Our strength consists in our speed and in our brutality. Genghis Khan led millions of women and children to slaughter – with premeditation and a happy heart. History sees in him solely the founder of a state. It’s a matter of indifference to me what a weak Western European civilization will say about me.
From Adolf Hitler’s Obersalzberg Speech he gave to his commanders at his Obersalzberg home on 22 August 1939
I felt safe and strong. The new war was being fought thousands of miles away. I knew my father would protect me. He had spoken proudly about the Albert Canal fortifications, the modern bunkers and British Hurricane fighter planes that Belgium maintained. The famous fort at Eben-Emael alone had 1,200 troops to protect me, the country, and the Belgian army.
That autumn day in school, Sister Bernadette called me to her desk to tell me that my father had been called away by the Foreign Ministry. ‘Your aunt will be staying with you while he’s gone. She’ll be waiting for you at home.’
At the time, I was not told where my father had gone, but I learned many years later that he was meeting with other military officials from England, Holland, and France to discuss the war. Sister Bernadette assured me that Belgium had made a pact with Germany and that Belgium would remain neutral territory. Although I would miss my father, I wasn’t worried, since I knew that the war was far away.
Sister Bernadette was my literature teacher. We had just finished a discussion in class on lines from William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar:
And since you know you cannot see yourself,
so well as by reflection, I, your glass,
will modestly discover to yourself,
that of yourself which you yet know not of.
I was convinced that he had written those lines for Hava and me. I never could see myself, without seeing Hava as my mirror. Whenever she stood before me and sang a song, or teased me, or told a joke, I saw glimpses of myself and I liked how I felt beside Hava: complete.
Aunt Margaret was indeed waiting for me when I returned home from school that afternoon, and that evening, when I could not bear the ticking of the great clock in the hall any longer, and I could not read any more from Gone with the Wind, I walked out of my room and found her downstairs in the kitchen making a cup of tea.
‘Your father will be away for a while,’ she said, as she looked at me. She ran her fingers through my messy hair and added, ‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had read more fairy tales when you were a child. There are far more ogres and trolls in this world than you might believe.’
I tried to convince my aunt that, as an 18-year-old girl, I knew plenty about ogres and trolls, as well as more serious matters, but she just shook her head and said that there might be a war, that perhaps we would be in danger. I tried to explain to her that she was just frightened because of the war of 1916.
‘No one is unlucky enough to have two wars in their country,’ I said confidently.
My aunt looked pale as she reached out and handed me my father’s Croix de Guerre. ‘He asked me to give this to you.’ My father’s medal was like his second heart. ‘He wants you to have it in case anything happens to him. He said it will protect you against monsters.’
I took the medal, caressed it gently, and kissed it. Then I carried it to my room, placed it under my pillow, and like Scarlet O’Hara, the unstoppable heroine of Gone with the Wind, I said aloud, ‘I won’t think of it now. I can’t stand it now. I’ll think of it later.’
Although it concerned me that my father was not at home, I held onto the false security that he was somewhere in the Foreign Ministry, tucked away in some important office. I did not know at the time that he was working for the Resistance, that months later he would be on the Nazis’ execution list when he would escape across the Pyrenees and into Spain.
The next time Corporal De Waden came to my house he handed me a letter. ‘It’s from your father.’ I opened the envelope and saw my father’s neat handwriting.
Dear Simone,
Remember when I told you about Albert Forster and Poland? The monster is growing in strength. Hitler is doing the same. He said this in a recent speech: ‘Essentially all depends on me, on my existence, because of my political talents. There will probably never again in the future be a man with more authority than I have. My existence is therefore a factor of great value.’
Simone, nothing depends on one person. This one man has no value. When we all live together as one, goodness survives. I’ll be away from home for some time, and my letters might not always be able to reach you. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.
As for you Simone, don’t leave the house if Hitler and his army come. Do not go into the streets. Stay inside and lock the door. It’s important for you to remember to stay inside if they come.
Hold onto my Croix de Guerre. You will pin it onto my lapel when we are together again. Listen to your aunt, and rest your eyes between readings. I love you. All will be well.
Papa
I’ll think of this later, I thought to myself as I folded the letter and tucked it into my pocket.