PHILLIPE's STORY.

A TALE OF TWO FAMILIES; (As per retitling indicated on Jan 2.)

Maurice’s Note: In Douglas’ Story posted Jan 9th 2024, I erred - see under BBBC80 3rd paragraph, by Stating that Alice had died. In truth, it was her sister Lillian who died of a “broken heart”. A few years prior to that tragedy, my Brother Douglas had translated Phillipe’s Journal from French to English. This translation, handed to me by Alice, some 30 years later, recorded Phillipe’s experiences during WW1. There is too much material for a single post, so I publish here the opening story, one of several relating to our Dad, Samuel “Savourie”.

Foreword by Douglas Bisby: During the aftermath of WW1, I was adopted by Sam and Lil Bisby, who welcomed me as their own. I never felt the need to enquire as to my Blood Parents’ identity. As a young lad we were visited by Phillipe Lavalle, a wounded Belgian Soldier, who had fought alongside of my Dad in the Franco Belgique Resistance. I was in awe of Phillipe’s damaged face, and amazed to discover that we have a family connection. The barge people of our three nations were often so linked.

PHILLIPE’s WORDS: I commence this, my journal before the Great War when I often worked as a marin fluvial on the barque “Esprit de Menen”, a cloth carrier, with a six bunk passenger cabin, belonging to Jan-Pierre and Poppie Mansarde. Always on board was Poppie’s teenage English cousin Samuel. She called him Carrots for his hair. Evenings Sam and I would frequent lockside cafes where I would sing, accompanied by Sam on an old accordian. We never had to pay for our wine and Anisette. Even after those heady nights that paid too much, Jean-Pierre would haul us on deck at the rising sun.. On one trip the passengers were his relatives including his cousine Chantelle. We fell deep in the love and married that year. Sam was nearly 18, then a little homesick for his fathers barque du famille, La Skelder. We all embraced at Zeebrugge Port, not meeting again until La Boche once more invaded our Belle Belgique.

The Armee sent me as a driver to Liege where I carried supplies and camerades along the Fortress Line. These defenses were ancient, badly built and not maintained. In our Government’s haste to protect our country, many mistakes were made, one of which cost me my right arm and half my face. In that single week of war our government surrendered, sending me home to Chantelle and recovery. Many comrades fought on, joining the British on the coast or as Partisans. Walking back from the village Chantelle was raped and murdered by La Boche. That night I shot three German soldiers in their testicles leaving them to bleed to death. The resistance persuaded me not to be so reckless, to focus my rage instead. I smuggled munitions and comrades, sometimes with British Commandos on Board.

For one sortie, I organized a second barque to bring two Commando groups and their interpreter across the French border. To my great surprise and intense delight it was my old friend Sam, who did not recognize me until I called him Carrots. Oh how we laughed.

Four a.m. we attacked. Our other boat capitain mined the gates at both end of a sluice, on a branch canal, whist his commandos killed all the officers at a German field H.Q. Sam lay charges to a railway bridge, from the top of which he could just see our first party battle. At the same moment he could see our commandos raiding a nearby ammo camp. They came running back chased by the enemy, and Sam ran with them to the end of the Bridge to detonate the charges. The pursuing force went down with the bridge. Only one commando survived the H.Q. attack. Three of our four, carrying sacks of pistols, bullets and grenades leapt with Sam onboard, and we were away. A few kilometers further we briefly came under heavy fire, costing two more brave British lives. Some distance on a shingle shell from a tank destroyed our other boat, the flying debris setting my own ablaze. We three grabbed some sacks as we sprang for the bank, disappearing into the forest, presently finding a hideaway for the night.

Awaking before dawn we could hear Alsatians in the distance. Knowing they would soon catch our scent we hurried off. A low escarpment presented a chance to lay grenades as a booby trap. Our commando told us to keep running while he strung them in the foliage. Minutes later we heard the grenades popping and gunfire. Sam wanted to go back, I told him if he tried I would shoot him myself. Our raidings had been a partial success, we were duty bound to report to British Intelligence, deliver our scant haul to our Partisans. Four night later when we were safe again, we downed another bottle of Anisette, Sam thanked me for threatening him so.

Alors, we lived to fight many another day !!!

Douglas’ Comment was that Phillipe has never divulged place names in his journal, finding this a little strange.

My Comment is that the forerunner version of the Official Secrets Act was something of a secret itself at the time of the journal’s translation.

Disclaimer: My writing is not intended to glorify war, I leave that to vested interests. I do honour the brave sacrifices of those who resist. God is on no-ones side. Peace, Love, Maurice.

Thankyou for being here.