I was five years old when the Germans carried out a roundup. They took my father and forced him to line up in Gendarmarie Square with the other men in the town . On the morning of the 12th June, my father, along with 21 others, was forced into a truck and driven away. They were taken to Boissieres and murdered in cold blood by the side of the road.

My mother was devastated and constantly in tears. My Grandmother, a strong woman, had to help look after us as children. When the bodies of our relatives were finally returned, there was a large funeral procession in the town. My grandmother took me to watch the memorial from outside the Cafe de Paris..

Growing up during those years was difficult. I was a quiet child but remember how we struggled without money and had to survive on the food we grew in the garden. We used to forage and catch rabbits to eat.

During the occupation years, life in Gourdon was dominated by fear of the Germans. At first, I continued going to school, but this became increasingly dangerous. One day, my grandmother took us and a few belongings in a wheelbarrow, and we fled our house. We had been told the Germans were about to set fire to the town. Life was precarious.

My mother never really recovered, although she did remarry. She never spoke about the death of my father. Gourdon remained an important town for the resistance. I remember my mother continued to take messages for them, although she never told us about her activities..