A brief personal war story ...

As a young boy at the start of WWII, my family and I attempted to escape the rapidly advancing Nazi invaders who were speeding across my native Belgium, as they also were Holland and France. This was their “Blitzkrieg” (Lightning War).

The "Exodus" of packed-to-the-limit horse carriages, cars, trucks, wheelbarrows, bicycles, motorcycles filled every escape route to France: the first stop to England. The British M.P.s made progress difficult by redirecting civilians to facilitate the retreat of their own troops towards the French port of Dieppe.

This is how, instead of being in Northern France, our car ended up back in Tournai, in South-Western Belgium. It was a strategic town in which three major roads met. This made it a prime target for day and night bombings by the German Air Force (The Luftwaffe). They blasted all but the roads themselves, and bridges which their fast moving Armies would soon need to use.

I’ll never forget the piercing screams of trapped (and eerie moans of wounded and dying) children and nuns in an orphanage which had just been bombed by the German Luftwaffe. It was situated immediately next to a large building in which we had been invited to seek temporary shelter.

The Germans used incendiary bombs about the size of hand-held propane gas refill bottles. Yet, they were devastating, as they contained phosphorus which, after exploding, spread fire and choking smoke far and wide.

Oddly enough, the relatively small bombs could created havoc, mayhem, death and destruction. In this particular instance, they managed to collapse the solidly built roof and adjoining walls of the Orphenage, covering entirely the shelter: the cellars where the nuns and children had sought refuge and were now suffocating from the smoke and perhaps also from phosphorus fire that seemed to penetrate through cracks everywhere.

My own fears, panic and confusion could not be alleviated by the reassurances of my parents. The acrid stench of the smoke, burning flesh and buildings, the eerie howling of the air raid alarms and German planes, the shaking turmoil of each explosion in the midst of the gloomy night...all these became this ten year old's worst nightmare.

The mixed sounds of strafing “Stuka” planes, on which the Germans had mounted types of “windpipes” which, when the plane would dive, would forcibly suck in the strong wind created by the plunging aircraft, thus producing a shrill, deafening, high-pitch, dissonant pandemonium .

Like so many free-falling, ocean-bound, beak first, fishing pelicans or sea gulls, each plane, sporting a Bold Black Cross on both sides and Swastika on the tail, was “tuned” to a different note.

The sum total of the strident, eardrums-and-brain-piercing decibels of all the plunging aircraft succeeded in producing a most terrifying “screaming concert from Hell”. A most effective, terrifying, demoralizing tactic ingeniously concocted by the Nazis’ insidious Machiavellian minds, headed by the frightfully brilliant, evil Dr. Joseph Goebbels, Adolph Hitler’s propaganda minister.

I must confess that this earh-shaking experience so traumatized me that, since, one of my own "PTS" (post-traumatic syndrome) is that I detest and cringe at the shrill, high-pitched decibels of upset, crying babies, wildly screaming children, and many adults. In the U.S., this ear-piercing "custom" may have been invented by hysterical "Bobby Soxers" and fans of early Frank Sinatra...:o(

My family and I had left the comfort and security of our Brussels home in hopes of reaching England and, ideally emigrate to America, where my Mother had relatives. Mostly, escape the terrifying prospects of living under “the Nazi boot”. Obviously, especially a child could easily become overwhelmed by the sudden and difficult-to-comprehend traumatic onslaught of changes. (Later on in my posts, I'll share with you the scientific, psychological analysis of "change(s)" and their emotional consequences.)

FYI: our efforts failed, and we ended up being forced back to Brussels after the speeding German tanks and motorcycles+side-cars overtook us and hordes of other would-be refugees ...Totally demoralized, depressed, insecure, worried about what would happen next. Uncertain of impending multiple dangers…chaos… fears…fears…fears…(soon to come: powerful techniques on helping you eliminate unfounded fears and worries from your minds!).

P.S.: My dear friends, I want to assure you that today’s post was in no way an “April Fools” gag!... It is, however, a bit of very personal nostalgic memorabilia... A loving Memorial on the occasion of the wedding Anniversary of my late, favorite sister and brother-in-law: the ones mentioned in my blurb about when we joined the Belgian “Underground” - a misnomer, since we were in a village atop the High Ardennes Mountains. :o).. Wishing you and yours a Happy Day!... (To be continued)

Your Friend,

Jacques