Names recalled from my elementary texts of the s, no longer in academic favour. The largest war memorial in that region is the Dieppe Garden, Windsor. An uncle was later in that regiment. From this park below the cliff a 2-km swath of pebbly beach stretches east to another steep headland. On the beach where soldiers untested in battle landed, there is now a promenade. Only plaques, easily missed, suggest the deadly few hours that spewed casualties.

Target practise for German defenders on the heights. Lessons from this raid, however costly, went the official justification, were essential in preparing for the successful Allied invasion on five Normandy beaches, including Juno, two years later — 6 June, , D-Day.

Modern pilgrims. They invited me to sit with them while Angus and I waited. He nodded and, without preamble, began to talk. He spoke more slowly than most French-speakers, as if he knew he had to accommodate my schoolboy French. His wife listened intently, as if hearing it for the first time.

I could only record by ear, so the following story is as I recall it, written weeks later. That day, all Dieppois were in their cellars, heads down. The noise was terrifying. We — my mother and baby sister — remained coiled, arms over ears, long after the shooting stopped. I found him a few days later, on the promenade where we first met.

He was nineteen, very blond, sturdier than any Frenchman I had ever seen. Some friends and I were trying to fly a kite. He approached us, fixed it, and showed us the proper technique. He was always kind, never bossy, the way we were told German soldiers were. Werner spent much of his off-duty time with me, especially; my sister was often with us, as Mother now had a job cleaning and cooking at the German headquarters during the day.

Maybe we reminded him of family back home. Older kids often left whenever he approached. His French was good, but he said that it must improve. Would we help him? It made me feel important to teach someone so big! One evening he came to our door with a box.

A gift! I begged mother to let him stay for dinner. She shoved us inside, closed the door. They talked outside. Werner said very little. Shortly, she came back inside, without the box. She told us never to invite Werner here.

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Yes, he is nice, but he is a soldier; soldiers are supposed to stay in their quarters. I was embarrassed, but Werner later told me that she was right. I never said, but I wondered if papa would be angry if he ever found out. Because papa took the ferry to England, I then guessed that was where he was being held prisoner! Werner said I was right, but not to worry. England would send him home after it realized that Germany had won this war.

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I prayed for this to happen. Every night. I nodded and asked him to continue. He gestured at the Square du Canada. But the Germans taught them a lesson they will never forget. Any who survived had returned home, far across the ocean, never to trouble us again. I was immediately sorry, as this upset her. When I told Werner about her reaction, he said that men never discuss war with women, so I knew that I must never mention it again to mother. So impressive! Every day along the promenade, there was a parade.

A magnificent band! Stirring music! Splendid marching! Such precision of arms and legs! His wife broke into a short laugh, then stifled it with her hand. It was splendid entertainment. Werner was right! They had to be the best soldiers in the world. Their uniforms, for one, were so clean, coats with such square shoulders, caps with shiny peaks and glittering medals.

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Werner said these were rewards for courage. On the other hand, Frenchmen wore such drab clothing. And we know German soldiers had lots of chocolates. To play a trumpet while riding a beautiful horse, leading brave strong soldiers. But life never remains the same. By next spring those Anglais brought destruction from the sky! We each realized immediately why, because we heard an airplane, at a distance no one else had noticed. It was one of the very few times we ever discussed this period of our lives — we who had experienced so much together then.

When I mentioned how frightened we were of la RAF and his promise that les Anglais would soon quit the war, he got angry for once. He shouted that it would be all over if only those cowardly Anglais would fight honourably! Honourably, he used that word.

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On land. It confirmed for me that these Anglais who bombed us from planes were cowards. Or I truly wanted to. Mother said she would come in a few days.

So long, Peter!

We always wanted to visit a farm, now was our chance. Reynaud, about sixteen, was in the unlit kitchen with two bags of our clothes. He took us through back alleys and, once out of town, across fields. We could not travel quickly. My sister, then four, was very courageous and never uttered a word of complaint, but I knew she was frightened and tired. She was my responsibility, so I had to be brave. Renaud piggy-backed her from time to time.

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After two hours or so, with no incident, I thought of it more as an adventure. We had never travelled outside of Dieppe. We reached the farm the following afternoon.

I remembered my cousin and his wife from a family wedding in Dieppe. We stayed there; I started school in the nearby village that fall while helping with chores. In her letters she seemed cheerier than when we were together. She did not have to worry about us as much. With school, new friends and farm chores, there was so much to do that we never worried much about home.

There were quiet pleasures, we had more to eat than in Dieppe although fewer chocolates , and we hardly heard bombs exploding. My sister now slept without sobbing. Soon…we stopped wetting our beds. Quiet farm life, although often boring, is much better for the nerves than the excitement of war.