could die, then, simply because I was a Canadian citizen! That didn’t make sense. My crime was being a British subject. It was all so abstract for me since I had never even set foot in England! My allegiance to the British crown was limited to having seen a few pictures of the king and queen. There had to be some other purpose for my arrest…where were the Germans going to take me? I wondered. Perhaps they simply wanted to send me back to Canada. I hoped so.
The superior sister arrived at last and I was brought to her office. By way of reassurance, she told me that the other Canadian nuns had received the same notice. She explained that England refused to become Germany’s ally and Hitler had therefore given orders on November 16, 1940, to arrest all British subjects in the occupied zone.
My knowledge of political matters was extremely limited, so I couldn’t understand why I was being threatened with the death penalty. I panicked. I summed up my predicament: If I didn’t obey orders, I would die merely because I was born in a country that was protected by another country that didn’t want to fight for Germany. Really! It was unbelievable I would be killed for that reason! I wouldn’t even be entitled to a trial, wouldn’t even be able to defend myself. The superior sister replied calmly, “My dear child, we must submit. Those are the facts and there is nothing we can do about it.”
I cried for hours. I didn’t want to live anymore. I barely ate. My mind conjured up the worst possible outcomes. To get rid of these morbid thoughts, I tried to convince myself that the Germans only wanted to repatriate me to Canada.
The fateful day arrived. I was asked to pack my bags and take enough provisions to last me for forty-eight hours.
Three nuns of our community had been arrested: my cousin Thérèse Martel, who had become Sister Saint-Jean-de-Brébeuf, Éva Tremblay, who was now Sister Marie-Wilbrod, and I.
A truck picked us up and took us to the town hall of Rennes. The three of us made a point of staying very close together; I clung as tightly as I could to the two other nuns. We were told that, since the occupation began, this building had become one of the headquarters of the German army. Our documents were checked. Then we were informed of our destination. I still believed they had arrested the wrong person and I would be allowed to go home. I was handed a piece of paper that stated in German where I would be sent. Needless to say I didn’t understand a word of that language. I only recognized my name, my town, and my passport number.
As I waited at the police station, my fear grew and grew. The two nuns beside me were sure the Germans were going to send us to an internment camp. I then asked people around me what “internment camp” meant. They told me it was a place where those who were arrested were sent and forced to work.
At three in the afternoon, another truck came to get us at the town hall. The two other nuns and I seated ourselves on a wooden bench at the back of the van, as far away from the Germans as possible, so they couldn’t see us cry, as we said to each other. I was inconsolable. I trembled all over. My cousin and I held each other’s hand so tightly that our fingers went numb.
Suddenly a woman got up and tried to jump out of the moving truck. A soldier caught her by the arm and forced her to sit down again by striking her hard in the ribs with the butt of his rifle.
My trembling grew worse and I hid my face in my veil so as not to see anything anymore. Sister Marie-Wilbrod put her arms around my cousin and me and tried to quiet us down. She remained calm and wasn’t crying. I wondered how she managed to control herself while being confronted like us with an extremely violent act for the first time in her life.
The truck stopped on the way to pick up other prisoners, one of them a seventy-two-year-old Frenchwoman who was arrested because she had been married to a British subject, even
The superior sister arrived at last and I was brought to her office. By way of reassurance, she told me that the other Canadian nuns had received the same notice. She explained that England refused to become Germany’s ally and Hitler had therefore given orders on November 16, 1940, to arrest all British subjects in the occupied zone.
My knowledge of political matters was extremely limited, so I couldn’t understand why I was being threatened with the death penalty. I panicked. I summed up my predicament: If I didn’t obey orders, I would die merely because I was born in a country that was protected by another country that didn’t want to fight for Germany. Really! It was unbelievable I would be killed for that reason! I wouldn’t even be entitled to a trial, wouldn’t even be able to defend myself. The superior sister replied calmly, “My dear child, we must submit. Those are the facts and there is nothing we can do about it.”
I cried for hours. I didn’t want to live anymore. I barely ate. My mind conjured up the worst possible outcomes. To get rid of these morbid thoughts, I tried to convince myself that the Germans only wanted to repatriate me to Canada.
The fateful day arrived. I was asked to pack my bags and take enough provisions to last me for forty-eight hours.
Three nuns of our community had been arrested: my cousin Thérèse Martel, who had become Sister Saint-Jean-de-Brébeuf, Éva Tremblay, who was now Sister Marie-Wilbrod, and I.
A truck picked us up and took us to the town hall of Rennes. The three of us made a point of staying very close together; I clung as tightly as I could to the two other nuns. We were told that, since the occupation began, this building had become one of the headquarters of the German army. Our documents were checked. Then we were informed of our destination. I still believed they had arrested the wrong person and I would be allowed to go home. I was handed a piece of paper that stated in German where I would be sent. Needless to say I didn’t understand a word of that language. I only recognized my name, my town, and my passport number.
As I waited at the police station, my fear grew and grew. The two nuns beside me were sure the Germans were going to send us to an internment camp. I then asked people around me what “internment camp” meant. They told me it was a place where those who were arrested were sent and forced to work.
At three in the afternoon, another truck came to get us at the town hall. The two other nuns and I seated ourselves on a wooden bench at the back of the van, as far away from the Germans as possible, so they couldn’t see us cry, as we said to each other. I was inconsolable. I trembled all over. My cousin and I held each other’s hand so tightly that our fingers went numb.
Suddenly a woman got up and tried to jump out of the moving truck. A soldier caught her by the arm and forced her to sit down again by striking her hard in the ribs with the butt of his rifle.
My trembling grew worse and I hid my face in my veil so as not to see anything anymore. Sister Marie-Wilbrod put her arms around my cousin and me and tried to quiet us down. She remained calm and wasn’t crying. I wondered how she managed to control herself while being confronted like us with an extremely violent act for the first time in her life.
The truck stopped on the way to pick up other prisoners, one of them a seventy-two-year-old Frenchwoman who was arrested because she had been married to a British subject, even
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