Page 8 of The French Wife

She could see from the expression on the colonel’s face that he was watching for her reaction and that he found the idea of despoiling a religious place highly satisfying, amusing even. She tried to keep her face impassive, not wanting to give him the pleasure of having shocked her.

‘Monsieur le mayor will decide which houses are suitable for my officers, and you can type up the addresses for me, madame. But first, monsieur, could you show me the rooms in this building where our officers can work.’

‘There is only my office, sir,’ the mayor said, ‘just across the corridor. And Commissaire Gilles’ office downstairs in the police station. We have no spare rooms in the building.’

‘Those rooms will do very well. You and Monsieur Gilles can work in this room. It is quite large enough for all three of you. You even have spare desks in here.’

Amélie glanced at her boss, whose shoulders drooped, but he didn’t protest. He just shrugged, muttering, ‘Whatever you say, sir.’

‘Now, I will leave you to get on with that list. Hauptmann Bauer, you might want to get settled in your new office. Major Schiller, as commanding Wehrmacht officer, I’d like you to come with me, please. Untersturmführer Glock and I need to supervise proceedings outside. As it is primarily an SS matter, Bauer, there is no need for you to attend. Oh, and…’ His eyes settled on the mayor, the chief of police and Amélie in turn. ‘I expect you three to watch what happens from the window here. It will set a marker down as to how German command will be proceeding… and you’d do well to remember what happens.’

The colonel, his adjutant and the Wehrmacht major left the room. There was silence as those who remained listened to the officers’ boots hammering down the stairs. The younger Wehrmacht officer withdrew too, with an apologetic bow of the head.

With cold dread in the pit of her stomach, Amélie turned back to the window, and the mayor and police chief joined her, one on either side as before. They watched as the colonel emerged from the front door of the mairie beneath them and strode out into the square, his leather coat flapping behind him. He strutted over and spoke to a group of officers standing in the centre. They saluted, then one of them went over to one of the vans, which was parked between two armoured cars, opened the rear doors and motioned to someone inside. Three men jumped down awkwardly from the back of the vehicle. Their hands were tied behind their backs and even from this distance, Amélie could see there was blood on their faces and staining their clothes.

Shock gripped her when she recognised one of the men; Daniel Moucadeau, an itinerant worker who helped with the grape picking on the farmstead every year. He was known as a volatile man, a rabble rouser, and had often been in trouble with the law. Amélie was aware he was involved with the Resistance, but she’d thought it was in a minor way, passing messages and reporting on events, not the direct sabotage of installations.

The colonel began to speak, his hands clasped behind his back, addressing the crowd of onlookers, while the three accused Frenchmen stood in front of him in a miserable line, their heads bowed.

‘Open the window, please, Commissaire,’ the mayor said to Monsieur Gilles. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say.’

Gilles pushed open the window and there was a blast of icy air, but it was now possible to hear the German colonel’s words.

‘These three men were caught this morning attempting to blow up a bridge that our troops were about to cross,’ he bellowed in his guttural French, gesturing towards the prisoners. ‘They did so in full knowledge that their actions would result in the loss of German life. Indeed, that was the very reason for their actions. I want you to know that such activity, such insurgency, will not be tolerated in this town, nor anywhere else in Occupied France.’

He paused and looked around at the crowd of locals. A ripple of unease went through them, and they were muttering amongst themselves.

‘Because of that,’ the colonel went on in his penetrating tone, ‘we are going to make an example of these men. The penalty for such behaviour is death by firing squad and I’m glad that so many of you are here to witness that sentence being carried out today.’

Death by firing squad? Shock washed through Amélie. How could this be happening in their peaceful, beautiful little town?

The colonel nodded to two of the officers who then pushed the three men, stumbling and tripping, over to the edge of the square, where they lined them up against a wall. Amélie watched, transfixed, barely able to believe this was really happening right before her eyes in the familiar old market square, where she would buy vegetables and produce, and pass the time of day with neighbours.

Five men stepped forward from the rows of soldiers and lined up in front of the three prisoners, their rifles drawn.

At that moment, a woman broke free from the crowd of onlookers and ran towards the prisoners, shouting and screaming. Amélie gasped. She recognised Daniel Moucadeau’s wife, Ginette. Dressed in a red coat and patterned headscarf, her dark hair flying out behind her, she was screaming hysterically and running towards Daniel, who stood in the middle of the three men.

‘Daniel, Daniel!’ she cried, throwing herself at her husband.

Two soldiers lunged forward and seizing her by the arms, pulled her away. She was kicking and screaming, fighting with them. They dragged her off and held her at a distance while she continued to cry and shout.

‘Anlegen! … Feuer!’ came the order.

A deafening burst of gunfire echoed around the buildings of the ancient square.

Amélie clapped her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, unable to watch. When the firing had stopped, slowly and cautiously, she dared to look. The three men lay slumped by the wall in pools of blood. Amélie stared down at the bodies, unable to take her eyes off them, fear and disgust rushing through her, tears streaming down her cheeks. There was a shocked silence from the crowd, but still Ginette Moucadeau’s harrowing screams reverberated around the square.

Amélie felt the mayor’s hands on her shoulders.

‘Madame Garnier, this is very upsetting for you. You shouldn’t have had to witness that. Come, come away from the window. Sit down. I will get you some brandy for the shock.’

‘I can’t believe what is happening, monsieur,’ she said.

‘Me neither, madame,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘It is indeed a terrible day for our town.’

‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ she asked.

He shook his head again. ‘All we can do is to try to minimise the harm they are doing, I’m sorry to say. Now, come, sit down for a moment.’