Marie-T Lavieille born Champel Prétot - Manche Version Française

6 JUNE 1944. 0600 hrs.

In the heart of the Cotentin peninsula, on an isolated farm held by my mother, I awoke abruptly. What was happening? I was under the impression that the wall that my bed was against trembled and resounded. Then I heard some voices in the kitchen.

Quickly, I got up and discovered an unusual scene. A man, quite bizarre, was seated in a chair in the middle of our kitchen. He wore sort of a khaki uniform, very soft and flexible, with pockets throughout.

On his head, he wore a helmet covered with leaves, while his face was camouflaged in black. He spoke using words that I could not understand. My mother and my brothers surrounded him, and were trying to guess what he was saying.

His left hand seemed to support his arm, Without ceasing, he repeated « broken… broken.. »

Suddenly, releasing his arm, he pulled out a knife that was contained in a sheath on his lower leg. He then cut a strip from a roll of bandage that had been in a pocket in his pants. And, most wonderfully, he pulled out a chocolate bar that he gave to us.

This man, quite strange, was, thus, our friend…

« Broken… » this first English word remains burned into my memory.

The paratrooper of the 82nd Airborne Division was lost in the Norman countryside, on this morning, and had a broken shoulder. One of my brothers drove him to a place where he was cared for.

For me, I was just 9 years old, - and because of this extraordinary experience? - I became an English professor, often serving as an interpreter during ceremonies of the anniversary of D-Day….

Marie-T Lavieille     (April 05, 2001)

Translation from French by Thad J. Russell