Rue de la Paix (Peace Street) in Les Arcs-sur-Argens. More about war and peace in today's story column.
Guerre
(gair)
noun, feminine
war, warfare
At Cafe de la Tour I found a seat close to the porte-fenêtre for a nice view of the village square on market day. The serveuse cleared away the dirty ashtray and demitasses before I set down three baguettes, my purse and my keys, and nodded bonjour to the strangers on my left.
Jean-Claude, the former patron (his daughter Sophie now runs the place), was seated at the opposite table with two burly locals. The three retired men had their noses in a pile of black-and-white photos and that is when I noticed for the first time that Jean-Claude owned one, a nose, that is. He had shaved off his legendary mustache! Gone was the dramatic white flip which swooped up and out at either end. The once soft, uniform curl was like a giant eyelash that batted as he spoke. So long was that mustache that it curled right up over the tip of his nose and covered it.
"What? You didn't know?" Jean-Claude turned to greet me, and share about the little accident he had had along the Promenade des Anglais in Nice, where he had had an inspiration while watching the young freestylers. That is when the idea struck him to borrow one of the boys' BMX bikes… only to quickly discover that he, Jean-Claude, had a fear of heights!
Dangling over the edge of a mini ramp, Jean-Claude's fall was imminent, and he landed smack on his shiny head. Thirty some odd stitches later, he still hasn't lost that radiant smile–although he did lose all of his front teeth—which explains the "bald spot" above his upper lip, one that now matches the smoothness of his head, the mustache having been shaved off when the dental work began.
"That must have been traumatizing!" I said of the well-known mustache, thinking about the loss of what could surely be considered a limb. Jean-Claude looked at me blankly before that beaming smile returned.
"Ce n'était rien," It was nothing, he said thoughtfully, his eyes returning to the pile of old war photos.
Changing the subject, Jean-Claude handed me the black-and-white images, explaining that the photos were of the Libération, taken when American solders arrived in Les Arcs-sur-Argens, freeing the village from German occupation. I recognized our town's square; only, instead of the realtor's office there was a little boutique with a wooden sign that read "Mode."
The men seated beside Jean-Claude were now recounting war stories. As Jean-Claude and I studied the photos, I heard bits and pieces of the burly men's conversation: "…the parachutists landed…the maquisards fought…a soldier fell right out front…"
"Look at the hats!" Jean-Claude cried out, loud enough to muffle the voices next to him. He began pointing to a photo in which a crowd of men stood in the village square, their heads kept warm with those stylish newsboy caps. While J.-C. and I looked at '40s fashions, the men seated next to us continued commenting and I picked up scraps of their grim dialogue—
"…the Americans captured the Germans…prisoner of war…chained to the soldier…" but Jean-Claude's well-timed exclamations drowned out most of the sad and violent images.
"Look at the children! So many children!" Jean-Claude piped back in, this time pointing to a photo in which some little kids were seated on the church steps, but I found it hard to concentrate on the image. Instead, my ears were trying to tune in to the table beside us, where the men continued their remembrances:
"…the prisoners were marched off… blood…"
"Ah, the platan tree is still there! Do you recognize it?" Jean-Claude enthused, but the men's bleak commentary continued: "…American soldier shot down by the train station, died right there…the American and German were hit, killed by the same blow!…"
"That's Pascal," Jean-Claude chimed in, his back now to the men seated at the table next to ours. I looked at the photo of a skinny, grimy-faced kid, shorts rolled up, socks falling down around his bony ankles.
"His family still owns the carrosserie down the street," he added, ignoring his tablemates. "Ah, wonderful man! He must've been 6 or 7 years old in this photo." Jean-Claude shook his head, but there was a gentle smile on his face, that is, until I voiced a lingering question:
"Can you tell me about the war?" I asked, trusting Jean-Claude to paint a sensitive portrait of life here in Les Arcs-sur-Argens during WWII. Instead he threw me another one of those famous blank stares.
"C'est intéressant… la guerre," I said, saying anything to fill in the silence.
"No, war is not interesting!" Jean-Claude said, swatting me several times over the shoulder with the photos, in mock condemnation.
"Look at that gun!" I said.
"Ah, the chewing gum!" Jean-Claude replied, cleverly evading the subject, and ignoring the photo that the men beside us had just handed over. "The Americans and their chewing gum! The soldiers, who were often called 'Joe', loved their chewing gum!" he said with that contagious smile.
And like that, I sipped my café-au-lait and watched Jean-Claude point out rosy details in the old, dark photos. He was seeing the children's smiles, the fashions, the beautiful trees, as well as hearing the whir of wheels riding up the seaside ramp and his own freestyle foray into…well, never mind the crash. On he went, painting his own postwar portrait of Provence and, though not erasing the past, he expertly drew blanks over the pain.
French Vocabulary
la porte-fenêtre = French window
la serveuse = barmaid
le patron (la patronne) = business owner
la Libération = the freeing from foreign occupation
la mode = fashion
le maquisard = "man of the maquis" (wild Mediterranean scrubland) or French resistance fighter hidden in the forests and mountains during WWII
la carrosserie = automobile body shop
* * *
Thank you for alerting me to any typos or formatting problems, in this story! Click here to access the comments box. Note: the first 30 comments in the comments box are not edits; they appeared when this story was first posted.
La Commémoration du 8 mai
Today, May 8th is a French National holiday: Time of Remembrance and Reconciliation for Those Who Lost Their Lives during the Second World War. Do not miss the video at the end of this edition, in which students portent le flambeau, or "carry the torch" of remembrance via song. You'll hear excerpts of La Marseillaise and le Chant de Partisans (second video), and witness the touching and humble reconnaissance of France's youth.
Note: if you are viewing this edition via email, you might need to click over to the blog (try clicking on the title at the top of this letter) to view the videos. Don't miss them!
PS: many thanks to readers for submitting these book recommendations:
2. Wine and War
3. And There Was Light: Autobiography of Jacques Lusseyran, Blind Hero of the French Resistance
End quote: La guerre, un massacre de gens qui ne se connaissent pas, au profit de gens qui se connaissent mais ne se massacrent pas. War, a massacre of people who do not know each other, to the profit of people who know each other but do not massacre each other. –Paul Valéry
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:: Audio File :: Download guerre.wav
Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce French words in the following Proverb:
Qui terre a guerre a. / He who has land, has war.
Video:
Terms:
la guerre classique = conventional warfare
la guerre chaude, froide = hot, cold war
la guerre sur terre = land warfare
la guerre atomique = atomic warfare
la guerre planétaire = global warfare
la guerre de rues = street fighting
…more terms and expression at the end of this letter
Books & More:
Lonely Planet France : inspiration (and itineraries) for exploring France your own way.
Paris After the Liberation: 1944 – 1949
Expressions:
de bonne guerre = legitimately
un nom de guerre = a pseudonym
être sur le sentier de la guerre = to prepare for combat
faire la guerre à quelqu'un = to criticize someone
à la guerre comme à la guerre = to take the rough with the smooth
partir en guerre contre quelque chose = to go to war for something
s'en tirer avec les honneurs de la guerre = to receive an honorable discharge
Le Chant des Partisans
Ami, entends-tu le vol noir des corbeaux sur nos plaines ? Ami, entends-tu ces cris sourds du pays qu'on enchaîne ? Ohé partisans, ouvriers et paysans, c'est l'alarme ! Ce soir l'ennemi connaîtra le prix du sang et des larmes. Montez de la mine, descendez des collines, camarades, Sortez de la paille les fusils, la mitraille, les grenades ; Ohé les tueurs, à la balle ou au couteau tuez vite ! Ohé saboteur, attention à ton fardeau, dynamite … C'est nous qui brisons les barreaux des prisons, pour nos frères, La haine à nos trousses, et la faim qui nous pousse, la misère. Il y a des pays où les gens aux creux du lit font des rêves Ici, nous, vois-tu, nous on marche et nous on tue, nous on crève. Ici chacun sait ce qu'il veut, ce qu'il fait, quand il passe ; Ami, si tu tombes, un ami sort de l'ombre à ta place. Demain du sang noir séchera au grand soleil sur les routes, Chantez, compagnons, dans la nuit la liberté nous écoute.
English translation, and history behind this song, here.
Three Random Words:
un casse-dalle (m) = (from the slang "dalle" = hunger) = snack
aneth (m) = dill
le caoutchouc (m) = rubber (caoutchoucs = galoshes)
Discover more from French Word-A-Day
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Chere Kristin,
My father was one of the “parachutists” who helped liberate France during WWll and like J.C. he too would not talk of that time. Wounded he was one of the few in his company to survive. War leaves indelible memories and wounds that never heal. Merci pour “la observation et la racontage” (?) of this moment in Cafe de la Tour.
Cindy
Thanks, Kristin,for sharing the story and the videos. It’s hard to imagine what it must have been like to live in an occupied country during the war.
Kristin
I read this to my mother over the phone this morning. It was exactly how Daddy handled his memories of WWII. Almost every day of his life, we heard wonderful stories of the people and the countries where he was sent — rarely anything of the horrors of the war. Though he was not of French heritage, the first time I visited France, I began to understand my father and I knew why parts of his heart remained there.
Kristin, I am very moved by your post today. My Uncle lost his life at the Invasion of Normany on D-Day. Although I was not even born at the time, the story is ledgendary in our family. Now at the ripe old age of 54, I think of him and it amazes me that he was only a boy of 20 years when he died (younger than my own son). My Father-In-law (who passed away a few years ago)was posted in France during the war. He was part of Patton’s 3rd Army and involved in the liberation of Bastogne (the Battle of the Bulge, as it is referred to by historians). Throughout his life he was VERY tight-lipped about his experiences during the war –with the exception of talking about the people & the landscapes–he refused to speak of it. On our first trip to France in ’06 we had a very VERY moving experience when we met a French gentleman who was liberated from a POW camp near Bastogne by my father-in-law’s unit. I will write you about it one day. Thank you again for posting these moving images
If I’m not mistaken, Maurice Druon, who sang Le Chant des Partisans, passed away this April. While in France with students,I saw television footage of him singing, as well as some of WW II history of the time. My father was in France during the second world war. He would talk about it with those he had been through it with, fellow soldiers, but not us. As his children, we were forced to watch war documentaries, which we didn’t really like, but now understand. He was trying to pass knowledge on to us. He couldn’t bear to say things, but knew we needed to know, in the hope that it wouldn’t happen again.
He didn’t mind talking about France though. He said it was a beautiful country with beautiful people. I became a French teacher!(That’s the abridged version.)
Anyone interested in WWII and what was happening in France/Paris should read the book, “Is Paris Burning?” It’s an amazing account (but reads like a novel) about the German occupation. I was especially moved by the recounting of how the French removed every piece of art from the Louvre when they found out that the Germans were headed to Paris. Perhaps you’ve seen photos of the empty frames, the statueless pedistals! Imagine what a feat this was. And then even more amazing to me is that after the war ended every piece of art came back! When I take students/friends to Paris with me I always tell them the story just before we enter the Louvre. When I first started visiting France in teh 1970s there were still WWI vets living who paraded through the streets in their uniforms. As horrible as WWII was it is hard to imagine that WWI (just 30 yrs before) saw the deaths of most every male of every town. Take the time to look at the list of names. They are usually posted (etched in stone) in the town churches. It’s quite sobering. Vive la France!
When I lived in France, the war wasn’t really discussed. I lived in Strasbourg and since my in-laws represented a mixed marriage (Franco-German), we didn’t speak of things that could “fache”.
Now, in Michigan, my daughter has her swim class at the same time as 2 boys whose father is Alsacien. He and I often sit in our own little French world up in the stands while our kids swim.
A few weeks ago we were talking about the war. He, not coming from a mixed family, was able to tell me how the war really affected Alsace. He told me how, when the Germans invaded, they conscripted all the young men. Since they couldn’t trust them to join them in the fight against western Europe, they sent them all to the Russian Front (the front of the Russian Front). Many families suffered heavily.
Thanks again, Kristin, for your lovely stories, this one touches me greatly, as my life-long interest and affection for the French people (and France) came from my father’s stories and the experiences he had in France. He landed on Utah beach a few days after the initial assault, and was involved in combat nearly half the time on the long march to the Elbe, and like many others, he never spoke of the horrors of war, only the warm welcome of the liberated people. He always dreamed to return to Normandy to honor his fallen comrades, but sadly lost another battle, to cancer, at 58, and I have since gone there to fulfill his dream, and place flowers in rememberance of those brave young men.
Dear Kristin,
Thank you for remembering the day that commemorates the end of the war in Europe.
DGr.
Most WWII veterans I’ve met do not want to discuss the War. My Dad couldn’t serve for health reasons. Instead he joined the USO and had a comedy act that he put on for troops coming through town. I’m thankful that he never had to risk his life and all our family suffered was years and years of really corny jokes from his USO time.
PS: Happy Mother’s Day to you and Jules!
Is Paris Burning is a very good book; I read it years ago even before I became so interested in France (by meeting my French husband). Two books I also highly recommend about life during WWII in France are Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky and Wine and War by Don & Petie Kladstrup.
As we speak, my mom and dad are in France somewhere searching for the grave of her brother. My grandmother (whom I never met) was from Germany, her kids born in the US, and her son killed fighting his own kin. We have a heartwrenching photo of my mother (5 yrs old) with my grandmother after she received the telegram that her son had been killed.
Thanks you for posting this day to remind all that love is the answer. In January, I read Jacques Lusseyran’s “And then there was Light” about le maquis. I should read it in french now. I most recommend that book.
Oh, Suite Francais by Irene Nemerovsky…What a book! and WHAT a provenance…written in the few months before she was interred in a concentration camp, the manuscript secreted out of the country along with her children and published only recently. I think it’s a MUST read for every Francophile!
Thank you for sharing your touching stories! Thanks, too, for the book recommendations. I have included them with the original post (and just ordered a book for myself… : Jacques Lusseyran’s “And then there was Light”. I took your suggestion, Leslie, and ordered it in French (“Et La Lumière Fut).
A very touching post. This is how the world should be…people helping those in need of help and together combatting le mal et le mauvais.
Merci! Et bon weekend!
xo
I certainly identified with this post, as my father served in France during World War II. I’m not sure of the exact place or dates, but I remember his story of how his unit for a while had no other place to stay, and were living in packing boxes, of the sort a piano might come in. I still have the French Bible he bought while there.
Later, as a diplomat, he returned to France, surely his best post, and I was born in a suburb of Paris. Because of my French birth, I was given a French name, “Marianne.” We left France when I was a year old, so I learned French later in school, and eventually a bit more during brief trips there.
Daddy used to tease me that when I turned 21, I would be drafted into the French army. Of course that didn’t happen. But, as the possessor of a French birth certificate, I feel somewhat French, so today’s story about the liberation was more than just history. Thanks for sharing it, and via the videos, the photos and the songs.
Kristin: A couple of years ago, I was in Kiev, Ukraine, visiting the National Museum of the History of the Great Patriotic War (1941-1945). My guide (amazingly) asked me in a friendly way,’Where were you’ (to help the Soviets in 1941?). I replied that Newfoundland and Canada had been at war with Germany since September, 1939. Where were YOU?! She liked that [it wasn’t until the Americans started fighting after Pearl Harbour in late 1941 that things began to change much]. BTW, the German instrument of surrender came into effect on May 9 in the Soviet Union (because of the time zone difference), so May 9 is Victory Day in Russia, Ukraine, etc. The woman who typed the German instrument of surrender died recently:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_Instrument_of_Surrender
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/4682450/Susan-Hibbert.html
Kristin: I meant to add this link:
http://www.warmuseum.kiev.ua/
Wow. I am sitting here with goosebumps. My dad fought in WWII and because he spoke fluent french, was assigned with the OSS and short-drop parachuted into northern France to live/work with the Resistance. His main objective was to blow up bridges but to also help the Resistance blow up rail lines etc. His first month in France, they lived in a cave. I just wish I could find out exactly what towns he was in. He passed when I was 18. But, my name is Nancy and he named me… so maybe he was in Nancy, France? Thanks for the story and video.
Kristin,
Thanks for harkening to a day long since past, but far from forgotten. In 1984-85, I had a Fulbright to teach in Denmark. On 5 May 1945, the war ended in Denmark, so in 1985 we celebrated the 40th anniversary of the war’s end. We learned that on 4 May, Radio Denmark announced that the war would end the next day, and that the Danish Brigade that had been training in Sweden would cross from Hälsingborg, Sweden, to Helsingør, Denmark. So on the eve of the war’s end, Danes lit candles and placed them in all their windows. Forty years later, as temporary Danes, we joined our neighbors in lighting the candles of memory. Our housing community surrounded a small lake, and the lit candles reflected in the water was breathtaking.
The next day, we left to drive to visit some distant cousins in Norway. There, the war had also ended on 8 May. On that day, my cousin Gunnar drove us to the village where my grandfather had been born. And my wife’s brother and his wife attended a memorial service in Voss, Norway. Naomi later recounted seeing women in their 70s and 80s, whose war memories were still fresh, singing their Norwegian hymns as tears rolled down their cheeks.
Wars leave little reason to celebrate. Only the end of wars produce joy.
Thank you Kristin for letting us step into this scene, in the heart of Café de la Tour, facing the square… sipping a cup of coffee with you, while listening to the story of Jean-Claude’s legendary moustache, and gradually discovering the very human side of a history lesson…
I appreciated the way Jean-Claude quickly changed the subject about his fall, the consequences of which were ‘nothing’… (bien sûr) … compared with the atrocities of war the other two men were talking about. No reply to your questions regarding the war, no detail – his views on what is important, in the XXIst century, don’t need to be expressed in a speech! Jean-Claude has a strong sense of values and priorities! Guns and killings are pushed in the furthest corner of his memory and you were not going to dig anything out.
He chose to show you, with great enthusiasm, the photos reviving his best memories -> “les photos de la la libération”! So many years later, this is what he wanted to remember most and this is what he wanted to share with you. Bless him!
I did enjoy the theatrical touch, the skillful ‘balancing act’ of your writing, delivering snatches of the two men’s war stories you avidly grabbed, while Jean-Claude was doing his best to ignore them, to muffle their voice, to attract your attention and deliver his own memories of trees, children, fashion… and chewing gum, with a wide smile on his “visage sans moustache”!
Thank you so much for Le chant des Partisans, “l’hymne de la Résistance française”! I felt shivers down my spine when I first listened to it. I remembered my father humming the tune when I was little (but never singing the words) but in those days, I had no idea about the origin of the song. I soon learned that my father volunteered and eventually joined General Leclerc’s Deuxième DB but I never thought of asking more questions, so, I only knew a few bits and pieces. A few years before my father died, he wrote down (in full details) where he went and what he did during the war – long pages (written by hand) we discovered after his death in the Summer of 1997!
I had more or less forgotten the tune of the song… and suddenly, there was the drumming, and full lyrics! I listened to it several times, then I carried on listening to whatever French version of “Le chant des partisans” I could get hold of from the internet… I also tried to find out more about Anna Marly, about “La complainte du partisan” … about Leonard Cohen and Joan Baez’s versions of it.
I had a very poignant thought about a very special “Resistant” from a country in Eastern Europe, same age as my father … and I remembered with a big knot in my throat the way I got involved with his ‘story’ in the sixties (no “libération” for him in 1945!), and with what I did, following his death ten years ago…
Here I am, listening once more to Marc Ogeret singing “Le chant des Partisans” (nearly know the words by heart!) He also sings it on the video specially dédié à Jean Moulin, “le grand héros de la Résistance francaise”.
Thanks also for the photo of these two shutters, like two arms wide open, welcoming ‘PEACE’ commemorated on the street name plate below them.
Continuation of post above:
My father’s report? His 29 handwritten pages on white A4 sheets are preciously kept by my younger brother, and the scannings are in my computer. Just facts, incredible details… but no ‘drama’, no poetry, no glory!
Kristin,
Reading your newsletter led me to a link about the 8th of May 1945, ( Fête de la Victoire – VE Day) and the various attitudes of the French government regarding the celebrations to commemorate the event (worth mentioning)
-> in 1953, the 8th of May was declared “jour férié de commémoration”
-> in 1959, Président Charles de Gaulle declared the 8th of May would no longer be a public holiday!
-> in 1975, President Giscard d’Estaing abolished the “commemoration” aspect of the 8th of May altogether, in a spirit of “reconciliation” with Germany
-> in 1981, President Francois Mitterrand re-established the commemoration, and the public holiday! Hmmm…. I wonder whether this must have influenced my father who realised his own children knew very little about what he did during the war.
-> on the 8th May 2007, Jacques Chirac presided over the ceremonies in Paris for the last time
-> Since 2008, the national ceremonies of “Commémoration” are no longer concentrated in Paris… but the 8th of May is still a public holiday! (I think…)
This newsletter led me a bit further and made me aware of the massacres of the 8th of May 1945 in Sétif & Guelma, in Algeria
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%A9tif_massacre
Newforest: This list of dates and the “various attitudes” of the French government, for the “Fête de la Victoire” is so interesting.
And you are right (can’t think of the “right” word here…) to bring to attention the massacres in Sétif & Guelma, Algeria, on May 8th. Thank you for the link — and thank you for sharing about your Dad. My curiosity is piqued (sp?) to know about the “very special Resistant” and what you did, following his passing.
Thank you Art, Nancy, Douglas, Marianne, Mona — and everyone — for your comments and for the informative links!
I just finished reading Sarah’s Key, a book that relates to the word of the day and the silence of those who lived through it. I had not known before reading this about the Vel d’Hiv in Paris and the complicity of French police with the Germans.
Paris, July 1942: Sarah, a ten year-old girl, is brutally arrested with her family by the French police in the Vel’ d’Hiv’ roundup, but not before she locks her younger brother in a cupboard in the family’s apartment, thinking that she will be back within a few hours. Paris, May 2002: On Vel’ d’Hiv’s 60th anniversary, journalist Julia Jarmond is asked to write an article about this black day in France’s past. Through her contemporary investigation, she stumbles onto a trail of long-hidden family secrets that connect her to Sarah. Julia finds herself compelled to retrace the girl’s ordeal, from that terrible term in the Vel d’Hiv’, to the camps, and beyond. As she probes into Sarah’s past, she begins to question her own place in France, and to reevaluate her marriage and her life. Tatiana de Rosnay offers us a brilliantly subtle, compelling portrait of France under occupation and reveals the taboos and silence that surround this painful episode.
Dear Kristin, the quote was burned into my memory when first read in a much earlier gift from you. It is so poignant!
So wish that Nancy and I could join you and Jean-Marc during the tour but we will be together on the 4th of July as we celebrate our same wedding anniversaries. Have a glass of wine with J.M. for your continued successful marriage and another for Nancy et moi. One glass of our American wine is all my headache prone head can tolerate but it will be, for me, a toast to the four of us.
Finally, if war veterans (especially older ones) and mothers could be the only ones to decide whether or not to go to war, we would have PEACE AT LAST! Much love — Fred
Dear Kristin — Will add my gratitude, too, for sharing this particularly moving conversation with us. It’s beautifully written. And the quote, as said above, is incredible. (How did I miss it the first time?) Am passing it along to my husband who served in Vietnam. His sentiments exactly.
Un grand merci et bonne fête des mères à toi et à Jules.
Ophelia
I have been hosted by the “thanksgis.com” group near Corny, France, as part of a ceremony commemorating the liberation of the crossing of the Moselle River at Arnaville, by the 10th Infantry Regiment, part of the Fifth Division, of Patton’s Third Army. It was quite an extraordinary experience to have someone remember the event, and celebrate it 60 (and now 65) years later. Here, in the US, no events took place on May 8. My sister and I went over for the ceremonies five years ago in Sept, because our Uncle Alan was KIA in November, and is still enterred in St. Avold , France. I made a website about him at: alansletters.com. I hope to inspire others to write the stories of their family heroes.
My dad was a fighter pilot and flew 101 missions during WWII, most of them over southern France. He wrote and self-published a book of his experiences, and he still talks frequently about what life was like for him during the war. He passed his love of France and the French people on to me. I’ve studied French off and on throughout my life, but here I am at age 60, pursuing a degree in French!
Dear Kristin,
Thank you so much. You have a wonderful website! I envy you and hope my website will, some day, become as informative as yours (once I learn how – want to learn from scratch). You intrigue me because I am just under 60ans and am a daughter of a surviving French mom and dad who have fought the WWII war in Normandie during the occupation. My dad is 85 and both – have just returned to US with about 500 photos of the celebration of la Libération en Normandie – which happens yearly. I have been unemployed for almost a year and could not make the recent trip to watch the few men left be honored; and maman needs to make many decisions about property in France. My husband is “so” american – won’t go to France because “they don’t speak English,” and whatever other excuse – so I always travel alone to see relatives and to actually “live my life” enjoyably.
Sorry to make this so long, but my dad brought home hundred of pictures “ON A CD” that he could not watch on his CD/DVD player at home. They don’t understand anything about computers. He wants to view the photos of the D-Day celebration in which he was honored and I was trying to put togehter a video for him from the picture/stills – but did not have the song of “La Resistance.” I’ve spent almost 3 hours so far on the internet – trying to recognize the song my folks were trying to sing to me while I showed them the pictures on my laptop.
Anyway, in much appreciation – I hope to be able to contact you again to find out more about living your life en France. Merci, mille fois pour un website while-worth visiting!
I wish I could write and I wish I had a collective mind as you – but my information is all so scattered. My older brother and I try but – well, you know how the lifestyle is here in the US (maybe). My brother and I walk around with mini recorders to record history once we have the time to listen & get mom to talk about things – even about the family tree… but it is so difficult since mom loves to switch topics midstream and we’re never prepared. Mom loves to talk but my brother and I never seem to get anything straight because she loves to talk and we end up getting the wrong connections of people she’s talking about with family or incidences…
Anyway, part of the reason why I ramble on as well. I always feel I have to have a story to explain for everything going on or there’s no reason for the outcome of (according to mom) ….. (Ha!)
Bien affecteusement et “encore” un grand merci…