BIRDS NO LONGER SING

My current work in progress, The Ruin, features the impact of a major atrocity during the occupation of France in WWII. Some years ago, I watched a series on television entitled “The World at War”. One particular episode stayed with me. The opening sequence was an aerial view of a village in France which had been destroyed on the 10^th June 1944 by the S.S. “Der Fuhrer” regiment, a part of the 2^nd Panzer division known as “Das Reich”. The town had been surrounded; the inhabitants and visitors (642 men, women and children) on that fateful day were rounded up and brutally massacred. The buildings and the corpses were then destroyed by fire.

After the war, General de Gaulle decreed that the ruined village should remain as a memorial to the victims of the atrocity and as a reminder to future generations. A new town was built nearby and inaugurated in 1953. More recently a visitor centre was established to welcome the thousands of visitors to the martyred village. I often wondered where the village was situated as I was a frequent visitor to France before I chose to live here permanently. I was intrigued to discover that Oradour-sur-Glane was a short distance from my new abode.

I have visited the site six times; each visit is a moving experience. On entering the ruined village a sign simply asks “Souviens-toi” (remember). As one treads the ghostly streets in silence, it is impossible not to comply. No birds fly in Oradour-sur-Glane. Always I find something new, something I have not witnessed previously, something to stir my emotions:

The tomb in the cemetery displaying photographs of several generations of the same family who all lost their lives in the massacre, a baby, young children, a mother, a father, an uncle and grandparents. The underground ‘crypt’ with its glass display cases filled with bric-a-brac and personal items of the victims…watches, spectacles, thimbles, children’s toys, ornaments, items of clothing, etc. The wall plaques listing the names of family members together with the nationalities of refugees and visitors who also died in the horror.

The houses strewn with rusted, twisted skeletons of bedsteads, sewing machines, bicycles and cars of the period. The burned out church where the women and children were machine-gunned and burned. The remains of a child’s pushchair lying before the bullet-ridden altar. The huge metal bell which crashed from the oculus of the tower, shattered and melted by the ferocity of the inferno. All images of the appalling tragedy which destroyed a complete community.

During my visits I have seen coach-loads of schoolchildren arriving to witness the horror of man’s barbaric moment of madness. I have seen coaches from other European countries, even from Germany (what must they think?). I have spoken to local French people about it. With typical Gallic stoicism they shrug their shoulders and declare, ‘C’est la guerre’. Oradour-sur-Glane has become a national shrine and reminds us of our inhumanity. Unfortunately, such atrocities continue in this world.

We must remember more often………….. “Souviens-toi”.