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Maria Geiss
Born in 1911
Zellwiller, April 10th 2001
I was 7 after the war, in 1918. Thus I've attended German school for three more months. Then, we became French again. At first, French school was hard for us in Alsace because we didn't speak a word of French. But I left school when I was 13 and I helped my parents. Then I went to Paris and stayed there for a few years mainly to improve my French. Then I was engaged to Paul Geiss who was a blacksmith.
I thought that if I learnt a job... There wasn't any midwife anymore in our village, so I decided to become a midwife - which I've never regretted.
I was already 24 and I had worked for 4 years at the hospital in Strasbourg. Then, in autumn 1939 it was evacuated to Dordogne.
The first stop, well, it was at the Hohwald. There, I decided to go back home to Zellwiller to start my job as a liberal midwife, and I started working.
I got married to Paul when he came back, in 1939-1940 after the beginning of the war. We had been married for three years when my husband had to leave again as a "Malgré nous"[
this name was given to the Frenchmen who were enlisted by force in the German army]
in Germany. We had got a 21-month-old baby and it really was a hard time. He left in January 1944 and I've never seen him since. He's never had time off.
He wrote his last letter to me in September '44. Then I didn't hear of him for a long time. It was only in August 1946 that I was told he had fallen under enemy fire.
He hadn't got news either. We were liberated on November 28th 1944, and from then on I received no letter… I got the last one after the liberation. No letters anymore. As for him: no letters. He was really lonely there and must have had … His last letter was so sad. He was in a bad spot … He got no news from home and from his family for three months. He must have been miserable, especially as he was deeply attached to his family and son. He had no news and he fell… He was declared dead on December 22nd 1944: that is to say three months without any news from his family… without any letter from us, although we wrote to him everyday. His life was sheer hell. He was in a bad spot, in Latvia. And he died there.
I looked for news of him; I looked for his grave. Though we tried hard, we could not find my husband's grave.
The village was liberated on November 28th 1944. It was a bad moment too: the village had endured enough sufferings. I lived this liberation as if I'd been in a nightmare. We were in the cellar. But, since I was a midwife, I even had a birth in a cellar on that liberation day.
After that, I got the baby registered as the father was waging war.
As I went back up from the cellar to register the newborn baby, the whole village was confused. I looked for the mayor's secretary… She'd been forced to hide because she was chased by armed men: apparently she was pro-German. I had to look for the mayor to have that newborn baby registered: I found him in the middle of his house that had been burnt to ashes. He was really sad at the sight of his chained animals, horses and cows burnt alive. Four houses in a row were burnt during the liberation.
And when I left the mayor, well, I came across a jeep of FFI [
French Resistance fighters]
, with their guns, who came to fetch him because he was pro-German too. He really didn't harm the village; on the contrary, he protected it as long as he could. But he was pro-German. They put him in jail in Ensisheim. He spent a few years there before he was released for health reasons.
What do I want to say, about this war…
My husband was a volunteer in the French army, and he was at the Belgian border when the Germans took him prisoner. He was sent to Germany where he stayed for three months. He thus couldn't give any news to his family.
Since he was from Alsace he was released after a few months. It was after his release that we got married. We weren't married before. It was when France was defeated, that is to say when the country capitulated.
The village didn't witness anything extraordinary, only a few firings coming from above. Everyone was scared. Some took their gas masks and sheltered in the cellar. But we seldom came under shellfire, and that was it, as far as we were concerned. But we were scared… so scared that, the next day, there were three newborn babies I had delivered and who were still not baptised, who were baptised in church. They were baptised the following day, because people were scared…
When my husband was back, we got married in December. We had only been married for three years when he had to leave on January 10th 1944, and he never came back. Not once. My son, our son, doesn't remember his daddy. Yet his daddy was really attached to his son. And my life as a wife was nearly over.
But since I had to stand on my own two feet, I worked as a midwife. I got by pretty well, and to spend my life working as a midwife helped me. I brought up my son, who became somebody, but at the moment he is far away, in Paris. And I miss…
Since I've only been married for three years, I have no other child. If I had had other children, I would not have been so alone. Now that I'm 90, I'm alone. But that's the way it goes. I've not had a lot of relatives.
I started working as a midwife in autumn '39. I worked. Before that, when I was married and my husband was still alive, I didn't have to work that much, to go to a lot of trouble. But after that, when I was alone with my son, I had to stand on my own two feet. I worked as a midwife and I did it well. I love this job, I love this occupation. If I had to start my life again from the beginning, well, I'd still become a midwife. It helped me to go through all that.
Now that I'm an elderly person, I obviously feel alone. I'm 90 years old. I've had no other children. I don't have a lot of relatives. But I survive, 90 and still alive: I'm still home alone and independent. I'd like to as long as I can.
Only, I find we tend to forget too quickly what happened. The young generations didn't experience it at first hand, they can't understand. They should think a bit more about the casualties, about all these people who gave their life during the war, and also about all the civilians who died… we are forgetting it and we shouldn't. I find it appalling we don't remember clearly enough what we've been through in those times.
Here's a poem I really was impressed by. I'm going to read it to you.
" To all those who were born before 1930.
We were 18 or a bit older, we liked life, noise and even a bit more.
We liked our home, our village and even a bit more. We liked our countryside, our rivers, more and more.
We loved our fathers, our mothers, and a lot more.
Our friends, our neighbours, the postman, more and more.
Our uncles, our aunts, our cousins, and even a bit more.
The mayor, the priest, the teacher, more and more.
We loved nature, flowers, bees, our springs, our summers, our books, and a lot more.
The smell of lilac, the frost on the roofs, the evenings with relatives, the perfumed Christmases, and even a bit more.
We loved that growing strength in ourselves, more and more.
We loved girls, their smiles, and a lot more.
By their side, balls, tangos, or a bit more.
We pledged love, fidelity, and a lot more.
But they broke our dreams, our hopes, and a lot more. They were mad with beliefs, with power, with rage, and more.
They wanted to control, to dominate, not to say more.
To become masters of the world, of the universe, perhaps more.
They took our choices, our expectations, and a lot more.
They stole all our loved ones.
No family, no springs, no pretty girls anymore.
We had to walk, to shoot, and die.
We'd rather die, no less and no more
Yet, some came back, one after the other, sometimes more.
They were twenty or a few years older.
They had lost their smiles, their joy, and a lot more.
They'd only got one arm, one leg, and often less.
And the others, thousands of others, who will never come back.
They left for good, their destination, the end of the line.
In spite of their father, mother, fiancé's praying more and more.
They'll stay there in Stalingrad, Tambov, at the bottom of that huge Russian steppe.
And yet we have to remember them a lot more.
Let that sacrifice be a lesson to us, and a lot more.
Let our young people cultivate the memory of these heroes and let's pray for them a lot more.
Lastly, the regents of this world must draw a lesson from their sacrifice, so that it won't become a story like any other, no less and no more.
And, I beg you gentlemen, rulers of the world, This must not happen anymore.
For, we were only 18 or a bit older"
Is it ok? Wasn't it too long? I was impressed. It's an Alsatian who did it. André Beschel (?) from Soultz, in the Haut-Rhin…
We don't remember it. We often should remember, in the meetings on October 11th or whatever. We remember all that. Obviously those who went through are not numerous.
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