The Greatest Escape: How one French community saved thousands of lives from the Nazis - A Good Place to Hide Read Online Free Page A
and naturalisation papers of a real White Russian of a similar age to Mira, a certain Mademoiselle Grabowska, born at Samsun in Turkey. The White Russian existed, and the act of naturalisation could be verified in the
Journal officiel
. The Turkish–Russian background would explain his mother’s foreign accent.
The only way to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon was by train. The fast trains were heavily policed, but the slow local trains were generally left alone by the authorities. Mother and son now caught the slow train north, travelling across lyrically beautiful countryside, to the town of La Voulte-sur-Rhône. There they boarded the narrow-gaugedepartmental train that wound its way up the mountain, through Le Cheylard to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. The ancient train reminded Oscar of those he had seen in Western movies.
At this point it is worth standing back and considering the enormity of the decisions the pair had made. Ruben Rosowsky had been arrested, and neither his wife nor his son knew where he was. Mira and Oscar were foreign Jews, subject to instant deportation under Vichy law. They had already come to the attention of the authorities in Nice, so they could expect arrest at any moment. Now, on the say-so of a Boy Scout friend of Oscar’s, they were travelling to a place where they had no family or friends, trusting that the strangers at their destination would risk their lives by giving the Rosowskys shelter. The countryside may have looked peaceful as it slipped past the train window, but the journey must have been a nightmare of fear and uncertainty. Would the gendarmes or anybody else on the journey spot Jean-Claude Pluntz’s altered papers? Would Mira’s fake papers, produced by a typewriter repairman barely out of school, pass scrutiny by experienced and suspicious policemen? The journey lasted seven hours. Throughout that time they had to remain calm, despite their fears. Someone wants to see your papers? Look them in the eye and hand over the forgeries. Don’t let your hand shake. Then wait. And hope.
Finally they arrived at the tiny railway station at Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. They went straight to the apartment of Marcelle Hanne, the mother of Charles and Georgette, and spent their first few days there. However, the apartment was tiny, and they couldn’t stay there for long. There was a woman who waited regularly at the station for refugees, Marcelle said. Perhaps she could help.
Sure enough, the woman at the railway station knew exactly what to do. Mademoiselle Grabowska could stay with Pastor Daniel Curtet in the village of Fay-sur-Lignon, about sixteen kilometres from Le Chambon. Jean-Claude could move into a guesthouse called Beau-Soleil(Lovely Sunshine), which served as a dormitory for students at the New Cévenole School in Le Chambon. Nobody asked the two Rosowskys who they were, or why they had chosen Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. Clearly, they needed help; that was enough. Later, Oscar would move to a little farmhouse at La Fayolle, where the farmer Henri Héritier and his wife, Emma, had a couple of tiny spare rooms in a barn.
• • •
There is an irresistible thought at this point in the narrative. Whoever devised the Vichy
numerus clausus
law, which kept Oscar Rosowsky out of medical school and diverted him into the world of printing, can’t have foreseen the consequences of his vindictiveness. France may have (temporarily) lost a good doctor, but the Vichy law had just launched the career of one of the finest—and most spectacularly successful—forgers in World War II history.
Part I
• • •
PREPARATION
1
Pastors
In 1935, the then French foreign minister Pierre Laval famously sought help from Russia’s Stalin. He wanted Stalin to join him in persuading Pope Pius XI to take a stand against Hitler and the Nazis. Stalin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘The Pope!’ he roared. ‘How many divisions has he got?’
It was a fair question, and it might have been equally well asked of
Journal officiel
. The Turkish–Russian background would explain his mother’s foreign accent.
The only way to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon was by train. The fast trains were heavily policed, but the slow local trains were generally left alone by the authorities. Mother and son now caught the slow train north, travelling across lyrically beautiful countryside, to the town of La Voulte-sur-Rhône. There they boarded the narrow-gaugedepartmental train that wound its way up the mountain, through Le Cheylard to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. The ancient train reminded Oscar of those he had seen in Western movies.
At this point it is worth standing back and considering the enormity of the decisions the pair had made. Ruben Rosowsky had been arrested, and neither his wife nor his son knew where he was. Mira and Oscar were foreign Jews, subject to instant deportation under Vichy law. They had already come to the attention of the authorities in Nice, so they could expect arrest at any moment. Now, on the say-so of a Boy Scout friend of Oscar’s, they were travelling to a place where they had no family or friends, trusting that the strangers at their destination would risk their lives by giving the Rosowskys shelter. The countryside may have looked peaceful as it slipped past the train window, but the journey must have been a nightmare of fear and uncertainty. Would the gendarmes or anybody else on the journey spot Jean-Claude Pluntz’s altered papers? Would Mira’s fake papers, produced by a typewriter repairman barely out of school, pass scrutiny by experienced and suspicious policemen? The journey lasted seven hours. Throughout that time they had to remain calm, despite their fears. Someone wants to see your papers? Look them in the eye and hand over the forgeries. Don’t let your hand shake. Then wait. And hope.
Finally they arrived at the tiny railway station at Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. They went straight to the apartment of Marcelle Hanne, the mother of Charles and Georgette, and spent their first few days there. However, the apartment was tiny, and they couldn’t stay there for long. There was a woman who waited regularly at the station for refugees, Marcelle said. Perhaps she could help.
Sure enough, the woman at the railway station knew exactly what to do. Mademoiselle Grabowska could stay with Pastor Daniel Curtet in the village of Fay-sur-Lignon, about sixteen kilometres from Le Chambon. Jean-Claude could move into a guesthouse called Beau-Soleil(Lovely Sunshine), which served as a dormitory for students at the New Cévenole School in Le Chambon. Nobody asked the two Rosowskys who they were, or why they had chosen Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. Clearly, they needed help; that was enough. Later, Oscar would move to a little farmhouse at La Fayolle, where the farmer Henri Héritier and his wife, Emma, had a couple of tiny spare rooms in a barn.
• • •
There is an irresistible thought at this point in the narrative. Whoever devised the Vichy
numerus clausus
law, which kept Oscar Rosowsky out of medical school and diverted him into the world of printing, can’t have foreseen the consequences of his vindictiveness. France may have (temporarily) lost a good doctor, but the Vichy law had just launched the career of one of the finest—and most spectacularly successful—forgers in World War II history.
Part I
• • •
PREPARATION
1
Pastors
In 1935, the then French foreign minister Pierre Laval famously sought help from Russia’s Stalin. He wanted Stalin to join him in persuading Pope Pius XI to take a stand against Hitler and the Nazis. Stalin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘The Pope!’ he roared. ‘How many divisions has he got?’
It was a fair question, and it might have been equally well asked of
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