False Alarm

For us, the Belgians, the Second World War began in earnest on the 10th of May 1940. The Germans crossed our borders during the night and the population woke up that morning, stunned by the fast spreading news of the invasion.

There had been a previous alarm in 1938, before the signing of the famous Munich Pact, which had then lulled the country back in to a false sense of security. On that occasion there had been a general mobilization and a couple of tense weeks had followed. A pathetic army of soldiers was called up, among them my own father.

I was still at school, a fourteen-year-old girl; my two younger brothers were nine and seven.

The army unearthed all their left over stock from World War One. Rusty weaponry and helmets, mildewed old boots, crumpled moth eaten khaki greatcoats and assembled a ragged looking army of men. They were billeted in public buildings on bales of straw. Most schools were assigned to take in a certain number, but in order not to have to close the schools, they only occupied the assembly halls. My father landed in my brother’s school.

Needless to say, this arrangement caused disruption and distraction in the schools, particularly in the girls schools, where I, for one, just at an age when we first became conscious of the attraction to the opposite sex, tried to flirt with the glamour of the uniform.

In our innocence and excitement we overlooked the dismal spectacle they presented. I am sure the poor fellows got a boost to their morale from our youthful adoration. However our stern schoolmistresses soon put an end to all that nonsense and we were kept in our classrooms.

The crisis blew over. For us children there was almost a feeling of disappointment that there was not going to be a war after all. The adults heaved a sigh of relief and life resumed its normal pace - for a little while longer at least.