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A Month During The Battle For La Haye du Puits
WWII memoirs de Henri Vasselin

Memories of Henry Vasselin

During the four years of the German occupation of France, many entire battalions of German soldiers were housed in my small village of La Haye du Puits (la hay dew pwee). The Nazi companies often marched to the sound of a fife while chanting war songs quite arrogantly. The cobblestones resounded with the "click clack" of the German hobnob boots.

1 was just a witness to this misery in my region of Normandy, and like many, 1 dreamed of liberation and the day the allied forces would invade. This finally happened, grace to those who did it - those who are always my friends: the American GIs.

The Germans were gone; defeated. The echoes of their war chants no longer troubled me. Unfortunately, all those who remained here lived through some very unpleasant days, of which I wrote many lines. The following lines were taken from my notebook, and cover the period of June 6 - July 8 of 1944.

June 6.1944
With constant noise all night, I awoke to the sound of bombs falling all over around La Haye du Puits - most likely near the bridges. In going out to look for my horse, I discovered an abandoned parachute. At around 9 a.m., while at my job in town, someone told me that the radio announced the landing of allied forces in the North ... hmmm! Then 1 saw an Austrian German soldier that I had become acquainted with since he spoke French quite well (He was the principal source of my inquisitions). He demanded to know who was passing, and I said, "Do you not know that they have landed?" He responded by saying "I know nothing - I'm alone since the officers and everyone else have left."

June 7. 1944
This morning I encountered a convoy of six trucks loaded with American prisoners (they had American flags on their shoulders). J succeeded in giving them a friendly salute, as well as to the bearded German escorts. At about 10 a.m., a convoy of both German and American injured soldiers were present in front of this horse farm. A German officer told the stableman that the Americans had landed and were in control of the situation. "All the better," 1 said. During the evening, tremendous bombardment was done by the Flying Fortresses. Many people were injured or killed. Everyone left the village. My parents, I, and some 20 others departed for the Goutot (goo-toe) farm in Mobecq (mow-beck).

June 10,1944
In the middle of the night at about 1 a.m., a wave of fighters took off to defend the area, and we finished the night in a hollow grouped closely together. Only a child was lightly hit during this time. When the dawn arrived, we returned to our "farm of the desert:" myself, my parents, my sister, and my stepbrother.

All of the days that followed consisted of bombings, machine-gun fire, and rounds of artillery - often heavy, and then light. The Germans took position in the courtyard and the garden of our farm, about two or three meters from our partly underground shelter. They also occupied the house. We were in a bad spot.

In order to attain my freedom a bit faster, I tried to join the folks at St. Mere Eglise (saint mare ay glees) who were now liberated. Unfortunately, I had to give up my attempt and remain at the desert farm because all of my attempts took me no farther than the woods of Limor (lee-more) or Lande (londe) Maudouit (mow-dwee) where 1 struck the German lines and was forced to return.

July 3. 1944
The fighting drew nearer; we heard bullets ricocheting off of the tanks on the other side of Saint Catherine (Hill 95). My goodness, this is going to happen here; the Germans were ready and waiting in their foxholes. There was a mixture of German mercenary soldiers: "Osttrupens (oss-true-pens (East troops]), Russians, POA, Caucasians, Georgians, and Mongolians - real savages.

July 4. 1944
This morning, about 10 a.m., a German soldier stood on top of our shelter to look through a gap in our hedgerow, and received shrapnel from part of a mortar shell in his stomach. He fell with a great struggle and laid there until he died, having received no medical aid. His comrades removed him. Three others were dead near the wine press. Some German parachutists demanded to have our horses that we had hidden, which we reluctantly gave them since they held machine guns to our bellies.

July 5. 1944
Two hoodlum Osttrupens came into our shelter with guns in hand and told my stepbrother and sister to hand over both a billfold and purse. At this moment we were greatly afraid because my father grabbed one of the soldiers by the wrist. I told him to let go since they were still in control of our area.

However, we felt that the Americans were not far from Saint Catherine (Hill 95) in the woods of Brocquebeuf (broke buh) near the town of La Poterie (la poe terry).

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