Troop trucks Camp Clamerey France

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Late in the day the sun lit up the far trees and the field grew darker. People stopped by to inspect the trucks and the owners were proud to show off the engines and inner workings. One truck roared to life and rumbled around the outer edge of the field.
I had been sketching all day and the sketches were getting looser. Every moment in this camp felt like history coming alive, so I kept working.

After this sketch was complete, the camp was ready to start breaking down for the night. Some tents would stay in place since some soldiers were staying an extra night. I has a wonderful Google translate conversation with one soldier. He showed my his collection of WWII memorabilia and among the items was an original  75th Infantry patch. I have become Facebook friens]ds with many of the people from this weekend. It is indeed a small world.

Inwas extremely thankful for the hospitality because Seacoast bank had cut me off from the funds I had save for this trip. Each day it seemed I might end up homeless someplace in Europe. I had set up my bills as auto payments so bills didn’t need to be mailed off. I just found out that those auto payments have stopped. I need to spend a day continuing to repair the damage caused by fraud and my bank’s assumption that I was to blame. As the world crumbles around me I need to keep moving forward. Despite the distractions. I continue to get a sketch of two done every day.

Entrance to the Clamercy France American Camp

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After sketching the memorial at the Clamerey church, I made my way over to the entrance to the American camp. There was a sentry on duty and two re-enactors stood in conversation on the side. An American flag was always raised on the center of the camp. Radio broadcasts played the lively upbeat music of the era. Since everyone was French I didn’t think they understood the lyrics fully. Actually every person who spoke with me knew far more English than I knew French. I have been studying German, but it didn’t seem to fit to speak German in the American camp.

Many people from the ceremony were having wine and pastries in a tent to my left. One of the soldiers asked if I would like a drink and he brought me a cup of wine. He then stopped over several times with plates of pastries. All were delicious. The local mayor continued to circulate in the crowd and shake hands.

People often stood behind me and commented. I would always have to apologize and put my hand to my heart and say I am an American. Nine time out of ten, we would the have a short conversation in English. I need to make it a goal to learn more French. I am studying German with Duolingo but progress is slow. Learning new names and picking up a new language come slowly for me.

Every moment of this American encampment was pure gold. I didn’t stop sketching for a moment, other than walking to a new location. The real magic however came in meeting the soldiers and support staff who ran this camp. They all made me feel truly welcome, like I was one of the troops. If I had brought the WWII helmet from my father then I would have fit in even better. That thing however is heavy. I can imagine carrying it around in my pack. The laptop and iPad I am carrying now are already too heavy.

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Honoring Hero’s in Clamerey France

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In Clamerey, France the honor guard lowered their flags over a burial site at the historic church. Most of the crowds who had attended the previous ceremony naming the loved ones lost in WWII had started walking home. This ceremony was different. There was a stoic respect shown for the person who was laid to rest at this site.

Christian Perceret was born in Dejon, France on November 24, 1926. She was 2 years younger than my mother. After her father left, she joined her mother in the resistance. She was just 13 years old.

She began to deliver clandestine papers and she welcomed escaped prisoners on their road to freedom. She was arrested in 1943 by German officers and sent to Auxonne prison. She was released 13 days later because she was so young. Her mother however was deported to Ravensbruck on the Czechoslovakian border. Christian’s then started working for the French Intelligence service while followed by the Gestapo.

On September 7, 1944, she set out to deliver weapons along with 5 others to the resistance in Dejon. They were stopped at a roadblock but they were presumed to be innocent teens out for a car ride. 200 meters further down the road, they were stopped at a second roadblock. A particularly aggressive non-commissioned officer insisted that they get out of the vehicle. The vehicle was watched and the weapons found. The youths were forced to stand against a wall with their hands behind their necks. They were all shot in the head at point blank range.

This happened a few days before the liberation of the region by Allied troops.

Whatever happens, the flame of the French Resistance must not be extinguished, and will not be extinguished.”
– General de Gaulle.

WWII Memorial Ceremony

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On the second day of the Clamerey, France American Camp Reconstruction,there was a ceremony at the memorial in front of the town church. I sat in the blocked off street before anyone arrived and started to sketch the scene. One American officer was making sure tat no traffic entered the staging area. I was set up and sketching next to one of the steel street barricades.

Then with a thunderous roar of engines, all the military vehicles from the encampment rolled through the town and parked in a row alongside the memorial. All the World War II soldiers piled out of the vehicles and stood at attention beside the memorial. A gentleman in a blue suit must have been the town mayor and he shook hands with everyone.

A procession of French flag bearers lined up across the street and when the moment was right they marched across the street towards the memorial. Men in suits followed closely behind. The mayor stepped up to the microphone and said a few words.

The crowd from behind the barrier moved in front of me, so I was faced with sketching a row of butts. Several people let me scooch forward sitting in front of them. I forgot my pencil case in the rush and a man kindly placed it beside me.

A young girl in her early teens stepped up to the microphone and she read the names of the people from this small French town who had died in World War II. He mom was leaning against one of the street barricades and filming her daughter with her cell phone.

With this ceremony complete, the flag bearers moved off towards the Church of Saint-Cyr and Saint Julitte Cemetery and the crowds dispersed. I followed into the cemetery curious to see what might happen next. The world war II era trucks rumbled off back to camp.

Camp de Reconstruction Militere

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Over lunch in the mess tent, I communicated with one of the woman, who had invited me to sit with the troops for lunch, using Google Translate. The app doesn’t make it easy to switch back and forth between languages but after a while we managed to get a conversation going.

As I started doing the sketch of people eating lunch, she walked over to the woman in my sketch and told her to sit still since I was sketching. The pressure was on to be sure to include that woman in the sketch. Ink is an unforgiving medium but I did manage to get her situated in the sketch.

The woman I had been communicating with let me know that the green car parked across from us belonged to her family. She hoped that I would sketch it and I was glad to oblige. Her car looked like a 1942 Plymouth Staff car. All 1942 Plymouth’s are rare. Car production stopped in mid-February of that year, as factories were converted for the World War II effort. Plymouth built 5,821 such Town Sedans. Five are known to exist; two are operational. Now I am no expert on vintage autos, so I might have the year or model off by a notch but this looks like a rare beauty.

The other vehicle looks like a troop carrier truck with a circular mount above the cab for a machine gun mount. The 75th infantry soldiers would have been moved in such a vehicle. When the engine turns over in these trucks they sound like a true hollow monster.

The cabin in the sketch was a store that showcased products used by the American troops. A person can be seen trying to peer inside, from behind the American flag The radio was broadcasting the song, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B.

While doing this sketch, a man sat next to me and told me about how overwhelmed he had been on the day the Twin Towers fell in NYC on September 11, 2001. He did business in America and had been to the towers several time. He wasn’t sure which tower he had been in. I told him that I used to drop art portfolios off at the twin towers, and like him I wasn’t exactly sure which tower I had been in. He was sad to see the direction America has been turning in the last few years. There is no open dialogue anymore once an opinion is differed that one’s own the only options seems to be to lash out with violence. We seem to be falling back to the time of 1939 when power hungry men sought opportunities to grab more power, at the expense of others. We seemed to agree that America was united after the fall of the towers but today America is divided as it burns.

The American Camp Mess Tent

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With a sketch finished of the Clamerey France, Camp de Reconstruction Militere, I walked around and noticed a commotion over at the canteen, where food was being prepared for the troops. Officers and soldiers were lining up with their mess kits. Since I was hungry, I lined up as well, though I didn’t have a mess kit.

Florent Laureau one of the main organizers of this American encampment, was dishing up a thick dark dish that he explained was his specialty. He had first prepared the dish on a ship as the ships cook.

One of the women of the camp sort of took in me as her American son. I used Google translate awkwardly to try and communicate and she was a good sport and used it as well to speak to me. It was like handing a grenade back and forth but I did get a chance to tell her a bit about how I am following my fathers WWII footsteps.

When Florent discovered that I was a son of a WWII American infantry officer, he gladly offered me some of his delicious creation. Everyone crowded under a long tent and the conversations grew loud. Everyone sang a boisterous local song  that involved shouting eye, eye, eye, or something similar in French and rotating raised  hands at the wrists. After one stanza, I was singing along and waving my hands as well. I just don’t know what the lyrics meant. I was probably mispronouncing every word, but no one seemed to mind.

All the clothes I brought to Europe were from REI and they are all drab military colors. Though not vintage WWII clothing, I did tend to blend in with all the military khakis. I was offered a glass of wine with lunch. The lunch and the wine were delicious. Once I finished eating, I grabbed my pen and did this quick sketch.

The second I arrived in France, I had my credit card hacked and had no access to the funds I had saved to take this trip. This group changed my mistrust in humanity. I felt a strong bond to these people who blended so well with another time, 80 years ago. My curiosity about my fathers past had brought me home, if only for a moment.

Clamerey France American Military Camp 2

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Once at the Clamerey, France American Military Camp, I could not stop sketching. This large open tent encampment felt like it was for a higher rank officer. There was a poster of Charles De Gaulle, and the French flag was on the flag pole. De Gaulle was he French leader in exile during World War II. One man passing through the camp was the spitting image of the French leader in his crisp clean uniform.

For this sketch I had to sit in the direct sun light. I am something of a vampire so I am always concerned about being burnt to a crisp. I put an eraser on the edge of a tree shadow to my left and after a few minutes noticed that the shadow would be moving towards me as I sketched. I decided to bite the bullet and hopefully the shade would reach me before I became a cinder.

A photographer was joking with me in English. He said, “you can pick any color, as long as it is green!” He was right. I almost emptied out my green pan of color on my pallet. My choices were, warm green, cool green dark green and light green.

Another gentleman was admiring what I was doing, and he introduced me to his grandmother. She whispered to me, “magnifique.” Merci, I replied. This was the first French word I picked up. I said it to every person who stopped to make comments that I could not understand.  Te son later explained that his grandmother had been just a little girl when the Americans came to liberate the city she was in. She vividly remembers a G.I. giving her a candy bar.

The encampment was on a magnificent old French estate. The building was built of stone and the tiles on the roof looked like they had been there for hundreds of years. There were hints of the oncoming fall. The golden sun light illumined the far trees a rich orange color. Some trees were as dark as a coal mine, and other were bright like a lantern.

By the time this sketch was done, I was getting hungry. I started to wonder if there were any restaurants in the small provincial town. I hadn’t noticed any as I drove in from my hotel down south near Dijon. France. I had tried to book an air B&B in a tent but that booking was interrupted when my bank told me my debit card had been hacked. I drove across France not sure if I wold find a place to stay when I got there. The tent air B&B was full when I got there. I sat in the parking lot of a hotel for several hours trying to get funds to cover hotel expenses. The hotel where I made those calls was completely booked. I was advised to stop down the road and thankfully that hotel had a room where I could camp for the night.

An American Camp

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I took a train to Paris, France and then found a station that had a Eurocar rental. I drove the rental across France to a small farming town named Clamery, France which is west of Colmar, France. The directions to the military camp were rater vague, but the town was so small that it was impossible to miss.

I could hear American radio broadcasts from 1945. American officers and soldiers were all around the camp. I et up to sketch this view be cause the entire army had set up for a photo in front to the troop carrier truck to the right. I am not a camera, so knew I could not catch the whole outfit as they posed, but I sett about catching the scene. I jut hoped to catch a few soldiers after the group photo to flesh out my scene.

I originally planned to sketch the Colmar battle sites but found out that my father, Arthur Thorspecken had arrived in Europe just after fighting had stopped in Colmar. The 75th Infantry troops were being rushed up to the Netherlands to replace the British 6th Airborne division. During this time Dutch citizens in German occupied areas were enduring the “Winter of Hunger””. due to severe food shortages caused by the German occupation.

My father hat taken French in Leonia New Jersey High School and he was rather good at picking up the language. I think that is part of the reason he was promoted to become a 1st Lieutenant. I wish he had encouraged me to study French. I certainly could have used the help on this trip. The problem is that Arthur was quickly moved up north of France to Belgium and the Netherlands. He would not have had many opportunities to speak french other than in the port City of Le Havre.

I realized as I was sketching that I was the only one in the camp who fully understood all the lyrics to the songs being played on the loud speaker. Though dress in American Uniforms everyone spoke French. I was the odd duck out, an American in the American camp.

Le Havre: Outdoor Dining

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About February 17, 1945, my father, Arthur Thorspecken had arrived in Le Havre, France. Artur had studied French in High School and had picked up the language easily. Whereas, I had to use Google translator set to camera to interpret the menu, my dad could have read the menu and ordered in French. Of course if he was wearing a uniform that would have given him away as an American. Since the destruction was so widespread, I tend to think that there was no relaxed outdoor dining options.

Le Havre had been liberated by the Allies from the Nazis on September 12, 1944. It was the last Norman city to be liberated. By some accounts the liberation of Le Havre marked the end of the battle of Normandy, France. Le Havre had been liberated for 5 months and 5 days before Arthur Thorspecken arrived. Between 1939 and 1945 there were an estimated 2,900 civilian casualties in Le Havre.

Between 1939 and 1945 about 75,000 Jews were deported to Nazi concentration camps and death camps and 73,500 of them were murdered. During the Vel’ d’Hiv Roundup on July 16, 1942, 13,000 Jews were arrested by the French police. Jews were sent eastward, their destinations unknown.

I would have to assume that Arthur would have been rushed to the front lines as fast as possible to join C-Company of the 75th infantry. After the battle of the bulge, C-Company had just 21 men left of the 200 or more troops and replacements that they once had.

There were four cities on the way up to the posing in the Netherlands where Arthur likely joined the 75th Infantry. I sketched in all four cities but Weert, Netherlands is the command post that Arthur Thorspecken most likely might have reported to before joining his troops on the front. Arthur’s mastery of the French language was likely wasted since he was probably quickly rushed up to the Netherlands where Dutch is the predominant language. Most locals today know quite a bit of English. Every person I have met while sketching in the Netherlands has been able to speak English, which has made my life so much easier.

Le Havre France: Aub Art

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I stayed in Le Havre, France for several days. The first night I arrived late and just crashed. The second evening I went out to the restaurant right next door called Aub Art.It is a newer restaurant that has a bar and some games as well as fine dining. Photos exhibited on the walls were by the father of the woman who opened the fine dining establishment. I was told there is often live music.

There is a second floor as well which seems to be a lounge area. The dining room was empty except for me. I started a sketch thinking people were sure to sow up and fill in the scene at some point. They never did. I dined alone.

The appetizer was a delicious tomato, Mozzarella, Basel dish with balsamic vinegar. That was delicious. The main course was a baked salmon that was also quite good. Water comes in tiny bottles in France and I always seem to be parched so I had several bottles.

After dinner I had to book a room at my next destination. It was while booking that room that I found out my credit card had been hacked. I didn’t loose the card. It never left my sight, but a plane ticket purchase was attempted to Amsterdam. Since I have no plans to fly to Amsterdam, I had to admit to Seacoast Bank that their card had been hacked. Though I told Seacoast bank that I was on vacation, they have been treating me like I am the criminal rather than the victim of fraud. That battle is still ongoing. I still do not have access to the savings that were put aside for this trip.

The plane ticked was purchased in the states. I had a hot dog at the airport and purchased a train ticket to Le Havre and then this dinner at Aub Art. I cant figure out how the card was hacked with so few uses on the trip. Each evening is a series of calls trying to get past robots and pointless questionnaire loops that lead to no solutions. I had Seacoast Bank mail the new credit card the bank sent out to my brother in the north east. He is sending the card to a distant cousin who lives in Germany. In a few days I will be driving to that cousin to pick up the card. Without that piece of plastic I am assumed to be a criminal.