Resistance Fighter: A Teenage Girl in World War II France - Softcover

Sevier, Elisabeth

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0897452232 ISBN 13: 9780897452236

Publisher: Sunflower Univ Pr, 1998

Synopsis

"On June 14, 1940, Parisians awoke to the crunch of German boots marching down the Avenue des Champs Elysees . . . the beginning of the German occupation, and a tragic chapter in the history of France."

One of the youngest members of the French Resistance during World War II, Elisabeth Sevier was just turning 16 when she joined. She would not quietly acquiesce to German occupation, and gradually and "unofficially" began small acts of sabotage -- on foot and on her bicycle.

"I could never see how submitting to the Nazis could help my country or my family. . . . From the first time I saw the cocky Germans in Paris, I wanted them out of France."

Elisabeth's resistance to the enemy's takeover of Paris did not go unnoticed by the Germans. She had sensed the Gestapo watching her. A warning from her Red Cross supervisor saved her, and sent Elisabeth to safety, on a dark April night in 1944, along with a truckload of other clandestine resistance fighters.

She was a witness to the brutal Gestapo tactics against French Jewish families and her Resistance comrades, who were buried alive in a forest near Dijon -- with only their heads left above ground.

"In the clearing . . . human heads were scattered everywhere. At first we thought they were separated from their bodies. However, when we drew closer I realized the bodies were buried up to their necks. . . ."

Elisabeth was captured and tortured by the Gestapo when caught trying to blow up railroad tracks. The result of the torturous thumb screws, used by the SS, can still be seen on her left thumb. For her courage and defiance of the enemy, her patriotism, and her unwavering heroism, Elisabeth received the coveted Croix de Guerre, with Bronze Star, one of the highest honors awarded by the French government.

About this title

About the Author

Elisabeth Sevier, of Edmond, Oklahoma, served in the French Resistance and the French Army during World War II, and later in French Indochina (Vietnam). In 1955, she came to the U.S. and attended the University of Texas at El Paso and New Mexico State University. She subsequently taught French at the Radford School for Girls in El Paso and at Edmond Memorial High School, from which she retired in 1996.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

From Prologue: It was a moonless April night, as black as pitch, in 1944 Paris, not far from the Arc de Triomphe. I was following the shadowy figure of a man I didn't even know, toward a truck, and then to an unknown destination. I was leaving behind my family, my friends, and my beloved Paris, all for a world that would be filled with hardships, sorrow, and terror. The Germans, however, gave me very little choice. The Gestapo had learned about my Resistance activities, and I could no longer safely remain in Paris.

The man I was following wore dark clothes and covered his graying hair with a black beret. I shivered as the cold night winds blew right through my body. I wished I had worn my heavy woolen sweater when I had left for work at the Red Cross, but it never occurred to me that I would be leaving Paris on a truck to escape the Gestapo. I was frightened and disoriented while walking briskly to keep up with the anonymous man ahead of me. Once I even stumbled and fell down.

We finally reached the truck and a friendly hand reached out of the darkness to help me climb aboard. A heavy canvas covering quickly dropped over the opening in the back. Inside, I could smell unwashed bodies and stale cigarette smoke. Someone pushed me to the side of the truck and I found myself sitting on a crude wooden bench next to another girl. She whispered that I must try to sleep and be very quiet.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

The girl replied that my questions would be answered later. Until then, we must do nothing to arouse suspicion. "If the truck stops, be as quiet as a church mouse."

As we drove into the night, I tried to settle down and make myself more comfortable on the wooden bench. I tried to sleep but my mind veered off on a thousand directions and sleep would not come. My heart pounded and I felt many emotions -- anger, fear, guilt, excitement -- all at the same time.

During the long night hours while the truck drove us farther and farther away from Paris, I think my entire life passed before me in my mind, almost like soldiers passing before a reviewing stand. How did it ever happen, I asked myself, that I became involved with the Resistance in the first place? Several million people lived in Paris, but only a very few actively participated in Resistance activities. The vast majority, it seemed to me, "adjusted" to the German occupation. They were unhappy with the Germans, but most still managed to go about their business as though life was normal, drawing as little attention to themselves as possible. I thought they were like ostriches that buried their heads in the sand. If they did not look, they could not see anything wrong.

My mother, Maman, I thought, was a little like an ostrich. She certainly did not like the Germans; very few French did. However, the Germans occupied the country, and Maman thought the only option for the French people was to cooperate and try to get along with them, regardless of how odious this task proved to be.

But I could never see how submitting to the Nazis could help my country or my family, and our different perspectives is one reason why Maman and I had so many problems. From the first time I saw the cocky Germans in Paris, I wanted them out of France. They were on our land, in our city, and they had no right to be. I disliked the Germans intensely. We called them the Boche, a derogatory word which means "thick heads" or "cabbage heads." I just wanted to do my part to see they left our country as soon as possible. I was willing to give my life, if necessary, to liberate France.

But Maman was quite different, perhaps because she went through some very painful times in her youth. (I didn't know then that Maman had survived an Armenian refugee camp during and after World War I, where she lost a son and her first husband and endured much cruelty at the hands of her captors.) Maman didn't like to do anything risky.

When I was 15 years old, she even tried to persuade me to marry a man more than twice my age -- a prominent business man in Paris and a family acquaintance. I am sure Maman approved of him because she thought he would be able to provide me with economic security. I would have a nice place to live and babies; what more could a young girl want? Maman and I had bitter arguments over this man, and I finally won. I didn't want to marry anyone at that time, and certainly not because my marriage partner offered security.

Maman certainly suspected that I was involved in distributing underground newspapers or similar Resistance activities. This displeased her very much. She made this very clear to me that last morning I was home. "You are putting yourself and your family in too much danger," she said with her dark eyes flashing.

What could I say? I knew there was truth in what she said, so I refrained from making an angry retort.

I could never accept Maman's point of view about the occupation. I could not turn my back on my country and do nothing while the Germans turned Paris into another Berlin. The small acts I performed for the Resistance seemed so harmless and so easy as a Red Cross Defense worker. No doubt about it, I thought, joining the Resistance was the right thing to do. . . .

Edition details

• Publisher: Sunflower Univ Pr
• Publication date: 1998
• ISBN 10: 0897452232
• ISBN 13: 9780897452236
• Binding: Paperback
• Language: English
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 183