PROUD & HOPEFUL

Wairarapa Times-Age, 25 September 1943, Page 4

PROUD & HOPEFUL

PARIS IN THE NAZI GRIP. CONTEMPT FOR INVADERS. Paris hates to show her poverty. She refuses to give the invader the satisfaction of gloating over her wretched The empty shops fill their windows with flowers, or with water-colour paintings. In a thousand ways she upholds the illusion that she possesses her past splendour<still. Her citizens know it is all part of a scheme to keep up their morale, and they join in willingly in the plot. The hated German in their midst is a thing apart. They look right through him, or if they have to speak, they are politeness itself, but it is an icy, uninviting politeness. The invader is obliged to herd, animal like. The poor little midinette, who can make her little more than rags look ten times more chic than can the heavy German woman, looks at the female specimen of the intruder with hardly disguised contempt. A favourite sport is to stare the German woman out, looking critically first at her hat, then her dress, then her shoes. Escapism is universal. Anything to forget the hated German and the hated war. The bookshops show books that are in no way related to the war. The theatres present plays that take the audience far from today’s realities. The races are popular, crowds, flocking to them to find a fleeting moment's release in their thrill. Ancient vehicles drawn by horses ply between the gates of Paris and the racecourse. Fifty francs is the fare, or cycle-trailer conveyances will carry one for a little less. Sometimes a strange old halfbrake, half trap, with the faded name of some distant provincial hotel on the side, turns out to carry the eager racegoers. The Parisian is proud and he is hopeful. The news of the victory in French North Africa sent a thrill through the city. The supposedly invincible Germans had been kicked out of somewhere. More than 25,000 Boches had surrendered to French troops—part of the huge Allied bag. In every office, as soon as Frenchmen felt they were among themselves, away from detested spying of Gestapo, a smile was exchanged, a big sigh heaved, though nothing might be said. “Ca va mieux ce matin, patron,” said the workman familiarly to his employer who replied, “Yes, much better this morning.” In every place where Frenchmen met they were ostentatiously asking about one another’s health, and everywhere the reply, “Oui, beaucoup mieux”— much better.

Proud Paris is prouder than ever, more hopeful than ever. The great day is coming nearer.