Paris '44: The City of Light Redeemed

by Mortimer Moore, William

  Walking in the gardens, Churchill asked Spears’ opinion of de Gaulle. “Completely staunch,” replied Spears.6 After further disappointing discussions, seeing de Gaulle standing taciturnly beside his ADC, Captain Courcel, Churchill muttered, “L’homme du destin,” in his inimitable Franglais.7

  Shortly afterwards de Gaulle warned Spears that Paul Baudouin was spreading stories that Churchill would understand if France negotiated a separate peace. Furious, Spears drove after Churchill, who had already departed for the airfield. Churchill categorically assured Spears that he never consented to France making a separate peace.8

  DE GAULLE’S SUSPICIONS WERE CORRECT. Earlier that day General Émile Barazer de Lannurien arrived from General Héring requesting clear instructions regarding the defence of Paris. After walking in the garden with Weygand, Lannurien had his answer. Although the capital had escaped with only sporadic bombardment from the Kaiser’s “Paris gun” during the previous war, Weygand decided that 1940 was different and that Paris should be declared an “open city.” Pétain and Reynaud—also in the garden awaiting Churchill’s arrival—agreed without demur. Hence both Churchill and de Gaulle attended the Briare conference unaware that General Lannurien was already returning to Paris to give Héring and Dentz their orders.9 Yet Spears later acknowledged that defending Paris “would have been a stupendous undertaking even with the full and enthusiastic backing of Pétain and Weygand”.10

  When General Dentz realised he had only been appointed military governor of Paris to conduct its surrender, he wrote to Weygand protesting vehemently. Weygand telephoned his reply, “My decision is final; you must stay in Paris.” The following day Paris was declared an open city. Fighting within her boundaries was banned. French troops were ordered to retreat around rather than through Paris. General Héring, who commanded the Army of Paris, withdrew his men on 12 June, bidding Dentz adieu at Les Invalides. Dentz wrote forlornly in his diary, “As to having the people of Paris take up arms—what arms? To resist tank divisions which had just chopped up French armies—such talk would only have led to a massacre.”11

  The city’s Prefect of Police, Roger Langeron, now faced thousands of deserters fleeing southwards into Paris along with the possibility of the militant working class taking the city’s defence into their own hands. Many Paris policemen wanted to leave and join the armies still fighting. But Langeron ordered them to remain at their posts to “preserve security and order”. Some left anyway, but most did not. Recognising the depth of feeling, Langeron called a meeting in the Préfecture, the Paris police’s imposing mineteenth-century headquarters on the Ile de la Cité’s south quay between the Palais de Justice and the treasured cathedral of Notre Dame. Langeron reminded them their duty was to Paris, to protect Parisians, even from themselves, and to prevent looting and anything that might provoke reprisals. Those with young children, especially daughters, or previously involved in intelligence cases, Langeron permitted to leave. The rest shouted “Vive la France! ”12

  “Thousands of people of all nationalities, French, Canadian, English, Belgian, Romanian and even Italian are turning to us in despair for advice and comfort. The fact that I am here is a strong element in preventing a fatal panic,” US Ambassador William C. Bullitt wrote to President Roosevelt.13 A tradition began during the French Revolution that, whoever else fled the city, the American Ambassador would not.

  The following day General Dentz requested Bullitt’s help. Once posters proclaiming Paris an open city appeared, Bullitt telephoned America’s ambassador in Switzerland asking him to relay this information to Berlin. Although consoling himself that his duty was merely to keep order rather than negotiate the city’s surrender, Dentz would not escape that role. At 5pm the Germans asked the French to send them a truce party. Dentz took a call from Weygand who was reassured that the atmosphere in Paris was calm. The Germans, however, angered that their negotiators were fired upon from the French lines, now insisted that unless a French truce party reached them by 5am the following morning, their attack on Paris would begin. Dentz sent Major André Devouges to General Erich Marcks’ HQ at Ecouen. In a manor house’s candlelit dining room, Devouges heard the German terms: Paris was to be surrendered in full working order, including utilities and broadcasting stations; security and safety services must remain in place; the population must remain indoors for forty-eight hours after German troops entered the city. There was some haggling over this last item, which Devouges believed was unenforceable. Then a German orderly announced, “Paris has surrendered!”14

  The city was stunned; its great boulevards were free of automobile traffic so that German staff officer General Walter Warlimont, flying overhead in a Fieseler Storch, asked his pilot to land on the Champs Élysées. Having witnessed Germany’s defeat in 1918, this was the most exhilarating moment of his life.15 The Wehrmacht’s joyride into Paris began.

  AS FRANCE FELL, CHURCHILL CAST AROUND for ways of propping her up. “As things now stand,” de Gaulle said, “you must neglect nothing that can support France and maintain our alliance.” After several hours discussing how to prevent defeatists from taking power, Churchill suggested a Franco-British union; the idea had come from Jean Monnet a few days earlier. This was gesture politics, but it seemed worth a try. Churchill telephoned Reynaud, “Il faut tenir”—”You must hold on.” During these days de Gaulle established himself in Churchill’s eyes as a future great Frenchman: “Here is the Constable of France.” Even so Churchill refused to send any more aircraft or troops across the Channel. De Gaulle himself ordered a French cargo ship carrying American munitions to divert to a British port. Nevertheless, using an RAF aircraft, de Gaulle took Churchill’s union suggestion to Paul Reynaud. Landing at Bordeaux, de Gaulle learned that Reynaud had resigned. Eighty-four-year-old Marshal Pétain had formed a government and would undoubtedly seek an armistice. Pétain dismissed Churchill’s proposed Franco-British union as “fusion with a corpse. We do not want to be a British dominion!”16

  De Gaulle thought Reynaud “gave the impression of a man who had reached the limits of hope”.17 But, ever a patriotic Frenchman, in his last act as premier, Reynaud ordered a hundred thousand gold francs to be delivered to de Gaulle’s hotel.* De Gaulle then sent Roland de Margerie to his family at Carantec in Brittany, advising them to leave for England.18

  The following morning de Gaulle returned to the airfield with Lieutenant de Courcel. On the way they visited the French Army’s emergency HQ on Bordeaux’s Rue Vital-Carles. According to Jean Mistler, “De Gaulle sat down at General Lafont’s desk. I can still see him with his arms raised, saying dispassionately, calmly, as though it was obvious: ‘The Germans have lost the war. They are lost and France must keep on fighting.’”19 These were delusional utterances unless he believed American intervention was certain.

  With German forces closing in, chaos reigned at Merignac’s airfield. The pilot of the RAF Dragon Rapide raised no objection to carrying three passengers—Spears accompanied them—but insisted their luggage was tied up when stowed. Leaving France as an obscure brigadier-general, de Gaulle later wrote, “The departure took place without romanticism or difficulty.”20 Flying northwards along France’s west coast, he saw ships burning in the ports of La Rochelle and Rochefort, smoke from burning munitions and, somewhere down there, at Paimpont, was his bed-ridden mother. According to Courcel, “The General, lost in his thoughts, seemed scarcely to be concerned with the immediate present, but rather with what was awaiting him over there.” Of the emotional storm churning inside him, de Gaulle later admitted to André Malraux, “It was appalling.”21

  They landed on Jersey, which was still in British hands, to refuel. Spears offered de Gaulle coffee from his Thermos. “I handed it to him, whereupon taking a sip, he said that this was tea. It was his first introduction to the tepid liquid which, in England, passes for either one or the other. It was the beginning of his martyrdom,” wrote Spears.

  They landed at Hendon around noon, almost simultaneously with Pétain’
s ceasefire broadcast. Over a million French soldiers entered German prison camps for several years. Pétain’s decision undoubtedly saved lives and spared France much destruction, but France was diminished and humiliated by the defeat and, as de Gaulle later wrote, “France cannot be France without greatness.”

  After dropping their luggage at a hastily arranged flat, Spears took de Gaulle and Courcel for lunch at the RAC Club. At 3pm Churchill received them in the garden of 10 Downing Street. No one should imagine that Churchill’s generous welcome ever turned de Gaulle into an Anglophile. He was a proud Frenchman, programmed by history to distrust the British. He simply wanted British sponsorship, for no longer than was absolutely necessary, to liberate his country, after which he would wave the British, and subsequently the Americans, good-bye. De Gaulle also believed that, unless France did everything possible to liberate herself, the sense of shame would last for generations. That evening, after dining with Jean Monnet and reading a transcript of what he regarded as Pétain’s “treasonous” ceasefire order, de Gaulle drafted his famous Appel.22

  Churchill agreed immediately that de Gaulle should make a broadcast. But, within twenty-four hours of his departure, the Bordeaux government declared de Gaulle persona non grata for rejecting Pétain’s authority. Lord Halifax particularly advised against anything that might nettle Pétain. “It was undesirable that General de Gaulle, as persona non grata to the present French government, should broadcast at the present time, so long as it was still possible that the French government would act in any way comformable to the interests of the alliance.”23 Warned of this development by Alfred Duff Cooper, Churchill’s Francophile Minister of Information, Spears pleaded with Churchill as he napped following his “Finest Hour” speech. Churchill advised Spears to lobby the cabinet individually, and de Gaulle was authorised to speak to France via the BBC that evening.24

  Accompanied by Courcel and chain-smoking, de Gaulle was welcomed to Broadcasting House by Stephen Tallents, the head of news. After a voice trial an announcement was made at 8.30pm that he would speak at 10pm on 18 June; becoming ‘l’homme du 18e juin.’* When the moment came, de Gaulle stepped forward to the microphone and into history:

  The leaders who have been at the head of the French armies for many years have formed a government. This government, alleging the defeat of our armies, has entered into communication with the enemy to stop the fighting. To be sure we have been submerged, we are submerged, by the enemies’ mechanised forces on land and in the air. It is the Germans’ tanks, planes and tactics that have made us fall back, infinitely more than their numbers. It is the Germans’ tanks, planes and tactics that have so taken our leaders by surprise as to bring them to the point they have reached today. But has the last word been said? Must hope vanish? Is the defeat final? No!

  Believe me, for I know what I am talking about and I tell you that nothing is lost for France. For France is not alone. She is not alone! She is not alone! She has an immense empire behind her. She can unite with the British Empire which commands the sea and which is carrying on the struggle. Like England she can make use of the vast industries of the United States. This war is not confined to the unhappy territory of our country. This war has not been decided by the Battle of France. This is a worldwide war. All the faults, all the delays, all the sufferings do not do away with the fact that in the world there are the means for one day crushing our enemies. Today we are struck down by mechanised force; in the future we can conquer by greater mechanised force. The fate of the world lies there.

  I, General de Gaulle, now in London, call upon the French officers and soldiers who are on British soil or who may come onto it, with their arms or without them, I call upon the engineers and the specialised workers in the armaments industry who are or who may arrive on British soil, to get in contact with me. Whatever happens, the flame of French resistance must not and shall not go out.

  Tomorrow, as I have done today, I shall speak again from London.

  MOST FRENCHMEN SIMPLY WANTED to recover a sense of normality, even of the grey kind. Young Pascale Moisson, who fled Montmartre to find her family home at Dole near Dijon, found those weeks unbelievably miserable. When two lads offered to share their large bakelite radio she accepted enthusiastically and, together with these future résistants, Pascale listened to de Gaulle. “Then what joy, what hope seized our hearts! It was the famous Appel of 18 June. From that day and during the four long years that followed, we never lost hope, even in the darkest moments.”25

  On 19 June, Alain de Boissieu was trudging with a column of prisoners through the Belgian village of Beauraing. “A brave Belgian woman approached us offering bread. She informed us that the previous evening, on the radio from London, she heard the message of a French general saying that all was not lost for France and he was continuing the fight. The news spread along the column. Among the more determined it was a light of hope. While the more submissive shrugged their shoulders. I will never forget that day. For many young men of my generation it had the effect of being the first landmark on a long road leading to revenge and rebirth.”26 Reaching Oflag IID, Boissieu met Jacques Branet, another cavalry officer captured on horseback. They became firm friends and escaped together in an adventure worthy of a film.27

  Having escaped via Dunkirk and then returned to France, André Gribius was still fighting south of the Loire when the Armistice was announced. “As for the Appel of 18 June,” he wrote, “it was not heard by combatants, only by troops overseas or isolated groups who, regardless of what was going on around them, or unable to fight through either being cut-off, prisoners or wounded, had the opportunity to hear via the air-waves the message of hope from ‘the unknown’ called Charles de Gaulle. We were a long way from being able to imagine, four years later, the reconquest of our country, the popular enthusiasm and the marvellous faculty of being able to bury things under an armband or a Tricolore flag.”28 Through ties of regiment, loyalty and tradition, Gribius accepted Pétain’s authority until 1942.

  Of those “troops overseas” in the far-flung outposts of France’s empire, it was often individualistic members of La Coloniale, France’s former “naval” troops, whose badge was the anchor, who provided de Gaulle’s early pool of manpower, especially in colonies surrendered by Germany in 1919 which did not relish being handed back.29 Another useful source was Republican Spaniards; the 13th “Demi-Brigade” of the Foreign Legion largely consisted of such men. This unit was resting in Great Britain after withdrawing from Narvik. The arrival of all the young men of military age from the Breton Isle of Sein was also encouraging. So too was the arrival of the submarine Rubis whose officers allowed their crewmen to vote between Pétain and de Gaulle. Yet in 1940 most French servicemen remained loyal to Pétain. De Gaulle’s early supporters were regarded as “men with nothing to lose”. Spanish Republicans were easily marked down as desperadoes, while La Coloniale was never “smart” compared to the metropolitan French Army.

  But no one could call Captain Philippe de Hauteclocque a man with nothing to lose. The second son of a Papal count, descended from centuries of northeast French nobility, Hauteclocque was personally wealthy. He married a social equal immediately after graduating from Saumur, rapidly producing a large family raised on a country estate given to him as a wedding present. He was also charming, accomplished, and a high-flyer. Having won his first Croix de Guerre in Morocco during the summer holidays while a cavalry instructor at Saint-Cyr, Hauteclocque attended the École Supérieur de Guerre, France’s staff college. He was serving as operations officer of General Musse’s 4th Infantry Division when the war began. Shortly after the German attack on 10 May, being part of Blanchard’s First Army, Musse’s 4th ID was forced into the Lille pocket in which capitulation was the obvious outcome. Not relishing becoming a prisoner, Hauteclocque asked permission to take his chance. “Entendu,” replied Musse. Making his way through the German corridor, Hauteclocque was briefly captured but persuaded his interrogator he was merely a poilu (ordinary soldie
r) looking for his family. Disgusted by Hauteclocque’s apparent lack of patriotism, his interrogator had him thrown into the street. After rejoining the main French Army, Hauteclocque was appointed to an armoured brigade and directed one of the last Char B tank attacks on foot with a walking stick due to the lack of radios. While recuperating from a head wound in hospital at Avalon, Hauteclocque heard that France had fallen. Bandaged, he sought news of his family in Paris, watching the humiliated city familiarise itself with life sous la botte nazi. On learning that his wife and children had gone south, Hauteclocque made his way to his sister’s château near Grugé l’Hopital in northern Anjou. It was there, after dinner on 26 June, that Hauteclocque heard a repeat broadcast of de Gaulle’s Appel and decided to join him. First he needed to find his family who were beyond the new demarcation line, in the unoccupied “Free Zone”. It was on hastily concocted papers enabling him to cross this line that Philippe de Hauteclocque first used the name by which he became famous: Leclerc. Weeping with joy to find Thérèse at the family’s holiday home, Leclerc told her his plan. In the French of “Old France” patricians, using vous not tu, Thérèse told her husband to go where he believed his duty called him and said that she would look after the children. In the meantime she would return to their home in Picardy and carry on as normal. If that proved impossible she would sell up and get their children to Canada where she had relations. At dawn on 4 July, after a quick breakfast, Leclerc said, “Courage, Thérèse, our parting may be long.” Then he cycled towards Bayonne and took a train across Spain and Portugal to Lisbon where he boarded a ship for England. On 25 July Leclerc presented himself at de Gaulle’s London offices.

  IN A STROKE OF GENIUS, Hitler allowed France to retain a modest army and the whole of her navy. Distrust of German promises combined with Admiral Darlan’s political unreliability so concerned Winston Churchill that he subsequently ordered all French ships in British ports to be seized. Then a Royal Navy task force was sent to issue a degrading ultimatum to Admiral Gensoul, who commanded France’s West Mediterranean squadron at Mers el Kebir in French North Africa. Like many government ministries quitting Paris for the new makeshift capital at Vichy, the French admiralty was in disarray. Darlan’s deputy, Admiral Le Luc, handled Gensoul’s referrals for advice, rejecting various options suggested by the British and ordering that reinforcements set off from Toulon and Algiers. When the British Admiral James Somerville got wind of this he ordered his ships to open fire on the moored French squadron, causing nearly fourteen hundred casualties and frosting relations between Great Britain and Pétain’s Vichy régime for the next thirty months. On the one hand Churchill’s action demonstrated to the world, especially the Americans, that Great Britain would fight the Axis ruthlessly, even striking a fallen ally. But French North Africa’s garrison had largely been sympathetic to de Gaulle, and Somerville’s attack rekindled Anglophobia in a country which had not fought the British since Waterloo.