It was in the spring of 1944 during the time after my father had been taken to a slave labor camp, where he was assigned to building the Atlantic Wall to stop the Allies’ invasion. My mother, my sisters, and I were staying with the Galop family who had offered to take us into hiding so we wouldn’t be arrested and deported by the Gestapo, the French police, or the French militia. Monsieur Galop, who was a very talented builder—his job was to build sets for the movie studios—had erected a small shelter in their yard for our protection against the bombardments. I don’t think that flimsy construction would have saved us if a bomb had fallen in their yard, but it gave us comfort in case of danger.
I have a fond memory of that shelter where we would go whenever the sirens blasted to announce a raid. Mireille, the Galop’s younger daughter, was only three or four years old, and she had her way of cutting the tension whenever we were in the shelter, terrified by the explosions. One night, as we were sitting in the shelter and the bombs were falling nearby, she said in the most natural way, “Tomorrow, if I find a bomb in the yard, I’ll pick it up.” That’s all it took to relax the tense atmosphere, and we all burst out laughing. There’s nothing like a child to turn a dramatic situation into a laughing moment!
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