Jean-Pierre has just arrived upstairs and announced to me that the Germans are booby-trapping (placing mines) the bridge: we look out the window and see the civilians and soldiers going about their sad business. The calm of night arrives, always with the doors open and the windows closed!

I am leaving for the Chesnaie farm, Jean-Pierre is staying at Michel’s, and Madame Trick babysits JEAN-PIERRE. They are going to their friend’s house along the main street. When I leave, things are relatively calm, but when I get back I learn by a person on a bike that the Americans are at Laval (20 km from Chateau Gontier), 48 hours in advance! We wait for them, and the day passes uneventfully.

At 7pm, all of us head for the shelter as the Americans have advanced and they’re at Bazouges (which borders CG), where there is fighting. There’s a violent explosion, part of the bridge collapses, a few minutes pass and then we decide to go outside hoping to see the Americans: but nothing in the main street! They are coming down Carnot avenue. Madame Thomassina and I go to see them, to welcome them, and to shout with joy Vive la France, Vive l’Amérique (Praise to France, Praise to America)! I jump on a truck, and I shake the hand of a soldier to thank him: they are friendly, completely black and coated in dirt and dust.

We return to Madame Belleville’s house and the timing was good because the machine guns of the resistance came to life (against the Germans). We go seek shelter in the cellar. Madame Belleville injures her ankle. She is bleeding but it’s not serious. Calm returns and we decide to sleep at Madame Belleville’s, all three of us in her bed. It’s 11:30pm and JEAN-PIERRE falls asleep immediately, shortly thereafter Madame Belleville and I are terrassées par le dieu Morphée (fall asleep).

It’s 3am and we’re awakened by cannon fire, machineguns, everything trembles, Madame Belleville got up and goes down to the cellar. I stay put, JEAN-PIERRE is half-asleep, a few minutes pass that become unbearably terrifying. Madame Tomassina knocks on the door, and she shouts “let’s go downstairs”. JEAN-PIERRE is sleeping I reply. Suddenly, a loud explosion wakes him up this time. He’s scared and begins to pray to God that he will protect us. I get up and peering out the windows I see fire through the trees of Place Saint Just. “Let’s go downstairs Mamie, I don’t want to stay here” JEAN-PIERRE cries.

We arrive downstairs in the house of some close friends, and the children (there are three), huddle together (Michel, Yves and JEAN-PIERRE). Madame Thomassina and I are invited to spend the night on some mattresses with pillows and blankets, and we sleep until the following daylight. Miquette has also lost her master, and refuses to leave my side: she sleeps between us. The kids awaken and we return upstairs. Madame Belleville has slept in the stairs after the bombardment because a second alert had started: she didn’t know where we were. Several “boches” (krowts) are still firing, a tank’s on fire: three Americans killed!

JEAN-PIERRE stays with his friends Michel and Yves; I go back to my house, the bridge had only been heavily chipped: but it’s still passable! The French Interior Forces ( FFI: French resistance) are there. At home, glasses are broken, the pendulum has fallen. I leave for breakfast at Madame Belleville’s house: a small meal « à la Parisienne » made by Madame Thomassinna and a delicious pie cooked by Madame Belleville. American cars have been passing by non-stop since 7am, the children are in the street joyously shouting to the soldiers, who are giving out cookies, chocolate, cigarettes and candies.

We go downtown to see all the animation. At Place Hotel de Ville a huge raucous crowd is singing the Marseillaise, and we go back to see the bridge. It’s very hot, and we decide to go back (home) and enjoy smoking a Camel!

The cries “death to the collaborators” travels through the air: one of them is carrying a portrait of Hilter, a swastika, they are lead to the ditch where the patriots whom they had given away to the Germans were buried. They are then forced to dig up the corpses by hand. It was horrible: they were unrecognizable with pierced eyes, noses and ears cut off. The bandits (collaborators) were forced to see the atrocities committed by those whom they admired so much. Tonight they will be paraded in public once more. The Americans are wondering what is going on, and it is explained to them.

The day comes to an end, and we return to our house to eat, tanks continue to pass since this morning with an incredible noise. At 10:35pm the last tank passes: Château Gontier is free.

There are no more Americans: we await the French troops. Madame Belleville and I have decided to go to the burial of the martyrs. We had left for the Chesnaie farm, when on our way we learned that today at 9am the religious service will be held (so we turned around). Jean-P had our sacks, we entered the chapel, 7 coffins covered with flags, and a disgusting odor gags us. All the eyes are damp when the priest, a powerless witness of their martyrdom, tells us of their suffering during 4 days, impossible to approach them, the krowts refused this “I gave them last rights form afar before they died”.

We returned to the Chesnaie farm in the afternoon…what heat! But, we felt uplifted everybody is happy. We will return on our own, Madame Belleville on bike with provisions. We left and said goodbye until tomorrow.

Midnight! The cars, trucks, tanks begin to go by. The moment I get up I immediately recognize the French (soldiers). I get dressed, prepare breakfast. JEAN-PIERRE awakens, it’s 7:15am: quick preparations, we eat breakfast, it’s finished in no time: he rushes downstairs to shake the hands of the soldiers, who give him chocolate and candies. Then it’s my turn to leave, I go to the Gandon’s to get information on my last two parcels which were dropped off on the eve of the American’s arrival. I learn that they were sent Saturday morning on August 5th. Did they arrive?

I get back home, I discuss with the soldiers who tell me “in 15 days we’ll be in Paris, the Americans have progressed past le Mans. I recognize the way a person from Paris speaks, we chat about our homeland, he gives me a packet of Camels, and a little bit further away in another truck there are people from Burgundy and Bordeaux, everyone very nice and more cigarettes and a can of pate (pure pork) and a large box of bacon. “Keep these for the Parisians who have nothing” I say, but the soldiers reply “Don’t worry, we have plenty we’re going to give to them”.

The son of general de Gaulle passes by, the car stops, all the young women put out their hands, hand-shakes, signatures, we shout “Vive de Gaulle, vive la France” another day of enthusiasm.

At Place St Jean the message is given by a battery-powered radio at the usual time, we go there three times a day. When will Paris be liberated?

Paris has been liberated, what joy!

There are still some Germans in hiding, the FFI are there, some skirmishes, they give up, a little SS refuses to surrender, he’s hit and his jaw is broken, he cries like a child. He is asked “Why don’t you want to obey the orders by the FFI to surrender?” “I love my country!”. He’s fierce, at the hospital where he’s being treated he declares “I killed 7 French myself, I want to get out so I can continue!”. I think he’s dead now! It’s not a loss, the SS are cruel and it’s them who martyred the poor people from St Sulpice, three from the same family. We still haven’t received news about a young farmer from Bazouges.

Marguerite GAILLIARD, August, 1944