We Were Young and at War: The first-hand story of young lives lived and lost in World War Two

My dear family,

We crossed the border into Belgium yesterday, and after we did, the first villages we came to had been destroyed, their bridges blown up. They’d been abandoned. Cows ran around in the fields, mooing because they hadn’t been milked for days. Everywhere we went we saw the same thing, endless columns marching along ruined streets, passing bombed-out villages, every now and then a wooden cross with a steel helmet next to it. There are Belgian tanks and lorries in the ditches. And our Stukas 9 and Jaeger constantly overhead. If it weren’t for the sound of the artillery day and night, you wouldn’t know there was a war on…Who would have thought that I would be here!

Fondest hellos to you all, from your loving Herbert

22 May 1940

Dear family,

I just wanted to write a quick note, to let you know I’m still alive. What with eating, drinking, sleeping and **** [self censorship] duties there’s hardly any time for writing. The day before yesterday our whole division advanced by 90km. The retreating troops can’t get away from our front-line troops. Prisoners stream in the other direction, all different and jumbled up: French, Belgians, Negroes, Indians, Chinese, etc. They look so terribly dejected. In most of the towns there are only a few houses still standing, the rest shot to bits and burnt down…

…The way we live needs to be described. All the villages have been cleared, so all the houses are at our disposal. We ended up in an outwardly unremarkable house, which is quite magic inside. Ten of us have moved in, we each have a bed; there are two in each room. And we have everything we need. There’s a lovely kitchen with beautiful crockery and an unbelievable stock of food. The cellar is full of wine and champagne. The cupboards are full of valuable things. It is such a shame we can’t take anything with us. There’s a piano here too and we’ve been playing and singing…We are living like ‘Gods in France’. When

Herbert’s letter, 6 June 1940.

you see a scene like this you can truly say: our greatest victory so far is that the war has not been fought in our own country…Please send me a map of France, Belgium and Southern England…

Send my greetings to everyone, with a Heil Hitler!

Your Herbert

3 June 1940

My dear Parents,

We’re off again tomorrow. I can’t tell you where to. Fifty letters have been opened [by the censor] and I might get into big trouble. Please don’t tell anyone about what I wrote in my last letter. Our lodgings are still excellent. We always seem to find the best houses: there’s even a bath, which we have all been using, of course. It’s the first house we’ve found with running water. These people must have had lots of money to be able to afford all this. If we want coffee, we have only the finest coffee beans. There are kilos of it. It’s such a shame I have no room in my rucksack. Otherwise, Mummy dearest, I would bring you a few pounds. And such fantastic wine! If it were not for the scenes of war all around, if you just looked at our lifestyle in this house you’d never know there was a war going on. We all think it will be over by the summer. And we must come to terms with the number of losses. Victories like this always cost a lot of blood. We only hope that our own families don’t have to sacrifice too much.

Please send my greetings to my siblings,

All my love from your Herbert

By the time Herbert sent this letter, optimistic officials in Berlin were already drafting memos on the post-war strategy for the European countries under German control.

In Britain, the War Cabinet, under new Prime Minister Winston Churchill, held a meeting to assess Britain’s ability to withstand an invasion were France to fall and Germany commit its full forces across the Channel. Much of Britain’s arms and ammunition had been left behind in northern France when 300,000 BEF soldiers escaped across the Channel from Dunkirk.

From Cheshire, Brian wrote to Trudie about his own small contribution in the aftermath of Dunkirk.

5 June 1940

Dear Trudie,

Please excuse my writing as I have broken my finger, the one next to my little finger on my right hand. We were camping and the scout master woke us up at five in the morning to say that 2,500 of the BEF were arriving that morning [from Dunkirk] at a certain place 5 miles away. Of course, we were only too glad to put up tents, 400 in number. It was misty and we raced down the road, a steep hill with a bend in it, I did not pull out quick enough, hit the curb, did a headlong dive over my [bicycle] handlebars and crashed.

I’ll never forget those men all my life. All smiling not a grumble, some had only the clothes they stood up in. I talked to some of them. I am enclosing a French coin which was in a soldier’s pocket in the most successful retreat in history.

We are all now resolved to give the Germans Hell!!! And we’ll fight like that too. I’m feeling okay at present. I’ve just heard from a friend who was in Belgium. I was getting very worried about him.

Your letter arrived today. The snaps are very good. You look very good in your new frock. I’ll get my snap done quickly.

Food. I like plenty. I am very fond of fried potatoes, so have plenty.

MENU

We all dine together on Sunday. This is bumper day:

That’s a typical week with the war on. I might add Mother is a fine hand at making steak and kidney pie. She likes baking. What do you eat?

I’m same as you, much immune from love. I once thought I was but afterwards I realized I wasn’t. Certainly when I saw her, my heart went boom-boom. How old was your dentist?

You’re certainly going to have a holiday. I don’t know whether I shall have a holiday this year. Dad thinks it’s not fair to go enjoying ourselves when men are fighting for our lives.

Do you let the chaps chase you or do you chase the chaps?

How do you like your men?

Do you like fishing?

You and yours keep well.

Yours,

Brian

It’s a lovely boiling hot day so I’m going to sit in the sun by the river and do a little fishing.

Across the Channel the Germans used that day’s good weather to launch their biggest attack on France yet. Many civilians abandoned their homes in a panicked exodus south. By the end of the week one sixth of the population of France was on the move. In Verneuil, just 100km west of Paris, Micheline, her mother and sister, Nicole, were caught up in the chaos and a week went by before Micheline was able to record the events in her diary.

9 June 1940

Everything’s gone wrong. The Bosches are everywhere, every day they make terrible gains. Daddy says he is going to send a message to Aunt Laura, asking if we can go to hers. Between Sunday evening and Monday morning Evreux was bombed six or seven times. It’s in ruins.

10 June 1940

Verneuil was bombed at 1:30. There was a train full of soldiers at the station. It is always so stupid to leave the trains sitting there like that. A bomb dropped on it: 30 dead and 100 wounded. I watched the bombs fall. I wasn’t afraid, I don’t know why. I just thought it was disgusting to attack such a small town. It’s funny a plane on a bombing raid looks a bit like a big bird. During the bombardment we prayed with the little boy from downstairs, who said: ‘The animals! The pigs! The bastards!’ He and Nicole were very frightened. The Krauts made a big racket. All three of us were breathless. Weird…

We can’t stay in Verneuil. All the shopkeepers have fled. As the RAF troops went past in convoy we asked if they could take us with them. But none of them could.

For dinner we have rotten hard-boiled eggs.

11 June 1940

Morning: I am really sick! It must have been the hard-boiled eggs…I threw up twice but then I felt better afterwards. In the afternoon we left by bus with Brunetier the dentist and his daughter, wife, cousin and his horrible other daughter. We all just about managed to fit in. Mummy asks why my case is so heavy, but it’s not surprising as I have my diary in it and the first five volumes of my novel. Result: I have only the one dress, and I forgot my handbag.

We have a dog with us, Mme Bissell’s, she abandoned it. The bus had barely set off when it was sick, all over Nicole’s new skirt. The smell was so bad that three officers sitting behind us put on their gas masks. We reach La Loupe. There’s a bomb alert.

We were lucky to get a place on a livestock truck. Hot and dusty and very dirty! The bombing carries on the whole way. I squash my bag in half sitting on it, and I’m bathed in sweat. We stop for four hours on the track, 1km from Le Mans. We are dying of thirst and Brunetier’s cousin gives her daughter something to drink without offering us any.

11 June 1940