While Angela Merkel and Nicholas Sarkozy were making history in Paris, David and I decided to attend the Remembrance Day ceremonies in La Rochelle. The city was occupied and heavily fortified by the Germans early in the Second World War. We have come across relics of the fortifications in our walks. A large German submarine base continues to be a topic of dissension--raze it (very expensive to do) or turn it into a museum? La Rochelle was also one of the last places in France to be liberated, on the 8th of May, 1945. There is a large cenotaph to all the wars as well as a memorial to the resistance and, scattered around the city, there are small plaques of remembrance to those who died in the resistance. One of our friends was a small girl during the war. She talked to us one day about her experiences: watching as Jews were seized by the Germans, of not having enough to eat and the frenzy when French troops arrived on the 8th of May. For all these reasons, we felt that the world wars must be much closer to people's lives here and that Remembrance Day might have a different flavour. There was a small clue that this might not be so in the difficulty we had discovering where and when the ceremony might take place. But we set off to the cenotaph, planning to arrive around 10:30. It is located at the end of the Mail, a wide boulevard, laid out at the end of the 19th century. The ocean is on one side, grand homes on the other and down the middle, grass and flower beds. Very impressive!
We found a very small but mixed crowd: a lot of elderly people, a few people with small children and some middle-aged. In formation in front of the cenotaph were soldiers from the 519th Regiment, Elèves Sous- Officiers, and the highway patrol on motorcycles. A speech was followed by the laying of wreaths and a moving moment when a group of young children laid single white roses on the cenotaph. Then the trumpet sounded out the Last Post. We were perplexed as it was not eleven AM. However, there was a brief moment of silence ended by several bars of the Marseillaise played by a brass band. It seemed to be 11 minutes to 11 but we have found no reference to this being the French custom. We should have asked questions!
Then the soldiers marched off down the road and everyone milled about. We noticed a red carpet by the side of the road and discovered that there would be a march past. Across from the VIPs, stood a row of veterans with flags of the various regiments, associations etc. Sadly, the brass band packed up and left and the march past took place to canned martial music. The 519th regiment, stationed in La Rochelle marched by in their camouflage battledress with neat white cravats. I did notice that their pants were much better cut and fit much tighter than anything I have seen on a Canadian soldier. There was a sprinkling of women in the ranks and among the VIPs. The navy wins the uniform prize for women: a stylish skirt and shorter jacket make it look like it was actually designed for women. The highway patrol took the best uniform prize: navy trousers with a white strip, long navy blue jackets with the sides caught up with buttons showing a red lining, very impressive as they sat on shiny blue BMW motorcycles.
Interestingly, there were no poppies anywhere. A few old soldiers were collecting money and gave out a sticker in return for your coins.
We walked back along the sea wall to have coffee at the Cafe de la Paix. A building put to many uses until the 1890s when it became a large cafe/restaurant, decorated in wonderful art nouveau style. Strong coffee and a croissant were satisfying after the cold walk. We watched a group of people come in and settle themselves at a table nearby. Imagine our amazement when one of the women took a small ginger kitten out of the front of her coat and put it on the table. The waiter didn't bat an eye. Only the Canadians were open-mouthed! We have become used to people bringing their dogs into restaurants but this was another first in the story of the French and their animals.
Sadly, the day is no longer a complete holiday. Garbage collection took place and some creeping North American consumerism was in evidence with some of the larger stores opening in the afternoon. One of our neighbourhood restaurants closed and took Thursday off --"un petit weekend", they called it. So it seems that the holiday here is no longer about remembrance but has become a day off work. In fact, judging from the media coverage in Canada in various cities large and small where few people have the day off, the crowds at the cenotaphs seemed to be larger. I was moved by the story from Ottawa of onlookers spontaneously covering the the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with their poppies. So we began to wonder. If we really want to remember, perhaps that happens more effectively when people are organized in their workplace to do so. Is having a holiday to remember an effective way to make this happen?
