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.