Out of the Stalags

Though beardless adolescents walked among them, they were all gaunt and old beyond their years. In the station's bright light they blinked, like men emerging from a cavern of despair into the sun. They were the lost sons of France, home from the prison camps of Germany, the vanguard of 2,500,000 prisoners of war still shut up in German Stalags and labor camps.

As many as 3,500 prisoners and deportees were returning each day; 20,000 had already been liberated on the Western Front, 15,000 in the east. Under the eye of the Ministry of Prisoners and Deportees, they had been assembled, deloused, given pocket money and train tickets to Paris. In the Gare de l'Est a military band welcomed them with the Marseillaise, an F.F.I. Guard of Honor presented arms. Bustling officials distributed packets of food (sardines, sausage, gingerbread) and cigarets. Some of the ragged men smiled their thanks, some bowed their heads to hide their tears.

For a long time they would be men of another world. Ahead lay more thorough physical checkups (many were tuberculous), new clothes, double rations, promises of work. With patience and effort, most would be absorbed again into the national life. Some would remain misfits forever.

The reclaimed sons of France accepted everything gratefully. What would they think, and do, when they got home and found there was not much to eat? "Dry bread," said one, "will taste better in France than in Germany."

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