Resistance: Memoirs of Occupied France
Language: English
Pages: 384
ISBN: 0747596743
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In the summer of 1940, as the German Occupation tightened its grip on Paris, Agnes Humbert helped to establish one of the first resistance cells. Within a year the group was publishing a news bulletin, helping allied airmen escape and passing military information back to London. Then came the catastrophe of betrayal, followed by arrest and interrogation, imprisonment and trial and, for Agnes, deportation to slave labour camp in Germany. Resistance is the secret journal of a woman who never gave up hope.
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Firm as theirs. Judge Ernst Roskothen's pre-trial interviews at Fresnes, December 1941 Roskothen's account is written in the third person, with all names changed. Roskothen is 'Amels', Gottlob is 'Looh', Vildé is 'Kustos' and Agnès Humbert is referred to throughout as the 'museum expert'. Before presiding over the major trial of Gaullists at the prison of Fresnes in Paris in 1942, Amels has to spend many weeks familiarizing himself with the numerous files . . . Early one morning he is.
Martinique.5 He has taken all the necessary steps so that he can marry Monique by proxy, and once they are married my young daughter-in-law hopes to obtain permission to go out there to join her husband. So we have been on a trip to the jeweller's to buy the wedding rings. There we discovered that there is no more platinum to be had, no white gold, no yellow gold. Customers have to provide their own metal. Maman has donated her wedding ring, Monique's mother a signet ring. 'Yes, but,' the.
Of my hands alone would stand as a powerful indictment of the treatment inflicted on women prisoners. I seem to be losing a lot of weight, but I have taken to repeating a hundred times a day (in an updated version of the Coué method), 'They can have my fat, but they'll never have my skin.' Suddenly and without warning, the wardress, a tall young woman who couldn't care less about us and leaves us alone, tells us that after work this evening we are going back not to Kölping Haus, but to new.
Learn to get that filament into the funnel. I am driven by a feeling for which I have only contempt: fear. Henriette's advice and that of various other comrades has borne fruit, and now I can get the filament into the funnel passably well. Sometimes I allow it all to get on my nerves, which wastes time as it all goes wrong. But all in all I'm not doing too badly. And after all, everyone says that I won't be alone at the machine, that I'll always have an assistant. If so, life will be difficult.
Silence lay heavy like a blanket. We intersected a column of Soviet prisoners of war. One of them asked us in a whisper who we were and where we came from; hearing him, the guard struck him with the butt of his rifle – a mechanical gesture born of habit. At length we see some buildings surrounded by barbed wire. For some time we stand outside the camp entrance, waiting as a kommando of women emerges. One of them whispers that she is from Luxembourg, that we will be working in a powder magazine.