Faith,
Courage, and Survival
in a Time of Trouble
By France J. Pruitt as told to Judy Priven
Published By: Paul Pruitt and S2 Press At Smashwords
Copyright 2010 France J Pruitt and Judy Priven
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* * * * *
Faith, Courage, and Survival
in a Time of Trouble
To the memory of my wonderful mother and
father,
André and Denise J., and to the people of
the Cévennes who
selflessly saved our lives.
* * * Table of Contents * * *
“They’re coming to arrest you!”
Chapter 8: Forty-Five Years Later
Addendum A: Talks Given at the Bench Presentation Ceremony Vialas, June 2, 2005
Bernard Vignes - Mayor of Vialas
Max Maurel - Given Posthumously by his Granddaughter Delphine Maurel
Addendum B: Poem Written and Read by Katie Pruitt at the Bench Presentation Ceremony
Addendum C: Remarks Made by Guests at the Luncheon
Andre Platon and Louise Platon
Etienne Passebois - Mayor of St. Frezal
Bernard Vignes - Mayor of Vialas
François Maurel - Son of Max and Fela Maurel
Benjamin Richmond-Freedman - Cousin of France and Claudie
Anissa Ghariani - Granddaughter of Fanchon
Nadia Ghariani - Granddaughter of Fanchon
Isabelle Mercier - Daughter of Fanchon
Justine Maurel - Granddaughter of Max and Fela Mercier
Cosima Maurel, Max and Fela’s Daughter-In-Law
Charles Pruitt - France’s Son and Katie’s Father
Addendum D: Article by Fanchon Mercier in Les Nouvelles Cévennoles
Addendum E: Pictures from the Bench Presentation Ceremony
Addendum G: the Author’s Family Tree
* * * Acknowledgments * * *
Our many thanks to Judy Priven for her patience and persistence in trying to understand the life story of her friend and preparing such a well crafted document, to Dean G. Pruitt for the many hours he spent careful editing the manuscript, and Paul D. Pruitt for his excellent work as the publisher.
* * * Note * * *
To preserve the anonymity of certain members of the family, the last name of my parents has been rendered as J.
* * * Introduction * * *
The first part of this book tells the story of a Belgian family who spent more than four years during the Second World War as refugees in the south of France. The author was five years old when the family left Brussels and ten when they returned. At first, the family lived openly in a rented farm, supporting themselves as farmers. But they eventually had to go into hiding and were sheltered by families in the region who risked their lives by doing so. The second part of the book describes the author’s life after arriving in the United States.
The third part of the book takes the readers to June of 2005, when several members of the author’s family returned to the region to dedicate a granite bench in honor of the courageous efforts of its people. Speeches, comments, and pictures from the dedication ceremony can be found at the end of the book, along with maps of the region and some family genealogies.
* * * Foreword * * *
1933, a year to remember: Hitler was named Chancellor. Germany was gradually building its military strength, recovering from the occupation of the First World War. Dachau, the first concentration camp, was built and the boycott against Jews began around that time. Two years later, the Jews in Germany lost their citizenship and civil rights, Jewish kids were expelled from schools, and some Jews were sent to concentration camps. Things got worse for the next six years culminating in the invasion of Poland in 1939 and the invasion of France and the Low Countries the following spring.
The author on holiday
in Switzerland in 1939
* * * Chapter 1: Early Memories * * *
I guess I will begin my story, and the story of my family, during World War II, in the same way that our seven-year-old granddaughter, Katie, started her book three years ago about the dream of a princess. Once upon a time...
Once upon a time, a princess was born. That was myself, France Ida Elizabeth, and I was born in September, 1934. I was not really a princess, of course, but my life seemed charmed right from the beginning, as though I really were a princess.
The year before, my father and mother were married in Antwerp, Belgium, first in a civil ceremony at City Hall and then in a Jewish ceremony at the Salle Centenaire, to please their grandparents on both sides. Their wedding, too, seemed to come right from a book of fairy tales. It was a double wedding—a ceremony in which two brothers, André and Alex, married two sisters, Denise and Andrée. André, my father, was a highly respected chemistry professor, well-liked by his students at the Free University of Brussels (l’Université Libre de Bruxelles.) Alex, my uncle, was a successful stamp dealer who was continuing the work started by his father.
Although the two sisters, Denise and Andrée, were highly intelligent, neither of them attended a university—as was customary for girls in those days.
All of Antwerp’s best-known citizens, including the mayor himself, attended the star-touched wedding as my grandfather was a very successful diamond businessman in the city. But this was Europe in 1933 and Fate had a few surprises for us all. Who would have guessed that the Antwerp Jewish community, as we knew it, would disappear in a just a few years? Who would have guessed that, I, that lucky baby princess, would experience hunger, cold, complete helplessness, and great fear for my life, or that I would be violated—not once but two times—before I was ten years old? And all because of a religion that no one in my parent’s generation and their parents ever practiced or even believed in.
It is only now, 71 years after I was born, that I realize how easy my life really has been all along. Has it been charmed because of that same Fate that robbed me of my childhood and dealt me such hardship at such an early age? Or because of my parents’ faith and courage in leaving their comfortable life in Brussels? Or the selflessness and kindness of the people of the Cévennes for taking such good care of us for four years? Or the choices I made in life? No one can say.
* * My Parents * *
Neither of my parents was religious, although Belgium at the time was 90% Catholic, with a government that was pretty much dominated by the Church. As a liberal thinker and a Free Mason, my father believed strongly in the separation of Church and State. He felt so strongly about it that he created a club at the University called the Circle of Free Examination, whose sole goal was to allow people to exchange ideas and to test their ways of comprehending the world. If I understand it correctly, that club still exists.
My father was the first one in his family to earn a Doctoral degree. Because he was a brilliant student and later an astute researcher at the Belgian Research Institute, he was offered a position as chemistry professor at the Free University of Brussels. Like most Belgians, he worked very hard, even on Saturdays (until noon); Sunday, at least, was a day of rest.
In his late 20’s, he met a medium who was able to convince him that there was something in the world beyond scientific findings. Later, he observed how the “guerisseurs” (healers) in the south of France were able to heal. These experiences made him very interested in matters that could not be explained scientifically.
He was a gentle and caring man who was interested in many topics and loved good discussions. In the latter part of his life, he always had a retinue of people, especially ladies, who wanted to spend time with him because he was so genuinely interested in them and such a good conversationalist. He was quite advanced spiritually, which showed in his attitude toward life.
My mother may not have been religious in the traditional sense of the word, but she had a deep and sincere love for everyone she met. And everyone she met also loved her—her compassion, her understanding, her care, her complete selflessness. When her own mother died, she was the one who stayed at home and took care of her 16-year-old sister Andrée and her 8-year old brother Francis. My mother was only 18 at the time.
Although she had been a brilliant student in high school and had dreams of going to medical school, like almost all young ladies of her status, she did not attend an institution of higher education and never worked outside the home. My Aunt Andrée, on the other hand, was the more rebellious of the two sisters and went to a Paris finishing school for a year after her graduation from high school—a very unusual decision. I think she felt overwhelmed by my mother’s self-confidence and popularity. It was not until years later, after my mother died, that my aunt cast off the shadow of her sister and began to blossom as the warm and giving person she must have felt inside all along.
My father and mother got along famously; in fact, I never heard a word of discord between them. They loved to read to each other and take long walks.
They lived a comfortable life, owning an apartment in one of the nicer parts of Brussels, right across from a well manicured park. We often went to the park and made friends with many people, including a guard. We had a lot of family members in Brussels whom we often visited. We were always nicely dressed and wore white gloves when we went to the Sunday afternoon teas with our grandparents.
In the winter time, we went to Switzerland to ski and in the summer we went to the Belgian seashore even if it was not always that warm.
Like many other Belgians, we celebrated Christmas at home with a family feast but, of course, we did not go to church. (In Belgium the distribution of presents, especially to children, is done on St Nicolas Day, the 6th of December, rather than on Christmas Day.)
My uncle and father hard at work at La
Font, our farm in the
south of France
* * * Chapter 2: On Our Way * * *
In the late ‘30’s, most Jews in Belgium and the rest of Europe were oblivious of and unperturbed by the events in Germany, but the two brothers and their wives, listening to the BBC and reading the newspapers, saw the handwriting on the wall—for Germany and for the rest of western Europe. I am not sure why they saw the future more clearly than those around them. Perhaps my father’s interest in psychology played some part. He and his brother were also wise enough not to be attached to material things, which led to the demise of so many other people, including quite a few of our relatives.
In any case, the two brothers began planning their escape. But where to go? Their first thought was England, since my mother and aunt were British subjects.
My maternal grandfather, one of eleven children, was born in Scotland and went to England as a young man. His father was born in Russia and had emigrated to Scotland. My grandfather lived in Belgium most of his adult life except during the two world wars, when he lived in England and became a successful diamond dealer. In 1940, at the age of 20, my uncle Francis, my mother’s brother, who was a university student in Belgium, left for Britain on the last ship that departed France. He immediately joined the British Royal Air Force.
England was willing to accept the two sisters and their father but, sad to say, not their husbands. Since my father and uncle were respectively, Belgian and Dutch citizens, they did not have the birthright credentials with which to claim asylum in any country outside those that were likely to be occupied by the Nazis.
Their next thought was France, to which they could easily escape. Somewhere in France, they thought, would be a place that could provide some measure of safety. To get there, they decided to flee in my maternal grandfather’s black Buick, which was large enough to fit the whole family. (In fact, my grandfather was driven around in this car by a chauffeur, since he didn’t know how to drive.)
And so, the two couples, who by 1940 had two children each, put their furniture in storage, sold their apartments in Brussels, and moved to the Belgian coast, close to the border, with my paternal grandfather and grandmother. There they waited to leave the country for the time when my father would be free to leave the University.
And then it happened. On May 10, 1940, Germany invaded the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxemburg. My father, who was released from his University services that day, ran to the bank to pick up the diamonds my maternal grandfather had given to the family. But there was one problem: arriving at the bank, he realized he did not know the password for the safe because his brother Alex was in charge of the diamonds. So he guessed. By a stroke of luck, and that story was mentioned to us afterwards on numerous occasions, he guessed correctly. The password was his brother’s own name—Alex. This was fortunate, because those diamonds turned out to be the only portable wealth available to the family for the next four years. Neither my father nor my uncle was able to continue his career and earn money for the four and a half years of the war.
On the day of the invasion, all trains in Belgium had stopped running, so, with the diamonds in his briefcase, my father bicycled three hours to the coast. The next day, the whole family piled into the car—my father and uncle and paternal grandfather in the front (there were bench seats those days); my aunt and mother and paternal grandmother in the back; and we four children, all under six years old, on jump seats or sometimes on laps. Seat belts and air bags did not exist in those days, which made it a little easier for children to move around. And there were no radios or DVD players to entertain us. In this way, we set off for France along with thousands of other Belgians who were trying to escape the German army.
Behind the Buick was a trailer filled with all the worldly goods we had been able to assemble—clothes, blankets, and food. We didn’t know exactly where we were going, and we didn’t know what would happen to us. All we could rely on were our luck, our wits, the kindness of some strangers along the way—and my maternal grandfather’s diamonds.
For me, the beginning of fear of the war started on that first night. We were traveling through an area that was clogged with refugees but empty of any stores, restaurants, or hotels. As afraid as I was, no one could comfort or reassure me, because everyone experienced that same fear of what would happen on that night and the days and nights to follow.
Because the border between the two countries was closed, we had to stop along the banks of a Belgian canal for the night. I still remember the fear of the unknown darkness. All was quiet except for the loud humming of the airplanes just above us. My mother laid me down on the grass to sleep, but suddenly, in the middle of the night, I woke up to find myself rolling toward the canal. I can still remember the water coming at me, dangerously close, before my mother grabbed me.
On the next day, we arrived at the border between Belgium and France. My father, who was in the Belgian army reserve, planned to go back to Brussels in case he was called for duty; but, fortunately, the border police told him that the Belgian capitulation was imminent and advised him to continue on to France. Later, we found out that the border between Belgium and France had been open for only 24 hours. We were just very lucky.
After we entered France we stayed for one night at a place called Andelices and then stopped for a week just south of Paris in a chateau owned by a friend of my aunt. Perhaps we could have stayed there longer, but my parents could not shake the fear that Paris too would fall. And they were right.
Soon after we continued on south, a mandate went out requiring all young men to build trenches around Paris. If my father and uncle had been recruited for that effort, we all might have perished, as the two women did not know how to drive. Fortunately, the French police did not come to the hotel where we were staying that night, and the two fathers were not recruited. Only one month later, the Germans walked into Paris, unopposed, and France signed an armistice.
Mountainous countryside
in the Cévennes
* * * Chapter 3: Southern France * * *
* * Bèdoues * *
My parents, and my uncle and aunt, decided to keep going south, toward the mountains. But where? We were looking for a place that was remote and not too crowded, a place that was least likely to attract attention and most likely to have strangers who would sympathize with refugees.
The department of Lozère (one of 90 departments, or counties, in France) seemed just right. Lozère’s nickname is “le pays de misères” or the “country of misery,” referring to the miseries of the Protestant Huguenots who fled there in the 17th century to escape religious persecution. Perhaps, my parents reasoned, the descendants of the Huguenots, who had found refuge there, would offer refuge to others.
And again, they were right. Lozère is a relatively sparsely populated, resource-poor, mountainous area in the Massif Central in the southern part of France. That region, which is called the Cévennes, is covered with chestnut trees. My parents assumed that the Germans would not dare to go there. They were right; instead, the Germans delegated their power to the local French authorities, who performed the basic duties required of them—but also helped those in need, including us.
As we drove through the western part of Lozère, we found a small village named Bèdoues located near Florac. My father approached the Mayor of Florac who had authority to place refugees. Was there any place in the village where we could live for a while—all ten of us? The Mayor found us a place to live, a large house that looked like a chateau and belonged to the Governor of Djibouti. In return, my father, being a chemist, promised to help the farmers in the village with agricultural problems such as growing beets and extracting sugar from them. Later, he even received a certificate of appreciation for having helped the community to turn their plums into prunes, thanks to his knowledge of chemistry.