This story should have been one of those written earlier about my period with The Free French Army. The stories were written at the request of my grandchildren and this one was omitted because the subject matter was thought to be not quite suitable. The idea now seems absurd, an indication of how times have changed and how my grandchildren have grown up.
The events took place following the Liberation of Paris when the American Army group, of which we were part, was slowly but steadily driving the Germans to the East across Northern France.
Every so often we were withdrawn from the fighting front for "R & R". I was never quite sure what "R & R" stood for " Rest and Recuperation? or Repair and Replacement? Whatever it meant, for me there was very little rest, and no hope of any time for repair. My job was to collect up the sick and poorly soldiers from their units and deliver them to the Field Hospital for treatment. The operating theatres were replaced by clinics for treating various conditions, mainly venereal diseases of one sort or another.
For "R & R" the Division was split up into small groups and scattered over a large area, billeted in small towns and villages, where ever troops could be squeezed in. The Billeting Officer had an impossible job, but it was greatly helped because the local French people generally welcomed us with open arms as their deliverers from the Germans.
Although my job was long and hard work, it was a change in that little danger was involved, and it enabled me to get to know a wide circle of people. I have remarked in earlier stories how General Leclerc kept the ethnic groups as individual units, so that my patients were sometimes Spanish, or Polish or Italians and sometimes of course, the Corsicans. I was soon being entertained to a meal in the evening in the messes of these various groups. This was a very pleasant part of the job and I was treated royally. I even had to collect up some Americans of the Military Police because their mess was on my route. I already knew their Captain who was a fisherman with whom I got on very well.
About half way through our first "R & R" I was driving home through the dark to my billet in a medium sized market town when I became aware of a disturbance ahead, and also that I seemed to be driving over broken glass. I rounded a corner and was immediately engulfed in a full-scale riot. I had never in my life seen such an event before. The street was packed with American and French soldiers fiercely fighting each other, armed with wooden or metal bars and anything else that had come to hand. They were inflicting a lot of damage and several, apparently serious casualties were lying about.
Ahead of me and to the right the street widened and here the American Military Police had set up some sort of control centre. My friend, the Captain was much in evidence. He was a huge man even among a lot of very big men and there was little doubt as to who was in charge. His people, in their white helmets, were trying to drive the fighting men down the road along which I had arrived. Over to the left I could see the Kepis of the French Military Police following the same plan from their side.
I can well remember the feeling that I was watching a film, it did not look like reality at all; partly because neither side appeared to be excessively drunk. It was just two groups of fighting men who did not like each other at all. There were enough police on both sides to drive the combatants on past me and round the corner. The American Captain then saw me and came over "You're just in time" he said "I'm going to have to commandeer you and your ambulance to take some of my men to hospital." Just then the French Officer in charge came over and said very much the same thing. It looked as if there might be another national confrontation, but before they could start their own private war I made it plain that I was the one who was going to decide who should go to hospital immediately and who could wait. I pointed out that it was the sort of problem I faced every day and I was probably better at it than they were.
In spite of a certain amount of reference to rank and who was in charge of whom I think they were both very relieved, since not only did it make sense, but it meant that their personal confrontation was resolved. They both had to allow someone well below their rank to make decisions about their men but it did sort out the situation sensibly and I got away with it.
While they had been dealing with their loss of face between themselves I had, in any case, been going over the casualties and making my own plans. There was one very serious case, a man hit over the head with an iron bar and quite deeply unconscious. He needed an operating theatre as soon as possible. There were four or five broken limbs, and I got the orderlies from each side to get splints in place. There were several very bloodstained cases which when cleaned up and covered with a field dressing could be left until the next day.
I got the concussed man on a stretcher and placed him in my vehicle where I could see him. The cases with broken limbs were all squeezed in and I was just about to drive off when my American friend swung himself into the passenger seat "I'll come with you" he said "You may need help, and my second-in-command can clear up here. It'll be good experience for him." I was grateful because I had no authority over the Americans I was carrying although they did not look like raising any problems at the moment.
During the journey to the hospital I asked the Captain what it had all been about. He explained that the battle was well under way when he arrived. All he knew was that it seemed to be centred round the town's main brothel which had always, until that day, been a model of decorum. The town's authorities and particularly the police were equally perplexed. It had only required some, probably very trivial, event to trigger the latent dislike between the French and the Americans. The Captain expressed considerable anger about the whole event "I'd like to know who let our G.I.'s into this town where the French troops were already billeted. If I knew you would have another stretcher case to deal with." He said with some feeling.
After a few days the riot became the subject of a very top level planning meeting between the French and the Americans, chaired by General Leclerc himself. The idea was to arrange and agree all future billeting arrangements between the divisions to try to avoid future confrontations.
I was not, of course, at the meeting, but Sergent-Chef Larreur was. He was always co-opted to that sort of meeting because of his experience and authority. Afterwards he told me all about it, especially because he thought that the outcome was very favourable to us, which in fact turned out to be true. For once the French and the Americans had agreed about almost everything, but one problem remained unsolved. It concerned the brothels in the small towns around which we were likely to be billeted. They were ideal places because of the number of rooms, the kitchens and services generally available even if the very special services comprising their "raison d'etre" were discontinued, The Americans and others would come looking for those "special services" however clearly it was indicated that they were not available. Unless they were heavily policed fighting and rioting were inevitable. Nobody could see a clear policy for dealing with this problem and still use such very suitable places.
Here I must digress for a moment to explain how the French certainly at that time, felt about their reputation for making pragmatic decisions. I have mentioned in other stories how many of the Frenchmen with whom we worked were fascinated by the "English sense of Humour", and indicated that the subject arose quite frequently. They always made the point that, although they may not be able to match our humour, when it came to making pragmatic decisions they had no equal.
At the meeting the problem of the brothels was being considered without much sign of a solution when in a moment of silence Leclerc suddenly said "what about the Quakers." This answer to the problem seemed to all the Frenchmen present to be a perfect solution, an example of a Frenchman producing one of the best pragmatic decisions that could be imagined. There were even cheers and certainly applause, together with laughter that continued for some time.
So it came about that during "R & Rs" at least until I left the division, the Quakers were ensconced in the brothel in every town in which we were billeted. They were really no different from very well run hotels. Their main service was, officially, shut down for so long as the division was in the area. My job kept me away most of the time so I was not in a position to observe very closely what went on. In each case "Madame" and her staff were told about us, not that they needed much telling. We at home always think that English small towns and villages are hives of gossip and rumour. It would be difficult to match the French in this aspect of village life. The "Medames" seemed to have an especially efficient intelligence network. I remember one evening when I got back particularly late I was told to go to Madame's dining room when I was washed and tidied up. There she served my meal herself and thereafter joined me with a glass of brandy "Your Sergent-Chef has told me all about you" she said. But she seemed to know a lot of things that I cannot imagine came from Larreur.
Although the brothels were not supplying their main service, everything else that we could wish for was supplied. Clothes were washed, pressed and mended. My kit bag, in a particularly horrible state, especially the very bottom, was turned out, everything was purified so that it only seemed to be half-full. Even the bag itself had been washed and looked like new. The two girls who had done it all had put a note on the top giving me their names and wishing me luck. I remember the feeling of warmth when I found it a few weeks later.
Of course, the situation did not pass unnoticed or unremarked by the rest of the division. My American friend expressed surprise when I turned up for his V.D. patients on the first day of the "R & R" where the new billeting arrangement applied". I didn't expect to see you, I thought you would be too tired" was a fairly typical comment but it all soon died away and after a few days our billeting no longer caused any comment.
What did not die away was the catch phrase "What about the Quakers". Most people who have worked and lived in a unit such as ours will be familiar with the phenomenon of the catch phrase that can produce laughter or a knowing look between two members of the group. This one lasted a long time and landed us in several jobs for which we were quite unsuited. I remember one occasion when I had to lead a very small squad of reluctant "Quakers" to march past a saluting dais. It was in the car park of a small town, substituting for a parade ground. The town was celebrating some municipal occasion, the reason for which I have long since forgotten. Someone, desperate for sufficient bodies to fulfil a request from the town's mayor had said "What about the Quakers" and so my little squad, dressed in British battle dress and wearing British tin hats on our shoulders marched past and saluted. I have the feeling that long after I was carried away from the Division "What about the Quakers" was being used when no-one could think of anything better to say.
I have never really understood why billeting us in the brothels should have worked so well. There was never a repetition of the riot or any sign of trouble arising. It could have been that all of us were just as busy as I was, and we did have a reputation of running a mess on reasonably civilised lines. Also the frequent visitations of Sergent¬Chef Larreur would not have passed unnoticed. He always insisted that he came to practice his English, but where the Madame of the house was concerned that excuse hardly applied and he always seemed to be on very friendly terms with all of them. He once went out of his way to explain to me that he was making sure they knew what sort of people we were. Privately I suspected that they already knew all about us before we turned up. They certainly seemed to know that I liked a glass of brandy after my dinner!
When people hear the story of our billeting arrangements the question often arises "What were those women really like?" They were of course, just as one would expect. Some were really hard cases, only interested in ones money. This aspect of their character was to some extent, overridden by the general desire to show gratitude to those they saw as their deliverers from the occupation. In addition there was our Englishness which added another dimension to our relationship.
However, these hard cases were not in the majority. Most of the women staffing the houses in which I was billeted were very ordinary indeed. They certainly did not look like tarts, except a few of the very young ones, though the majority of their age group had been sent home for the period of the war in Europe. There was one woman whose history, I learnt a little about and she typified the rest, she was between thirty-five and forty years old, quite pretty but becoming slightly matronly. She was married with a son of five or six. She came from a very rural village on the northern French border. Her husband was a farm labourer who worked on the farm that the two of them were saving up to buy, she was earning much more than he was, but if conditions remained settled they would have enough for the purchase in about three more years. He drove the farm truck each week-end to the town where she worked bringing the farm's weekly contribution to the town's market. He also brought the little boy for a week-end with his mother. The odd thing about this family situation was that her mother had done exactly the same thing being employed in the same brothel about twenty years previously. The current occupant of the job told me that she had five or six regular clients in the town, all getting on in years, and she seldom took anyone else. I can remember thinking at the time that here was another example (on quite another plane) of French pragmatism.
The last occasion when I was billeted in this way was rather a sad one. During "R & R" we were always on twenty minutes notice of recall. This was rather optimistic, particularly for the ambulance section because some of us were usually out on a job. It had been a rather disorganised break right from the start. We had been told that the "R & R" would be for about three weeks. Nobody believed that because they were always shorter than the original estimate. The first week was disorganised by the Germans who had discovered the area in which we were located. They decided to disrupt the "rest" part of the "R & R" which they did very successfully. One night several patrols in heavily armoured half-track vehicles were sent in to the area to destroy anything they came across that was vulnerable to shell fire or incendiary bullets. Although by the next morning they had all been rounded up and themselves destroyed, the feeling of peace and relative safety was finished.
I was billeted with only two others in the bakery and patisserie of a village. The business was being run by a woman who, in better times added brothel keeping to her very considerable skills as a maker of quite exceptional cakes. Her husband was the baker but was in a prisoner of war camp in Germany. The family's two very charming daughters were keeping the bread-making going. It was not difficult to imagine the main purpose of the establishment changing quickly from bakery and patisserie to bordello in more settled times.
We were so well looked after that we decided that some gesture was needed and, foolishly as it turned out, we offered to cook supper one night and give them a party. The main course was provided by one of my colleagues who was a remarkably skilled poacher. He arrived that evening with three ducks, which he said he had run over by mistake. That story was difficult to accept. He was a very good driver and one casualty would have been surprising, but three stretched credulity too far. I undertook the plucking, etc and decided that death from heart failure was a more likely verdict. Another of my colleagues was the unit's cook so everything else was handed over to him.
The bake oven was wood fired and we got it going really well for the preparation of the feast. Chef Larreur heard of our plan (nothing ever escaped him) and he sent over a case of claret from one of his relative's vineyards the like of which I had never tasted before or since. My American friend sent over a case of Bourbon Whisky, which he said had been confiscated in circumstances about which he was curiously vague.
The whole evening was a great success until I noticed smoke coming down the stairwell. Our stoking of the fire had been too efficient and one of the roof timbers was on fire. Someone else had noticed the fire from outside and called "Les Pompiers". Fortunately they were only a few yards away. The fire-engine was horse-drawn and the horse was about the same relative age as the four "pompiers" themselves. They were the only remaining male inhabitants of the village; having escaped forced labour by their extreme age. Their uniforms were very impressive (and also of great age). Very large brass helmets surmounted red jackets with yellow piping. Seated on the highly polished machine they made a fine sight. It was only when they stood up and tried to dismount that their usefulness seemed questionable. There were even older than they had seemed at first and found difficulty in remembering the drill for unrolling the hoses.
It was at that moment that I heard the sound that we might have expected to happen. Two jeeps from Divisional Headquarters roared up and the Duty Officer shouted "Twenty minutes and all vehicles to be ready to go." This time it really was just twenty minutes. There was a crisis and the Division had to be back in action as soon as most of it could be collected. In fact it was the beginning of the last serious German offensive now known as the Battle of the Bulge. Several weeks of fog had prevented any aerial reconnaissance and the Allies had been taken by surprise.
I was fortunate because I had filled up with fuel on the way home, and my ambulance was fully supplied with blankets, tourniquets, saline drip equipment and the basic stretchers. One of the banes of an ambulance man's life is to see his essential equipment carried away into the field hospital firmly and irremovably attached to his casualties. There was a reasonably efficient system for immediate replacement and it had worked properly the last time with the result that I was ready to go. The only thing I was lacking was iron rations and drink, both very necessary if the motoring to follow was to go on for twenty four hours or more. We never had any idea of the time span or destination on these occasions. It was a case o f follow the vehicle in front, leaving forty metres space, and we were lucky if the rule about a ten minute break every hour was observed. The trouble with a large convoy was that the people at the front probably got their ten minutes but those at the end, possibly a mile behind, got very much less.
We carried water, of course, in a ferry can with a ceramic lining, for the driver and casualties. There was also my medicinal bottle of brandy in case things got really bad.
I need not have worried about food supplies. Madame and the girls, once they had grasped the situation, saw that giving us a good send¬off took precedence over everything else, including a fire in the roof. Kisses had featured quite frequently in my life recently, what with Paris and the previous "R & R" billeting arrangements, emotional farewells seemed to occur more frequently than battles. However, this was the first occasion where a whole village lined up to make sure we would not forget them.
We drove off into the night about twenty minutes after the call, leaving a roof on fire, the remains of a party and great deal of sadness all round.
We all intended to return when possible, we always did. In my case I had an excuse for never doing so. My war and connection with the Division came to an abrupt end a few weeks later. I never heard if any of my colleagues returned to that war-torn but charming village. I suspect they did not and probably that was just as well. For all of us the memories were best left as they were, but they will always be triggered by someone saying "What about the Quakers?"