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Authors: Susan Kiernan-Lewis
Tags: German, World War II, France, Germany, War, Europe, Berlin, NATO, Paris, French, hitler, Soldiers, Army, Battles, boomers, WWII, rifles, air force, village, bombs, Language, berlin airlift, airmen, grenades, military dependent, ordinance
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from French
soil.
Chapter Nine
A Conquering Army in a Conquered Land
Our move to Germany was
marked by a sort of foreboding in that we were stopped at the
border between France and Germany and not immediately allowed to
proceed. I should say, not initially allowed to proceed with me . Although I had
quickly gone back to American ways and styles of dress once we
lived on base at Chambley, when I found out we were leaving France
for Germany, my loyalties to France came surging to the
foreground.
While we were living in
France with the French point of view we kids could maintain a
philosophy about France as our ally and Germany as, well, not. Most
kids prefer a black and white view on things that is easier to hold
and defend. The idea that we were moving to Germany totally
translated in my mind into the idea that we were moving to the
enemy country. To Hitler’s country. To where the Nazi’s came from.
As a result, once we knew we were moving, I dug out my old tabliers , tied my hair
back in its customary long pigtail down my back, and reverted to
speaking French again. My father noticed and simply mentioned to me
as he tucked us all into our ancient Nash station wagon that would
take us to Kaiserslautern in Germany, that he would greatly
appreciate my not speaking French to anyone outside the family that
day. I instantly agreed to this somewhat cryptic request and set my
eyes on our new life across the border in l’Allemand .
The border was a busy one, similar to the
one between America and Canada that we’d been to a few times. The
German soldiers were the first German soldiers my brothers and I
had ever seen that weren’t in the movies or on television. They
seemed officious but pleasant enough.
Our car was packed to the gunnels with bags
and boxes. While we had no furniture overseas, my parents had been
collecting sets of crystal, china and other special touches to add
to their future home back in America. Airmen had swept into the
tiny trailer the day before, wrapped and boxed everything and swept
out like packing-fairies. Most of our things would be waiting for
us at our apartment in Germany.
The excitement of finally
reaching the border, seeing the German soldiers, and realizing we
were about to enter Germany for the first time totally knocked my
father’s quiet request from my memory. So when the nice German
border guard poked his head in the car window and chatted with my
parents so pleasantly and then asked me the very innocent question
of “So, are you happy to be going to Germany?” in French , I responded immediately.
In French. After that, we sat at the border for nearly four hours,
our things stacked and piled up on the side of the car, while my
father convinced four German and two French officials that I was,
in fact, not French. My French schoolgirl outfit and country accent
certainly made it appear that he was trying to take a French
citizen into Germany. To my Dad’s unending credit, he never gave me
a cross word or even an eye roll for all the trouble I’d caused.
Maybe he knew what a good story it would make down the
road.
Kaiserslautern, Germany is eighty miles
southwest of Frankfurt and 295 miles northeast of Paris. It’s
nestled in the hills west of the Rhine River Valley, on the edge of
the Pfalz forest, a one hour drive from the French border to the
west, an hour and a half from Luxembourg and Belgium to the
northeast, and five hours from Switzerland to the south. Our new
home was in the Western Area Command (WACOM), then known as the
French Zone of a Germany that was divided among the four occupying
powers. The Kaiserslautern Military Community, a combined branch
community, (Navy-Army-Air Force) is now and was then the largest
overseas US military community, with 58,800 Military personnel and
their dependents. The name "K-Town" was used by the Americans as
shorthand for “Kaiserslautern.”
While our family was
billeted at “K-Town,” my father worked at Sembach Air Base.
soil.
Chapter Nine
A Conquering Army in a Conquered Land
Our move to Germany was
marked by a sort of foreboding in that we were stopped at the
border between France and Germany and not immediately allowed to
proceed. I should say, not initially allowed to proceed with me . Although I had
quickly gone back to American ways and styles of dress once we
lived on base at Chambley, when I found out we were leaving France
for Germany, my loyalties to France came surging to the
foreground.
While we were living in
France with the French point of view we kids could maintain a
philosophy about France as our ally and Germany as, well, not. Most
kids prefer a black and white view on things that is easier to hold
and defend. The idea that we were moving to Germany totally
translated in my mind into the idea that we were moving to the
enemy country. To Hitler’s country. To where the Nazi’s came from.
As a result, once we knew we were moving, I dug out my old tabliers , tied my hair
back in its customary long pigtail down my back, and reverted to
speaking French again. My father noticed and simply mentioned to me
as he tucked us all into our ancient Nash station wagon that would
take us to Kaiserslautern in Germany, that he would greatly
appreciate my not speaking French to anyone outside the family that
day. I instantly agreed to this somewhat cryptic request and set my
eyes on our new life across the border in l’Allemand .
The border was a busy one, similar to the
one between America and Canada that we’d been to a few times. The
German soldiers were the first German soldiers my brothers and I
had ever seen that weren’t in the movies or on television. They
seemed officious but pleasant enough.
Our car was packed to the gunnels with bags
and boxes. While we had no furniture overseas, my parents had been
collecting sets of crystal, china and other special touches to add
to their future home back in America. Airmen had swept into the
tiny trailer the day before, wrapped and boxed everything and swept
out like packing-fairies. Most of our things would be waiting for
us at our apartment in Germany.
The excitement of finally
reaching the border, seeing the German soldiers, and realizing we
were about to enter Germany for the first time totally knocked my
father’s quiet request from my memory. So when the nice German
border guard poked his head in the car window and chatted with my
parents so pleasantly and then asked me the very innocent question
of “So, are you happy to be going to Germany?” in French , I responded immediately.
In French. After that, we sat at the border for nearly four hours,
our things stacked and piled up on the side of the car, while my
father convinced four German and two French officials that I was,
in fact, not French. My French schoolgirl outfit and country accent
certainly made it appear that he was trying to take a French
citizen into Germany. To my Dad’s unending credit, he never gave me
a cross word or even an eye roll for all the trouble I’d caused.
Maybe he knew what a good story it would make down the
road.
Kaiserslautern, Germany is eighty miles
southwest of Frankfurt and 295 miles northeast of Paris. It’s
nestled in the hills west of the Rhine River Valley, on the edge of
the Pfalz forest, a one hour drive from the French border to the
west, an hour and a half from Luxembourg and Belgium to the
northeast, and five hours from Switzerland to the south. Our new
home was in the Western Area Command (WACOM), then known as the
French Zone of a Germany that was divided among the four occupying
powers. The Kaiserslautern Military Community, a combined branch
community, (Navy-Army-Air Force) is now and was then the largest
overseas US military community, with 58,800 Military personnel and
their dependents. The name "K-Town" was used by the Americans as
shorthand for “Kaiserslautern.”
While our family was
billeted at “K-Town,” my father worked at Sembach Air Base.
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