For me, the difficulty is twofold. First, I very rarely watch what happened at the time; I'm not interested in what happened… Secondly I can't see to what extent it has some educational interest. The idea to pass something on has never crossed my mind. To pass on, obviously: to pass on literature, ok! But to pass on my own memories has never seemed really interesting to me.

Apart from that, now, I ask myself questions and I can tell my memories.

I was 6 in 1936: which means I was 12 in 1945.

The only memory of the very beginning of the war I have is probably indirect: that is to say, I don't remember having lived this memory; I remember having heard someone telling that scene.

So I was 6 and I was in front of my father I didn't see very often. He was wearing military clothes. I told him: "Why are you dressed up?"…And it caused a scandal. I should have known my father was about to protect France and so on and so forth… Well.

Apart from that, I lived in a village during the war.

It's only after, obviously, that I began to understand things; at first I didn't understand anything. The impressions I had about WW2 were taken out books I had read and which dealt with the 1870 war I suppose: Erckman-Chatrian, things like that…

We were not really interested in politics in my family: anyway, my mother was extremely hostile to my father for several personal reasons; and everything my father would say was wrong.

And what my father said, when he happened to say a word, was to name those who were later called "resistance fighters".

I don't know how we used to call them at the time; I'm afraid we called them something like "terrorists". I don't remember, but it was something like that…

Anyway, I know that not only for my father but also for the whole village (but not for my mother who was hostile), danger came from the communists.

I can remember it very clearly: the communists messed about. Well, you didn't say "messed about"… The communists did silly things and the communists certainly would endanger us. Things were going to happen, but I couldn't understand anything at all.

I know that the year when I was 10, in '43 - '44…

Before that, the only thing I remember is rationing. In fact it was rather interesting. I mean interesting in retrospect… When it took place, I know we went shopping with ration tickets. Moreover we always felt guilty when we went shopping because we had no money. My mother had no money (apparently my father didn't give her some - I don't know if they got along well) and we always had to ask for credit. And the shopkeepers didn't always agree…

So, there was this, there was rationing… And I remember counting the tickets… It was funny for us! It was rather funny. And once we went to the baker's we came back with a ring-shaped loaf and a small piece of bread called "le pardessus" [the piece of bread the baker put on the loath] which completed the dose - if I may say so - the ration given to us.

Apart from that, during the war itself, the Germans occupied the village. Honestly, it was an adventure too.

At first, the Germans were… How could I say? We never said the "Nazis". This is something that strikes me when I hear what is said today. Never in my childhood have I heard of Nazis, never. We said "the Krauts". My grandmother called them "the green beans". But we absolutely never said the Nazis.

Anyway, when the Germans arrived in the village (it's true, there's also an episode which looks like fiction), they had an awful reputation! They would slaughter everybody cut the children's hands off (this is something my grandmother used to insist on, since it was obviously mythical of her own war) and… We fled.

The women and the children took refuge in the mining galleries above the village. I remember this as an extraordinary adventure. We went for a walk in the fields, the weather was fine, It must have been in May or in June, but I can't remember the year, we'd taken blankets…

We lived in the galleries for a while, and it was like something out of a novel.

And the men came back and said: "No they're not that evil, we're safe". And we had some kind of admiration for these men who'd dared fight the abominable enemies… I believe that in our mind the Germans weren't that different from the Prussians.

We walked back down and found people who looked normal, I don't know, civilised…

Germans lived in the house next to ours, and these Germans gave us presents, spoke to us… I can't remember their names, definitely not.

But I remember… So, when was it? I can't tell. In '43, maybe… there was a German next to us, who told us the exploits they would achieve thanks to their V2 ? And we found it amusing… He looked ridiculous. I don't know what we were sure of: that once this adventure was over, everything would go on as before, in these mythical times when we got real coffee, real chocolate, real bread… for us, these times were mythical! So, we said to ourselves that this episode would come to an end… but the way he described the end to us: the V2 bang bang, we found it comical…

Apart from that, what can I remember of this occupation? The Germans gave concerts, obviously they marched, and my mother thought her duty as a patriot was to sing or to play the record of the Marseillaise [the French national anthem] at full blast: they never protested and she enjoyed this burst of patriotism. As for us, we ran behind the Germans, we listened to their concerts: we were… I wouldn't say seduced, but well… this period was like something out of a novel.

After that, I think even before the bombings on Epinal, but it's blurred, there was this explosion of an ammunition train which was next to the railroad situated next to our house. Everything fell down in the house. I remember my sister and I being sent in the village to get a certain something, kilos of potatoes I think, and so we were holding a handle of the basket each and, all of a sudden we heard an absolutely enormous explosion. My sister disappeared, let the potatoes go… I, who have a placid disposition, I was waiting to see whether it would go on. Nothing happened. So, I dragged the basket along to the side of the way, but I wasn't able to carry it alone. I went home and saw everything was upside down. A window had fallen on my elder sister's head…

But it looked like fiction, well, perhaps it looks like fiction to me now: we couldn't believe it. It was like in a story we told to one another. It was interesting, that's all.

From that moment on, I think, we talked about the resistance fighters. the resistance fighters were all Communists, surprise, surprise, that's to say they were despicable fellows, and these despicable fellows had blown an ammunition train up, we didn't know exactly why.

I tried to understand all the same… And my mother ended up telling me these ammunitions were meant for the Germans. And, at that moment, I thought these despicable Communists were perhaps patriots…

I mean, I don't know exactly how to say it: "They made a bloody mess" (we didn't use these words at the time, obviously). They disturbed something…

At school, I remember now, of course we learnt Pétainist stuff, … but with a certain distance too. "Maréchal, nous voilà" [Here we are Marshal], I could still sing it… And we sang it, each time a course began (I remember very well), but we somewhat laughed inwardly. At least this is my memory of it…

"Maréchal, nous voilà, devant toi le sauveur de la France, nous jurons nous tes gars de servir et de suivre tes pas [Here we are Marshal, the saviour of France is in front of you, we, your guys, swear to serve you and to follow your footsteps]. "Your guys": I don't understand why girls aren't mentioned… tu nous as redonné l'espérance, la patrie renaîtra, Maréchal, Maréchal, nous voilà…[You gave us our hopes back, the country will come back to life, Marshal, Marshal, here we are…]"

We were persuaded the country had to come back to life. I didn't really know who Pétain was, apart from an old smiling man - there were pictures of him everywhere. I can't say I understood what collaboration consisted in, honestly I can't tell. It's only afterwards that I understood something to it: that my father was supposed to be a collaborator…

Now, here's another story. So, when I was 10, I went to the first year of secondary school in Epinal where my father was a teacher at the time.

We didn't really understand why… Since then, My mother told me my father intended to somewhat protect himself: he had got these children, which made of him a honourable father whereas in fact he'd engaged in activities that were mysterious and probably shameful in the eyes of my mother. We didn't understand anything, obviously…

So, we underwent bombings in Epinal. And the bombings too, I don't know how to say it: it was funny! We heard bang bang, we heard the warning and we were told to hurry to the cellars. In the cellars, life looked a bit like in the mining galleries in Ludres and it was a kind of parallel life. Things happened at night. It was funny, we went down in nightgowns, we met people we'd never met before and we, the children, weren't told about anything: there never was misfortune. There were bombings, houses were wrecked, we could see them all the same. No one died, sometimes, people were injured but only slightly. I mean we were protected an awful lot.

At that moment, in Epinal, I lived in the family of a woman who had received us, my sister and I. And we were really surprised because her husband was a prisoner… And this episode too was pure fiction… Her husband was a prisoner and she sent him cakes: she was very good at baking cakes, and in her cakes, she rolled small (how can I say) letters written on a very thin paper on which she told him I don't know: obviously, I've never known what she told him - but this episode too could be extracted from a novel. As for us, It looked like Michael Strogoff. It was that kind of thing.

Apart from that, I remember a bombing in Epinal. We lived on a hill overlooking the town. I've never been there since, so I can't remember very clearly… but in my imagination we heard the air raid warning: we thought it wasn't worth protecting ourselves because we were outside the town.

And we saw a wonderful squadron (so it must have been American bombers, but I realised only afterwards: at first the bombs could only be dropped by the Germans). A wonderful squadron in a blue sky, it's something very beautiful! And we saw the bombs dripping and we asked ourselves if we were in danger, no we weren't, it's the town… here is the memory of a bombing…

After that, the year ended… In April-May, there were important bombings on Epinal. So we were sent back to Nancy, where there were less bombings. Our mother was panic-stricken, and we found it very funny, because two days before she'd been told: "What! You're leaving your children in Epinal; but you know that Epinal is being bombed". So, she was really scared.

We… perhaps my elder sister, who was much less carefree than I, was scared… I don't know where I was, but I wasn't really there… I can't say I was scared. I can't say that. I have friends my age who underwent the same things and who told me they had nightmares etc… I didn't.

So, we came back home in May 1944. The next year I was in Nancy.

Obviously I remember the Liberation: that's for sure. I remember - but it's nearly a rebuilding - the Hiroshima disaster. It's very strange: I had the feeling that it was very very remote: the Japanese people were a kind of, if I may say so, subclass of humanity. It wasn't true. We were given an account of a horror story… and there were bombs which melted everything, which melted human beings. We used to say: "But it's not possible!" And we heard as an answer: "But they are Japanese!" It almost seems monstrous afterwards… But I think that was it. There were kinds of drawings we saw. We saw awful bombs falling like in a novel. It's only afterwards…

The Jews… I never heard of the Jews. Neither as a peculiar group, nor as a persecuted group.

I had to wait until the end the war, I may have been 13 or 14 at the time, for my mother to give me a book about concentration camps (and I think it was more to show my father she was hostile rather than to educate us).

I don't know how to say it: I was horrified, but it didn't seem to be real. Besides, it still doesn't seem to be real, really. I mean it wasn't possible: it was the kind of story which scares you, a horror story and I believed it without believing it, I didn't really believe it.

Apart from that, what memory of the war do I have? I think I lived in an apolitical family.

And it's very hard to reproduce it: the impression that we lived day after day, that we were waiting for something that would come, where would it come from, I don't know, it was bound to end, but it's true to say we felt we were living in a time which was an interlude. Is it only now that I have this impression or have I already had it before? I don't know.

The times were really hard, and dark, where indeed we had bread that wasn't bread, we had chocolate that wasn't chocolate, we had coffee that wasn't coffee… Where my mother envied the neighbours who were rich. Was it because they were rich? Was it because they connived with the occupying forces, as we used to say? I don't know… But they had real coffee and for my mother, coffee was quite something.

Even so there's an episode which was very important and which I must have forgotten to mention: I believe it was in 1946, my father disappeared without trace (but he often disappeared; the relationship between my parents was rather strange and very paradoxical).

While we were going for a walk, my mother told me: "Listen, there's something I have to tell you, I've never dared tell you, all the more so as you are really attached to your father (It was something I wasn't aware of) but your father has been sentenced, he's in prison."

I was rather dumbfounded and I tried to know why. So, he'd been sentenced for having collaborated. My mother had always been hostile to my father. Here, she was somehow protecting him! She would say: "he is so stupid, one way or another I can't see how he could have done something pernicious". And somehow, she was protecting him.

And it struck me and I didn't talk about it to my father anymore. Obviously everybody in the village knew it. I think it was in the papers and I know the village was hostile to my father, and to us too, which was really hard since we didn't understand why.

So, we said to ourselves: "Our father was a collaborator: what does it mean? It means he worked with the Germans"… But we didn't understand what it meant either.

I seldom saw my father again, except in particularly hard circumstances, hard for the family…

It was on his death-bed, so to speak (but it was true, he died the following day), that he tried to tell me. It was very hard for him to speak (he had Charcot's disease, a bilateral sclerosis and little by little he lost the use of his feet, his legs, etc…and he was losing the power or speech, well he was in a pitiful state).

But he insisted on trying to explain he'd never been guilty.

And it was very hard because I felt it was very important for him: he had to explain he had done nothing wrong; that he'd acted in such a way to show off; he had pretended to know things, and also because he was hostile to a colleague whom he only knew the, how shall I put it, the vulgar side: this colleague, at the secondary school in Epinal, apparently confided about conjugal deeds - which was not to my father's liking: was that man trying to conceal what he really did? Apparently he was in the Resistance. He and my father were at daggers drawn… And my father had conversations with a lieutenant in the Gestapo, I think, or in the Wehrmacht, and he pretended to know things to show off and maybe to get, I believe… I believe he got a pair of shoes as a present or something as ridiculous…

Once the war was over, I suppose, but I put the pieces together only afterwards, there was a trial where this resistance fighter came to denounce him.

There was a period in time when people who felt guilty had to denounce themselves, and in these conditions, were forgiven.

My father didn't want to give himself up: at first because he didn't feel guilty (he felt guilty of silliness above all) and also because he thought that no one would denounce him given that he didn't know whether someone had seen him be in conversation in a café…

And eventually he was denounced by that resistance fighter who bragged about his conjugal deeds. And my father was sentenced, after a trial I didn't hear of, and at the end of which (it's the only thing my mother told me), knowing he was sentenced to five years' imprisonment - which in the end was reduced to two - he said: "But I've got four children" and he was answered: "You should have thought about it before". Which had seemed to us… I don't know. I don't know what we thought about it at the time.

Anyway, our father was considered by us as a stranger to the family. We lived with my mother in a kind of melodrama which was permanent and hostile to my father, and to men in general…

Oh! There's a comical episode I should tell you! My sisters and I were persuaded, I don't know why, that Alsatians were somehow Germans. And I remember very clearly, I think it was because of their names: the Meistermanns, the Schneiders… it didn't seem possible for people who pretended to be French. And my two sisters and I, 6, 8, 10, took the solemn oath never to get married to Alsatians - which is really comical given what happened next, at least what happened to me! I don't know if it can be considered as interesting but we are from Lorraine, from the French part of Lorraine as we say, and Alsace was populated with traitors. I think it's like that! Nonetheless there were true patriots. Obviously, we had read "Le tour de France par deux enfants" [two children went around France]. But for us, true patriots had left Alsace; they moved further inland and those who had stayed in Alsace agreed with the Germans. I think it's nearly all I can say…

Of course, not about wartime itself when we had, for instance, health problems: we had furunculosis, all sorts if things which were caused on the one hand by the war and on the other hand by my mother, who, at first, was a primary school teacher, who maintained a kind of segregation towards villagers, who were vulgar and not interesting. She was also concerned about keeping her dignity I believe, and she would never have asked anything to a farmer… It was only when a doctor came and said our diet was really unbalanced that she dared ask eggs or whatever to a farmer…

Apart from that, I lived in a world of books, children's books obviously, books dealing with heroism… the true heroes, for me, weren't at all in everyday life: they were part of another world, and it was this other world which was interesting. And this episode was something that wouldn't last, something we would be thrown out of.

Indeed I remember the Liberation day: May 8^th 1945. I was at the cinema. I know that all the bells rang all of a sudden; we went out; people were kissing one another, it was wonderful… But here it is. Here it is. I think it's nearly all.