Chapter 6

We never had another reunion, and I never heard from the lads again.

When my father decided to retire in the early 1950s, he handed over the company to me.

In my first year as MD, I decided to visit all the suppliers we had used in France.

I decided to take a holiday as part of the trip.

I took my new car and drove over. It was good to see some of the old faces; some were not around, as the war had claimed them. It was also sad to see the devastation that had been levelled on the towns and villages.

After two weeks of work, I got the map book out and found where I had been dropped. It didn’t take me long to find the village that Alain and Marianne had taken me back to.

It took half a day’s drive to get there, and I got a room at the village hotel. It was late in the afternoon, and I ate at a local restaurant.

After a fine meal, the old lady who ran the place brought me another bottle of wine and, in good English, asked why I was visiting the village.

I asked her to sit down, I poured her a glass of wine, and I told her the story of my war. She cried as I told her about my injuries.

She told me the meal was on her for my actions to save her country.

The following day, I toured around. I found the woods I had hidden in, walked, and saw the broken-down cottage that had been my home for a few days.

I drove to the bridge, which is now rebuilt, but you can still see signs of the damage. I found the field where the AA guns had been. There were no signs of the guns or the huts. You could see the roads running to it but little else.

I stood silently thinking about what I had done, of the men I had killed but who would have killed me.

I started to weep uncontrollably.

Later that afternoon, I drove back to the village; the receptionist told me that the lady, who was called Amélie, who owned the restaurant, had left a message for me.

I said, please meet her at the restaurant at seven o’clock. I bathed, had coffee and then headed over to see what she wanted.

As I walked in, we were met with a round of applause. The place was full.

Amélie thrust a glass of beer into my hands. The first person I met was Alain, who was there with his wife and two children. Other men whose faces I recognised came and shook my hand. The local Mayor and his wife came over.

I had been there for half an hour when I saw a familiar face. I walked over to her; she was standing with a glass of wine in her hand.

“It’s been a few years!” she said,” You saved my life. I cannot thank you enough!”

We put our drinks down and embraced; Marianne shed a few tears as we held each other.

I asked her about her life and found out that she had never married. She asked me about my wife, and when I told her I was single, she smiled and blushed.

We spent the rest of the evening talking, sometimes alone, sometimes with the other people Amélie had invited. We got on like a house on fire.

The next day, we met for breakfast, and Marianne gave me a tour of the place. People had heard of me, and what I had done everywhere we went. Everyone gave me handshakes or the traditional French kisses on the cheeks.

By the end of the week, we were a couple, and Marianne had agreed to come to England with me. We were married one year later.

Marianne was a great baker. She came to work at the factory and helped me expand the range of cakes we created.

We had our first child six months after we had been wed and another two years later

We bought a house in her home village and spend at least two months a year there!