Chapter 14. Off to Paris

Except for our explorations with the Red Ball Express trucks, it was boring—that ten days or two weeks parked in the apple orchard.  Every day it was only “eat” or “sleep” in daylight for diversion and evenings seemed never to end.  We were hoarding the last of our flashlight batteries and candles.  It was getting too cold to be outside comfortably and “nursing” talk—heard all around me—had become tiresome indeed.

A few days after we settled into the apple orchard, word had gotten around Normandy that the 95^th had arrived.  Soon a few Air Force guys who had met some of us at their dances in England started dropping around to visit in the evening.  To chat we had to bring out our army blankets for warmth and sit or lie on the cold ground.  Often it was fun to watch the stars come out.  One blanket for yourself and one for the guest if you had someone you knew.  Rolled up in our blankets the whole group had to huddle together to keep warm.

One evening a Pennsylvania Dutch fighter pilot turned up to visit me.  I had met him at a dance in Dorchestershire in England.  I still remember his plane he had proudly taken me out to see.  Each pilot had chosen a sentimental name for his plane.  My friend had had the name big enough to cover his cabin door, I think for his wife.  As was typical it was painted large scale with various bright colors.

That cold evening I remember digging into a small round package of Camembert cheese―that divine treat for kings.  Local farmers had started gifting our troops with their priceless, unmarketable, homemade, elegant, creamy, rich Camembert.  Each night, as we went to bed we were thinking about the latest rumors we’d heard that day about Patton’s progress across France.

Finally one fateful evening we got orders to be ready to board the train for Paris!  For the first time since D-Day the Allies had succeeded in repairing the tracks and train that the Germans had torn up before leaving.  We would be in Paris in the morning—the first outfit to use the train!

By the early hours of the night all of us were aboard.  The women, all 115—had crammed into one rail car.  It must have been a dining car earlier.  At one end of the car was one typical 1940s train toilet.

All the way down an extended central aisle was booth after booth of dining tables, a bench on each side with an overhead shelf.   Each table was built into the wall and about 10 inches above the surface of the table was a large glass window.  By the time all 115 were situated, it was a suffocating scene: 3 or 4 women on each bench, overhead shelves groaning with packed duffel bags and overcoats.

Off our little train started and we settled in for the night dreaming of being in Paris when we awoke.  Some could rest with their head in a corner, others leaned back or forward resting on the table.  About an hour out, “What was that?  Sounded like gun shots.”  Soon it was confirmed!  One of our security GIs came through and warned that the enemy must not have been completely cleared out and we were vulnerable with those big windows.  We must keep our heads on the table or we could get a direct hit.

He regretted having to tell us, but we must keep our heads and our bodies below the bottom level of the windows!  So much for getting to Paris!  Oh well, we’d be there in a couple more hours.