After the French government surrendered to Germany, many French factory owners began to work for the Germans at the request of the Vichy government—some of them eagerly, some of them begrudgingly (see note on page 166). Many did it because it meant their employees could stay in France rather than being forced to work in Germany. But regardless of what motivated the owners to collaborate with the Germans, their factories—many of which produced materials and goods for the German war machine—were a frequent target of SOE sabotage.
Sabotage was usually more effective and less costly in terms of civilian loss of life than the alternative, which was bombing by the RAF. Additional and unnecessary destruction of nonessential elements of the factory was prevented as well: sabotage raids could precisely target only the key working elements of the factory. For these reasons, many owners of French factories working for the German war machine reluctantly agreed to cooperate with the Resistance by allowing their factories to be sabotaged rather than bombed by the RAF.
Pearl’s initial work in occupied France took place in the large region of Auvergne, the site of the Michelin works, an enormous factory in the city of Clermont-Ferrand that was manufacturing tires for the Germans. While in Auvergne, Pearl attempted to assist the Resistance leaders there on behalf of Stationer, offering to help train them in the use of weapons and explosives. In the following account, she explains why she was prevented from doing so.
Before he went on leave in October 1943, Maurice Southgate had gone to see the Michelin factory’s service manager, suggesting that he cooperate with the Auvergne resistance efforts to sabotage his factory or else the RAF would bomb it. The manager refused to believe that the RAF would have the time to attack the factory, and so it was left to the untrained Auvergne sabotage team to prevent an RAF raid on the area.
Maurice Southgate went on leave just before the winter of ‘43–’44—the long, hard winter when no parachute drop was possible for three months. It was then I was involved in the Michelin affair. The Michelin works was located in Clermont-Ferrand, which was surrounded by vineyards. When I first arrived in September 1943 most of my work was in Clermont-Ferrand, an area that had previously been unfamiliar to me. The vines had changed color—they were red, yellow, and so on. It was beautiful, really magnificent. I stayed in the house of the former director of the École des Beaux-Arts at Clermont-Ferrand, Monsieur Dezandes. He had resigned from his position because he wouldn’t follow Pétain. Monsieur and Madame Dezandes were extraordinary people who have never been mentioned or written about. I stayed with them for three weeks until my luggage was retrieved and on several later occasions.
Monsieur and Madame Dezandes took an enormous risk lodging SOE agents. To us their house was a peaceful haven; we were much more relaxed there. Madame Dezandes welcomed us with open arms. And you know, even though the house was freezing cold because they didn’t have any way of heating it, she always managed to feed us.
We usually tried to eat elsewhere, but sometimes, well, it wasn’t always possible. We had breakfast there, which wasn’t as easy as it sounds, because there was no tea, coffee, or drinking chocolate, and definitely no milk. We drank grilled barley instead of coffee.
The only relaxing times we had were in the homes where we stayed. We trusted our hosts completely. For security reasons we didn’t mention our work; our conversations were commonplace. Their help was priceless.
There wasn’t much I could do during those three weeks while waiting for my luggage, but during that time Maurice introduced me to the young courier for the Auvergne network. Something quite funny happened when we met. I’m sure Maurice did it on purpose. He must have told him, “Tomorrow morning we have a meeting with an agent who has just arrived.” We met in a park in Clermont-Ferrand. You should have seen his expression when he saw me! At that moment I didn’t understand why. Later, when I was wondering why he had looked so surprised to see me there, the penny dropped—he must have been expecting a man, not a woman! I had a lot to do with him later because, during the clandestine period, I worked a lot in Auvergne.
One day [while Maurice Southgate was on leave during the fall of 1943], our radio operator, Amédée Maingard, gave us a message from London. It was an ultimatum: “Blow up the Michelin factory or we shall bomb it!” The Michelin factory was manufacturing tires for the Germans. I thought, No, it was impossible to bomb the factory; it was in Clermont, surrounded by houses. So I contacted Monsieur [Henri] Ingrand [whom Pearl had met before], the head of the resistance in the Auvergne region, and said, “We have an ultimatum, what do you want to do about it?”
During my first chat with Monsieur Ingrand, I had asked him, “How do you learn to use the arms and explosives sent to you?” and he replied, “By our mistakes.” I was so horrified I asked if he wanted me to teach his sabotage team. I added something that crossed my mind at the last moment: “But if they don’t want a woman, I can send someone else.” I was thinking of Amédée. The answer was, “They don’t want a woman.” I discovered that Gaspard from Auvergne—Monsieur Coulaudon, who led the sabotage team in the Auvergne Maquis—was antiwomen.
The contact with Auvergne was eventually lost because just at that time [just before time had run out on the ultimatum] I became ill. I had intercostal neuralgia [a condition involving severe pain in the nerves between the ribs]—I couldn’t move. I sent Henri to Auvergne to try to maintain the contact with the sabotage team. He spent all night standing up in a train to travel from Paris to the little station in Auvergne, where I had planned a meeting with the saboteurs. But as they didn’t know Henri, they were very wary of him, ignoring him so much that he had trouble finding anything to eat in the village. So he couldn’t organize any training and Michelin was bombed after Gaspard’s team failed three times to sabotage the factory. Michelin had a sprinkler system and the first attempt just flooded the place.
The British bombs fell exactly where they had to. I learned later that one of Michelin’s sons was in England and he told them precisely where the bombs had to explode. We had outstanding pilots for that sort of bombing in England. They dropped them right on target.
I also learned later that the Michelin owners had been to Madrid to see our military attaché, to reach an agreement to avoid being bombed. They proposed sabotaging the supplies when they left the factory so the owners wouldn’t lose as much money. But this isn’t something to spread around, because a book has been written about the Resistance in Auvergne and the story isn’t quite the same!
A few years ago I took part in a seminar in Clermont-Ferrand, and I spoke about the Dezandes family. Obviously nobody had heard of them, except for one man whom I saw again the next day. He was very pleased to hear me talk about the Dezandes, because he knew what they had done. I asked him, “As for your Monsieur Gaspard and the Michelin factory [the failed sabotage attempts], nobody talks about them?” He wasn’t too happy! Which just goes to prove not everything was successful; it’s human to make mistakes.