Saturday June 10, 1944. The peaceful Limousin town of Oradour-sur-Glane is wiped out in a few hours – a brutal, methodical massacre of 642 innocent men, women and children, by 150 of the Waffen SS Das Reich division. A senseless and mainly unexplained tragedy which has gone down in history as one of the worst war crimes committed by the German army in World War II.
French writer and poet Jean Tardieu (1903-1995) wrote the poem ‘Oradour’ in 1944. It was a denunciation of Nazi horror for everyone to remember, first published in clandestine newspapers, then later in 1947 published openly for the first time in his book ‘Jours pétrifiés’
He describes the massacre as unspeakable, its wounds so deep that we dare not mention them, the very name Oradour has become terrifying. There is nothing left.
Oradour, by Jean Tardieu
Oradour n’a plus de femmes
Oradour n’a plus un homme
Oradour n’a plus de feuilles
Oradour n’a plus de pierres
Oradour n’a plus d’église
Oradour n’a plus d’enfants
Plus de fumée plus de rires
Plus de toîts plus de greniers
Plus de meules plus d’amour
Plus de vin plus de chansons.
Oradour, j’ai peur d’entendre
Oradour, je n’ose pas
Approcher de tes blessures
De ton sang de tes ruines,
je ne peux je ne peux pas
Voir ni entendre ton nom.
Oradour je crie et hurle
Chaque fois qu’un coeur éclate
Sous les coups des assassins
Une tête épouvantée
Deux yeux larges deux yeux rouges
Deux yeux graves deux yeux grands
Comme la nuit la folie
Deux yeux de petits enfants:
Ils ne me quitteront pas.
Oradour je n’ose plus
Lire ou prononcer ton nom.
Oradour honte des hommes
Oradour honte éternelle
Nos coeurs ne s’apaiseront
Que par la pire vengeance
Haine et honte pour toujours.
Oradour n’a plus de forme
Oradour, femmes ni hommes
Oradour n’a plus d’enfants
Oradour n’a plus de feuilles
Oradour n’a plus d’église
Plus de fumées plus de filles
Plus de soirs ni de matins
Plus de pleurs ni de chansons.
Oradour n’est plus qu’un cri
Et c’est bien la pire offense
Au village qui vivait
Et c’est bien la pire honte
Que de n’être plus qu’un cri,
Nom de la haine des hommes
Nom de la honte des hommes
Le nom de notre vengeance
Qu’à travers toutes nos terres
On écoute en frissonnant,
Une bouche sans personne,
Qui hurle pour tous les temps
Useful Vocab
n’a plus de – has no more…
Plus de – no more
je n’ose pas – I dare not
tes blessures – your wounds
ton sang – your blood
je hurle – i yell/wail…
épouvantée – appalled/horrified
Ils ne me quitteront pas – they will not leave me
Nos coeurs ne s’apaiseront – our hearts will not rest
Que par – other than…
la pire offense – the worst insult
la pire honte – the worst shame
la haine – hatred
en frissonnant – with a shudder
On 10th June 1944, four days after the Allied invasion of Normandy, this peaceful village in the Limousin region in south-central France was wiped out in what is today considered to be one of the worst and most contemptible war crimes committed by the German army in World War II.
A lively town centre of shops, craftsmen, public services as well as four schools feeding the town and surrounding hamlets. A population of 1,574 inhabitants, according to the 1936 census, including some refugees driven out of Spain, evacuees, French Jews or foreigners fleeing persecution.
The SS troops surround the town and round up the townspeople, including including six non-residents who happened to be cycling through the village when the SS unit arrived.
The men are separated from the women and children.
The women and children are herded into the church.
The men are taken to barns and outhouses around the village where machine guns have already been set up in advance, and executed. The barns are then set on fire.
The troops kill anyone remaining on the street or in their homes and loot and set fire to the town.
Incendiary explosives are placed around the church and detonated. Women and children trying to escape through doors and windows are machine gunned.
The next day, some of the division return and burn all the bodies, throwing them into mass graves.
Mourners are unable to identify their dead families – 643 victims. Men, women and children.
A new village was built nearby after the war, but President Charles de Gaulle ordered that the untouched ruins of the original remain as a memorial of man’s inhumanity to man, as well as a museum with items recovered from the burned-out buildings: watches stopped at the time their owners were burned alive, glasses melted from the intense heat….
Oradour means ‘place of prayer’ in local Occitan patois.
I have never visited Oradour but the French poem was on my university course poetry anthology and it left a lasting impression.
It really showed the madness of war and the complete inhumanity of the Nazi regime.
We have visited twice – the first time travelling through France with our children en route. The second travelling with our son and his friend both studying GCSE History. I cannot put into words what my husband and I felt but equally the “kids” totally absorbed the whole sober tone to the visit and we as a family believe this place should never, ever be forgotten.
I had seen signs for the village as I passed through Limoges on myroute south and one day decided to visit.
Words are powerful but nothing can compare to being there. I was silent all the way round. I took no pictures. Speaking and pointing my camera seemed inapropriate. I felt like a voyeur but understood why it was important to visit: the church in particular. It was strangely reassuring to hear the voices of German visitors.