You can read the first part of Elly’s story here: War years: from Paris to Troyes
Leaving Troyes
Elly’s family portrait: “Probably everyone has a photo like this. Gerty is five years old and I am a few months old. Everyone is serious.”
Since we had no other options we ended up in town. Mother found a room where we could at least wash the dirt and dust and clean our clothes a bit. The three companions dropped off before we got into Troyes, perhaps because it seemed worse to go towards the German lines. We never saw each other again.
About midnight we had just started to sleep when we were awakened by shouting and banging on the doors and windows, with the news: “Run, run, the Germans are on the other side of the river”. While the French had blown up the bridge, the Germans were building pontoons to get across. We packed up our belongings including the wet clothes and took off on foot, together with a large part of the local residents. I learned how to trudge along by keeping my eyes on our feet and counting the other feet we were able to pass.
Our walking was interrupted because I had a violent stomach ache – perhaps because of lack of food – and it sent me crying and running wildly around in the first courtyard I found. It happened to be a bivouac for a few French soldiers and one of them caught me as I was running and screaming in pain. He managed to get a mint solution down my throat which eased the pain and gave me a little water fore the road. I was mortified that we had lost so much of the road gained before. But I was slowed again when I saw an old couple standing at the fence of their small farm along the road, watching the people fleeing, without understanding what the cause was. I went over to them and patted their hands and said for them not to worry, that everything would be all right, even though I knew it was really a lie, but they were too old to flee.
Mother was not exactly delighted by my taking time out for this but I was glad I did. This was the first time I realized that taking a moment to be kind to strangers was a wonderful gift to give away.
Heading south
We had been walking for days without finding anything. Food, water, a place to stay, sleep, maybe to wash ourselves and our clothes. We were travelling on a road different from where most people were going south, which was through the Loire Valley. Suddenly we saw a train standing at a station. The locomotive was pointing south. We never tried to find out anything, never asked anything: it was a train, that was sufficient. We just jumped up and sat in a compartment. There were very few people in the train at that point and we started to be concerned as to where it might be heading. We found a bench and across from us sat a very young French soldier. He looked petrified.
Italian planes kept diving at us and spraying the train with bullets. I moved over to sit next to him and told him that there was nothing to be afraid of, that we were safe, that everything would be alright. He was very hungry and had nothing to eat. The only thing Mother and I had in my rucksack were the two boxes of sugar cubes. We opened up one of the boxes and gave him some cubes, and we ate a few ourselves. It did abate the hunger but unfortunately made us extremely thirsty and there was no water nor any liquid of any kind.
After we waited for some time and the train not having moved one inch, we all decided to walk away. Who knew where to? Not long after that we saw another train, this one full of people. In fact, it was so jammed in the regular compartments we had to sit in an open carriage which previously had transported coal. This was also full but we found a spot against the outside railing in the coal dust. Twice French soldiers raced through the train having been informed there were German soldiers, the dreaded Fifth Column, hidden here and there, but none were found.
As night fell, the train stopped and the rain started to come down heavily. Now we sat in black water up to our waists, all feeling very depressed, when a little girl, perhaps six years old, started to sing: “Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé”. The entire carriage burst into tears, except for the little girl who had no idea how hearing the French national anthem broke our hearts.
The next morning the sun came out, the train had not moved, and we found out that during the night the two men who ran the train had uncoupled the locomotive and taken off, leaving us standing in the middle of the countryside. Off we went again, everyone on the train, walking away in different directions, guessing as best we could which might be the right way to go. I was still carrying the sugar in the backpack and the suitcase (one of them had been ditched already) but we had nothing to drink and the sugar looked to us like poison. More thirst, that was not what we wanted.
How long we walked I have no idea but I begged at doors for water, we slept in ditches and in barns and in toilets. I remember all too well one night I spent curled around the bowl in a public toilet. Not pleasant. It was amazing how cruel people could be. A number of times I would beg for a drink, a little skinny youngster dishevelled and dirty, but it was a very rare person who would not slam the door shut in my face and give me a glassful. Since then, I never pass a homeless person, dirty and dishevelled, without giving them a dollar and, most important, wishing them: “I hope your luck changes”. This was more important to them than the money, to be recognized as a person. Never did I forget how quickly you can become smelly and dirty and haggard, and everyone turns away from you, making believe they did not even see you…
Read the third part of Elly Sherman’s story, War years: Some lucky breaks and some not so lucky
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