The End of my World War Two

In August 1944, I was a little over two years old. My mother was still breast feeding me because there was no kind of baby food to be had except the occasional wheat flour to be cooked with water and saccharin. She was subsisting herself mostly on rutabaga with a couple of ounces of animal fat each week. My father was sharing with her and with my older brother his own ration of animal fat. Photographs of the time show both my parents looking ten years older than they actually were. They were gradually starving.

I note in passing that the occupying Nazis were considered soft on France of all the countries they occupied. France was their soft spot, you might say. All the same, they had to feed their giant armies fighting on several fronts. They could not be sentimental about French civilians, they figured.

I mention August 1944 because that’s when US armies (with a small Free French contingent they had to the courtesy to allow to lead the way) finally broke into Paris where my family lived. They brought with them c-rations, Carnation powdered milk in large quantities, even chocolate, and huge joy.

Another case of US militarism, obviously.

About Jacques Delacroix

I write short stories, current events comments, and sociopolitical essays, mostly in English, some in French. There are other people with the same first name and same last name on the Internet. I am the one who put up on Amazon in 2014: "I Used to Be French: an Immature Autobiography" and also: "Les pumas de grande-banlieue." To my knowledge, I am the only Jacques Delacroix with American and English scholarly publications. In a previous life, I was a teacher and a scholar in Organizational Theory and in the Sociology of Economic Development. (Go ahead, Google me!) I live in the People’s Green Socialist Republic of Santa Cruz, California.
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2 Responses to The End of my World War Two

  1. BCL says:

    I was born in August 1942, a war baby. My husband Antonio lived in France that year with his parents and the German soldiers came to his farm and overtook it, taking salamis, cheese, chickens and whatever else they could confiscate leaving his family in sheer terror. (what a run-on sentence!). It was a horrible time for my husband and his family being Italians living in France. They had moved to France from northern Italy just as the war rumors were beginning to be heard, thinking they would be safer in southern France. Hah…

  2. BCL: Please, tell your husband to write what he remembers or remembers being told. The story of civilians in the west has not been told well.

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