Grandma’s very strange jewel

One day in March 2019, I received an email from my mom with a photo attached : an oval metal piece featuring an enamel officer with a sword and a stick, the words “Royal Artillery”, a date 1693, and three locations of battles : Fontenoy Austerlitz Verdun. Her text was very short : “I just realize now what that brooch represents. It has been in my ‘miscellaneous jewels’ box for a long time. It must have come from your grandma’s jewellery box after she passed away”. That email was a complete shock to me, I had never seen that jewel but of course I recognized the image immediately. But to tell the story of that brooch, I must go back in time.

My grandpa passed away in 1995 and my grandma in 2001, when I was in my twenties. Although they had both lost their minds and memories in their final years, I thought I knew them well. How naive of me!... Now I realize the only thing I knew was that they were from Jewish polish origin and had arrived in France before World War II. And that’s it. No stories told by them, no questions asked. Ever. A few times though, when my sister and I were staying with them for the afternoon, grandpa was showing us his photo album. We dreaded that album! It was full of old black and white photos of unknown people, with no legend except a red capital “D” handwritten below most people. While turning the pages, he pointed at each person saying “She was my sister. Deported. That was my other sister. Deported” etc. No other comment. How terrifying for two girls below 10! No wonder we were anxious to go back to the living room and play rami instead, with the black and red cards, rather than the black ghosts and the red D’s. He tried. And I regret so much now, not asking any question then…

Then my father, their only child, also passed away in 2006. Born in August 1941 in nazi-occupied Paris, he did not know anything either about his parents’ life during the war, except that they hid somewhere in the South West of France. At that time, you did not ask questions to your parents. So silence prevailed, everyone being focused on present and future, living a happy life in wonderful France.

It took another decade for ghosts from the past to knock at my door, in the form of antisemitic incidents reported in the news. I was shocked! How could that still exist in the 21st century? Suddenly I wanted to know more about my family during the war. I started to investigate, fearing I might not find anything. But I was wrong!

I kept my mom regularly informed, and that morning of 2019, I had shared with her my findings on grandpa’s conscription as a gunner in an artillery regiment, for military service in 1934/1935 when granted French citizenship, and then again in 1939/1940 when mobilised. And amazingly, she recognized the symbol. Indeed that strange jewel in her box was not a woman’s brooch : it was actually the military insignia of my grandfather’s regiment!

Scrutinizing more closely my collection of photos, I identified the brooch on two of them, dated 1942 and 1944. Strangely, I never saw it on any other photo of my grandma, although she very often wore such vintage brooches on her collar. Only those two, and both during wartime. Therefore I suppose that it was a protection, an insurance, a lucky charm : in case she was arrested, she could show she was married to a patriot who had recently served the country, hopefully increasing her chances to be released.

As I further retraced my grandparents’ itinerary throughout the war, I realized that the first photo was taken mid-April 1942 in Paris, just before my grandfather left on his own to attempt crossing the “demarcation line” and seeking refuge in the non-occupied zone in South of France. The second one was taken exactly two years later in April 1944 in Pau close to Spain, just before my grandfather went into hiding to escape the compulsory draft that would send him over to work in Germany under his false identity… So those were both photos taken in studio as a souvenir, just before two highly risky moments when they were about to part, without knowing whether they would ever see each other again.

But the lucky charm worked, as they both survived the war with their son, unlike most of their family members, who were killed in Auschwitz.

I now cherish this brooch. I don’t wear it of course, but I watch it every day : it sits on my desk, close to the frame with my favourite photo from 1940 : grandpa proudly standing in his French army uniform holding grandma, both tenderly looking at me through time.

They did not tell their story themselves, but the brooch eventually did on their behalf. I now regularly show it in schools when I tell my family story. Teachers and students are very moved as they touch it. So the charm still works, also giving me strength and confidence that I am doing the right thing.

Papi, mamie : despite the silence, your story made its way to me, and through me, to posterity… You can rest in peace now.