Although the school year was almost over, the former schoolteachers in whose house we lived, the misses Hélène and Marthe Foerster, made sure the boys immediately attended the village Boys' Grammar School, where Mrs. Antoinette Prot, in spite of our inability to communicate, made us immediately feel welcome—a far cry from the corporal punishment meted out freely by the mean teacher in Luxembourg.

Shortly after our arrival, France having signed an armistice with Germany, Mr. Raymond Prot, her husband, returned from military service and resumed his teaching duties and role of headmaster. They helped us come to grips with the new language in short order, through intense reading of children's books, starting with "Alice au Pays des Merveilles (Alice in Wonderland)" … and ending with the adventure fantasies of Jules Vernes and the gripping epics of Alexandre Dumas, by far my favorite.

Grammar School photo
We went to the
local grammar school.

We mastered the language in no time, and it is thanks to this wonderful couple that, after not quite two years under their tutelage, no one ever questionned the French citizenship shown in our false identification papers.

However, although we always politely greeted the priest with the appropriate "'jour'sieu'l'curé," we immediately did stand out by not attending the weekly Catechism classes at the Catholic Church next to the school. But, no matter, no one seemed to care.