Chapter 8 - The Memory of Sorrow
"The price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings." - Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four
LeBeau returned a few minutes later with a bowl of ragout he had put aside during dinner. Newkirk sniffed the air appreciatively as LeBeau approached.
"I hope you enjoy it. I made it especially for everyone tonight…," LeBeau trailed off, not wanting to upset Newkirk with any further worries about the team. Newkirk knew as well as he did that he always prepared a heartier than usual meal on a mission night.
The Englishman nodded and eagerly took the bowl. Contrary to his earlier statement, he was absolutely famished. In between bites, he chalked out, Don't you dare tell anyone I said this was good.
"Your secret is safe with me Pierre!" laughed LeBeau.
It didn't take very long for Newkirk to finish his food. He handed the empty bowl to his French friend and wrote, You're almost as good a cook as my Mave.
"I will take that as high praise coming from you," replied LeBeau. He slid the bowl on the floor, settled onto the stool beside the bunk, and waited for his English friend to take the initiative. He didn't have long to wait, as Newkirk began writing again without any prompting.
Jack's mum was a wonderful cook.
LeBeau sighed to himself, greatly relieved that Newkirk wasn't retreating back into himself. As it was vital that he release his grief over his lost crewmates, LeBeau gently encouraged him to continue.
"What did she cook for you mon ami?"
Newkirk thought for a moment before he wrote, Rissoles, sausage stovies, cottage pie, potato cakes, why once she made a joint of beef with Yorkshire pudding! Don't know how she managed that. We ate sandwiches off that for a week afterwards!
It all sounded impossibly heavy to LeBeau's culinary sensibilities but he instead commented, "You and he were close friends, oui?"
Newkirk nodded and paused wistfully to erase the slate. Jack was the flight engineer. Andrew reminds me of him – just a simple kid who loved his mum.
LeBeau nodded as well, amazed that his normally reticent friend was freely revealing such deeply personal memories. He posed an obvious question designed to keep Newkirk focused. "Were you close to the others as well?"
Newkirk nodded again, fully aware of LeBeau's strategy to keep him reminiscing about his lost friends. We were a crew, Louis. We were all close.
LeBeau smiled at Newkirk. "Ah, of course you were, mon ami." He then sat back and for the most part just quietly 'listened' as Newkirk poured out recollections of his RAF crewmates.
The Englishman did not need any further prompting; for once he began, the memories cascaded out of their own volition, as if an irresistible torrent. Newkirk wrote how they used to mercilessly rib Johnston, the lone RCAF airman in their crew, simply because he was Canadian; how they had all piled onto Fred in a congratulatory scrum when he shyly revealed he had popped the question to his girl; how they had all snuck off base without leave to purchase a suitable present for Denis' newborn son; how they all made sure Robert got properly bladdered upon turning 21.
Then suddenly, it was enough. Newkirk dropped the slate, leaned back upon his pillow and closed his eyes as the tears escaped to track down his face. LeBeau cleared his throat, grabbed the empty bowl and headed towards the door. He called over his shoulder, "I will return in a few minutes, mon ami."
Newkirk bit his lip as he sought to control his emotions, grateful for LeBeau's discretion.
True to his word, LeBeau returned after first checking to see that Newkirk had indeed regained his composure. He brought a fresh cup of coffee for his English friend. "Here Pierre. You need this."
The Englishman took the mug and then sighed as he reached for the slate. Louis, I don't want anyone else to know about this.
LeBeau understood completely and said, "Oui, je comprends. Have I not told anyone up until now?"
I know you haven't mate, thanks for that. I just don't want them to worry, you know?
"I know Pierre. Let me take care of worrying about you."
Newkirk rolled his eyes as he swiped the slate clean and wrote, Any word?
LeBeau shook his head. "No, they are not back yet. It should not be much longer. Richard promised to send someone to tell us when they return."
Newkirk sipped his coffee as LeBeau again parked himself on the stool. The Frenchman rubbed his eyes tiredly and said, "Pierre, I never told you why I treated you so badly when I first came here."
I still wonder about that. Didn't know if I should ever ask.
LeBeau looked down. "I will tell you the reason, mon ami. I do not wish to excuse my behavior, I merely want to explain my...state of mind at the time."
Newkirk smiled and nodded slightly, silently encouraging his French friend to continue.
"As you well recall, I was very angry. I was angry at what had happened to my country and I was angry at being captured. And I was angry with the British." LeBeau paused and shook his head sadly. "No, it was more than anger; it was hate. I hated the British! All of them!"
Especially me.
LeBeau chuckled half-heartedly. "Yes, I am ashamed to admit that I focused all of my anger and hatred on you Pierre, not realizing that you were dealing with your very profound feelings for your crewmates. I now know the true depth of your grief and I am so very sorry."
Ta mate.
LeBeau wiped his eyes. "I beg your pardon, mon ami, the emotion has come back to me as well. I thought I had come to terms with this but perhaps I had simply fooled myself."
Newkirk reached out to grasp LeBeau's forearm sympathetically. The Frenchman smiled and patted his friend's hand. "Merci. I will be all right in a moment."
Newkirk waited patiently whilst his French friend collected himself. LeBeau finally spoke when he had his emotions back under control. "I do not know how to tell you this Pierre. It had nothing to do with you. It was something the British Navy did, on Winston Churchill's orders."
Newkirk cocked his head to listen very closely as LeBeau continued.
"I hated the British because my cousin Pierre Cann was killed when the Bretagne exploded and capsized. He was only one of the nearly 1,300 French sailors killed when the British Navy attacked the French fleet at Mers el Kébir."
Newkirk, eyes wide with shock, stared at LeBeau. His mouth dropped open and he shook his head in disbelief. He thought to himself, The British Navy? Why would we shell the French Fleet?
"You did not know of this mon ami? How could you not know?"
Newkirk mouthed a silent 'no'. How could he not know? He had been preoccupied at the time with trying to survive his squadron's nightly missions, bombing raids over France and Germany. He didn't recall hearing anything about this incident and simply couldn't comprehend what LeBeau had told him. He reached for the slate and wrote, When did this happen?
"I believe it was in early July 1940."
And your cousin's name was the same as...
LeBeau cut Newkirk off before he finished writing. "Oui, the same as yours. Every time I saw you I was reminded of him."
Oh Louis. That had to be hard for you.
"It was very difficult, made even more so by the fact that I was the one who convinced him to join the Navy." LeBeau paused to sigh heavily. "He shared more than just your name mon ami, for you and he were very alike in some ways."
Newkirk frowned, a bit confused by LeBeau's words.
"Yes, he was always in trouble that one; it was for small things such as public drunkenness, petty theft, pickpocketing. The local police and he were on a first-name basis. My mother's family were at a loss as to what to do about him."
LeBeau paused briefly to gauge the effect of his words on Newkirk, who remained motionless. It certainly was not his intent to offend his English friend with his observation about his cousin; however, it was true, Newkirk reminded him of his cousin Pierre in more ways than one.
"As Pierre seemed to respect me more so than anyone else in the family, my uncle begged me to speak with him, to try to present a solution for him. Unfortunately for him, I agreed to do so; thus I was the one who informed him that the family wished him to change for the better and I strongly encouraged him to join the Navy."
Newkirk finally stirred and wrote, How could you have known what would happen Louis? It's not your fault!
"As you said earlier, it does not feel that way. Yet, it does not excuse how I treated you. I should never have blamed you for the actions of your government. I am sorry it took me so long to change my mind about you."
What made you change your mind?
"I changed my mind the day you walked heedlessly towards the wire, mon ami."
Newkirk closed his eyes and shivered; he remembered that day as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He had only been at Stalag 13 for a few months and had thought he had finally laid the images of his plane's fiery destruction to rest when the dreams began assailing him nonstop. He had gotten perhaps six hours of sleep in as many days and had been hurting badly with no idea how to stop the pain. He no longer cared whether he lived or died. He had spent the entire morning of that day wandering aimlessly about the compound, unsuccessfully trying to erase the ghastly images from his mind.
He suddenly stopped in the middle of the compound and stared at the fence. Freedom lay just outside the wire. Freedom from imprisonment. Freedom from the torment from without. Freedom from the relentless torment within. He began walking again, his eyes fixed on the forest outside the wire.
LeBeau had been sitting on the bench in front of the barracks and he stared in shock as Newkirk shuffled mindlessly towards the dead-wire. He heard the metallic snap of a machine gun being cocked and looked up to see the guard in the tower sighting his weapon on the blue-clad figure. No matter what his feelings were against the British, he hated the Germans even more; he simply could not let this happen. He ran like a madman towards Newkirk and leapt to tackle the RAF Corporal to the ground. Newkirk began to fight him, squirming and twisting in an effort to escape LeBeau's grip. The Frenchman tightened his hold on the Englishman's legs and clung onto him tightly.
"Damn you Frenchy, let me go!" cried Newkirk. "What do you care? You hate me, remember?"
LeBeau gritted his teeth and held on. "I will not stand by and let you kill yourself at the hands of the Boche!"
Newkirk failed to free himself from the tenacious Frenchman by the time the guards ran up with weapons ready and shouted at them to get to their feet. The two were then hauled to stand in front of the Kommandant, who sentenced them both to 30 days in the cooler for fighting, despite LeBeau's vociferous denials.
The time spent in the cooler proved to be a mixed blessing, as it was then that the two of them finally talked and came to the understanding that began their unlikely friendship.
LeBeau continued, "When I saw that you were deliberately walking towards the wire, I suddenly realized that you were hurting just as badly if not more so than I. Of course, at the time I did not know to what degree you suffered as I do now. And when we finally talked whilst in the cooler, I knew I had been very wrong in my attitude."
Newkirk opened his eyes to gaze sadly at LeBeau. He really couldn't blame his French friend for feeling the way he did back then. He knew that what happened to LeBeau's cousin wasn't his fault but he felt compelled to apologize just by the very fact that he was British and it was his government that had ordered the massacre.
I'm really sorry about your cousin and the rest of the French sailors mate.
"You had nothing to do with it Pierre but I thank you."
There was a quick knock on the door and Goldman stuck his head in to say, "Baker said to tell you guys that they're back!"
A/N - The Attack on Mers-el-Kébir, part of Operation Catapult and also known as the Battle of Mers-el-Kébir, was a British Navy bombardment of the French Navy at its base at Mers-el-Kébir on the coast of what was then French Algeria on 3 July 1940. A British naval task force attacked the French fleet, which was at anchor and not expecting an assault from the United Kingdom, France's former ally. The attack resulted in the deaths of 1,297 French servicemen, the sinking of a battleship and the damaging of five other ships. France and the United Kingdom were not at war but France had surrendered to Germany, and the UK feared the French fleet would end up as a part of the German Navy, a fate that would greatly increase the Kriegsmarine's size and combat ability. Although French Admiral François Darlan had assured Winston Churchill the fleet would not fall into German possession, the British acted upon the assumption that Darlan's promises were insufficient guarantees. The attack remains controversial to this day, and created much rancour between the United Kingdom and France, but it also demonstrated to the world and to the United States in particular, Britain's commitment to continue the war with Germany at all costs and without allies if need be. (courtesy of Wikipedia)
In the same vein as Newkirk's crewmates, the name I have given for LeBeau's cousin Pierre Cann is the name of an actual sailor who went down with the battleship Bretagne. He was a mechanic aboard the Bretagne with the rank of Petty Officer. I do not mean to cast aspersions on the real sailor's character; LeBeau's description of his similarity to Newkirk is completely from my imagination. The majority of the 1,297 men who were lost at Mers-el- Kébir were killed when the Bretagne took a direct hit in the ammunition magazine and capsized. More information may be found at www dot ledrame-merselkebir dot fr and www dot mers-el-kebir dot net. A comprehensive account of the action may also be found at www dot hmshood dot org dot uk.
