Chapter 1 - German occupation

1. The Luftwaffe

(Michel Hardelay, a French air force pilot, served from September 1939 to June 1940. On June 22, 1940, as France signed the armistice and surrendered to Germany, he found himself in the unoccupied zone. He returned to the occupied zone, Northern France, in October 1940.)

One evening in late October 1940, I crossed the demarcation line in Moulins (south of Paris). A few days earlier, Marshal Pétain had met Hitler, and the Germans were favourable towards French officers returning to the occupied zone.

I had only vague news of my mother. I knew she had returned to Vierville after her withdrawal to Brittany, but I didn’t know her living conditions. I finally took the train from Cherbourg at the beginning of December.

When I arrived in Bayeux, Fernand Leterrier, the owner of the Ormel farm and later the Mayor of Vierville in 1942, was waiting for me at the station with his car. He had sacrificed two precious petrol coupons for the trip. My mother accompanied him; it had been eleven long months since I had last seen her. Leterrier was housing my mother in the house on rue Pavée that he was converting for his retirement.

Mother explained that she couldn’t return to our villa (Les Hortensias, on the beach) before the Germans took over. Almost all the unoccupied villas were requisitioned, except for Le Pigeonnier, where an old Alsatian friend of hers lived and was fluent in German, and La Source, where a former jeweller from Paris had retired.

Two households, the Bertrams and the Quesnels, were also occupying lodges as caretakers. The Quesnels looked after Villa Ker Maria, a recently built villa with all the modern comforts of the time. The colonel of the Luftwaffe unit had obviously reserved it for himself, leaving his team to stay in the other houses.

So, when we inherited Les Hortensias, we had a captain, a lieutenant, several secretaries, an interpreter, and a French teacher from Berlin. Since our villa was meant for summer holidays, these “messieurs” (as the occupied French often called the Germans) had to install stoves in each room and even a bathtub with electric heating.

The Germans allowed us to maintain the garden, flowers, and vegetable gardens. We were even able to pick the fruits, but after an experiment with unripe figs, the Germans were off French fruits!

One day, the captain beckoned me to follow him upstairs. We stopped in front of a small piece of furniture that used to be in my room. He opened it and handed me some photos. They had been taken at the Biscarosse camp (a French military aviation camp for sea planes in the Landes). The photos featured officers operating modern anti-aircraft equipment and cannons. I was in several of the photos. He handed them to me and said, “For you.” The implication was, “We know everything about your service record, but we respect French officers who have done their duty and are not prisoners.”

Another day, the German lieutenant asked, “Jude?” (Jewish in German), pointing at me. I started to respond in English, “I am…” but he put a finger to his lips and smiled, indicating that I shouldn’t use that language. I simply answered, “Catholic,” even though I wanted to tell him that my ancestors were Huguenots in the seventeenth century. [A more dramatic interpretation of this exchange would be that the German lieutenant feared M. Hardelay was going to inform him that he was of Jewish heritage, and then the German would have been obligated to report this, with severe consequences for the Frenchman – Editor]

I’m not sure what the German aviation unit’s role was – bombing England, surveying the coasts, or exploring the Atlantic? Regardless, they didn’t seem to have any major concerns in 1941 and took advantage of the beach and the pleasant summer weather. They had concerts by the regimental band, either on the tennis court or in front of the windows of Ker Maria, and engaged in sea or sun bathing. I saw them lying on deckchairs, being served drinks on the beach by white-gloved waiters while listening to music and news. They had even unwound a cable to bring electricity from the house to the first bank of sand.

One afternoon in September 1941, an obviously inexperienced pilot attempted to salute his colonel and demonstrate his capabilities. He arrived, skimming the waves, and began a loop. However, he couldn’t climb high enough to right his aircraft quickly enough, and it nosedived into the sea. I was observing the spectacle, my telescope fixed on the scene. The pilot managed to free himself in time, and I saw him swimming or rather floating, his parachute acting as a lifebuoy. After about half an hour, a speedboat arrived to rescue him. Some thirty years later, a trawler from Port-en-Bessin recovered the aircraft engine and propeller from the sea in its nets.

Then, the German army’s advance on Moscow brought defeat. On a chilly morning in early April 1942, I spotted a lieutenant slowly walking in the garden, accompanied by a “grey mouse” (officer in German army uniform). This was a sign of the unit’s imminent departure from Vierville, where they had spent eighteen months. Some were heading to the Eastern Front, while Marshal Goering’s favoured units were destined to finish the war in Jersey or Guernsey.

The German aviators had warned us that an engineering unit would be conducting “adjustments”, so we decided to salvage whatever we could. We salvaged large pieces of furniture that were rarely intact, doors, and electrical equipment. We had to carry these objects up the cliff, facing competition from other scavengers. Despite closing the villa when we left, we found it open the next day.

The electricity company, not yet the E.D.F., hastened to dismantle its meters and transformer supplying the beach, aiming to recover its cables or at least those the Germans hadn’t taken. As for the poles, they had likely served multiple purposes vastly different from their intended use.

The destruction began with the arrival of the engineers.

2. The Infantry

Since we were in a coastal zone designated as “prohibited” for residents outside the zone, each house had to display on its front door a piece of paper bearing the number and names of the occupants, certified by the German authority. Each person was required to carry an “ausweis” that proved their residence in the restricted area.

The town of Bayeux, located outside the zone, began at the RN 13 road towards Cherbourg at the top of the Vaucelles coast. A sign there indicated entering the coastal zone and warned of the need for a special authorisation. However, German military police control was relatively rare.

On the other hand, this pass proved very useful when I wanted to move within an occupied zone. I found it helpful in the metro or upon arrival at Saint-Lazare station, as it indicated that I was known to the German services and monitored by them.

Regarding the German occupation in Vierville, the infantry established their command post at the Thaon manor, where the captain was residing. This location also housed the secretariat, the communications mast, and the canteen for troops. The lieutenant had requisitioned the house of town councillor, M. Le Large, who had then sought refuge in the annex. This house was used to store equipment and uniforms.

The troops had ample accommodation: all the furnished rooms of Fernand (“The Welshman”), who owned the beach bazaar, the Hôtel du Casino, the Hôtel de la Plage, La Fontaine, and even the town hall, which was rarely used.

On March 2, 1944, the castle of Vierville was requisitioned to house the workers of the Todt company, who were engaged in the construction of the “Atlantic Wall.”

3. The Navy

The German Navy was also present in Vierville, with only three or four men occupying La Rinascente, a villa situated near the top of the cliff overlooking the Hôtel du Casino.

Several aerials could be observed from the beach near their post, suggesting that their primary function was to receive messages from ships and submarines, transmit orders, or provide weather reports.

These sailors lived in isolation, except for one nicknamed “The Pipe” due to his perpetual “burning mouth” in the corner of his mouth. He was a middle-aged man with dark hair, who knew a few French words but was unfriendly and sly. Some even claimed he belonged to the Gestapo, which further heightened the population’s apprehension of him.

4. Fishing with permission

Lastly, the Germans recognised the potential of shore fishing as a means of supplementing their troops’ food supply.

During the herring season (September to December), residents could obtain authorisation to visit the beach to tend to their herring nets. However, since these nets had to be raised at night, this required breaking the nighttime curfew and being accompanied by one or two soldiers.

Before allowing fishermen to access the nets by opening the barrier at the bottom of rue de la Mer, certain soldiers would collect “samples” when the catches were abundant, often before the foxes did, which was quite common.

—-oOo—-

A significant incident occurred shortly after my arrival during the winter of 1940-1941. Snow covered the side of the road.

Fernand, the Welshman, the owner of the beach bazaar which is now the site of the US National Guard monument, had the spirit of a shipwreck salvager. While beach-combing, he discovered and brought back a fairly heavy copper object.

Upon arriving in front of his bazaar, he threw it onto the ground. However, the object was a mine detonator that required careful handling. It exploded, decapitating Fernand. Fortunately, none of the nearby soldiers were injured. However, the German authorities immediately suspected an attack.

To prove otherwise, M. Dubois, the mayor, a former prisoner of war in Germany who spoke German, intervened. He explained that it was an unfortunate accident, that the responsible person was dead, and that there was only minor damage.

In the meantime, they searched for Fernand’s head. They eventually found it above the false ceiling of his storefront, which it had broken through. The ceiling had then closed up after the explosion! Fernand’s death certificate at Vierville town hall confirms that the incident occurred on January 4, 1941.

—-oOo—-

5. German engineers replace the Luftwaffe

The aviators had warned us: you’ll see that engineering doesn’t respect buildings like we do, and you’ll miss us.

Apart from two paintings from the Italian school that had been taken to Berlin where a hotelier “collected” them, we found our trinkets mostly intact. We had reassembled all the furniture, most of which was missing drawers. These were used to make boxes for shipments (parcels of French products for the families of German soldiers).

I had even managed to save my collection of stamps hidden on a beam in the attic, but there were hunting weapons in another cache. It was difficult to access, but it would inevitably be discovered during demolition. There were two smooth bore 12-gauge shotguns, an old 16-gauge pinfire rifle, and a .22 long rifle with ammunition. (These weapons should have been declared and handed over to the authorities.)

The engineers began to occupy the land above our villa, which was to become Defence Point WN70. However, they allowed us to take the path that led to our garden. So, we had to pass in front of them on our way down and up. They used to see us returning with a bag containing food for our rabbits: grass, dandelions, and spindle branches. [The account is unclear, but it seems that Michel smuggled the guns past the engineers using the “rabbit food” bag! – Editor] I prepared a hole in the floor of our cellar, which was an unpaved room on the ground floor. We put the weapons back in the bag, leaving only a few leaves protruding. I buried them as soon as they arrived.

But soon they forbade us from going down to the villa by our path; we had to use that of the villa Sainte Anne and cross the vast unbuilt land to the west of our property. Then, in late 1943 or early 1944, they completely blocked access to our garden when they mined the area above the cliffs, encircling the village with a network of barbed wire. They didn’t have enough mines to make this mining completely effective, so the mined land stopped at the fir trees in the field above the villa La Source and began again to the west of rue de la Mer.

Throughout this period, the engineers worked tirelessly to conceal themselves and leave no trace of their presence. They dug trenches to a depth of 1.8 meters and covered them with a dome of wire mesh and grass. The earth from the trenches was then thrown onto the cliff.

In addition, all support points had to have a shelter 12 metres underground with at least two exits, spaced at least 50 metres apart. To achieve this, they developed a unique technique. They began by digging a 12-metre well, which they topped with a winch. From the bottom, they dug a gallery and an upward staircase with a landing long enough halfway up to prevent a flame thrower from reaching the bottom. For the same reason, they had to make a bend in every gallery at the foot of each staircase. The room halfway across the gallery had to be large enough for six men to lie down, six others to sit, and for a telephone and a few papers to be placed on a small table. All the support points were connected by buried cable to a point, also buried, at the command post.

The galleries were supported by jointed frames made of planks that clearly came from the timbers of demolished houses. A carpenter was specially assigned to saw the planks and cut tenons and mortices. Each support point had its shooting observatory under a concrete slab.

After D-Day, I had the chance to explore the galleries of WN68 in St-Laurent, WN70 above our villa, and WN71 (Hôtel du Casino). The first and last galleries had access at the foot of the cliff and an exit in the middle of the cliff. However, for WN71, a straight railway track used for removing stone from the horizontal gallery made it extremely vulnerable. Consequently, another curved access was being drilled on June 5, 1944. The Germans intended to block off the entrance in front of the dining room of the Casino hotel, but they ran out of time and had to abandon their underground space on June 6.

House floor plan surveys

Directives would be issued warning the Mayor of the planned demolition of buildings that obstructed the firing of coastal batteries. I was never aware of the origin of these warnings. Once informed, the Mayor would write to the owner, requesting contact information and asking if they had the floor plans of their residence for future compensation. If the owner did not respond or provided incorrect information, I would be assigned to conduct a summary survey, including dimensions, number of floors and openings, wall consistency and thickness, roofing type, and other relevant details. I would complete the survey and drop it off at the Town Hall.

However, upon arriving at the building, I often found it without a roof or floor, as the Germans urgently needed structural timber to support their underground galleries. Surprisingly, this situation actually simplified my work.

Later, when the commissions were required to review the submitted files and compare the measurements of the plans with mine, only minor discrepancies were noted. The owners were very accurate and did not attempt to deceive the war damages assessment, except for one elderly woman who, perhaps unintentionally and without realising it, provided exaggerated information. (For instance, when describing a small villa measuring 7m by 4m, it is only necessary to add 2m to each dimension to double its value.)

The Mayor informed me that on a specific day and time, a German soldier would be waiting for me at the beach post, located at the beginning of Boulevard de Cauvigny, where there was a substantial barrier of planks and barbed wire. This was usually the same old man, who thoroughly enjoyed taking walks by the sea. Upon arriving at the designated location, he would lie down in the grass, allowing me to work peacefully.

The demolition of all the villas in the valley and on the beach started in the spring of 1943, except for the villa Rinascente, situated atop the cliff. It served as a radio relay station for U-boats and the Casino hotel, which hosted detachments on relaxation leave and relayed patrol information. A neighbouring concrete building, the villa Cusinberche, had proven resistant to the German engineers’ pickaxes.

Several blockhouses were decided upon, with the main one occupying the site of the beach bazaar bar (Legallois). The demolition of Legallois began during the summer of 1943, retaining the majority of its façade facing the sea as camouflage. Around August 15, a 88 mm anti-tank PAK 43 gun was delivered to the unit for the future blockhouse, which is currently undergoing formwork and reinforcement.

The Germans had noticed that the Madeleine villa, located almost opposite Legallois, was built on a large slab of reinforced concrete. Consequently, they demolished the villa and the adjoining chalet that obstructed the beach view. They then installed the cannon, concealed under a tarpaulin, on this slab and placed boxes of shells there. The distinctive “88” painted on these cases made it easy to determine the gun’s caliber.

The blockhouse was completed during the winter of 1943-1944, and the cannon was installed. At the same time, an anti-tank wall with a chicane was constructed to block the road, leaving a 75 cm passageway. The top of the blockhouse was adorned with sections of wall to simulate ruins. A tamarisk hedge, which topped the road embankment on the sea side, was meticulously preserved to conceal the anti-tank wall from the beach’s view and blend seamlessly with the blockhouse’s embrasure.

My work began with the last houses of Vierville, located on the outskirts of Saint-Laurent. I even had the chance to examine two buildings in Saint-Laurent, including the Hôtel du Cheval Blanc. During these visits, I encountered “The Inseparables”, an elderly soldier with white hair and a moustache who appeared to be nearing retirement age. There was also a young boy, who I later realised might have been around fifteen years old. I often wondered if they were grandfather and grandson. The boy noticed us and asked my guide a question that ended with the word “Schweinkopf” (pig head, an insult in German). Although I don’t speak German, I understood the meaning of the word. The two elderly soldiers stopped talking, feeling embarrassed. I pretended not to have understood, but when I met the boy’s gaze, he remained silent. Tragically, I later learned that The Inseparables were united in death on June 8, 1944, at the door of the command station (Thaon manor), still holding their rifles.

Before the construction of the blockhouse that would house the 88 cannon, it was stationed on the slab that supported the villa Madeleine. The cannon’s field of fire was limited on its right side by the villa Les Embruns. Consequently, they decided to demolish both the villa and its neighbouring building, La Reposerie.

I was warned that I’d have to be at the guard post on a specific morning. When I arrived, I found a tall, slender, and jovial officer waiting for me. His uniform was made of high-quality fabric, unlike his captain’s coarse cloth one. I couldn’t help but think of him as the captain’s deputy. He gestured for me to follow him and instead of ordering two soldiers to open the gate, he led me into a neglected garden on the right. The garden, neglected for three years, had become an overgrown field of tall grass. After walking about five or six meters, he stopped, showed me a wire stretched 10 cm from the ground, stepped over it, and demonstrated how to imitate him. He repeated this process with another wire and then proceeded to put a pin in a detonator he spotted in the grass. He ensured that I followed his steps, and we found ourselves on open ground. He then invited me to begin my readings since we had arrived near La Reposerie. While conducting my work, I noticed after an hour that two soldiers opened the barrier. Once my work was complete, I could proceed through the usual route.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the captain’s deputy wanted me to be aware of the traps set at the bottom of the cliff. Alternatively, it was possible that he couldn’t find two soldiers to open the barrier, fearing that it might damage his uniform. I must admit that I’m not well-versed in the ranks of the German army. Could this officer have been a lieutenant, second lieutenant, or adjutant? I’m not sure.

On the other hand, I recognised Marshal Rommel when he arrived in May or June 1943 in his Mercedes to inspect the station being installed in one of our meadows above our villa. (Yves Cordelle believes Michel Hardelay may have been mistaken; he thinks Rommel visited only twice, once in the autumn of 1943 and again in January 1944 – Editor) He was wearing his campaign uniform with black breeches featuring red stripes. I was baling hay in a nearby pasture and could see two soldiers removing camouflage cloth that concealed a mortar position. That same evening, the BBC reported that Marshal Rommel had commenced the inspection of the Atlantic Wall from the western side of Calvados and had identified its weaknesses. However, it remains a mystery who could have informed the Allies so swiftly.

Perhaps I can find an answer to this question by posing another one. Who was more knowledgeable about the German activities at Vierville than the captain’s deputy? Clearly, no one! (Yves mentions that various testimonies suggested this officer was an Allied agent, but Yves finds this unlikely – Editor)