Jean Moulin was the Prefect of Eure-et- Loir when the French Army surrendered to the Germans in June 1940. On June 17, 1940, he revolted against the German demands and tried to cut his own throat rather than sign a text dishonoring the French Army (because of this, he is always depicted with a scarf around his neck). He joined the Resistance and played a central role in the process of unifying the different Resistance groups. He was arrested by the Gestapo in the Calurie district of Lyon, at a meeting of Resistance people. A collaborator betrayed the group by informing the Gestapo about the meeting. Moulin was tortured and died on the train transporting him to a concentration camp.
To survive in the Resistance, you had to be constantly on guard; you always had to have your wits about you. If a meeting was arranged and someone was late, always assume they have been caught and disperse. Never meet in a house with only one entrance. Never meet in a place or area that is unfamiliar. And if you are caught, you must remain resist the torture for 24 hours, so others have time to escape. Joining the resistance was a risky proposition, and the price of a mistake was usually a life.
While in Lyon, I visited the site of the Gestapo jail, the house where Jean Moulin was caught and the Centre D’Histoire de la Resistance ET de la Deportation. It is a well-done museum that uses personal history, film, newsreels, newspaper accounts and artifacts to tell the story of life in Lyon during the Nazi occupation. It was a time of informants, bravery and gratuitous violence; a time when you could disappear into the night and never be seen again.
The jail site has a Memorial wall with a sketch of Jean Moulin, his name and the names of those arrested, tortured and sent to the camps. The house was Moulin was arrested, ironically, has only a front door.
During the tour of the Centre D’Histoire, I had lagged behind the group a little (our guide had the wrong date to meet us and didn’t show). The young man from the US Attaché’s Office (an intern) who had met us to translate and get us in early came back to check on me. Just before he arrived, an elderly gentleman in a tie and a suit jacket with a red chevron on his lapel ask me “Parlez vous Francais?” Non, Monsieur. He seemed distressed by this.
As the young intern arrived to prod me along, the man began speaking to me in French, explaining one of the exhibits and asking the intern to explain it to me, which he did. I didn’t know what to make of this guy but he seemed to have first hand knowledge. I wanted to hear what he had to say and the young intern was too polite to tell him we had to go. So I finished the exhibit with my own personal tour guide, and some students who lagged close enough to hear the man’s recitations. It turns out he was a member of the Lyon Resistance. I introduced him to my group, got some pictures and a warm handshake when we departed.
To survive in the Resistance, you had to be constantly on guard; you always had to have your wits about you. If a meeting was arranged and someone was late, always assume they have been caught and disperse. Never meet in a house with only one entrance. Never meet in a place or area that is unfamiliar. And if you are caught, you must remain resist the torture for 24 hours, so others have time to escape. Joining the resistance was a risky proposition, and the price of a mistake was usually a life.
While in Lyon, I visited the site of the Gestapo jail, the house where Jean Moulin was caught and the Centre D’Histoire de la Resistance ET de la Deportation. It is a well-done museum that uses personal history, film, newsreels, newspaper accounts and artifacts to tell the story of life in Lyon during the Nazi occupation. It was a time of informants, bravery and gratuitous violence; a time when you could disappear into the night and never be seen again.
The jail site has a Memorial wall with a sketch of Jean Moulin, his name and the names of those arrested, tortured and sent to the camps. The house was Moulin was arrested, ironically, has only a front door.
During the tour of the Centre D’Histoire, I had lagged behind the group a little (our guide had the wrong date to meet us and didn’t show). The young man from the US Attaché’s Office (an intern) who had met us to translate and get us in early came back to check on me. Just before he arrived, an elderly gentleman in a tie and a suit jacket with a red chevron on his lapel ask me “Parlez vous Francais?” Non, Monsieur. He seemed distressed by this.
As the young intern arrived to prod me along, the man began speaking to me in French, explaining one of the exhibits and asking the intern to explain it to me, which he did. I didn’t know what to make of this guy but he seemed to have first hand knowledge. I wanted to hear what he had to say and the young intern was too polite to tell him we had to go. So I finished the exhibit with my own personal tour guide, and some students who lagged close enough to hear the man’s recitations. It turns out he was a member of the Lyon Resistance. I introduced him to my group, got some pictures and a warm handshake when we departed. 
1 comment:
That is a great story. Love hering it. Would love to be there for more of this.
Post a Comment