The Axis’s massacre at Oradour‐sur‐Glane is well known in France, but less so in the remainder of the world. Hundreds of civilians of all ages and genders, as well as a minority of foreign nationalities (Italian, Polish, & Spanish), perished in this atrocity. Only a handful of civilians survived. Many have suggested that this massacre was simply another one of the Axis’s reprisals, but the real motive might have been finding gold. Whatever the case, none of the perpetrators paid the full price for what they had done, but their victims shall not be forgotten.

Quoting Robert Hébras’s Oradour‐Sur‐Glane: the tragedy, hour by hour, pages 20–1:

As the minutes ticked by, we fell prey to an increasing apprehension. A search of the whole village would certainly take a long time, I thought. I suppose we all thought the same thing, but nobody said a word.

[…]

Suddenly, I heard an explosion, probably a grenade.

On this signal, the men behind the machine guns settled into position, and fired. In a deafening din and the smell of gunpowder, every man fell, one on top of the other. The cries of pain, the heat, the smell of blood mingled with that of hay, dust and powder, turned the barn into a Hell on Earth. I didn’t understand what was happening.

Everything happened so quickly, and, when the guns fell silent, wails and groans and cries arose from the heap of shattered bodies. I was underneath several others. I was thirsty. I didn’t even know if I was wounded. I felt something hot and sticky trickle down my hand. I lay absolutely motionless, as if dead. I heard footsteps. They were those of soldiers clambering over our bodies to finish off the survivors.

I felt a foot on my back, I did not flinch. Some jerked in death when they were given the coup de grâce. How long it was all taking! When would it be my turn? One of the football players was lying with his head on my leg. He was given the coup de grâce and the bullet wounded me slightly. I felt the pain, but as afar off. I was frightened and very thirsty, my wounds were beginning to hurt, and what were they saying, these brutal voices I could hear? They covered us with hay and firewood, and set fire to it. Was I the sole survivor?

Amid the crackling of the flames, which were now spreading rapidly, a voice rang out, full of pain and despair:

‘Ah, the bastards! They’ve cut my other leg off!’

I recognised at once the voice of Monsieur Brissaud, who had lost a leg during the 14–18 war. Other voices were then heard, crying out in pain and shock. And then, what was that music I could hear? In spite of my perilous situation, I tried to find where it was coming from. How macabre! Executions to a musical accompaniment! The fire was spreading rapidly. I stood it for as long as I could, sheltering under the bodies of those who had already breathed their last. I didn’t hear the [Axis] leave.

When the flames reached me, I struggled to get out, fully expecting to be shot down at once. I was greatly surprised to find I was still alive. I went towards a little door at the back of the barn, and opened it. It gave onto a small yard, with no way out. I turned back and, skirting the fire which was by then widespread, went to another door opposite. It opened into a gloomy stable. I saw a shadow in front of me.

Frightened, I closed the door and went into another yard, for I did not know whether the shadow I had glimpsed was German or French. I heard voices. I stopped to listen. They were French, with a Limousin accent. Even so, I went forward cautiously, and then saw four of my friends: Marcel Darthout, Yvon Roby, Clément Broussaudier and Matthieu Borie. Three out of the five of us were wounded. Where could we go?

(Emphasis added.)

Further reading: Massacre at Oradour

Massacre at Oradour, France, 1944: coming to grips with terror

Martyred Village: Commemorating the 1944 Massacre at Oradour‐sur‐Glane

L’aura des ruines d’Oradour

Le dernier témoin d’Oradour‐sur‐Glane: Un témoignage pour les générations futures