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Biography of Gilbert Carrée |
By Millie Carrée
World War II and it's aftermath for a young boy in France.
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In 1938 a baby boy was born to Germaine Marie Carrée in Paris, France.
Sadly, we have never known who this baby's father was.
Gerri, as Gilbert's mother was called, only said he was killed in a train wreck.
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Gilbert of course does not remember, nor have we ever known exactly when he
was taken to his grandparents (mother's family) in Champagné near Le Mans,
France. We know it had to do with the war (World War II) that started for France
when they declared war on Germany in September of 1939. Germaine took her son to
her parents and returned to Paris.
His first memories are simply of his grandmother and grandfather, and a
house with attached granary, in the countryside.
At left is a photo of Gilbert at 13 months, taken in Champagné.
Some memories that are still vivid: A redhead, Gilbert was "blessed" with
freckles early on. A first memory was of his Grandmother telling him to go
outside in the early morning and put his face in the dewy grass. And so he did,
ever believing. I'm here now to tell you it didn't work!
Raiding the garden where of course he was caught and duly punished. And for him,
carefree days of wandering about.
He remembers his grandfather sitting eating onions straight from the garden,
with a long loaf of French bread. A large tree near the house which his
grandmother picked leaves from and made tea; real fruit trees in the yard.
A girl cousin (whose children we still correspond with).
In June of 1940, France surrendered to Germany. Gilbert's memories of the
war are not of tragedy, but of frightening, exciting displays in the distance.
Explosions were common, but only as a novelty to a boy who was only four or five
years old.
He watched things that would bring terror to us now, but in France, were a
fairly common occurrence. To this day he doesn't remember what year it was or
who it was, but his grandfather and he would watch in the distance as airplanes
strafed, again and again, a railroad bridge some distance from the house. And
bombs exploding even further away.
Gilbert's only frightening moment that he still remembers and still
sometimes dreams of:
An airplane, guns blazing, coming straight towards their home. Thankfully
it was aiming at something beyond them, but it was low and came directly over
the house.
Next, in the fall of 1944, came the American soldiers and Allies, in
convoys down a road not far from Gilbert's home with his grandparents. His
grandfather and he would run to the road and the soldiers would throw them
canned meat (something they had never seen) and candy, plus other good things.
He will always remember the kindness and smiles he received. I can only imagine
how the American military felt - here was the very reason they were there.
In retrospect of that awful time, Gilbert and his grandparents were
extremely lucky - though I'm sure they didn't think so. He does not remember
ever seeing a German soldier. Nor does he remember ever lacking for anything. We
wish so very much that we had really known these people who took in a small boy.
An ironic and sad footnote: After Gilbert had returned to Paris, his
grandfather was killed when he was struck by an American army jeep. For reasons
no one now knows, the poor gentleman was drunk and wandered into it's path.
Gilbert never saw either of his grandparents again. |
Gilbert's mother came to Champagné to take him back to Paris with her in
1945. Their first meeting was not really a happy one as Gilbert did not remember
his mother, was very shy of her and this upset her. But Gerri was even more
upset as she learned her young son had been injured and the injury did not look
good. One day while playing with a neighbor boy, they were taking turns climbing
a tree and dropping rocks on unexploded shells to try and set them off. They
didn't explode, but somehow Gilbert managed to be right under the tree when the
other boy dropped a rock and it hit him in the back of the head.
In Paris Gilbert was immediately hospitalized. Hospitals in any country,
but especially one after a great war, were not a really good place to be at this
time. After surgery to clean and close the wound on his head, Gilbert fell victim to one
contagious disease after another. He has scars at the base of his spine, on his
arms and of course on his head - none of which he remembers what they were for,
except the head wound. He was in the hospital many months. The one good thing he
remembers is them bringing him an orange every day. He saw very little of his
mother.
Once again living with his mother, Gilbert started school at a private
Catholic parish. He was 7 years old and had not attended school at all.
He didn't do well in the school and his mother pulled him out, keeping him out
of school a bit and then into a public school where he did only marginally
better. Still not really well, he was home sick very much.
Gilbert remembers little of Paris - he does remember seeing the Eifel Tower
at a distance (buildings at that time were only allowed to be four stories high
and they had a fourth floor one room apartment). He also has memories of sleep
walking and of once being caught by his mother just as he started out the fourth
floor window; of riding the trolley, and of hating school! He was so far behind
and too bewildered and ill to catch up.
Unknown to this little boy, far across the sea in a little town called
Gillette in the state of Wyoming, USA, plans were brewing for his mother and him.
A French immigrant had told the local doctor of Gillette, about Gerri and
her son. And thus began the paperwork of bringing two French citizens to America
under the Displaced Persons act, put in place after WW II.
Dr. McHenry was to change the course of Gilbert's life.
The course of my life was changed also, though neither of us were aware.
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Below is a photograph (in bad condition!) of Gilbert, his mother, and a
passenger friend
as they crossed the Atlantic ocean to the USA on the good ship
M/S Batory.
Gilbert remembers with awe the statue of liberty, and the thousands of people of
New York. Neither his mother nor he spoke English so it was with the courtesy of
strangers that they found their train and began the long cross country trip to
Wyoming. Their only meals were sandwich's, that word on the menu being very
similar to the French version.
Gilbert still in shorts, as was the custom in the warm climate of France, they
arrived in Gillette, Wyoming in the fall of 1948. During the worst blizzard that
part of the country had seen. And these two travelers had never seen ANY snow.
But the doctor and his wife were prepared for them, and Gilbert was soon
sledding with children his own age; playing as he hadn't for years.
And it was off to school also. Gilbert was ten years old and had advanced
only half way through second grade. He should have been at least in 5th grade.
Fortunately, the French school system was ahead of it's time and he had already
started algebra. But he didn't speak English. And into play regarding this
problem, came his friends at school. He was an oddity for this small western
town and they were glad to help this "strange" stranger. Finally Gilbert had
found friends and comfort.
Gilbert went on to graduate high school in Gillette at the age of 19. His
life of wealth and happiness with
Dr. McHenry was cut short within the year when his mother married a rancher and
moved into the real wilds of Wyoming - strangely, only about 30 miles from where my
father homesteaded and I lived.
We met in Gillette, both going to high school. And that's the start of many other stories.
And so here, at right is Gilbert in 2009, age 71, in the mountains near
Golden, Colorado by overflowing Clear Creek.
He has never returned to France, the trip for one reason or another being
out of the question. Other reasons being the memories of a war torn country,
sadness and illness.
Thank you for taking time to read about my husband. He's the rock of my
life! Millie |
E-Mail me Millie Carrée
with any questions
Website modified September, 2011 |
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