Updated: 2 May 2005

An Account by a Survivor: Robert Hebras

The tragedy which struck Oradour-sur-Glane developed in a few short hours. Those moments of unthinkable atrocity obliterated the lives of some and broke those of the few survivors. Some of them lost everything: family, possessions and records of their past. The memory of those who died in frightful suffering is their only inheritance. A memory blurred by the nightmare which remains forever engraved on their minds. The fact that so few survived that savage slaughter is a testimony to the efficiency of the German plan. That is why the record of certain events, the Germans' entry into the schools, for instance, or, more particularly, the massacre of the women and children in the church, could only be built up from the findings of the inquiry, or from my knowledge of some of the leading characters, for the only possible witnesses died in the slaughter, (apart from Mme. Rouffanche, the only woman to escape from the church). Moreover, in the years that have followed, the reasons why the S.S. committed such a crime against humanity have never been determined. The Germans themselves have put forward several, either immediately after the murders or during the trials which took place after the war. As a consequence, this point must be considered with both care and reserve. I would also like to point out that, during the events leading up to the massacre, I did not sense the slightest sign of brutality on the part of the Germans. Other survivors have described violence inflicted on themselves or others. These differences should not cast doubt on the veracity of statements, even where they do not agree. The explanation is to be found in the widespread nature of the massacre; what one saw may not have been seen by another; the main reasons for the differences are the considerable number of people present at the time, and the wide variety of killing grounds.

What happened to the murderers after their crime ? Some were brought to trial, either in Bordeaux or Berlin, the others escaped retribution, I wanted to tell the story as clearly as possible, so that generations to come might understand how the tragedy unfolded, and realise just how people may suffer from the savage cruelty which springs from intolerance, be it religious or political. May it help in remembrance, so that such things may never again occur. Today, it is almost impossible for the visitor to imagine what this Limousin village might have been like before the tragedy. The ruins, which still bear witness to an act of cruelty, inhibit any idea that life there could have been peaceful and normal, until that fateful day of June 10 1944. The outrage has grievously inscribed the name of Oradour-sur-Glane in the rolls of history, a desperate fame for those who died without ever knowing why such atrocity should befall them. When General de Gaulle visited the scene, some time after the massacre, he wanted the ruins to be preserved, so that future generations might see, realise and never forget where such evil folly may lead. The ruins are still there. They demand respect and sorrow of all who see them. Those tattered shreds of twisted walls that now give no one protection; those electricity lines which no longer have a purpose; those tramlines leading nowhere; those signs of long forsaken shops, make Oradour-sur-Glane a melancholic place. What connection can there be between these desolate ruins and a village full of life? None, save the murderous insanity of man. (Continued below)

My Native Village

When my mother gave me birth, Oradour-sur-Glane was but one of the many Limousin villages such as are still to be found today. Clinging to the flank of a verdant hill and washed by the Glane, the village led a peaceful life, in perfect harmony with Nature. The proximity of Limoges and its attractive suburbs gave it a life and vigour that was the envy of more than one village in the neighbourhood. The town folk of the time would often come for a few happy hours, to picnic, or to fish in the Glane, a little river, known to be well stocked. In catering for this trade, many hotels and restaurants rivalled each other, either in the quality of their welcome or their delectable cuisine. Oradour forged for itself the reputation of a quiet, pleasant village, where it was good to pass the time. The village stores were well stocked, and people even went out of their way to do their shopping there. You could find anything you wanted, and be sure of a friendly welcome from tradesmen who gave advice and an attention that went beyond what was usual. The church, a remarkable piece of architecture, was particularly notable for its superb ogival vault resting on four columns carved with figures. There were three schools for the village children, The boys' school was opposite the tram terminus, the girls' school consisted of two classes, and was in the centre of the village, and the third, the infants' school, was on the Nieul road and corresponded to what is, nowadays the kindergarten. Towards the end of 1940, the arrival of refugees from Moselle, evicted from their homes by the Germans, necessitated the opening of an additional school. This was built near the kindergarten, and charge of the class was given to Monsieur Gougeon, a teacher who had himself been expelled from Moselle.

The Trams

At that time, Oradour was connected to Limoges by trams, which made the journey several times a day. My father was a chief-electrician, in charge of one of the teams responsible for the maintenance of the line. The tram played an important part in the economic life of the village, since it made it possible for a number of people to live in Oradour and commute to work in Limoges every day. Over the years, the arrival of the tram in the late afternoon, (in the summer months), was eagerly awaited by the youth of the village, for, at precisely seven o'clock, (when the tram arrived from Limoges): boys and girls would meet at the terminus and stay to talk for an hour or two. The rendezvous was known to all and regarded with indulgence by the adults, for much courting began there and it was not unknown for furtive kisses to be exchanged in the falling shadows of evening,

Daily life

Almost everywhere in France at that time, cafes were numerous, and Oradour was no exception. You should realise that some of them were set up in rooms whose only furniture was a few chairs and a table. After a day's work, but especially at the week-end, the men would gather there to chat, or play pontoon, whist being reserved for more eminent personalities. My father was a regular at the Oak and, only on Sundays, would let me go with him to drink a lemonade with my friends. That day was the liveliest of the week, for all the shops were open. After mass, the women would do their last bits of shopping for Sunday lunch whilst the children would spend a few pence on toffees, or other cheap sweets. Few of the men went to church, they would take advantage of the early sun to have a game of cards on the cafe terraces. The "special" tram would arrive at the beginning of the morning and shed its load of "townies" from Limoges. Whilst some besieged the restaurants, others would wander down to the Glane, to catch a few gudgeon. The adults were not too fond of these "townspeople", who were too stuck up for their taste, and whose swaggering attitude was not much of an incentive to conversation. The opinion was not shared by the children, who were delighted by all the activity. In the afternoon, dances were usually held, at Avril's or Milord's or at Dagoury's- places where the youth of Oradour and the neighbourhood would meet.

During the week before the last Sunday In August, the children were always afraid that they wouldn't come. But, as soon as the first one set foot in the town, their anxiety turned to joy and excitement. They would stand, wide-eyed, on the fair-ground, as the roundabouts were set up for Oradour Feast, an event which, every year, drew people in from miles around since, for many, it was an opportunity to meet old friends and to enjoy themselves, Dances, bands, stalls and roundabouts gave pleasure to all who came to get away from their daily life which, at that time, was not always easy. The Feast would begin on Saturday and finish on Monday night. In August 1939, the roundabouts had arrived, but the rumours of the declaration of war prevented their being set up. Our heart wasn't in it. For several months they stayed there, silent and forlorn. The attractive village of Oradour was about to go through the Occupation in stony apathy. What military strategist could possibly be interested in a village so far off the beaten track? Yet its reputation for its welcome would endure throughout the dark years of war, and attract many refugees in search of a haven of peace. The only blot on the landscape was the anxiety felt for the young men who were prisoners-of-war, or conscripted for compulsory work in Germany. (STO)

Hour By Hour

0800

The previous evening, my father had asked me to go and fix a wall plug in our neighbour's house, because, he said, her daughter had given her a small electric stove. I usually worked on Saturday, because I was a mechanic in a garage in Limoges. On Thursday, the 8th, my foreman had had a sharp exchange of words with a German officer who had then left, making some alarming threats as he went. Although my foreman was in the right, he preferred to dismiss me and two others of my age, rather than risk our being called up for compulsory work service (S.T.O.). So, I had come back to Oradour on the Friday. After swallowing my breakfast, I took the tools I needed and went straight to our neighbour's. The grey sky hung heavy over the village, and an occasional drizzle mantled the pavements. When I had finished the job, I went back home for lunch. My mother reminded me that my father had gone off early, to help a farmer take his cows to Saint-Victurnien, for the occupying powers had requisitioned several the day before. He had gone on his bicycle and wouldn't be back until late afternoon. Georgette, my elder sister, was helping my mother to get the meal ready. She had come back to Oradour because of rumours that Limoges, where she worked as a nurse, might be bombed. Towards noon, Denise, my little sister, returned from school and we then had lunch. After lunch, my friend, Martial Brissaud, called round. The sun had now returned and its warmth easily pierced the few clouds remaining. We went out, and started to discuss the next day's football match. The Oradour Sports Club had been founded in 1942, and included a football team that had rapidly acquired an enviable reputation. We both played for it. Denise, my little sister, came to give me a kiss before going back to school, watched affectionately by my mother, who had come to the door to see her go. A short while after, we heard the rumble of engines coming from the lower part of the village. I looked at Martial in surprise, because vehicles were unusual during the war. The only Germans to come through the village hadn't even stopped, and that had been two or three years before. It must have been 2 p.m. Two half-tracks came round the bend by Emil Desourteaux's grocery shop and passed where we were standing. Soldiers in combat gear looked at us without interest. "I don't like it!" said Martial. "Why not? There's nothing to be afraid of. I see them every day in Limoges", I replied. "Well, I'm afraid, and I'm off". "Aw, come on, they're not going to eat us!" I had hardly got the words out before Martial left. He passed Andre Bardet. a friend of our own age, but didn't stop. Then he hurried past the town hall, where M. Desourteaux, (the mayor), was in close conversation with M. Rousseau, the schoolmaster. The mayor asked: "Where are you rushing off to?" "I'm going to hide", replied Martial. "You can come and tell me tomorrow where your hideout is." added the mayor, laughing. He told me afterwards that he had taken a roundabout path home, avoiding the streets, so great had been his fear of the Germans. It was this that saved his life. In the meantime, the half-tracks had reached the end of the village and had turned round. The soldiers had got down. I went home.

0900

Saint-Junien is a small town, about 10 km from Oradour. The first Regiment, "der Fiihrer", of the "Das Reich" division, bivouacked in Saint-Junien on the 9th. of June, Nothing out of the ordinary. Two events had transpired. Two days before, the Resistance had blown up the railway bridge at Saint-Junien, hoping to delay the German troops on their way to the Normandy front, (the Allied landings had taken place on the 6th. June 1944). During this operation, two German soldiers had been killed. In addition, Kampfe, (a personal friend of Major Dickmann), had been taken prisoner by the Resistance close to St. Leonard-de-Noblat, (about 60 km from Oradour, to the east of Limoges). I suppose that these two events decided the S.S. to teach the Resistance a lesson. On Saturday, 10 June 1944, Major Dickmann summoned Lieutenant Kleiss and four militia to plan the destruction of Oradour. The meeting took place in their Command Post, which had been set up in the station hotel at Saint-Junien.

1330

The column set out about 1.30,p.m. First, (hey took the N 141 as far as « Loubier», and then the D 3. Lieutenant Kahn halted the column at the hamlet of Bellevue, where Second-Lieutenant Barth addressed his men, saying; "Today, you are going to see blood flow!" He then ordered several soldiers to get down and comb through the vicinity, taking anyone they found into Oradour. The convoy set off and. a few minutes later, came to a halt at the south end of Oradour, by the bridge over the Glane.

1400

Major Dickmann set up his Command Post in Masset's farm, which lay between Oradour and the village of Bordes. The plan, devised that same morning, was to be applied with coolness and efficiency. From the bridge over the Glane, a number of troops began to surround the village. Meanwhile, half-tracks, full of men in combat dress, came through the village and took up position on the north road. All the S.S. from these vehicles deployed outside the village, to complete its encirclement. However, two of them came back down the main street to get people out of the house and to assemble in the road. Within a few minutes, the village was surrounded and there was no way out The first phase, which was to assemble the population on the fair-ground and prevent all escape, had begun. I should make clear that, at this stage, I had noticed no animosity from the S.S. The pretext of a simple identity check reassured almost everyone, even the most suspicious. The German tactician knew very well that discipline makes it easier to accomplish tasks and prevent outbursts which can be difficult to contain.

1415

After leaving Martial, I went home and told my mother and sister, Georgette, that the Germans were in the village and were turning everyone out into the street. All three of us then went out to see what was happening. Already, people were at their windows and doors, anxious to know the reason for such a display of force. When my mother saw what was happening, she told me not to go, but to hide behind the house. I replied that my papers were perfectly in order, and that I had no reason to avoid the identity check, which, I will remind the reader, was the excuse given by the S.S. to avoid alarming the population. The sun was now hot, and the humidity made the atmosphere oppressive. By now, a soldier had reached us and ordered us to join the others in the street. As time passed, the numbers of people grew, to the point that I couldn't remember seeing such a crowd in Oradour before. The human column slowly moved towards the fair-ground. There was little conversation, though no-one was really worried. The Germans kept on telling us that it was only a simple check, and then, on my way to the square, I realised that I had left my papers in the house. As it was only a couple of yards from where we were gathering, I thought I would have plenty of time to run back and fetch them if necessary.

In our haste, we had all come out dressed just as we were. I was wearing only a singlet. Mothers were carrying their babies for, in the rush, very few had bothered to get the prams out; the Germans seemed in a hurry to get things over with. Once I arrived at the fair-ground, I saw that the crowd was already quite thick. Everyone wanted to know what was happening, though glances were more questioning than anxious. By then, the half-tracks were disgorging civilians, old people, and some I recognised from nearby hamlets. The sight of all these familiar folk made me feel a lot better. Once they had unloaded, the half-tracks left, to return later with fresh passengers, who were surprised to see such a crowd already assembled. The soldiers were positioned all round the square and were levelling machine guns at us. Their caution surprised no-one for, despite the Allied landings, we were still at war. By then, the sun was beating down, and the heat was overwhelming, since there was little shade to be found on the fair-ground. Despite the commotion, conversation was still lively. There must have been at least six hundred of us on the fair-ground. My mother was still very fearful for me, and never stopped repeating that they were going to send me to Germany. I reassured her as best I could. At that moment, I noticed my football pals, and made my way through the crowd to join them. We immediately began to discuss the next day's match, for the opposing side was likely to give us some trouble. Nevertheless, my attention was drawn to M. Compain, the pastrycook, whose shop gave directly on to the fair-ground, and who began to talk to a soldier: "I have just put my cakes into the oven, and have to take them out." "Don't worry, we'll see to it" replied the soldier, in good, though heavily accented French. The poor man was disconsolate at the reply, for he realised that his cakes would not be out in time. He gave a wry smile, and turned to talk to others nearby. People continued to flock in from all sides, some on foot, others in military vehicles. Meanwhile, other S.S. had gone into the various schools in the village, where the classes were, that day, complete. There was no first-hand report of this, for the only possible witnesses (little Roger Godfrin apart), were all killed. The soldiers told the teachers to get the children out and take them to the fair-ground. On the whole, the children were not afraid, though some, among the smallest I expect, wanted their mothers. Only one succeeded in escaping the S.S.

Roger Godfrin

(Roger Godfrin, the youngest survivor of the massacre died in 2001 aged 65)

He was little Roger Godfrin, aged eight. He had come to Oradour with his parents at the end of 1940, after they had been thrown out of their village of Charly by the Germans, who gave them one hour to pack thirty kilos of luggage and leave. The Germans had given their homes to "good and faithful citizens." On their arrival, Roger's parents moved into a little house next to ours. They were pleasant neighbours, always ready to help. How many times did I hear Mme. Godfrin say to Roger: "When you see the Germans, run away." This family, already tried by war, had foreseen that the Germans might come to Oradour. though they hadn't seen a single one since they arrived. If it should happen, they were all to meet in the wood, behind the cemetery. Alas, Roger could not get there.

When the children arrived at the fair-ground, many of their mothers went to fetch them. They wanted to reassure their children, but their faces barely hid the anxiety which had begun to dawn. In the crowd were a number of men from nearby hamlets, who had come to fetch their tobacco, for Saturday 10th June was ration day. The men would go to the tobacconist and, on presentation of their card, would receive their tiny allowance. Despite the impressive display of force, nobody was really worried. It was true that Oradour had always stood outside the conflict and, despite the Occupation, I have to admit that we had not suffered much from the usual privations of war nor any of the stress of occupation.

1500

Some soldiers came and separated us, men on one side, women and children on the other. When the division took place, I was standing next to Madame Rousseau, the deputy-head of the boys' school. She had a handicapped son, who was very solidly built, and who was put into the men's group. She argued for a while with a soldier, who eventually agreed to let the child join the women. The separation took me by surprise. I wanted to see my mother and sisters again, When I caught sight of them, they were already looking in my direction. My mother gave me a resigned smile, and I shall never forget the look in her eyes, where I saw pity, shock, fear, and an ineffable helplessness which clouded her love. At that moment, was pushed away, to line up by the wall with the other men. An order was given in German, and the group of women set off on the way out of the village. Or at least, that is what everyone thought. Conversation was still lively, for there was nothing in the German attitude to indicate that we were in any danger of our lives. We were totally unaware that these soldiers were S.S., and some of them spoke French very well. An officer called for silence. He took a few steps forward, stood to attention, and, in an arrogant voice, asked: "Who is the mayor, here?" Monsieur Desourteaux stepped forward. "Come with me." said the officer. They were not away long, barely the time it took to go to the town hall and back. The mayor took his place in the ranks and stood near me, The S.S. officer ordered him to designate hostages. He replied that he couldn't do that, but that he would designate himself, and he made clear to the officer that it was he who would have to choose the others. Many of us had not realised the seriousness of the exchange, I must humbly confess that I had not understood what the demand really meant, because, for me, a hostage could not be put to death. The same officer asked us if we possessed any weapons. Two men said they had sporting rifles. We inferred from the way he pursed his lips that they were of no interest to him. "We know that there are weapons concealed in Oradour", he continued "We shall make a thorough search, and the innocent will be set free immediately." A general sigh of relief brought the smiles back to our faces, for, in spite of everything, some had begun to worry.

1530

We had been waiting a long time, so some of us sat down on the edge of the pavement. Conversation began again, for we were all confident that the matter would soon be over, without consequence for anyone. Some of the S.S. were chatting and laughing, and gave the impression that they were on a routine mission, rather than getting ready for mass-murder. Suddenly, the same officer stepped forward, ordered us to be quiet, to stand up and form three ranks facing the wall. The machine guns levelled at us seemed waiting for an order to spit out death. We waited for perhaps five minutes. We couldn't understand what they were trying to do. Kill us? Why? Why weren't we shot there? Nobody knows. Disposing of two hundred bodies can be hard work, and takes time, whereas fire can do it simply and cleanly. For no immediate reason, we broke ranks and turned to face them. The weapons of the S.S. were cocked and pointing at us. We still weren't impressed, for we thought it was more of a threat than a menace. I took advantage of the release of tension to rejoin my friends, under the impassive stare of the Germans. Hardly had I joined them than a soldier divided us up into six unequal groups. The one I was in must have numbered about sixty. The first groups set off in different directions; some to the north, others to the south of the village, then thought that the Germans were going to herd us into several barns whilst they carried out their search, so that no one would be able to escape. I don't suppose I was the only one to think so. My group was easily the largest. We were the last to leave the fair-ground and went down the High Street. We passed Desourteaux's garage, where a number of men were assembled, some leaning nonchalantly against the open doors. None showed any sign of anxiety, even though a loaded machine gun had been set up on the pavement opposite, with a soldier standing by.

We continued on our way and, a few yards further on, I saw another group going towards Milord's barn. From there, I could see that the lower part of the village was deserted, and I concluded that the women and children had already left it. We had just taken the road to the cemetery, when one of the escort ordered us into Laudy's barn. This was a huge construction, where several carts and bales of hay were stored. One of the soldiers told some men to move the wagons and make some space. Whilst they were doing that, I resumed my conversation with a friend, for we wondered whether, in the end, the Allied landing wouldn't force us to postpone the match scheduled for the following day. In the meantime, a couple of soldiers had swept the threshold of the barn and set up a pair of machine guns. A wise precaution, in case they got dirty! Several of us younger ones were sitting on the hay. An S.S. came up to us and told us to get up, so that then we were all herded together. The various conversations ceased, one after the other, and we waited. In front of us, two soldiers stretched out behind the machine guns, and two others stood by with belts of ammunition round their necks. Their officer did not take his eyes off us. Like the rest, I waited. It was hot. I recognised one of the soldiers, who was very fat and, every now and again, swallowed a lump of sugar which he took from a capacious pocket. Whilst we were still in the square, I had seen him coming out of Monsieur Faure's house, with the box of sugar in his hand. As the minutes ticked by, we fell prey to an increasing apprehension. A search of the whole village would certainly take a long time, 1 thought. I suppose we all thought the same thing, but nobody said a word. The confrontation lasted for several minutes more, which seemed an eternity to me, though nothing happened. It was more and more stifling in the barn. We felt not a breath of air as we waited, silently standing.

1600

Suddenly, I heard an explosion, probably a grenade. On this signal, the men behind the machine guns settled into position, and fired. In a deafening din and the smell of gunpowder, every man fell, one on top of the other. The cries of pain, the heat, the smell of blood mingled with that of hay, dust and powder, turned the barn into a Hell on Earth. I didn't understand what was happening. Everything happened so quickly, and, when the guns fell silent, wails and groans and cries arose from the heap of shattered bodies. I was underneath several others. I was thirsty, I didn't even know if I was wounded. I felt something hot and sticky trickle down my hand. I lay absolutely motionless, as if dead, heard footsteps. They were those of soldiers clambering over our bodies to finish off the survivors, felt a foot on my back, I did not flinch. Some jerked in death when they were given the coup de grace. How long it was all taking! When would it be my turn ? One of the football players was lying with his head on my leg. He was given the coup de grace and the bullet wounded me slightly, I felt the pain, but as afar off, I was frightened and very thirsty, my wounds were beginning to hurt, and what were they saying, these brutal voices I could hear? They covered us with hay and firewood, and set fire to it. Was I the sole survivor? Amid the crackling of the flames, which were now spreading rapidly, a voice rang out, full of pain and despair, "Ah, the bastards! They've cut my other leg off!" I recognised at once the voice of Monsieur Brissaud, who had lost a leg during the 14-18 war. Other voices were then heard, crying out in pain and shock. And then, what was that music I could hear? In spite of my perilous situation, I tried to find where it was coming from. How macabre! Executions to a musical accompaniment!

The fire was spreading rapidly. I stood it for as long as I could, sheltering under the bodies of those who had already breathed their last, didn't hear the Germans leave. When the flames reached me, I struggled to get out, fully expecting to be shot down at once. I was greatly surprised to find I was still alive. I went towards a little door at the back of the barn, and opened it. It gave on to a small yard, with no way out. I turned back and, skirting the fire which was by then widespread, went to another door opposite. It opened into a gloomy stable, saw a shadow in front of me. Frightened, I closed the door and went into another yard, for did not know whether the shadow I had glimpsed was German or French, I heard voices. I stopped to listen. They were French, with a Limousin accent. Even so: I went forward cautiously, and then saw four of my friends: Marcel Darthout, Yvon Roby, Clement Broussaudier and Matthieu Borie. Three out of the five of us were wounded. Where could we go? The fire was spreading, and there was no way out of the yard. Panic seized us. Borie, a mason by trade, noticed that one wall was crumbling. Stone by stone, he made a gap through which we slipped, one by one, to find ourselves in a barn. We were tormented by thirst. A tumultuous racket filled the village. Falling tiles, sporadic shots, explosions of gas bottles and the shouts of the murderers, all made our escapade more terrifying.

Borie and I hid on top of a pile of firewood, and the other three took refuge in the loft of the barn. Suddenly, the door opened, and two S.S. came in. One of them climbed the ladder between the wood and the loft. He was no more than a yard from us. He struck a match, which immediately went out, though a second was good. The beanstraw where my three friends were hiding was soon ablaze. The soldier climbed down, and, on his way out, fired incendiary bullets into the roof, which at once caught fire. We waited as long as we could before the flames forced us from our hiding place. Outside the barn was a yard which was open to the fair-ground. From where we were, we could see two sentries patrolling the road to the cemetery. So we waited as long as we could before leaving the barn and hiding in the first of three rabbit hutches that stood in the yard. The fire continued to spread, and soon forced us to hide in the second, and then in the third. It was 7.00.p.m. when the fire reached the last hutch. We avoided being seen by the two sentries, and were once again free. But what a freedom!

1700

The inquiry which took place afterwards established that all the men were murdered at the same moment. There were only five survivors from the six sites of execution. All were from Laudy's barn. If the S.S. had moved their guns a little further back, they could have shot their victims in the upper part of the body. They did not bother. Without doubt, many of the martyrs perished atrociously in the flames, because most of them must have been wounded in the legs. Once the executions were over, a man-hunt was organised. Any witness was systematically shot without trial. Later, bodies were found all over the village, down a farmyard well, in a bakery oven. Did the orders include the obliteration of the village? We shall never know; however, no house or building was spared by the flames. At the end of the first phase, the butchers turned to the second. Had the women and children seen the brutal cruelty of the SS? Could that risk be taken ? Was their liquidation part of the original order, even ? Possibly not. Yet Major Dickmann was a man whose callousness had earned him the reputation of a cold, cruel butcher, and a drunkard besides. Whatever the truth may be, his blood-crazed cutthroats carried out his orders. Here I would like to make clear that what follows is the entire testimony given by Madame Rouffanche. She is the only woman to have come out of the church alive. I have spoken to her many times about the tragic events there. Not once, throughout her life, has she ever embroidered the slightest detail on to her original statement. The church was too crowded for Madame Rouffanche to see everything. It is with the same respect for the truth that I relate her evidence in its entirety.

About 2.00.p.m. on the 10th. June 1944. German soldiers burst into my home, and ordered me to go to the fair-ground, together with my husband, son, two daughters and my grand-son. A number from the village were already assembled, and men and women were flocking in from all directions. They were followed by the schoolchildren, who arrived separately. The Germans divided us into two groups; women and children on one side, men on the other, The first group, of which I was one, was taken under armed escort to the church. It consisted of all the women from the town, especially mothers, who entered the House of God carrying their babies in their arms, or pushing them in their prams. All the schoolchildren were there as well. We must have numbered several hundred. Crammed inside the church, we waited in growing anxiety to see what would happen next. Around 4.00.p.m., a few soldiers, about 20 years of age, brought into the nave, close to the choir, a large kind of box, from which hung strings, which trailed on the ground.

Between 4.00. and 5.00p.m., these poor wretches must have gone through purgatory, for no doubt they would have heard the frightful noise of shots, explosions and flames. What on earth could they have thought? When the trailing strings were lit, the device suddenly exploded with a loud bang, and gave off a thick, black, suffocating smoke. Women and children, half choking and screaming in terror, rushed to those parts of the church where the air was still breathable. It was thus that the door to the sacristy was broken down, under the irresistible pressure of a terrified crowd. I followed them, and sat down on a step. My daughter joined me. The Germans saw that people had escaped into the room, and cold-bloodedly shot down everyone who was hiding there. My daughter was killed where she stood, by a shot fired from outside. I owe my life to my closing my eyes and feigning death. A volley was fired in the church, then straw, firewood and chairs were thrown in a heap over the bodies lying on the flagstones. I had escaped the slaughter unbounded, and took advantage of a cloud of smoke to hide behind the main altar. In that part of the church there were three windows. I went to the middle one, the biggest, and, with the aid of the stool used in lighting the candles, tried to climb up. I don't know how I managed it, but terror gave me strength. I heaved myself up, as best I could, and fell about ten feet through the broken glass. Looking up, I saw that I had been followed in my climb by a woman who, from the height of the window, was holding out her child. She fell next to me. Alerted by the child's crying, the Germans fired at us. My companion and her babe were killed. I was myself wounded, as I crawled away to a nearby garden. I hid among the rows of peas, and waited in terror for help to arrive. I was not rescued until the following day, at 5.OOpm. The findings of the inquiry fully supported the evidence given by Madame Rouffanche. In the murderous madness that drove the killers on, innocent children were ferociously butchered; the youngest was only a week old.

1930

From then on, the village was at the mercy of the flames. In the course of the afternoon, a tram under test (having been repaired) had arrived from Limoges. The sole passengers were employees of the company. One of them, Monsieur Chalard, got out. As he crossed the bridge over the Glane, he was shot, and his body thrown into the river. The S.S. then sent the tram and its passengers back to Limoges. A second tram, the service car, likewise from Limoges, arrived about 7.30.p.m., but this one was crowded with passengers. The guards at the fork to Saint-Victurnien halted it, and ordered its occupants to remain in the car. One soldier set off on his bicycle to seek orders. On his return, he made everyone who lived in Oradour get out (about 20 of them). They were made to cross the Giane via a make-shift footbridge, and were then taken to the village of Bordes, to Masset's farm, where the S.S. had set up their command post. The NCO in charge of their escort spoke to the officer of the guard. They divided the men and women, and checked their identity. Suddenly, they were surrounded by soldiers, who cocked their weapons. The fear of imminent death gripped the wretched hostages. The abominably heartless suspense had dragged on for more than two hours when, suddenly, another officer appeared, and there was a sharp altercation. Almost at once, they were told they were free to go, One soldier then shouted to them: "We're letting you go. You can thank your lucky stars, because we've slaughtered them all." The tram went back to Limoges, and arrived, late at night, with all its passengers, except those from Oradour, who had been left behind and had scattered into the countryside.

After the Massacre

Despite the murderous insanity which drove them on, the S.S. retained sufficient composure to set about looting the village. They took everything they could from the houses, and what remained they destroyed with implacable zeal. Only after plundering the village did they set fire to the houses. Yet, with an eye to their comfort, they saved one where they spent the night. It belonged to Monsieur Dupic, and was on the north road out of the village, near the Post Office. His cellar was said to be particularly well-stocked with fine wines. The section responsible for guarding the site left about eleven o'clock the following morning, setting fire to the house as they went. It had been the scene of a drunken orgy, as could be judged from the impressive number of empty bottles found among the ruins. The first people to enter the martyred village arrived, I suppose, on Sunday, in the early afternoon. My father was among them, All either lived, or had close relatives, there. No words can describe the scenes of horror that met them. Every step was unbearable agony, so numerous and abominable were their atrocious discoveries. The stench of burned flesh hung over the ruins, still groaning in pain. Here were two entwined bodies, which seemed to have been spared by the flames, though they crumbled to dust at a touch; there, two children, hand in hand, had sought refuge in a church confessional. Their baby faces still wore that look of endearing innocence that only children know. The visitors to this charnel house were sickened by the smell of burnt flesh. Everything they saw stirred in them shock, and a fierce desire for revenge. The vast heap of human ashes was all that remained of a people who, only the day before, had been full of life. Each one made his personal search. It was impossible to recount what they had seen; no words were strong enough to describe the horror. By an irony of life, the only living beings to escape the insane slaughter were the animals left behind by the butchered villagers.

On the Monday morning, the S.S. returned, to dig two huge, communal graves, where they tried to conceal as much as possible of the human remains. Their efforts were abortive, for the inquiry saw through their clumsy camouflage, and was able to reconstruct their atrocious crime in its entirety. Some days later, German military H.Q. in Limoges sent officers to the site. Their task was to investigate the operation. As they carried out their mission, they were careful to round up all the poultry left behind by the unfortunate, innocent victims.

The Murderers

Every man who took part in the massacre at Oradour belonged to the 3rd Company of the S.S. regiment "Der Fuhrer", which was part of the Second Panzer Division, "Das Reich". This was commanded by General Lammerding who, among other things, on 9 June 1944, had ordered the death by hanging of 99 hostages in Tulle. It is certain that he gave the order for the massacre at Oradour. The commander for the mission was Major Dickmann, a cruel, blood-thirsty man. His second-in-command was Captain Kahn, with Second Lieutenant Barth also under orders. Among the other ranks were men from Alsace, who had been, so they said, forcibly conscripted into S.S. units. So that the murderers should answer before justice for their crimes, two trials were held; one in Bordeaux, in 1953. the other in Berlin, in 1983.

Lammerding (Above Left)

Lammerding was born in Dortmund and, after long and brilliant studies, became an engineer. He joined the Nazi Party in 1935, with membership number 247062. He was condemned to death in his absence at a trial in Bordeaux, in 1951, for the hangings at Tulle. The sentence was a formality, for the British would never agree to his extradition to France. At the 1953 trial, also in Bordeaux, Lammerding was not present, but sent a sworn affidavit to the court. He hid, for a short while, in Schleswig-Holstein, before returning to Diisseldorf, where he lived, undisturbed, at the head of a thriving business. He died in 1971.

Dickmann

Dickmann commanded the 1st Batallion of the "Der Fiihrer" Regiment. After the massacre, he was brought before a court-martial, whose verdict, if there was one, has never been made Known. No doubt this disciplinary measure was taken as a result of the slaughter of the women and children which, originally, had not, perhaps, been intended. On 29 June 1944, whilst serving on the Normandy front, Dickmann unwisely left the shelter of his dugout without a helmet, and was immediately hit in the head by shrapnel, and died. That, at least, is the official theory.

Kahn

As for Captain Kahn, it is said that he lost an arm during an air raid, and was posted missing some time later. No one really knows what his fate was,

Barth (Above Right)

Lieutenant Barth was sentenced to life imprisonment at his trial, in East Berlin, in 1983. During the hearing, he stated that, for him, the massacre at Oradour was a completely normal action; however, he regretted that his prison sentence would not allow him to enjoy his grand-children, as he had hoped.

Trial

The Bordeaux trial also concerned the Alsace soldiers (13 out of the 21 accused) who, at the time of the massacre, had carried out the orders of their superior officers. They all claimed that they had been forced to join the S.S. I think I may be allowed to qualify this assertion. When the Germans annexed Alsace and Lorraine, there is no doubt that many young men were forced to fight on the front. Apart, I suppose, from a few isolated volunteers, there has been no mention of Lorrainers being members of the S.S. Why, then, the Alsatians ? I would tend to believe that these conscripts were, quite simply, volunteers. Not one was able to produce a shred of evidence of enlistment. They were tried for their crime committed at Oradour. The day before the verdict was to be made known, the government of the day passed a special Act of amnesty, in the interests of national unity, which effectively gave a free pardon to all the accused. Justice was done....under pressure from the people of Alsace, who were shocked to see their sons on trial for war crimes.  For the survivors of Oradour-sur-Glane, of whom I was one, life would, eventually, return to normal. Nothing remained to us, except utter confusion. Our families, our homes, our past, had vanished from the face of the earth.

When General de Gaulle came to Oradour, he made two decisions: first, that the ruins should be preserved, so that future generations might not forget; second, that a new Oradour should rise, close to the ruins. Until the work was finished, the few survivors were accommodated in a make-shift village, consisting of barrack huts, with an absolute minimum of comfort. We had to face up to our predicament alone, for humanitarian aid was almost impossible at that time, so widespread was the destruction of war and, unfortunately, so common were situations similar to our own. Nine years later, that is, in 1953, the new Oradour was inaugurated. The government, in agreement with the Association of Martyred Families, obliged this village to wear mourning; walls and shutters were painted grey, no other colour was allowed, not even for signs. As they grew up, those who were born in the new village had great difficulty in accepting this mourning. Their thirst for life and gaiety was not compatible with the grief enforced on them.

On that Friday, the 13th February 1953, the north wind was glacial. It was 0230 in the morning when the court announced its verdict, and passed sentence on the accused. Among the penalties were a number of sentences to death, others, ranging from hard labour to prison, were also pronounced. A few moments later, all those found guilty and condemned, left the courtroom....free men. When it was known in Oradour, the mayor, Monsieur Fougeras, returned the Legion of Honour with which the martyred village had been decorated. The National Association of the Martyred Families of Oradour rose in indignation at the flagrant injustice rendered in the name of national unity, it made a mockery of the victims' dignity. Oradour broke off all relations with the State and the rupture lasted for 17 years. The families also refused to place the ashes of the victims in the memorial raised by the State. The Association was able to finance a monument, erected in the cemetery, thanks to the large number of donations that came from all over, and to exceptional terms of payment granted by the company owned by Monsieur Dagoury, who had, himself, lost all his family in the massacre. As for the first memorial, after reconciliation with the State, it was turned into a museum, where a number of items found in the ruins are displayed. During this time, the little aid that was granted by successive governments made life particularly difficult for the citizens of Oradour. In the euphoria of the Allied landings, the tragedy of Oradour went almost unnoticed by the world, whereas that of Lidice (Czechoslovakia -1942} created a wave of sympathy which extended to a rally of 55,000 people in Illinois (U.S.A.). President Roosevelt even sent a message of sympathy to the demonstrators. Oradour, with its ruins, its 642 victims and its handful of survivors, was rather forgotten by everyone. Today, Oradour-sur-Glane is a big village that has met the challenge of life. Two thousand people live there. Remembrance remains for ever in its ruins, but life has returned to normal. Every year, several hundreds of thousands visit the martyred village; let us hope with all our heart that they never forget the havoc that is born of fanaticism and intolerance.

I cannot end this book without a reminder of those other villages that suffered the Nazi's ferocity:

Lidice: 476 victims, 10 June 1942 (Czechoslovakia).
Marzabotto: 1836 victims, from 8 September to 5 October 1944 (Italy).
Distortion: 239 victims, 10 June 1944 (Greece).
Maille: 124 victims, 25 August 1944 (France),
In memory of the 44 refugees from Charly who died in Oradour, that village is now called Charly-Oradour (Lorraine).

And not forgetting the uncounted, unremembered villages throughout Russia that suffered the same fate - some at the hands of Das Reich Division.

The Well at Oradour sur Glane, bodies were found in the well. Image: David Shaw

Why Did It Happen?

Why this massacre? The Germans have given many reasons - their very abundance is proof of their lies. It has been said that it wasn't Oradour-sur-Glane, but Oradour sin-Vayri-h, an important centre of resistance, which had been the real target and that the German detachment had made a mistake. It has also been said that arms had been spotted in a garage in Oradour by the SS, who then decided to return in force to eradicate the village, it has been said thai a scuffle broke out between Germans and the French underground movement and that two German soldiers had been killed; that some patriots had ambushed and fired upon the SS column on its arrival in the region; finally, that a German private car had been attacked during the previous few days, several kilometres from Oradour and that two officers were killed... In fact, nobody knows precisely what provoked the martyrdom of Oradour. Certain Germans were heard boasting of undertaking a punitive expedition in a village 20 kilometres from Limoges; evidently it was Oradour-sur-Glane. Did they want to make an example lo terrorise the inhabitants of this region? We just don't know. No possible motive, even if such a motive exists, can excuse the brutality of such a massacre. The torturers of an innocent and hard-working community had set themselves beyond the pale of human behaviour. There was certainly no Resistance in the area.

That the reason has surfaced of a hunt for stolen gold overides some of the reasoning above, but by no means proven. It certainly makes sense though and goes a long way to explain the decisions of Major Dickmann that day.

The regions between the Loire and the Pyrénées, southwest and centre of France, weren't liberated by Americans or the French Regular Army.
The FFI were probably the first to see Oradour if a "military" unit was sent there, Brive was liberated August 15th and Limoges August 21st.
This was in reply to a question from me in a WW2 forum on who may have been the first allied units into Oradour in 1944.