Read Online One Day in Oradour by Helen Watts - Free Book Online

morning. Rarely was he keen to get to school (there was always something far more interesting to do besides staying indoors and having boring old lessons with Mr Gravois), but on this particular Saturday he found it especially hard to drag himself through the school gate. It was the day before Corpus Christi, after all, and as many children would be taking Communion for the first time in the Sunday Mass, there was lots of excitement and activity in the village. The residents had been preparing forthe festivities for days, appreciating the distraction from the worries and fears that accompanied German occupation.
    So even as Alfred trailed behind his sisters, Christelle and Sabine, across the fairground on his way to school, kicking at the early morning dew on the grass, the village was already beginning to buzz with expectation.
    The first tram had arrived from Limoges and a crowd of day-trippers scurried past Alfred down the street. A group of elderly men had stepped off first, helping one another to unload their fishing tackle before heading down to the river. Behind them came the ladies from the outlying villages, empty shopping baskets at the ready, eager to stock up on food provisions and beat the rush to find the freshest bread, the fattest sausages, the tastiest preserves, the plumpest apricots, the tangiest goats’ cheese or the freshest turnips – and the best of whatever meat was left after the Germans had taken their majority share.
    It didn’t seem right to Alfred that the French farmers worked so hard yet they had to surrender the cream of their crops. Not only did the Germans demand more than half of all the meat that was produced, they also took a good share of the fruit and vegetables. He would never forget the look of disgust on the face of his friend Monsieur Demarais from the wine store whenhe revealed to Alfred that the Germans had the nerve to claim eighty per cent of all the champagne that was produced as well. For Monsieur Demarais, that really was an arrow through the heart of French pride.
    Like Alfred, the headmaster Monsieur Gravois did not seem happy to be in school that morning.
    ‘Alfred Fournier, if you don’t sit down right away and get ready to listen to what I have to say, you will be spending the morning scrubbing the toilet floor,’ he yelled, as Alfred ambled into the classroom.
    ‘Sorry, sir,’ Alfred mumbled, as he took his place on the end of the row.
    Monsieur Gravois explained to the class how they were all going to have to sit and work very quietly that morning and get on with their essays about the fall of the Roman Empire. They would be called out, one by one, he said, to go and see Doctor Depaul for their health check and injection and, as there were so many children to see, including all those who had come into Oradour from the surrounding villages, they would have to come back into school after lunch.
    As this last sentence was met by a communal groan from the class, Monsieur Gravois relented.
    ‘I know it’s no fun having to come into school on a sunny summer’s afternoon, but if you are all wellbehaved and don’t dilly dally when it’s your turn to see the doctor,’ (at this point he looked directly at Alfred), ‘I might let you out for lunch a little early. And those of you who have already seen the doctor by then can have the afternoon off, as it’s a special day.’
    A cheer went round the room and Alfred felt a little happier as he took out his pencil and exercise book and began to write. Alfred liked history and was fascinated by the stories Monsieur Gravois had told the class about the Romans. He found it hard to believe that, so long ago, they had already invented so many amazing things and built incredible structures like the Colosseum.
    But Alfred was also intrigued by the way in which the Romans’ great love of art, of beauty and of poetry and literature, was offset by an equally great capacity for cruelty. He wondered if the people who lived in