Andrée's War (16 page)

On 9 January she referred to yet another invitation from one of her German would-be suitors:

I had a phone call from Schurr, my German friend, who wants to take me out to dinner. I will, of course, refuse but he is rather a nice chap.

Nor was he the only one. A week or so later, she noted: ‘Rohrbach [another German Wehrmacht officer] did not call to wish me a happy new year.'

22 January 1942
We are unable to find any food at the moment. Maman has no more butter. Well, I might lose some weight!

27 January 1942
I went to a jumble sale with Renée yesterday and found a pig-skin Hermès wallet. I am going to do my best to restore it and give it to Lucien for his birthday. I was also able to buy a tin of sardines and some old gloves.

On 4 February she wrote:

It is so cold in the flat. We have no coal. This morning I worked so hard so that I could finish all the passports I was preparing for my clients who were going to the Leipzig fair.

Some days later, on 12 February:

We did not receive any food from Mémé this week because there are food inspectors in St James checking on whether food is being sold on the black market.

There was better news on the 18th:

I had lunch with Thévelle yesterday. It was wonderful. It is impossible to find food in the shops.

On the 25th she made a rather cryptic entry:

Thévelle promised to give me some lard. I sent Maman along to the Belgian embassy to pick it up.

Impossible to know for sure, but was this hiding something more important taking place? It was not so long ago that Andrée had met a friend of her uncle, after all; over from Brussels with documents to be forwarded to Algeria.

Most of the available food in France was being used to feed the Wehrmacht and what little was left over was not making its way into the capital. It had long-lasting effects: Yvonne hoarded tins of food in her cupboards in Paris until her death in 1977, while Andrée's sister, Yvette, bottled vast quantities of food and vegetables and hid them in an outhouse in Normandy. Andrée stockpiled food in her cupboard and freezer in London well into the late 1990s.

In 2012, Jacqueline Fresson (a friend and former colleague of Andrée's) described to me a typical meal in 1942. It consisted of a tomato as a starter, a tomato as a main course and a tomato for pudding. They would regularly walk ten kilometres in search of a rabbit they could kill to eat for lunch.
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Finding food that winter was clearly a major challenge, but Parisians also had other problems to contend with, as Andrée recorded on 4 March:

There was the most incredible noise last night, quite extraordinary. At 9:15 p.m. we heard what sounded like bombs being dropped over Paris. The noise went on and on and when we looked out of the window to see what was going on we realised it was the RAF bombing the Renault factories. Lolo
[the family's nickname for Claude]
slept right through it, the dog was terrified and Yvette was beside herself with joy until we learnt that there had been thousands of casualties.

I am going to the Edouard VII theatre tonight with Luc to see
Une belle histoire.

9 March 1942
Alain is back from Marseilles for a few days and he managed to get some bread without having to give any coupons. We are now getting a litre every day. Maman must have seriously bribed the milkman.

I am annoyed with Thévelle. He promised me some carrots but then never gave them to me.

Andrée was in search of other items, beside food. On 10 March she wrote:

I am meeting a chap for a drink tonight who may be able to help me find some shoes.

A week later, on the 18th, she had a strange encounter:

I was invited to dinner last night by a German woman I met at the office. It was a rather odd evening. It seemed as if she wanted to introduce me to a German officer friend of hers. The Germans want to meet young French women who would be happy to date them. No wonder these girls are referred to as ‘des poules'
[hens].

But for many in France, the problem of finding food was overshadowed by even greater difficulties. The atmosphere in Paris was becoming daily more oppressive. German soldiers and French policemen were increasingly arresting Jews on the streets without cause, while young men were subject to multiple ID checks daily in a bid to track down Resistance members. Despite this, Alain's group continued their work unabated and Andrée was becoming more involved due to her courier role.

Andrée had always been left to do her work at Police Headquarters unsupervised. Whenever a new ID card or a passport was issued, one of her superiors had to authorise it, and ad hoc controls were nominally made by
a German army officer, but the process was automatic and no one checked very closely for whom the ID card was being issued or the way in which it had been drawn up. Andrée assumed that most of her French colleagues were doing something to help the Resistance, but no one discussed anything openly, of course. In early 1942 she referred to problems at work, however – perhaps because someone had noticed that a number of ID cards had been going missing:

14 January, 1942
Things are not going at all well at Police Headquarters. Yesterday I got into serious trouble with Monsieur Leclercq. I really do not know what got into him. He has reprimanded me by cancelling my ‘semaine anglaise'. I consider this to be a serious form of bullying. I cried all morning.

Andrée could not hide the fact that she hated working at Police Headquarters. She was a civil servant, ‘a fonctionnaire', and she did not like it. After Roger Langeron's arrest by the Germans in December 1940, she felt very much alone working in this government building, surrounded by Germans and unable to trust any of her colleagues.

On 29 January, Andrée was offered a chance to escape from her job at Police Headquarters:

I had so much work to get through today but my thoughts were elsewhere. I was thinking back to the day I was so badly reprimanded by Leclercq when he cancelled my week's holiday. That day I was crying at my desk when Monsieur Caroff, who sits on the Textile Committee, happened to walk into my office. He asked me what was wrong and I told him. He immediately said, ‘Come and work for me – I need a secretary.' I was so pleased I accepted immediately. Today he returned to my office and offered me a starting salary of 2,000 francs a month. I really do not know what to do. I hate it here and I want to give in my notice and he is offering me such a good salary. The trouble is, I would be working for a collaborator, the company where he sits on the board as a director is
collaborating with the Nazis, but it does sound like such an interesting job. I am hesitant.

That evening the Griotterays were all in Paris, Alain having returned for a brief visit (Andrée later told me, with a little sarcasm, that despite the danger in returning, her brother had to see ‘his darling Maman'). They sat down to dinner together. There was little to eat but Yvonne served some pasta and Edmond placed a good bottle of wine on the table. Andrée began to tell her family about her conversation with Monsieur Caroff.

‘Well, well, what a choice,' said Edmond angrily, ‘you can either work for those bastards at Police Headquarters who are arresting Jews on the streets for no reason whatsoever, or you can work for a collaborator.'

‘Edmond, keep quiet. Poor Andrée has no choice. She has to work, we need the money and I will not tolerate you swearing at dinner, especially in front of Yvette and Claude,' exclaimed Yvonne.

‘You are unusually quiet,' Edmond said, turning his anger onto his son Alain.

‘Those bastards have to leave France,' Alain said coldly. ‘Andrée should never have been put in this position, but she has been and the choice she is now faced with is irrelevant.'

Andrée sat in silence as her family talked. She knew her brother wanted her to remain at Police Headquarters. The atmosphere around the table was intense. As the conversation momentarily came to a complete halt, Yvonne decided to change the subject. Her timing could not have been worse.

‘Renée and Steve have asked if we could have a young Jewish friend of theirs to stay, Mademoiselle Jacqueline Weller.
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Plans are being made to get her out of Paris, but she may be with us for up to three months. As you know, there are many groups throughout Paris helping Jews escape the city, but it is not easy; transport and safe houses in the Free Zone need to be found and organised before they can leave. Andrée, I would like you to help me clear up Alain's old room for our guest.'

‘And where will her food come from?' asked Edmond sarcastically.

‘We will have less to eat,' responded Yvonne firmly.

‘Well, she had better be attractive and we had all better be very careful. I really am beginning to wonder whether I have any authority at all over my family,' Edmond retorted.

Yvette, fifteen and still at school, had been listening intently to the conversation unfolding around her. She burst out: ‘But is it not very dangerous, helping a Jew and hiding them? We were told at school that anyone hiding a Jew could be immediately arrested and shot.'

Yvonne calmed her daughter, but held firm. ‘Yes, it is dangerous but what are we to do? We cannot ignore the dangers the Jews are facing and if we all do our bit to help, many will be saved. Mademoiselle Weller will be given strict instructions as to how she is to behave while staying with us, and as long as we are all careful no one will notice.'

Dinner was coming to an end and Alain, wanting to talk to Andrée privately about her work, suggested they join their friends for a drink. As soon as they were alone, Alain said firmly: ‘I am sorry, but you really have no choice – you have to stay at Police Headquarters. The supply of ID cards and the ease with which you can obtain
ausweiss
are priceless to us all.'

‘And if I am caught?' Andrée responded. ‘It is getting more and more dangerous. My colleagues do not seem to suspect anything but Monsieur Leclercq, I just do not know. He knows I am using up more ID cards than I need to, but I can't tell whether he thinks I am completely stupid and careless, or whether he suspects the truth.'

‘But you must have some idea of where his political ideas lie,' said Alain.

‘No, none at all. He never makes any comment about the political situation to any of us. Of course, it could be that as the Head of Department he thinks it better not to mix with us; the staff hierarchy at work is beyond belief. I just have no idea.'

Fearful of pushing his sister too far, Alain tried to reassure her. ‘Andrée, I do not want to put any pressure on you. The decision is yours and yours alone. I trust you to make the right choice.'

The following morning, Yvonne began to plan in earnest for her guest's arrival. She had decided to go down and have a friendly chat with
the concierge and his wife. While doing so, she would let them know that Edmond's niece would be staying with the family for a few weeks. Being open about her guest's presence would, she thought, attract less curiosity.

Later that afternoon Mademoiselle Weller emerged from the
métro
onto the Place de la Madeleine. She was tall and smartly dressed, with thick black hair and light-green eyes; her confident manner and noticeable good looks did nothing to help her blend into the background unobtrusively. She strode past a group of German officers who had just walked out of one of the square's restaurants and as she reached the Griotterays' apartment block she ignored the concierge's door and went straight into the building and up the narrow staircase to the first floor.

Yvonne invited her into the salon where, over a tisane and a biscuit, a delicacy rarely eaten by the Griotterays during the war, she explained the day-to-day way in which her family lived and how her guest would fit into their daily routine.

‘There are six of us in the family. My husband, who spends much of his time in the country; my daughter Andrée, who works at Police Headquarters; my son Alain, who is living in Marseilles at the moment; my two younger daughters, Yvette and Claude, who are still at school; and myself. We travel a lot between Paris and our house in the country, but while you are staying with us I will not leave Paris. We have a spare bedroom for you as Alain no longer needs it. We only have one bathroom, so I suggest you use it late morning after everyone has left. I am delighted to be able to help you but please remember to be very careful and very discreet with your dress and where you go. Remember the Wehrmacht headquarters are only a ten-minute walk from here.'

As she spoke, Yvonne scrutinised the new arrival, painfully aware of Mademoiselle Weller's striking appearance. More worryingly, her guest could be described as looking Jewish, which was a good enough reason for her to be stopped on the streets and questioned by the Nazis.

‘I know most of my neighbours,' Yvonne continued, ‘and they are unlikely to ask any questions. I will keep you updated on the plans being made to get you out of Paris but I cannot emphasise enough how very careful and very discreet you must be in everything you do.'

In the days that followed, their new guest rarely ventured out and spent her time helping around the flat and looking through Edmond's vast collection of historical design books. But as time went on, she grew tired of being cooped up. She ventured out onto the streets, walking as far as the Tuileries Gardens and soaking up the beauty of central Paris. Her hosts were a little concerned, but felt reasonably confident that in this sophisticated part of the city her immaculate toilette would not attract too much attention.

For several weeks all seemed well, but at dinner one evening, Yvette mentioned that she had spoken to two soldiers who had been looking around the courtyard and talking to the concierge.

‘What did they want, Yvette?' Edmond said sharply.