The Sisters of St. Croix

by Diney Costeloe

  The hatred for such collabos smouldered beneath the surface of the entire community, liable to erupt without warning like a dormant volcano. Flashes such as these did little good, retaliation and retribution could be swift and cruel, but memories would be long and revenge was promised when the time was right.

  Accommodation was requisitioned for the occupying soldiers. Madame Berniers, an old lady of ninety, was banished to the servants’ quarters of her own manor house. Her maid, Ninette, almost as old as her mistress, was told to look after her, while seven German officers took over the house and made free with the wine Madame’s husband had laid down in the cellar some forty years earlier. Major Thielen was satisfactorily established in the mayor’s house and the other ranks were billeted comfortably enough in the barns of two farms at either end of the village.

  It was not only accommodation; cars and horses were casually requisitioned by the German authorities; their troops also augmented their rations by helping themselves from local farms, at times officially, at others by stealth.

  Sister Marie-Marc’s precious chickens survived until they were noticed by Sergeant Franz Schultz when he was carrying the bags of potatoes he and his mates had been sent to collect from the convent garden by the quartermaster in the town. That evening when darkness was falling and the nuns, following their own idiosyncratic timetable, had retired for the night, Sergeant Schultz crept back up the path from the village and with a leg-up from his friends, scaled the courtyard wall. He opened the gate to admit his accomplices and together they made their way to the hencoop. He reached for the wooden bolt that secured its door and dragging it free, knelt down and peered into the henhouse. The birds were roosting peacefully, but as soon as he made a grab, catching the first unsuspecting hen round her neck and passing her hastily back out for one of his friends to stuff into the sack they had brought, the squawking began. He worked as quickly as he could, snatching birds from the safety of their roost and passing them back to his mates. The squawks and squooks of alarm increased in volume and the soldier posted as lookout heard the sounds coming from the convent as the back door was dragged open and someone came out with a lantern.

  “That’s it,” he hissed as the light wobbled towards them across the yard. “Come on, let’s go!”

  With a mixture of muffled laughter and swearing, the hencoop raiders ran out of the gate and disappeared into the night, and poor Sister Marie-Marc was left peering round in the darkness of the courtyard, looking for her beloved hens. She found only five still inside the henhouse and another, which must have been dropped as the thieves ran away, pecking its way peacefully among the clumps of weeds just outside the convent gate.

  The wails of Sister Marie-Marc were even louder than the squawks of the hens had been, and when Mother Marie-Pierre appeared in the courtyard wearing a dressing gown, with only a shawl to cover her head, it took her some time to calm the irate nun.

  “Don’t worry, Sister,” she said soothingly leading her back in through the kitchen door, “I will go and see Major Thielen in the morning.”

  “That will be too late, Mother,” moaned Sister Marie-Marc. “Les sales Boches will have wrung their necks!”

  “Sister!” exclaimed her superior, even as the little nun clapped a hand over her mouth in horror at her own words.

  “Oh, Mother!” she cried in dismay. “May God forgive me for such words. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “So I should think, Sister,” reproved the reverend mother, struggling to keep a straight face. “Now, back to your bed. There is nothing more we can do this evening.”

  Next morning, however, Mother Marie-Pierre went down to the town hall where Major Thielen had his office, to complain.

  When she arrived she was asked to wait and it was nearly half an hour later that she was finally taken in to see the major. He came to his feet as she was announced and extended a hand. “Reverend Mother, what an unexpected pleasure. How can I help you? I hope you weren’t kept waiting.”

  “Only about half an hour,” Mother Marie-Pierre replied dryly, seating herself on the chair he had set for her. “I am sure you’re busy, so I won’t take up much of your time.”

  “I am indeed,” he agreed. “Now, how can I help?”

  “Last night, all but six of our hens were stolen from the henhouse,” Mother Marie-Pierre said coming straight to the point. “I think it was some of your men. They climbed in over the wall and escaped out through the back gate.”

  The major’s welcoming smile faded as she spoke and the hard look she had seen before slid into his eyes. “What makes you think they were my men, Reverend Mother?” he asked coolly. “Far more likely it was your own countrymen. Several have already been caught by my men, thieving from the German army.”

  Mother Marie-Pierre managed to hold his gaze as she replied. “The sister who was woken by the noise the hens made, came down to the courtyard and heard them; heard them speaking German. Major,” she continued, “we need those chickens to provide the extra food our patients in the hospital need to get well. We have three of your men in there at present, as you know, all of them could do with good food to help them to make a swift recovery. You’ve taken much of our potato crop, what’s left of our carrots and the last of the onions we stored last year.”

  “You will be paid for those,” cut in the major sharply.

  “Be that as it may,” Mother Marie-Pierre, who was pretty sure they would never see a cent, went on firmly, “we need our hens to provide eggs for the hospital, and those you did not requisition. Is there any way you can find out who the thieves are and perhaps get the hens back?”

  The major gave a short bark of laughter. “I very much doubt it, Mother. I imagine that whoever has taken your hens has already disposed of them.”

  “And there is nothing you can do about it,” Mother Marie-Pierre stated flatly.

  “There is not.” The major got to his feet to indicate that the interview was over. “I have a great many important things to deal with at present, and your hens are not among them.”

  Mother Marie-Pierre also got to her feet and said quietly, “I am sorry your soldiers in the hospital will not receive the nourishing food they need, Major.”

  “Are you daring to threaten me, Reverend Mother?” Major Thielen asked. Before, he had been cool, now he was icy.

  “No, Major,” Mother Marie-Pierre replied calmly, “just stating a fact. The rations we receive for our patients are insufficient for their needs. With no hens and only a small part of our vegetable crop, we can no longer adequately supplement them.”

  As she turned to leave, the door was flung wide and another officer strode into the room. To her surprise Major Thielen snapped to attention and saluted.

  “Heil Hitler!”

  The newcomer returned the salute and looking across at Mother Marie-Pierre asked in German, “And who is this?”

  With chill realisation, Mother Marie-Pierre saw that the uniform this man was wearing was different from the major’s, and carried the now famous death’s insignia on the collar. Even in the convent, word of Himmler’s Waffen SS and its activities had been whispered; rumours that became increasingly frightening as they circulated. Until now the reverend mother had dismissed most of these, but now, seeing this man looking her over, as if deciding what she might fetch at market, she sensed an emanation of evil. Instinctively she drew herself up, levelly returning his gaze. The man was tall, his close-cropped hair displaying the elongated shape of his head. His eyes, grey and cold, looked out on the world from beneath pale eyebrows with hauteur and arrogance.

  And I thought Major Thielen looked cruel! thought Mother Marie-Pierre.

  “This is the reverend mother from the convent above the village, Colonel,” the major replied, and then turning to Mother Marie-Pierre he introduced her to the newcomer, in French. “Mother Marie-Pierre, this is Colonel Hoch, of the SS.”

  Hoch looked at the nun standing so straight and upright before him and gave a curt nod, and speaki
ng with a guttural accent, said in French, “Good morning. I am afraid I must ask you to leave. I have business with Major Thielen.”

  “We had already finished our discussion,” Mother Marie-Pierre said. “I will bid you good day, gentlemen.”

  Swiftly she left the building. If only half of what she had heard of the SS and the Gestapo was true, then Colonel Hoch was a man to be feared. She hoped he would not be staying in St Croix for long.

  In this she was disappointed. It was only days later that Sister Henriette returned from visiting an old woman, bedridden in the village, with the news that Major Thielen had moved to The Manor where his officers were already billeted. Colonel Hoch had taken over the mayor’s house.

  Mother Marie-Pierre smiled bitterly when she heard the news. Serve him right, she thought uncharitably, as she recalled the way he had evicted Monsieur Dubois. She actually said as much to Sister St Bruno when she visited her that evening.

  “He had no compunction in turning out Monsieur Dubois,” she said, “and now the same thing has happened to him.”

  “Shows how important this Colonel Hoch is, Sarah,” remarked her aunt.

  “There is a difference in rank,” agreed Sarah. “Hoch is the senior officer.”

  “More than that, I think,” replied the old nun. “Your major is simply in the army. An SS officer, or Gestapo or whatever he is, is much more important.”

  “What have you heard about them?” asked Sarah. It never failed to amaze her how well her bedridden aunt was informed about things, even though she had not left her room for more than a year.

  “Oh, just snippets, you know.” She smiled. “Young Marthe is quite chatty when she comes in the mornings. She tells me what is going on in the village, who says what, who does what. She’s a real gossip, and I suppose I should discourage her, but when one’s shut away up here, well, the child’s like a breath of fresh air.”

  Sarah smiled too. Marthe was a cheerful girl, and was good, both with the children and with the patients in the hospital. “I’m glad she cheers you up,” she said, “and you can keep me posted on the things that are going on that I otherwise wouldn’t hear about!”

  It was not Sister St Bruno, however, who told Mother Marie-Pierre what had happened several weeks later, but Marthe herself. Sister Danielle brought her to the office, white-faced with terror, almost unable to speak.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mother,” Sister Danielle said, “but Marthe is here and she’s in a dreadful state. I think you should listen to what she told me.”

  “Come in, Marthe,” Mother Marie-Pierre said. “Come in and sit down. Please stay, Sister Danielle, in case I need you.”

  They settled Marthe down in one of the chairs, but she couldn’t stay seated. Almost immediately she was on her feet again, pacing the tiny room.

  “Marthe, try and calm down,” Sister Danielle said, “and tell Mother what you told me.”

  “They’re taking them!” Marthe cried. “My family. They’re taking them away. Maman, Papa, François, Étienne, Jeanne, even little Margot. They’re putting them in lorries!”

  “Who?” demanded Mother Marie-Pierre. “Who is taking them?”

  “The Germans,” wailed Marthe. “The Germans. They came to the house this morning and made them all get up. Pushed them outside. They’re in the square, Mother, a whole crowd, and there are lorries coming to take them away.” The girl’s voice rose on a note of panic, and she cried out. “I must go to them, Mother, I must, but Sister Danielle says I can’t.” She turned towards the door, but Sister Danielle was standing in front of it, as if ready to block her escape.

  “Try to be calm for a moment, Marthe,” Mother Marie-Pierre said quietly, “and we will think what to do. Now tell me, how do you know all this?”

  “Francine, who lives next door to us; Maman managed to whisper to her, to tell me to stay away. I stayed here last night because Sister Eloise wanted me to help with the night duty. I was just going to have my breakfast with the children when Francine came to find me, but Sister Danielle wouldn’t let me go!”

  “And she was quite right,” Mother Marie-Pierre said firmly. “Your mother didn’t send you that message to get you to go to the square, did she? No, she wanted you to stay here, where you would be safe.”

  “But I don’t want to be safe,” wailed Marthe. “I want to be with my family. Where are they taking them? Francine says it isn’t just them, there’s a whole crowd gathered in the square.”

  “Marthe, listen.” Mother Marie-Pierre took the hysterical girl by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “You must not go to the square. You will do no one any good if you are rounded up too. Your mother knows that, that’s why she sent you the message. She wants you to stay here where you will be safe.” She turned to Sister Danielle. “I’ll leave Marthe with you, Sister. Take her over to the children’s wing. I’ll go now, at once, to the village and find out what is going on. I’ve met Major Thielen several times, so I’ll try and find out from him what’s happening. I am sure there is some mistake.” She smiled at Marthe to reassure her. “I know they have been taking able-bodied men to work in the factories in Germany, but there can be no reason to take your mother or the younger children. Your papa and François, maybe, but not the rest.” She passed the young girl into Sister Danielle’s care. “You are to stay with Sister Danielle until I come back. You understand? You are to stay here in the convent till I get back. We shall know more then.”

  Sister Danielle took the weeping Marthe in her arms and led her to the children’s wing. Mother Marie-Pierre gathered up her cloak and leaving instructions with Sister Celestine to tell Sister Marie-Paul that she had had to go to the village on an extremely urgent matter, she hurried down the footpath that led through the copse to the village.

  When she reached the village square her heart was pounding both from the exertion and with fear at what she might find. The square was deserted except for about twenty-five people, who stood pale and frightened under the watchful eyes of three armed soldiers. Most of them were adults, their faces pale and drawn, but there were children there too. Mother Marie-Pierre could see Marthe’s family huddled together, a group within a group. They had one suitcase with them set down at Claude Lenoir’s feet. Marthe’s mother, Rochelle, was clutching a bag of what appeared to be food and the younger children clustered round her like chicks to a mother hen. François, the eldest boy, stood with his father, his face bleak, his eyes staring at the soldiers with their rifles. Apart from this forlorn little group there was no one in sight. The windows round the square were shuttered and blank, the pavements empty, the doors closed and probably bolted. The tables outside Le Chat Noir were still set out, but there were no customers and the blind was drawn down over the window. The people of St Croix had seen what was going on and were keeping well clear. Who knew who would be next? Best not to be seen. Best hide away behind shutters and blinds until the danger had passed.

  Mother Marie-Pierre crossed over to one of the guards. “Please can you tell me what’s happening? What have these people done?”

  The man shrugged at her. “Parle pas Français.” But when she moved to speak to Marthe’s family, he barred her way with his outstretched rifle.

  “Verboten!” he growled, and Mother Marie-Pierre, needing no translation, backed away. Glancing again at Marthe’s family she saw the almost imperceptible shake of Madame Lenoir’s head. Don’t speak to us, her eyes warned, don’t draw attention to us or to the fact that Marthe isn’t here.

  Mother Marie-Pierre gave a curt little nod as if to the soldier, but in fact to the Lenoirs, and turned away.

  “Where is Major Thielen?” she asked the guard.

  Recognising the name of his commanding officer, the man jerked his head backwards towards the town hall.

  Mother Marie-Pierre crossed the square to the building that housed the German headquarters. Again her way was barred by a sentry, but this time when she asked for Major Thielen the sentry replied in fractured French that the
Herr Major was inside and too busy to see anyone; he continued to block the doorway.

  Undeterred by this, Mother Marie-Pierre treated him to a smile and said quite calmly and matter-of-factly that the Herr Major would see her when he knew that the mother superior from the convent was waiting to speak with him. The man looked uncertain, and then saying, “Wait here,” disappeared inside. He returned almost at once. “You will wait in here.”

  Wait she did, for more than an hour in a small anteroom off the main hall. Through the window she could see the desolate cluster of people still waiting amid their guard in the middle of the square. The square itself remained otherwise deserted. No one else came near, it was as if it were a group of lepers gathered there, and fearful of infection all those in the vicinity had withdrawn, clutching their clothes about them and scurried away to the safety of their homes. Even as she watched, Mother Marie-Pierre saw little Margot Lenoir whispering to her mother. Madame Lenoir looked anxiously at one of the guards and then, plucking up courage, edged her way towards him. Immediately the man raised his rifle, pointing it at her menacingly. She stopped, but called out something to him. The man, keeping his gun pointed at her, replied with a shake of his head, and when she spoke again he simply turned his back on her.

  With a shrug she returned to the little girl, who was now hopping from one foot to the other. Mother Marie-Pierre watched as the family drew round her, shielding her as best they could from other eyes, and then within their tiny circle, the mother helped the five-year old lift her dress and squat down to relieve herself. The youth and innocence of the child made the act unimportant, but when, still within the protective circle of the family, all the girls and Madame Lenoir did the same thing, Mother Marie-Pierre found her heart reaching out to them… such a small thing, but destroying their dignity.