An hour before curfew, Sylvie and Nathalie left 29 rue Frédéric Chopin for the rendezvous point. The Reynauds had already left. A combination of the blackout and low clouds blocking out the moon, meant that it was pitch dark. They could hardly see their own shadow. Sylvie warned her that although this was good for them, the Germans would be particularly alert, and they must not let their guard down.
She was right. They had only just left rue Frédéric Chopin when they heard the sound of an engine coming towards them. Sylvie grabbed Nathalie’s arm and pulled her into a doorway only seconds before a truck passed by, shining its searchlights into the street. The pair pressed themselves hard against the inside of a doorway and held their breath. The bright light swung in their direction as it passed, lighting up the doorway and barely missing them by a few inches. When the truck turned out of the street, they leapt out of the shadows and hurried towards the quay in the direction of the bridge. There they saw another truck driving slowly backwards and forth across the bridge, casting it’s searchlights up and down the river.
‘What did I tell you,’ Sylvie whispered. ‘They are not so silly that they don’t recognise we operate under the cloak of darkness.’
Inching their way along the quayside via the recesses of doorways that opened out onto the street, they managed to make their way to the entrance of the sewers. The entrance was via a set of steps partially hidden from view by bushes. At the bottom of the steps was a padlocked door. The sewers were out of bounds and patrols regularly checked all the entrances. Anyone caught trying to get in or out would be shot on sight.
To Nathalie, it seemed an impossible task. How could anyone get in or out, or even hang about in the area without being spotted? What she hadn’t reckoned was that the house opposite, the same building whose doorway they now stood in, belonged to a résistance member. When the door opened, her heart missed a beat. The house belonged to Paul.
‘Mon Dieu! You gave me a fright,’ she said in a hushed voice.
Paul put a forefinger to his lips. ‘Shush!!!’
He ushered them inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, and they stood in the shadows, waiting. After a few minutes, another man entered. Pierre.
‘Just in time,’ Paul whispered.
Pierre checked his watch. They waited a few more minutes, and then he stepped back outside again, saying he would give them a signal when he was ready.
The trio watched through the crack of the door as Pierre ran across the road and disappeared down the steps. Nathalie counted the minutes. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, two lights flashed through the bushes.
‘He’s done it,’ Paul said, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘Right, come on. Let’s get them out before the patrols are back.’
They hurried across the road and down the steps just in time to help Pierre pull away the chains and padlocks and wrench open the door. Tired, wet, and dirty from slipping through the sewers, the Jews were clamouring on the other side to get out. The ghastly drawn looks etched on their faces, made them look eerily like supernatural beings being disgorged from the bowels of the earth. Nathalie was both shocked and deeply moved by their plight, especially when she saw an elderly couple and two small children with them.
Two résistants were with them, one of whom she’d met the other night. The men ushered them up the steps and into the bushes. Paul told Nathalie to take care of the little ones whilst he and Sylvie helped the elderly couple. When everyone was out, Pierre gave the signal to move on whilst he stayed behind to put the padlocks and chains back in place. It was imperative that the door looked as though it had not been touched.
Nathalie took the two children by their hands and told them not to be frightened. The look in their eyes made her want to weep. In all her life, she had never seen children with such fear. The group began to file through the bushes towards the Pont de l’Alma. She looked back to see if Pierre was following. He was nowhere in sight.
At a point where the bridge started to cross the Seine, Paul held up the flat of his hand and cautioned them to stop. This was the most dangerous part. The spotlights on the bridge had to be timed to see how long they would have before they could cross the road and descend the steep, slippery steps that led to a long, loading pier, part of which disappeared under the bridge. It was so dark that even with the soft reflection on the water, Nathalie could not see the barge that would carry the Jews to safety. One of the children started to whimper. She knelt down and whispered words of comfort as she wrapped her arms around them.
A signal was soon given and the group headed for the pier in pairs, each one waiting until the searchlights had passed. She was the last to leave with the children. When she clasped their tiny hands tighter, telling them that this was a little game they were playing, she heard a rustling sound in the bushes. Pierre re-appeared, and without saying a word, scooped up one of the children in his arms and headed across the road.
‘Quickly,’ he hissed.
Within minutes they were gathered under the bridge and Nathalie breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the dark shape of a coal barge waiting for them. Safe in the knowledge that the searchlights could not reach them, the captain, aided by one of his associates, helped the escapees embark. After the last person boarded, Paul checked that they were safely stowed away in the hiding place under the deck. A flashlight was given to them along with bedding, food and water, and a makeshift container to be used as a toilet. After satisfying himself all was well, the planks were secured in place, and coal sacks were carefully placed on top to prevent the hiding place being discovered during inspections. If all went well, the escapees would stay cooped up in these cramped dark conditions for the next few days. After that, their journey for freedom would take another circuitous route, and it was unlikely whether Nathalie or any of her friends would know whether their escape had been successful.
Paul handed the captain a wad of money and they shook hands. His was a highly dangerous job and should the Jews be found, he had nowhere to turn. Death would be swift.
Nathalie was too exhilarated to sleep that night, and lay in bed going over and over the events of the previous few hours in her mind. At home, she had known what was taking place in her village, but rarely came into contact with the people her parents were trying to help. The Englishman was an exception. Her role had been little more than keeping watch whilst others took the risks. Now, she couldn’t get the terrified look on the escapees’ faces out of her mind. How could her country be a part of all this? The thought sickened her.
The next morning, the Reynauds were back in the shop. Antoine was setting up a display of pink and white cyclamens in the window and Madeleine was cutting the stems from a bunch of roses to make bouquets.
‘It went well last night,’ she said. ‘From what I hear, you were a natural with the children.’
Nathalie told her their plight had only strengthened her resolve to do more. She asked how many times the group had done that sort of thing.
‘More than I can count,’ Mme Reynaud replied. ‘It started with soldiers after Dunkerque; first one, then another. We never expected our country to turn on the Jews though. That’s when we began to hide them in small groups. It’s not so difficult to hide one or two people, but a whole family, well that’s something else. After the round-ups, the numbers swelled. And there are also political dissidents who have a price on their head. We had to turn to the church for help; even the mosques.
‘Antoine and I were at the church last night. We were helping to get the group into the sewers. The opening wasn’t through a door like the one at Pont de l’Alma. It was down a manhole. Can you imagine the distress that caused?’
‘Have you ever lost anyone?’ Nathalie asked. ‘Those sewers are dangerous. It’s easy to slip when you only have a flashlight to guide you.’
Mme Reynaud sighed. ‘One evening we lost a whole group. There were ten of them. The last two were preparing to enter the sewer when the Germans turned up and opened fire. They were killed as was one of our own men. Another fled. Of course the rest of the escapees heard the screams and gunshots and started to panic. Our men urged them on, but the Germans wasted no time in going down after them. In the ensuing chaos, they were not fast enough and were gunned down. Another of our men was also killed there. Only two escaped. It didn’t end there. The Gestapo pounced, raiding every building in the area. At least fifty innocent men and women were detained and not all made it home. That’s what we are up against.’
Antoine finished his flower display and made them all a hot drink. He looked tired. Madeleine told him to go and have a lie down. Nathalie offered to help out in the shop in gratitude for them giving her the apartment.
‘I could do with the help,’ Madeleine replied, ‘although I can’t afford to pay you very much. It may be better if you try to find yourself another job.’
Nathalie had a little money put aside but she knew it wouldn’t last long. For the moment, she was content to help the Reynauds. It would also give everyone in the neighbourhood a chance to familiarize themselves with her. A stranger in their midst could provoke too many questions.’