| The Battle of Jebsheim, France - from a French point-of-view. Page 12 |
| ROBERT HUSSER'S FARM, GRAND RUE #34- MRS ALICE RITZENTHALER, nee HUSSER I was 12 at the time. On 28 January some Allied soldiers invaded our house by coming in from the neighboring house, # 36. The two houses are separated by a gallery one meter wide that cannot be seen from the street and communication between takes place through two windows. The soldiers got into our house by placing a plank on the ledge of the two windows in order to surprise the German occupiers. On 30 January when the fighting in the upper village stopped, I left with my father and several French soldiers from the neighboring house to check on the livestock that had not been fed for two days because the Paul Bentz family had taken refuge with Mr. Henri Oberlin. Coming back home at 1600 hours ( 4 PM) I was wounded by a shell exploding in the courtyard. I felt warm blood running down my back. Someone came to my aid, In the street, in front of our house, a tank was posted. French soldiers took me to it and lifted me onto the tank that took me to Ostheim Street to Sembach's house- today the house of Andre Zimmerlin- where a nurse gave me emergency treatment. From there I was taken to the Guemar School where a surgeon, after cutting a large hole in my clothes, operated on me on the spot. I had a hole from my shoulder blade to my lungs, but my spinal cord was intact. Then I was taken to Selestat to the cellar of a house that had been converted into a hospital. I remained there without care. My wound was becoming infected. This provisional hospital was hit by a shell and burned while we were in the cellar. Then I was evacuated to the Pasteur Hospital in Colmar with two other women who were wounded in the battle of Durrenentzen. I remained for three weeks in the cellar of the hospital where the doctors finally succeeded in curing my wound which had been seriously infected. On 5 March, my birthday, we were brought up from the cellar. For the first time since mid-January when we had taken refuge in the cellar of the house where I was born, I slept in a real bedroom again! FARM # 36, GRAND RUE, MR. PAUL BENTZ, 59 YEARS OLD In January of 1945 my family lived in #36 Grand Rue, in a house that belonged to an aunt of my mother's because our farm had been entirely destroyed by German artillery in 1940. There were three of us and we had taken in the Haeberle family (4) from the restaurant of the Ill in Illhaeusern. When a bomb fell in East Street (La rue de l'Est) on 22 January, we took shelter in the cellar and stuffed up the windows and doors with planks and sacks of wheat. When the explosions became louder and more and more frequent, we covered our heads and ears with a quilt to soften the noise. But, when a shell knocked out part of a wall in the house we had to leave. We went across the street where Mr. Henri Oberlin took us in. The farm where he lived had stables with solid walls. Moreover, Mr. Oberlin had put the main door of the barn across the entries and windows. Soon there were more than forty of us over there. We were very packed in and three men had to sleep over behind the communal bulls that Mr. Oberlin was raising. It was Mr Paul Haeberle who did the cooking for us on a stove put together with pieces of metal that he had found lying about. Thanks to a ladder placed against a wall, the neighboring family, The Henri Hugs, communicates with us and sleeps with us at night. As for hygiene, it was distressing. One toilet in the courtyard, and during the last days of fighting when no one could go out in the courtyard, Henri Oberlin, with a bucket and pots, had to look out for the person who was in the biggest hurry. Fortunately a hand pump was in the stable and furnished us with the water necessary for cooking and bathing. During the last two days, the noise of cannons, machine guns, and various explosions did not cease. At every moment, we received news of farms that were the prey of fires and we began to despair of coming out alive. Finally on 28 January, Sunday, the sun came out and the first French soldiers appeared in the courtyard--it was safe to go out. Three of our young men started singing the "Marseillaise" and Aunt Haeberle took out the French flags that she had always carried under her skirt. Mr. Oberlin had to temper the general joy because the upper village had not yet been liberated and the Germans might come back! Two days later, we spotted with astonishment and joy a resident of Jebsheim among those wearing French uniforms. It was Mr. Jules Fleith. Resigned, but happy to be still alive we moved into our temporary house at #36 and set about making it livable. My mother, whose optimistic attitude had returned concluded. "Now we will be happy because after what we have been through these last days, nothing terrible can ever happen to us again." Our new farm has been rebuilt on practically the same spot where the old one stood, that is at #55 Grand Rue. IN THE FARM AT # 33 GRAND RUE- MR HENRI OBERLIN, 72 YEARS OLD Before 1940, I lived at City Hall with my family. I was the beadle of the village and also looked after the communal bulls. In 1940, German artillery destroyed the City Hall, the stable and also my farm. I then moved with my family to the farm that is now #33 Grand Rue. We had five bulls in the stable to take care of. And then came January 1945!! Our stable is very solid, with a cement roof and thick walls. What's more, it is protected on the west, north and east by other buildings that form a screen against the shells and any kind of explosion. Towards the courtyard on the south side, we had placed the barn door as protection. Whole families came one after the other to join us until we had 20, then 30, then 40 and by 30 January we had 51 people living with us. Everyone slept in the stable and the forage room. Some had to sleep back of the bulls and others spent the night on a bench or chair. I still remember a girl, Lucie Husser, who was handicapped and had nothing but a little stool on which she sat night and day! We got water from the house, and during the last days, from the hand pump in the stable. The toilet was in the courtyard; food was prepared in the stable on a makeshift stove. We even managed to make bread. In the beginning of January, we had collected the sacks of wheat in the commune and Spitz Mill gave us flour (without tickets) with which our baker, Chary Obrecht, was able to make us sufficient bread. Of course, on 27 January, the bread delivery stopped. As for meat, we were supplied on the spot because two bulls were killed in the course of these memorable weeks. And who did the cooking for the forty to fifty people who had to be fed? None other than Mr. Paul Haeberlin, the chef from the famouis "Inn of the Ill" (Auberge de I'Ill) from Illhaeusern! A refugee in Jebsheim since November-December 44 with his father, his mother--she was originally from Jebsheim--and his aunt. Although Mr Haeberlin was not yet world famous, he performed to the satisfaction of all concerned. If the little special original dishes were not yet to be had in our branch of the Inn of the Ill, on the other hand, the price of a meal did not matter since the menu was free! We had Mr. Feuerbach of Illhaeusern with us also. He had been wounded 22 January by the bomb that fell in East Street (rue de l'Est), but he did not want to be evacuated and was looked after by my sister. Berthe. On the farm proper, we did not have any German soldiers, but I saw a lot of them, the young "Edelweiss" going along the walls in Indian file on their way to the Ried where, it was said, the Allies were. Beginning 27 January, no one left the stable any more. Except for two or three men who went out during moments of calm to see what was going on. On 27 January, the first Allied soldier came to the farm. He was a French lieutenant coming from Riedwihr Street, by way of the garden located to the west of our farm. He asked questions, then left immediately. He returned several times. At one point, I noticed that every time he came, alone or with his driver, gunfire came into the courtyard from the neighboring farm #31.. On the other hand, when one of our men, that is, a civilian, was out in the yard, nothing happened. I pointed this out to the lieutenant who said: "It's an isolated sniper- I'll take care of it". He left and returned with a few soldiers, hugging the wall so as not be seen, slipped into Boeschlin's farm and a few minutes later, it was all over. The German who had been firing at us, after having raised a tile on the roof of the building opposite us, became quiet. On 28 January , French troops occupied our farm--everything seemed over, at least in our neighborhood. Towards evening, the fighting ceased in the village. We saw our fellow citizens leaving their neighborhoods in the upper village, leaving behind them their houses in ruins. Some of them moved in with us. Then the long file of German prisoners passed, dejected, exhausted their heads lowered. After 30 January some Americans quartered with us. Having placed a tank in front of a window, they came in and out of the window by climbing on the tank. They had stopped up all the doors and forbade entrance to the house to civilians. It was then that they collected a number of their dead in our courtyard. They brought the dead by the jeep loads and put them on two big trucks, as you see people here loading bales of hay or sacks of potatoes. These trucks would be full to the top with frozen, packed bodies held together by a heavy rope. What an unbearable and unforgettable sight for all who were there!. |
