 asanova Restaurant Book: Denise's Story
Chapter 3
Everything was strangely quiet when we woke up one morning in early September 1944. There was no gun fire, no trucks, no German soldiers milling through our village. All the German troops that had camped in and around our village were gone. They had made a fast retreat back to Germany, barricading the road by cutting down dozens of huge pine trees between Lignueville and Malmedy, and blowing up two bridges. We knew the Americans would be coming soon.
I remember Gilbert sitting beside me quietly on our porch steps. "Listen for the roar of the tanks," he said. "The Americans are coming, and they are going to come here," pointing toward the hills at the edge of the village. He taught me how to write welcome signs for the Americans in English, using tailor's chalk. I wrote on large sheets of metal from our father's shop, "We are happy that you are coming."
The next day, the American convoys of tanks, trucks and jeeps started passing through our village triumphantly headed toward the new battlefront at the German border. Every American vehicle had bright orange fabric across its roof. We had never seen a color so bright! We learned this florescent cloth was the signal to the American Air Force flying overhead that these were American ground troops and should not be bombed.
It was like a parade; the people of our village lined the street, and my father waved a Belgian flag. People were singing Belgian songs, throwing flowers and waving to the American soldiers who looked as tall as giants standing in the open hatches of the tanks. The GIs were having a great time, some riding the hoods of the jeeps or standing in the truck beds. They tossed out candy, chewing gum and even cigarettes to us - anything they had. One black GI leaned out of his truck and promised Rita a candy bar - probably a Hershey bar - in exchange for a kiss. None of us had ever seen a black man, so we were a little afraid. But Rita squeezed her eyes tight and gave him a little peck on the cheek. We all shared the chocolate; it was delicious.
Soon, our village was full of American soldiers. General Timberlake, head of the 49th Anti-aircraft Artillery Brigade, set up his headquarters at the Hotel du Moulin, about 100 meters from our house. Groups of infantry soldiers moved into empty houses, or set up tents around the village.
Our whole world changed again. Our village was once again called "Ligneuville" and French and Walloon were spoken freely in the village. The German flags disappeared, and our Belgium flags were brought out of hiding. There was no school because we had to switch back to the Belgian school system.
After four years of strict German discipline, all of us children went a little wild. Gilbert and his friend Paul filled their days by rummaging through what the Germans had left behind. They both knew a few English words from their classes in school, but they picked up the language very fast as they spent time with the American GIs. Gilbert and Paul sold them German items they found. The American soldiers were collecting souvenirs of their war experience and would pay top dollar for anything with a swastika. Sometimes instead of money, Gilbert and Paul would trade for cigarettes or food. Gilbert brought his profits home to our mother as his way of helping the family.
One day, Gilbert and our father came across some red metal jerry cans filled with gasoline. They hid these behind Rita's chicken house knowing they may come in handy later.
We got to know the American soldiers and became good friends with some of them. They would come to our house or we would visit them in their tents. They liked to play with Gaston, who was three years old, as if he was a basketball. Gaston would curl up into a tight little ball, and they would toss him from one soldier to the next. Gaston was a little afraid of this rough sport, but they would give him packets of chocolate-flavored powder that he loved to eat by itself, not realizing that it was to be mixed with milk.
Our favorite GI was George Kobold from Illinois. We met him because he needed someone to do his laundry. George asked Gilbert if he knew where he could get his clothes washed. Gilbert asked our mother if she would like to do laundry for George, and she agreed. She was glad to work for the extra money.
Soon, George was coming over to our house every evening at about five or six o'clock. We all liked him, even though he seemed so much older than us - he was 21. Rita was 14 then, and I think she had a crush on him, even though she wouldn't admit it. He was so handsome in his khaki artillery uniform. It really showed off his reddish blonde crew cut and blue eyes.
Sometimes George would come in our door, unzip his leather jacket, and a pile of candy, dried fruits, and Hershey chocolate bars would fall out. To us, it sounded like he was saying, "Tout de suite! Tout de suite!" which means "right now!" It took us a while to figure out that he was saying, "Too sweet! Too sweet!" He didn't care for the sweet stuff that the US army issued.
He was like our big brother. George loved to play with Gaston - he called him "Gus." I liked to listen to George's little transistor radio; he would tune it to stations that played American music. George gave Gilbert a silver dollar which he still has today, over 50 years later. Even our mother liked George, and she often asked him to have dinner with us, but he would politely refuse, saying that they had plenty of food back at the camp.
George would walk us to our grandmother's house some nights after curfew, showing us the way with his flashlight. We still had to be careful about walking at night, and lights had to be kept low in case a German plane was flying overhead. One night, George asked Rita and me if we wanted to see how Americans dance. He took us to the old ballroom at the hotel, and we looked through the door. We couldn't believe it! The room was full of American soldiers jumping, twirling, and throwing each other around! They were singing along to the big band music on the record player. "My god, is this how they dance in America?" we asked. George said, "Well, usually they dance with girls, but here they have to make do without them."
Every day, US convoys moved though our village to the new battlefront at the German border - we saw hundreds of tanks, jeeps, trucks, and anti-aircraft weapons. George and the other soldiers stayed busy preparing for the wet winter weather by installing new, wider tracks on their tanks so that they would work better on the muddy ground.
After a month or so, George's battalion moved on, and more soldiers came in. Our part of Belgium was called the "ghost front" by the American soldiers. There was no battle action; everything was quiet. This was where the Americans sent their newest troops; a young soldier could get a little experience under his belt here before being transferred to more active areas. This was also where the Americans sent troops that were tired from battle to rest. The soldiers were confident the Germans would be surrendering soon, and they hoped to be home soon after Christmas.
There was military movement day and night; the fields around our village were filled with army tents and big guns. With so much American power, how could the Germans possibly come back? We were sure the war would be over soon.
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