Living in a medieval town like Semur I’m surrounded by history. The other night after an evening of Beethoven and Brahms we walked through the ancient wooden door of a 16th century tower once part of a massive fortification for the town. Inside what was probably an ancient torture chamber, we had a few after show refreshments. I kept expecting to see armored knights and monks in brown robes serving canapés.
That period is so long ago it seems more like a fairy tale and I can’t always relate to it. But recently I have become quite interested in one piece of history, the second world war. Before moving here I read Suite Francaise, Sarah’s Key, Charlotte Gray and did a bit of research. I’m just beginning to understand just the complicated role France played in that whole mess.
Right now I’m in the middle of a book called The Invisible Bridge about the hopes and dreams a young Hungarian man in Paris in the early 1940’s. He’s Jewish so we all know where this story is headed. For some reason here I often think about the war. What was it like for people here in the thick of it? I always wonder which buildings were bombed and which farmhouses hid Jews from the Reich.
Last night I got one piece of the puzzle from the lovely and gracious Francis (who I absolutely adore), a true gentleman here in Semur who has a garden to die for and makes a tarte tatin you’d sell your kids for. Anyway we got to chatting and I asked him about his memory of the war.
He grew up in the north of France and recalls when German soldiers occupied his family home. He remembers being permitted to live only in their own attic but under strict rules. He told me about his great aunt whose husband was in the resistance and about the night ze Germans came to arrest him. As he had just died of natural causes she invited the soldiers in and told them to help themselves. He says she was really something.
It’s so hard for me to grasp all this. You know it happened but the reality of it is hazy. Living in Europe somehow sharpens the picture for me and makes me very grateful to have been born after that time. It also makes me grateful to live in a place so steeped in history, tradition and dark chocolate ganache filled cupcakes.
It’s true that living in Europe makes history seem more relevant. When I first moved to England I read every historical plaque I came across. Whenever we visit an ancient castle or a Roman road my husband tells the kids “This is older than Canada.” (in the 1867 sense)
And I agree that WWII is particularly fascinating – I think in part for its relative proximity. Suite Francaise is on my list.
Hey girl
really cool post. I got to thinking about what it would be like to live in a country that had been occupied in a war with the ravages cut in to the wood and chipped in to the stonework, both physically and figuratively. It has to simply be a part of who the French are. It is something we can’t relate to here in the states (except for a tiny attack on Pearly Harbor–and 9/11). We have never been occupied as far as I know.
s
This is sounding like an awfully, awfully delightful place to live. I, not nearly so bold, recently relocated to a farmhouse on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Awful pretty.
it would take me a million times longer to do anything over there as it does here as i would be constantly overwhelmed with the history that surrounds every space. how do you walk away from architecture older than anything you have ever seen?
When we lived in Germany, I used to look at every elderly person and wonder, What were you doing during the war? What part did you play? I had to let it go after a while because, of course, I didn’t know and couldn’t spend every outing in a state of moral outrage.
Europe fascinates me – I hope to make it back there someday. And when I do, you can bet my full attention will be turned instead to croissants and raspberry clafouti.
I got so absorbed here. One of my works in progress is set during WWII and while I’ve done research, I’ve become even more fascinated by that historical period. When I was there, I remember being struck by the age of things because here in the U.S. we tear stuff down, we don’t preserve. While I don’t believe in god, I was amazed at the strength of belief (and yes, the force of society) that would move people to build such magnificent structures in honor of god.
Thank you for these snapshots. They feed a craving.
The knights and monks in brown robes don’t come out until the end of May, and then only for a weekend. I’m told it’s really something.
Wait, did you say cupcakes?