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May
1944, Ste Mère Eglise, France
by
Alexandre Renaud
Alexandre Renaud was a veteran of WWI and the mayor
of Sainte Mère Eglise during WWII. Ste Mère Eglise
was the first town in France liberated by American forces.
Several passages from Renaud's wartime diary are used, with
permission, in Into The Valley. The following passage,
and one more, are excerpted for this Web site. All are
from his award-winning book, Sainte-Mère-Eglise, First
American Bridgehead in France, published in 1947. See
photo.
urriedly,
on May 10th at 8:00 pm, the Germans came and asked me for ten
conveyances, but now all the conveyances and all the men
available in the occupied villages were requisitioned. I
thought at first that it was for night maneuvers, and I
protested violently in the name of the Hague Agreement; but
half an hour later I discovered what was going on: Zitt and
his ruffians were leaving for Vauville (west end of Cherbourg
Peninsula).
It
was a very heavy weight off my shoulders, and I believe I can
say that if these troops had remained in Sainte Mère Eglise
until D-Day, the great adventure of the beginning of June
would have ended quite differently for the town and for
myself.
The
leaves of the trees on the church square are a lovely tender
green, and the chestnut trees have produced their cones of
flowers. The sky is a turquoise blue such as is rarely seen in
Cotentin, and it has been that way for two months. The marshes
which the Germans flooded are draining, despite the efforts of
the engineers to keep them at high level. All around,
especially at evening time, the air is beginning to be loaded
with what seems to be pestilential emanations. So must it have
been in the Middle Ages and up to the time of the great
drainage ditches: in those days the peasants, decimated by
malaria, fled the country.
Workers
now digging trenches at Beuzeville la Bastille say that
myriads of mosquitoes have invaded the grass fields and the
hedges. At Saint Côme du Mont’s bridge, when the sun goes
down, they form such dense swarms that they darken the sky.
What
are the English doing? Are they going to wait for the leaves
to fall in order to act?
The
air attacks become more and more numerous; the bridge of
Beuzeville la Bastille has been bombed time and again; so has
that of Les Moitiers en Bauptois. And yet, these are only two
small local bridges which permit crossing the marshes from
east to west. They would be of paramount importance only in
case of an attack against the peninsula, to prevent the
arrival of German reinforcements.
Some
predict that the Allies might well feint attacks on the
Peninsula to distract the attention of the Germans, but
nothing can prevent us from believing that the big attack, if
it comes, will be made in the north, toward Dieppe, Boulogne
and Dunquerque.
May
is now drawing to a close. Last night, in the Manor field,
small leaflets of about ten pages fell from the sky. They
recount the general directions already given out, but they
also describe with explanatory drawings the uniform of British
and American paratroops, the shape of jeeps and Allied tanks,
the small light ones, and the big Churchills and Shermans.
“So
what?” somebody says to me, “these leaflets are printed by
the thousand, and the point at which they fall proves nothing.
The same leaflets were probably dropped in the north and on
Saint Nazaire.” And I find this remark sensible.
Orders
are issued to the workers for the first week of June. The
trenches around Sainte Mère Eglise are almost finished. They
are the usual type of trench, and they worm their way in and
out the “close” between the apple trees with the
well-known breastworks exactly similar to those we used to
make behind the lines in 1916-17.
The
placing of the trees—Rommel’s candles, as we used to call
them—also goes on, but with increasing slackness. [Ed.
Note: Rommelsspargel (Rommel's asparagus) were
poles designed to be wired together with mines attached at the
tops.] The German command does not seem very energetic.
With the means of punishment at its disposal, it could have
made the work go five times as fast, and could have demanded
that it should be done by June 1st.
All
through the month of May, German troops have been streaming
continuously up to Cherbourg. We have seen encamped in our
fields infantry, artillerymen, Aryan Germans, and also
Georgians and Mongols with Asiatic features. They were
commanded by German officers.
In
the latter part of May, the artillery units quarter in
Gambosville. The officers come to see me at the Town Hall.
They need spades, picks and saws immediately. The town is to
be secured, and the work has to be finished in five days. I
reply that there are no more spades or saws in the
neighborhood and that they will have to canvass all the houses
in order to find a few tools. They phone the Feldcommandantur
at Saint Lô to get instructions about what punitive measures
to take. He gives an evasive answer. Discouraged, they finally
go to a hardware store, where, after threatening to loot
everything, they manage to obtain a few tools. Guns are then
installed at all the town approaches; on the Carentan road, on
the La Fière road, before Capdelaine, on the Ravenoville
road.
Sinister
looking Mongols walk the town at nightfall. Then, suddenly,
three days after their installation, the guns are taken away,
and I am asked to provide transport immediately to haul
ammunition and food to Saint Côme du Mont. Some big generals
have been around on inspection and have, so it appears, found
all this display unnecessary.
Sainte
Mère Eglise is once again alone with its anti-aircraft unit.
All
the Germans we question are perfectly certain that a landing
will take place in Cotentin. “You can count your houses,”
they tell us; “all of your homes will be ‘kaput’.”
The infantry billeted in this area
frequently go through our village during their maneuvers. Our
anti-aircraft gunners are the only ones who have a quiet time.
The major has sent several men to Mercurey, in Burgundy, to
fetch him good wine. For them life is sweet. |
