we worked with spades, the emblem of the organization and working tool.

(STO - Service du travail obligatoire [English: Compulsory Work Service] was the forced enlistment and deportation of hundreds of thousands of French workers to Nazi Germany to work as forced labor for the German war effort during World War II).

We were assigned to a camp near Hessisch-Lichtenau in the Kassel region of Germany. Three quarters of us were Alsatians. There was political indoctrination but not too much. The Germans realized that it did not not work with us. We built an earthworks foundation for the construction of a factory. The food was a bit sparse, but it was enough for me as I was always a light eater, while others had to fight for a piece of bread. Two and a half months later we were sent home for Christmas. My return was not very long;  towards mid-January 1943 I was incorporated into the German army. 

I was sent to Brno (Brünn in German) in Czechoslovakia, in the "Infantry Nachrichten Ersatz Kompanie 131". The unit was almost exclusively Alsatian-Lorrainers. We were astonished to be assigned to this unit and to the confidence we were given. Some, like myself, were trained as teletype operators and others as telephone operators. I learned Morse code and how to send radio messages. It was interesting enough, despite the despised uniform and the nasty boots we wore.

The worst thing was military training in all weather conditions: learning how to walk, how to run, how to flatten ones self, how to crawl and, of course, how to use a rifle. It was generally unbearable for us Alsatian Frenchmen, but what to do? It was never done with good grace, we often complained in the presence of NCOs and officers. This earned me three days of jail, on bread and water. It didn’t alter my behavior, and only made me a little more circumspect.

The only nice thing was to be able to go into town on Sunday afternoons and go to the cinema or theater. There was no way to talk to civilians; on the one hand we did not know their language and, on the other, we felt their hostility even though they were not aggressive.  And we were ashamed to wear the German uniform and be taken for Germans which we were not, as we despised them as the civilians did. All this was depressing, so depressing that I sometimes thought of suicide.

Fortunately there was news from the front; German defeats everywhere, of which the officers naturally didn’t mention to us. News that we still came to know and which cheered us up. The NCOs and officers who commanded us obviously did not talk to us about it. It must be said, the officers and NCOs treated us fairly although without care. We were not subjected to political indoctrination and the songs that we learned were not Nazi songs, fortunately. Thus we didn't suffer as the time passed; we were glad that we were not sent to the Russian front, destination of the majority of Alsatians and Lorrainers. 

This eventually ended, on September 8th, 1943, we were transferred to Company 1 of the 242nd March battalion and departed by train for the dreaded Russian front.

The Eastern Front

After two or three days on the road, we arrived in Kiev in the Ukraine. We learned that the train that preceded us had gone beyond the Dnieper River, and crossed the Russian lines. The Russians pierced the front and suddenly arrived in Kiev. How we envied those who were in this train! That would have been a good opportunity to be taken prisoner right away!

We only stayed for a day or two in Kiev, and then we are taken by truck 10 or 20 km north of Kiev to a village called Yasnogorodka. There were no inhabitants; so we got acquainted with their Izbas, by lying on their large stoves. (Izba - a traditional log hut with a steam oven so large the inhabitants slept on top of it).

The next day we were suppose to dig an anti-tank ditch in front of the village which sat on a small hill. But since the field kitchen had not followed us and we had not eaten since the day before, we chose instead to make our meal with what we found on the spot, a chicken and potatoes from the garden. In the evening we went to our assigned work location and watched the others work for a moment. Suddenly we heard gunshots in the distance in front of us. They became more and more numerous. We saw German soldiers running towards us, with the Russians on their heels.

Immediately the Germans began distributing rifles and ammunition to those of us in the village, for those of us who had arrived the day before were unarmed. There was not enough for everyone, and those like me who were unarmed gathered in a small square in the village sheltered from the houses. We heard the Russians. Unfortunately, or fortunately, they were not able to take the village.

The next day, everyone was armed with a rifle and hand grenades. As night fell we took shelter in foxholes at in front of the village. I was in my hole when suddenly I saw on the horizon, glimmers of light similar to lightning during a thunderstorm. And at moment, a appalling din over our heads, and behind us explosions of shells fell on the village.

It was the the famous "Stalin's organs" (Katyusha rocket launcher) which had just sprayed us. And then, immediately I heard cries down the line from left to right; it was the Russian infantry attacking, with bayonets and the cannon. I saw shadows coming out of the darkness and running towards us, getting closer and closer, shouting loudly, "Hurra" (Soviet War Cry) to freeze us with fear.

I didn’t fire a single shot or throw a single grenade; I extracted myself as quickly as possible from my hole and ran towards the village. A Russian was on my heels  shouted "stuj pan!" I heard him and saw him clearly, maybe forty meters behind me. He didn’t fire, at least I didn’t see him shooting. Or, if he fired, he missed me. I crossed the village which was in flames, I ran again and took refuge in the woods, where I lie hidden. I decided to wait for the Russians, while remaining hidden, then to surrender, not to the first wave but thereafter. They managed to take the village, but advanced no farther. 

Two or three days later, the Germans having taken over the village in the meantime, I am again sent to defend it. The village is three-quarters surrounded, and from the individual hole in which I found myself, I heard them circulating with their "Panje-Wagen" (horsecarts), and on horseback, shouting about 200 or 300 meters from me. Their artillery fired on the village.

At nightfall 2 days later, I was finally relieved and allowed to sneak between the houses towards the rear, where the field kitchen is located. I was not alone; there are 10 or 20 of us. We have hardly begun to eat when an illuminating shell burst over us; it is as bright as broad daylight. Immediately there is a deafening bombardment of Russian artillery on the village. We were not directly underneath, but we know this is the prelude to a Russian attack and, and normally we should have returned to the village to lend a hand to those who were going to be attacked.

But we do not. It wasn’t a simple soldier, but an officer, a lieutenant, I believe, who was with us, who encouraged us to "abhauen", to flee the camp. That's what we did; every time the sky darkened we would run. We heard machine gun fire and we didn’t stay. It was only after we were 2 or 3 km away that we stopped, once we felt safe, and we could breathe again.

Next we were about 50 km north of Kiev in a small town called Dymer for a few days. There I was again on the front line, but with the Dnieper River between me and the Russians. For two or three days I occupied an individual foxhole on the embankment bordered the river. The area was calm; the Russians didn't shoot and neither did we. We heard them clearly on the other shore. When we finally move out it is to Dymer, I believe. One evening we were loaded on trucks and we left in the night. After some time, we stopped in a wood and spent the night there, wrapped in our blankets.

Injured on 13 October 1943

On the morning of October 13th, we found ourselves on the edge of a wood, in front of us an open field, and in the distance a village, a little on a hill. It felt like "no man's land." We were ordered to go through the village with a fine comb and to occupy it. We advanced slowly in a line and almost there when we were greeted by the heavy firing from rifles, machine guns, and exploding shells. There were wounded and dead among us. 

We were very close to the village and I can still see myself crawling towards the top of the hill. After arriving at top, I carefully raised my head to see what was going on. I saw, about 80 meters away, groups of three men standing or crouching around machines that could only be mortars. This reflection was hardly made, I felt a big blow on the head. A mortar shell had exploded right next to me and I had just been wounded by shrapnel. 

It was not very painful, but, when I lifted my hand to the back of my neck, I felt a fragment of metal planted in the bottom of my skull; the blood ran along my hand. This shard tore the bottom of my helmet off.  That helmet that I hated so much had just saved my life, for the wound was about a centimeter into the cerebellum.

A comrade rescued me, I do not know how. I only remembered that after 200 or 300 meters we stopped, sheltered from the sight of the Russians, in a mass of trees and hedges, and he began to make a makeshift dressing. The dressing was scarcely completed, when we heard the Russians nearby. We were hidden and they didn’t see us; we evidently didn’t move and then, oh divine surprise, we heard them leave. We started to hope and then realized; the Russians had passed by us and were now circling back. They tightened their circle, but we were outside the circle and not at risk for the moment. We withdrew as far as possible from the front.

I was operated on in what must have been a schoolroom, sitting on a chair, a soldier holding me by one arm on the left and another on the right. I was given a local anesthesia and the shell fragment was removed. It didn’t hurt me, but I felt and heard the cracking when they removed the small scrap metal that was planted in my skull. At least two surgeons were there, operating in this room, on simple tables. I spent the night in a room, on the floor, with other wounded soldiers, some who had been operated on and, others who had not because of the severity of the wounds to the abdomen or the chest. One of them died that night, nobody noticed.

The next day I was evacuated by truck, then by sanitary train (military medical services including ambulances, field hospitals and camp infirmaries) to Poland where I spent six weeks in a military hospital in Sierdz, not far from Lodz, I think.  

From Convalescent to Deserter 

My wound healed very quickly, much too fast to my liking, and in early December, I was sent home to convalesce for two or three weeks. 

I was very happy to be among my family, my mother, my brother Robert, my sister Helene. I had news of my brothers Maurice and Julien, both of them on the Russian front, but we had no news of Marcel and Rene. We weren't too worried about those two because; we thought they were safe. 

I'm was happy to be in civilian clothes, no longer to wearing those dirty boots and the uniform I so hated. I felt like a different man. I learned of others who were dead or missing in Russia and I was a little surprised to be there, alive, to have returned from this hell.

The days passed quickly, and when I thought about returning to the German army and the Russian front that I so feared, I again thought about deserting, trying to make it to Switzerland and escape beyond the Vosges. I thought about it, knowing that it will not be possible, and it tore at my heart. Terrible dilemma, an impossible case of conscience. Taking risks for oneself is relatively easy; putting extreme risks on my family, to my mother, sister, brother, was quite another thing. The risks were terribly real. We knew what happened to Marcel's father-in-law after Marcel's escape with his wife: the concentration camp! And the same reprisals my mother narrowly escaped. It was morally impossible for me to desert the army under these circumstances. I therefore resigned myself to donning the German uniform and putting on the boots.

I should have returned to the barracks in Brno on December 23 or 24, which is Christmas Eve, but I could not resign myself to it. I decided to spend Christmas with my family, damn the consequences. I left on the 26th and arrived at barracks on the 27th, four days late. In fact, I was already listed as deserter and answerable to the council of war. I was summoned to the Colonel's room. I explain to him that I had been sick, that my mother had not been well. I do not think he believed me, and I do not know if he tried to verify my statements by contacting Mussig.

One Month in Jail

In any case, I was not court-martialed, without a doubt because I returned after fighting on the Russian front where I was wounded, and I returned on my own to the barracks. They hadn’t needed to look for me.  The colonel was "indulgent" with me and sentenced me to four weeks in prison beginning on December 31st, 1943 at 13 hours. This sentence made me neither hot nor cold, it it was rather light and with a happy heart that I entered prison on December 31st at 1 pm.

The prison was a large building near the entrance to the barracks. The cells, ten or twelve on either side of a corridor, were upstairs. The staircase was closed by strong gates, at the bottom and at the top. The cells were 2 meters by 3 meters, with a thick solid door with a peephole which allowed the guard to monitor us. At the other end, was a small window with big bars which provided us a bit of light. The only "furniture" was a wooden bench to sit or sleep on.

During those four weeks I never went out in the open air. I went out into hallway in the morning to wash and to use the toilet, and in the evening to get two blankets which were returned each morning. The food was limited, in the morning, there were a few slices of bread and a bowl of beverage which was coffee only by name. One day in three I was entitled to a normal meal. Being a light eater, as I said before, it satisfied me. 

I wasn’t bored; I was fairly satisfied. Being a Frenchman in a German prison, I was in my place. I no longer felt myself in the army, no more helmets and boots, no military exercises, no Germans to command me; It was silence, calm and I felt in perfect harmony with my conscience. I would have happily remained in prison until the end of the war, if they would have left me there.

I was not bored, I had managed to sneak in a little Goethe book, "Gedanken und Erinnerunqen" (Thoughts and Memories) into my cell. This allowed me to reflect and to philosophize for hours, all day long. One of the guards finally realized that I had this little book, but he did not say anything and left it with me.

At the end of January I was released and returned to life in the barracks, The majority of my fellow soldiers were mostly Austrians, I was the only Alsatian.  The fact that I had been in the brig did not result in any special treatment, no bullying, no insults. I had the impression that they did not judge me, not even my superiors. I was not of particularly notice, either good or bad.

And here we are in Italy

Towards the end of April 1944, we made preparations to depart for the front. The big question: which front? And it was a great relief when we realized that we were not driving east, but south through Bavaria and then the Alps through the Brenner Pass. And then we were in Italy. 

For me, it was a dream come true, although under foul conditions. I saw orange trees, olive trees, and Roman ruins still in relative good condition. It would have been exciting, if I had not been a German soldier! The train took us further south, about fifty kilometers north of Rome to Bracciano, on the lake of the same name. We lodged in a beautiful and charming villa on the shore of the lake. As a radio telegraphist I was assigned to the company's command post. We spent about two months, doing exercises and most importantly, thinking about the occupation. We had little contact with the population that avoided us. 

One day a small group of us were sent to Florence in a van, a non-commissioned officer, another soldier and myself. I was the interpreter for I had learned a little Italian. Our mission was to make purchases for the company's staff. We spent two days in Florence to make these purchases and also to visit the city. 

Our return almost ended badly; we were spotted by an American airplane that flew by and shot at us profusely. When we saw him heading towards us, we immediately stopped the van and got out.  We stretched out in a small ditch flanking the road. They strafed us with a machine-gun; and came back at us a second time. Fortunately none of us three was touched. The van was, but not the engine, so we continued our return unharmed to Bracciano.

At the end of May, we suddenly received orders to prepare to leave. The Americans, and the French, had launched a a major offensive in the area south of Rome and we were being sent there as troop reinforcements. Soon we were in the Albanian mountain region, and practically at the front. We were in trucks and we soon heard the sound of bitter fighting in front of us, and on our left and on our right. We were about to be encircled so we turned around. We extricated ourselves completely; it was night and we drove, I do not know how long and I do not remember what happened next.

I have an incredible hole in my memory, I only remember that I found myself alone, wandering more or less in the region between Rome and the sea, in Ostia in particular. I hitchhiked, trying to avoid the "Feldgendarmerie", the German military police. I was not the only one wandering this way, for the German Army was in disarray.

One evening I found myself in Bracciano near a field kitchen. I needed to eat. There were about fifty of us scattered around. The next day we were ordered to withdraw to new positions. It was then I decided the time had come; that it is absolutely necessary to find a way to escape, as discreetly as possible. 

At nightfall, we left Bracciano by a small road in a northerly direction. We were on foot; there were no German vehicles anywhere to be seen. I acquired a bicycle, from where I no longer know and was armed with a single pistol. We were walking through a large wooded area. The road was curvy and I arranged to be at the tail end of the troops. At the beginning of a turn I blew the chain of my bicycle and then pretended to put it back on.

As soon as the troops were out of sight, I threw the bike behind a hedge and and sank into the trench. No one spotted me run away; at least I didn’t think so. I hid myself among some rocks which were nearby, where I spent the night. It was the night of June 5th, 1944.

Towards the middle of the night, I heard the noise of trucks and tanks moving in the distance on the road. It could only be the Americans, because for two days I had not seen any German trucks or tanks in the area. In the morning, about eight or nine o'clock, I left my hiding-place and cautiously went looking for them.  A civilian whom I met confirmed that it was indeed the Americans. I asked him to take me to them, which he willingly did. For me, it was much more reassuring to be accompanied.

From prisoner of the Americans, to the French Army

I was a prisoner of the Americans. Knowing English, it was easy for me to explain my case. I was well-treated and I ate excellent white bread and "beans" for the first time. I wouldn’t appreciate the canned beans for long, because we ate them every day. 

The next day or the day after, a captain of the French army, an Alsatian named Altdorfer, if I remember correctly, came to "liberate" me from the Americans. Following an interrogation, we left the American camp. We left for Aversa, north of Naples, where the French Expeditionary Corps of Italy was based. Following a change of uniform, a shower, and vaccinations, I was incorporated into the French army. I found myself with a dozen other Alsatians and Lorrainers, who had also been forcibly conscripted into the German Army, and were lucky enough to be sent to Italy.

During the ten days that followed we completed an encoder training class, then were assigned to the HQ of the French Expeditionary Corps in Italy, and advanced northward towards the front. The HQ was still quite far behind the front. Obviously they could not send us to the front line, or we risked falling back into the hands of the Germans. Our work was very interesting, because reports from the different divisions reached us every day and we were the first to know the situation on the front. We also communicated with the government in Algiers, and later in Paris.

We were pleasantly surprised, that they placed so much confidence in us, we who had come from the opposing camp and who they little knew. True Germans could have pretended to be Alsatians-Lorrainers and infiltrated the French army in this way, to indulge in espionage and sabotage. We knew a lot of secret information, we knew at least four weeks in advance, when and where the landing would take place in Provence, in the south of France. It's was not nothing.

We moved beyond Siena, in the vicinity of Poggibonsi, about 40 km south of Florence. Troop advances stopped; but we didn’t remain long because by the end of July all the French troops were withdrawn from the front. We met up in Naples and Aversa where we waited in anticipation of our embarkation of the Allied landing on the coast of Provence. We waited at least four weeks and had absolutely nothing to do. 

We visited Naples and its surroundings, Pozzuali and its volcanoes. Twice we took the train to Pompei, One day, two friends (Muller and Szymanski) and I, decided to visit Rome. After breakfast we set off hitchhiking, and arrived in Rome around eight o'clock in the evening, having been picked up by 14 different vehicles. We learned of the liberation of Paris, It was August 24th, 1944. The next day we visited Rome; we went to the top of St. Peter's and were received by the Pope. On the 26th we returned to Naples, and, to our great surprise there was no one there.

What a calamity, we thought they had embarked without us! Immediately we started looking for them, hoping that they might still be boarding ships. In the port of Naples, nothing; at the port of Bagnoli, north of Naples, we finally found them, on the docks, in front of the ships, waiting. Phew! All our comrades were there, and they had brought our gear. Prudently, they had not mentioned our absence and our leaders were unaware of it. Everything ended well, but we were lucky.

Direction France! (Operation Dragoon)

We embarked the same day and left. We were not the first to leave for France. The first ships arrived on the 15th of August. Our convoy was important; we had a large number of Liberty Ships – escorted by warships, on all sides. It was impressive and we were all extremely happy to sail for our homeland and to actively participate in its liberation. 

We were three days at sea and finally landed near Sainte-Maxime, on the beach of La Nardelle. During the journey there was no alerts of enemy planes or submarines. At La Nardelle our boats landed on the beach; their fronts opened, a kind of bridge was lowered and, perched on our trucks, we landed without even getting our feet wet.

We headed north on the Napoleon road, to Aix-en-Provence, near Grenoble. The first few towns had already been liberated. This was not the case of Villefranche-sur-Saône or Macon where we were cheered. We stayed some time in Macon. I was about twenty kilometers from Cluny where my brother Marcel and his wife had taken refuge and where my brother Rene was aiding the Maquis (French Resistance guerrilla fighters). I did not know it at the time, having had no news of them for a long time. We were so very close to each other and totally unaware of it. 

As our troops pushed the Germans back, we moved, alternating between the front and the rear through the following towns of Dijon, Besancon, Montbeliard, Belfort, Guebwiller, Palatinate, and Karlsruhe. On the 5th of May, the day of the armistice, we moved towards Lindau on the shores of Lake Constance. This was where I was demobilized on May 25, 1945.

When we were in Belfort, I was very worried about my family in Mussig. We knew that Selestat had been liberated, but our village of Mussig only 8 km away, was not and was therefore was under artillery fire and exposed to possible American bombing. On February 1st, Mussig was liberated. From the end of November until that date, the residents had lived in the cellars. 

As soon as I could, I went to "my house," where I found my mother, my brother Robert, and my sister Helene, all three in good health. I also had news of my brother, Rene, who had previously visited them. It was impossible to describe how happy we were to find ourselves in good health. But we still had no news of Maurice and Julien.

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I returned to Mussig on May 25, 1945, the same day as my brother Maurice. Julien did not return. He was declared dead on February 3rd, 1945. Maurice resumed his work as a farmer. I helped Rene at the grocery store. The goods were being rationed and quite scarce, we had to search everywhere for them.

For two years, I worked for the administration of the town hall. Once a week, I went to college in Strasbourg, and resumed my studies as much as possible. It was not ideal and could not last. Rene was to be married and I would be in they way if I stayed in the house. To continue working for the town administration didn’t suit me either. 

Marcel advised me to seek a position as a répétiteur (coach/ proctor) for public education. In October 1947, I was appointed as a répétiteur at Chalon-sur-Saone. This allowed me to start serious university studies at the University of Dijon. At the beginning of 1948, I transferred to Besancon, a university town. In two years, from 1947 to 1949 I passed my license and in 1950 in obtained the CAPET, Certificate of Aptitude to the Technical Teaching (teaching certificate).

In July 1950 I married Gilberte Benichou, I was appointed Professor of German at the technical college of Saintes in Charente-Maritime, and became a resident of that city. Gilberte and I had three children. In 1973, I was married a second time to  Genevieve Coumailleau.

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Edmond died in Saintes on 12 November 1991.