though she had been divorced for a long time.
Most of them didn’t understand what was happening and seemed just as terrorized as we were. The soldiers kept their weapons aimed in our direction at all times and glared at us.
We arrived at the station, where a train was waiting for us. In the first car, whose door was open, an enormous machine gun stood on a platform. The doors of the other cars were sealed. The small air vents were blocked with barbed wire. The soldiers made us get into one of the cars. Then, at five o’clock, the train slowly started moving. I was overcome by despair and thought of my brothers and my father in the Saguenay. They knew nothing about my fate! But realistically, how could they come to my aid?
We travelled for five nights and four days. We had to change trains several times. Eventually we lost all sense of time and place. The soldiers continued to fill the cars with new prisoners.
Toward the end of our journey there were about seventy of us in our car, all crammed together in unsanitary conditions. Sometimes we travelled for more than twelve hours without being able to urinate. Finally the inevitable happened. Several people urinated right there. Others had diarrhea.
The train stopped at last, in the middle of the night, in what appeared to be a cattle station. No one knew what was happening. We heard cries and the sound of boots outside.
In the small hours we were ordered to get out. Six abreast, escorted by soldiers, we marched on each side of the road like a troop of sleepwalkers. We had hardly slept at all for several days. The few people we met on the side of the road seemed surprised to see us and murmured, “They’re even arresting nuns!” We finally learned we were going to the Vauban barracks at Besançon.
Most of the prisoners were Americans by birth. They had been arrested for that reason alone, although the war had only just been declared. There were also citizens of the Commonwealth, like me. I found out later that twenty-four hundred women, mainly of British extraction, including six hundred nuns, had been interned in the Vauban barracks at Besançon. The citadel, which comprised several buildings, was designed to accommodate soldiers, not women.
We were taken to building B, where we were able to find a place to sleep. Stretchers served as bunks and everyone tried to locate the cleanest and most respectable-looking one before covering it with a straw mattress, pulled from a stack at the building’s entrance.
Our group of nuns settled itself in a corner, apart from the others. We were all exhausted, but that didn’t stop us from reciting a hopeful prayer. I fell asleep immediately after.
In the morning, we were woken up by loudspeakers. We were ordered to go and get our food. There weren’t enough dishes for everyone. We managed as best we could by washing the few bowls we found in the drinking trough for the horses. In any case, we were only entitled to a watery liquid of a questionable colour, which bore no resemblance to tea or coffee.
At noon, they served us ice-cold vegetables, including potatoes and turnips. For supper, we were entitled to a sauce streaked with blood. There was no way of knowing what animal the blood was from. I felt a wave of revulsion when I saw that fare. My legs went limp, and I collapsed on the ground in tears.
Sister Marie-Wilbrod helped me up and did her best to comfort me, telling me to try to be brave and strong because our troubles weren’t over. No one knew how long we would stay in this camp. How could I keep my spirits up under such conditions until this torture ended?
My new address was Frontstalag 142. Several prisoners had grown weaker by waiting in long lines for our meagre sustenance. Every day, we needed to line up three times like that. There were on average fifteen daily deaths caused by malnutrition. We had to wait outside for hours while the dampness and chill went right through our clothes. I considered myself lucky
Most of them didn’t understand what was happening and seemed just as terrorized as we were. The soldiers kept their weapons aimed in our direction at all times and glared at us.
We arrived at the station, where a train was waiting for us. In the first car, whose door was open, an enormous machine gun stood on a platform. The doors of the other cars were sealed. The small air vents were blocked with barbed wire. The soldiers made us get into one of the cars. Then, at five o’clock, the train slowly started moving. I was overcome by despair and thought of my brothers and my father in the Saguenay. They knew nothing about my fate! But realistically, how could they come to my aid?
We travelled for five nights and four days. We had to change trains several times. Eventually we lost all sense of time and place. The soldiers continued to fill the cars with new prisoners.
Toward the end of our journey there were about seventy of us in our car, all crammed together in unsanitary conditions. Sometimes we travelled for more than twelve hours without being able to urinate. Finally the inevitable happened. Several people urinated right there. Others had diarrhea.
The train stopped at last, in the middle of the night, in what appeared to be a cattle station. No one knew what was happening. We heard cries and the sound of boots outside.
In the small hours we were ordered to get out. Six abreast, escorted by soldiers, we marched on each side of the road like a troop of sleepwalkers. We had hardly slept at all for several days. The few people we met on the side of the road seemed surprised to see us and murmured, “They’re even arresting nuns!” We finally learned we were going to the Vauban barracks at Besançon.
Most of the prisoners were Americans by birth. They had been arrested for that reason alone, although the war had only just been declared. There were also citizens of the Commonwealth, like me. I found out later that twenty-four hundred women, mainly of British extraction, including six hundred nuns, had been interned in the Vauban barracks at Besançon. The citadel, which comprised several buildings, was designed to accommodate soldiers, not women.
We were taken to building B, where we were able to find a place to sleep. Stretchers served as bunks and everyone tried to locate the cleanest and most respectable-looking one before covering it with a straw mattress, pulled from a stack at the building’s entrance.
Our group of nuns settled itself in a corner, apart from the others. We were all exhausted, but that didn’t stop us from reciting a hopeful prayer. I fell asleep immediately after.
In the morning, we were woken up by loudspeakers. We were ordered to go and get our food. There weren’t enough dishes for everyone. We managed as best we could by washing the few bowls we found in the drinking trough for the horses. In any case, we were only entitled to a watery liquid of a questionable colour, which bore no resemblance to tea or coffee.
At noon, they served us ice-cold vegetables, including potatoes and turnips. For supper, we were entitled to a sauce streaked with blood. There was no way of knowing what animal the blood was from. I felt a wave of revulsion when I saw that fare. My legs went limp, and I collapsed on the ground in tears.
Sister Marie-Wilbrod helped me up and did her best to comfort me, telling me to try to be brave and strong because our troubles weren’t over. No one knew how long we would stay in this camp. How could I keep my spirits up under such conditions until this torture ended?
My new address was Frontstalag 142. Several prisoners had grown weaker by waiting in long lines for our meagre sustenance. Every day, we needed to line up three times like that. There were on average fifteen daily deaths caused by malnutrition. We had to wait outside for hours while the dampness and chill went right through our clothes. I considered myself lucky
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