The diary of a French girl, 1944

1st of January, 1944. In the village of Andeen, l'Auvergne, France
Today is my birthday. You might think it is a bad thing to be born on New Year's Day, but I do not mind. I still have visits from friend and the like. But none this year, because there is a war and no supplies to have party food, even if I am seventeen.
I have been meaning to start a diary since the war began, which was in September '39. I never got around to it, but I got this book from Mama today so it seems a good time to start. France is overrun by the Boche, which is our name for the Nazi Germans who have conquered France. They are always suspicious of native French, even girls like me. That reminds me. My name is Ann-Marie Morel. Everyone calls me Ann.
We are not treated well by the Boche. They kill suspected resistance fighters. There are many of them around here. The resistance fighters, that is. We call them the Maquis, and they are men who, to escape the Boche, go into hiding in the forests and form bands. Mama says they can be almost as bad as the Boche, even if we are on the same side. She does not want me to trust men, I think. That is it for now.

3rd of January
Nothing much to report, so more about me: I like dancing and singing, sewing but not darning, and playing cards. I don't mind reading, either. Papa used to read to me every night when I was little.
My father is dead. Papa was fighting at the Maginot line and was shot by the Boche army as they advanced. He did not live to see France fall. He would not have liked it. I miss him every day. I do not to like to write, or think, about it.

7th of January
I have decided only to write in here when something happens. Otherwise, there will be nothing interesting and I will waste all the pages. Michele visited today. She is my best friend. We talked for two hours. Mostly about the war, as usual. I forgot to mention last time that everything is rationed. Food, cloth... The war drags on and on. I am sick and tired of it.

3rd of February
Oh dear. My life is so dull. A month since I last opened this. I have not told Michele about this little book. This is why: I HATE THE NAZIS. If anyone reads this and tells someone, just those words could get me killed.
This is not much of a diary, I'm afraid. Just little snippets, more like.

25th of February
Nothing happens. If we could listen to the English BBC news on the radio we would, but we have no radio, and it is too dangerous anyhow. The Boche raid suspect's houses when the news is on. So it is very hard to keep up with what is happening with this war. The newspapers are all carefully controlled.

10th of March
I am not crying. I am too much in shock for tears. Mama is dead. I am an orphan.
This is what happened: Mama was visiting Father Henri. We all do, to send him food and the like. He is a good man and does his best to protect us. But she forgot to take her papers. If you don't take your identity papers everywhere they can shoot you on sight as a spy. They found her body this morning.
I am staying with Michele and her family for now, but she is the eldest of six girls so there will be a great strain on her family if I stay long. I have no other family, or I would go to stay with them.

20th of March
I live in a daze. There is nothing to report. I cry myself to sleep most nights. Mama, how could you be so careless?
That is cruel, Ann. You must never think things like that. Now I'm crying all over this. Oh dear.

1st of April
I have made a decision. I am putting too much pressure on Michele's family, so I will leave. "But where will you go?" asks both Michele and her mother. The answer is this: I will go to Montluçon. It is the biggest town in the area and I am sure I will be able to find some sort of work there. And how will I get there? Simple, really. I'll walk.

3rd of April
I left this morning. The family gave me what they could spare as far as food and money is concerned. I packed all my clothes into a pack of sorts. It is not very heavy. It is now night, and I am wrapped up in three blankets by the side of the road. With any luck it will not rain. I can only hope, I suppose. I am relieved to actually be doing something again. For the first time since Mama died I feel alive.

8th of April
And now I wish I were dead. In my first entry, I wrote about the Maquis with admiration. Now I hate them almost as much as the Boche. I cannot write of what they do to me, so I will try to piece together what got me into this situation.
It did not rain that night, and I walked again the next day. That night I woke at about midnight. A raggedy group of men had found me while I slept. After making many vulgar comments about what I might be doing out on my own at night, they carried me through the woods for some time, before we arrived at a camp of some sort. And then a group of them took away my innocence.
I am so furious and writing so fast I just tore a hole in the page. What is WRONG with these men? I can understand them being quite interested in me, but they line up to [in the word document this is blacked out, as if the writer scribbled over the writing] Mama always said I shouldn't trust men, and I think it was because I am quite becoming for my age, and now I can see why.
There is another woman here. She is much older than me, but younger than Mama. Her name is Claire and she is here because she fell in love with a member of the Milice, which are a bit like Vichy-France's secret police. They target the Maquis, so it's understandable that she's been captured. They treat her in much the same way that they treat me.
I doubt I will make another entry here. My life is all but over.

27th of July
I am free! Free! Alive! I cannot begin to describe how relived I feel that it is over. A few days ago they rounded all three of us up and we walked to another Maquis camp. The third woman is a German spy. She was capture just a week ago. This camp is very well organised compared to the one I have been living in, and the men seem clean and respectable for a group of outlaws.
I was brought before another woman. She is more or less in charge of this camp, but more of that later. She said the Maquis I had been with had accused me of being a spy! I denied it, of course, and, thank the Lord, she believed me. She then told me I was free to go. But I have nowhere to go, if you recall. So I begged her to let me stay and look after her quarters. She sleeps in a bus, and she must need someone to look after her belongings, because she is so busy all the time. She agreed, so here I am.
My rescuer is known as Madame Andrée to the men. It is not her real name, of course, and I call her Madame. Her partner is known as Hubert, and the main radio operator is called Denden. There is an assistant radio man called Roger, who is perhaps two years older than me. They are all British agents. There are two Americans as well, weapons experts, called Schley and Alsop, who do not speak French. Madame is in charge of this particular group of Maquis, about one hundred and fifty of them. They are all good men, and I feel safe with them.
Did I just write that? Mama, you were wrong. There are some good men in the world.
Anyway. Radio messages are sent to London every few days, and parachutes carrying guns, ammunition and the like are dropped overnight. They do raids on German convoys. It is very dangerous and I think Madame is very brave indeed.
After she'd given me some new clothes, Madame brought me before the leaders of the sections in this band. She demanded respect for me, which I appreciate mightily.
The best thing is, they are helping the real France get back on her feet and beat back the Germans. And by helping them, I am doing the same!

3rd of August
They raided the headquarters at Montluçon today. "Lots of grenades going off at once" is all Madame would tell me. She is very lovely, Madame. She is so feminine, but according to the men, she is the bravest here!
She has told me to protect this diary at all costs. This is a problem because if I carry it around and I get captured by the Boche, it will put me in grave danger. But if I leave it lying around...

10th of August
They taught me how to use a pistol today. I hope I never have to shoot a real person. We are having a party tonight, to celebrate almost everything. I wonder if Madame will let me try Champagne?

20th of August
We moved into a chateau today! (We have been cleaning out this place for an age.) It's wonderful to be inside again! Madame has given me a room to myself, which I can lock if I wish. I am in heaven!

26th of August
Paris is liberated! Another party is planned, for Madame's birthday, which is only a few days away. It is a surprise, of course.


I cannot remember the date, but it doesn't matter. We, our Maquis group, have liberated Vichy!!!!! We have beaten the Germans back! France is back!


The next day
Madame's husband is dead. I didn't even know she had one, but I knew nothing about her. There was a ceremony in Vichy to honour those who died in this war and the last. In the celebrations after, Madame spotted someone in the crowd that she knew. This woman told her that her husband was dead. I thought Madame was about to collapse. It is all very sad, especially after yesterday.
I'm staying in a refuge for displaced people in the city, because Madame can't take me back to England when she goes. She came in about an hour ago, sat me down and told me about herself. If France was still occupied I would not write these things. But now I will.
Her name is Nancy Fiocca, but she goes by her maiden name, Wake, now. She was born in New Zealand, grew up in Australia (the other side of the world!) and moved to England in her twenties. She was a journalist before she married and a member of the Marseille resistance. She trained with the English Special Operations Executive, which is a spy agency, before she parachuted back into France. She really is the most remarkable woman I have ever met. I am forever in her debt.
These are the last word for this little book:
Vive la France!

PS: I think when I have enough money I shall move to England.