THE MAYOR OF GUIGNICOURT

(Revised November , 2007)

 (In November 2006 my friend from Remilly-Aillicourt, France, Fred Docq, traveled to Guignicourt and found out that the man driving Gene Snodgrass and me to Bouconville, France was not the Mayor of Guignicourt but a Farmer who owned a large farm in Guignicourt.  His name was Celestin Dupont.  He was Mayor in 1940 when Mayor Chevalier was called to duty to fight the invaders.  I probably never met Mayor Chevalier.)

          We followed the priest and young woman, Marie Pierret, down the stairs through the sanctuary.  We thanked the priest for helping us and we left the church out the front door following the young lady as instructed.  After walking past the courtyard and town hall, we reached a driveway leading into an area with a tall stone fence surrounding a large brick house.  The young woman left the gate unlocked and we followed her inside.  The smell of fresh barnyard manure was soon apparent.  The chickens were crackling at having to move from our pathway as we walked toward the house.  Upon reaching a side door, we were greeted with the barking of a small dog.  The young woman, a friend of the Farmer’s family, opened the door and we followed her inside.  The small dog sniffed at our feet and decided we were also friends of the family.  He ignored us from then on and gave all his attention to the young lady, jumping up as she patted him on the head.

          We were introduced to Mr. Celestin Dupont and he asked us questions about how we came to be in France and how we traveled to Guignicourt.    The priest name was Father Compere.  The village people called him the Doyen, the chief priest.  Mr. Dupont could speak a little English and we managed to communicate our experiences.  We ate supper with our host and his family late that evening.  I remember Gene communicating his request for a glass of water instead of wine.  Mr. Dupont’s wife asked Gene if he was sick.  "Vous malade?"  She said, not understanding anyone not wanting wine with their meal unless they were ill.  The Mayor informed us that he was planning to drive us to a friend in another village in the morning.  This was good news for me as my heels were not in any shape to walk further any time soon.  In what direction were we going now?  Were we on our way to to Spain?

          The impact of the tragic situation confronting us was beginning to be felt.  The fact that we escaped from the doomed Flying Fortress and evaded the enemy the past week soothed our pain of despair.  The War Department had sent telegrams by now stating that we were reported “missing in action” on April 24, 1944.  The thought of this gave Gene and I something more to worry about.  How would they react to the telegram?  How would they know that we were safe for the time being?

May 13, 1944

Dear Mrs. Marco,

            Mr. Pagnotta, the copilot's father, in Washington is in a good position to get any information possible.  I'm in touch with him all the time so will let you know any thing we hear immediately.

            We are all praying that they are safe and unhurt.  If only they got with the Underground or were taken prisoners.  Anything just so they are alive and will get back to us soon.  Mrs. Ransbottom, the ball turret gunner's Mother wrote me that James was not with them.  She had a letter from him dated May 2nd.  I'm writing him, trusting that he has good news and will be able to tell me something.

            Mrs. Marco, some way I really feel they are safe and that we will hear soon.  Just pray and "Keep your chin up" for we know that is the way they would want it to be.

            I'm sending you the name and address of all the Crew.  Anything that you hear let me know and I'll do the same.  I am going to Pa. next week so write me at - 163 Congress St., Bradford, Pa. from now on.  That is Bill's home and address given to the War Dept.

Trusting I will hear from you and that we will all have good news soon of our Dear Ones.

                                                Very Sincerely

                                                Mildred Lincoln

May 31, 1944

Dear Mrs. Marco,

            Sorry not to have written you sooner, but we came up to Bradford from N. C. and I've really been busy getting settled.  My furniture has been in storage for three years, so getting that all out and moved into an apartment has kept me "jumping" for the past week.  But at last things are shaping up for house keeping again.

            No news yet, but I know it just takes time.  I'm in touch with Mr. Pagnotta, the Copilot's father, in Washington, D.C. and he has good connections there for obtaining information.  So any thing I hear from him or anyone I shall pass on to you immediately.  I just know they are safe somewhere and will contact us as soon as they can.  Lets all keep praying and I am sure our prayers will be answered.

            The Sgt. Yeager you spoke of was assigned to another crew and a new man assigned to Bill's crew.  I knew Sgt. Yeager and he was disappointed not to be re-assigned to his old crew after they arrived in England.

            Trust this finds all of you well, and Mrs. Marco have courage.  We will be rewarded with good news soon.

            Let me hear from you again soon.

                                                Very Sincerely,

                                                Mildred Lincoln

            Thanks to every Frenchman with whom we had come in contact, we were receiving food and shelter as well as guidance to some unknown destination.  We were now guests of Mr. Celestin Dupont, but not for long.  The next morning we left with him in his little black car, Gene and I occupying the back seat.  The village bakery was our first stop where he purchased two long loaves of freshly baked bread placing them in the seat next to him.

          A short distance from the bakery in the middle of the street stood two German soldiers waving their hands for us to stop.  Mr. Dupont pushed his foot down on the accelerator and at the same time pushed the horn button.  He then motioned with his left hand for the soldiers to get out of his way.  The soldiers moved quickly to avoid being struck by the car.  He turned his head back toward us and said, "The soldiers were only trying to hitch-hike a ride".  Soon, we were traveling through the first village, Corbeny, when we saw a roadblock ahead.  German soldiers on motorcycles were checking the vehicles and occupants before allowing them to travel through their checkpoint.  Was the end near?  My next host - a POW camp!  However, Mr. Dupont knew what to do by turning into an auto repair garage before reaching the roadblock.  When out of sight, he stopped the car; told us to lie down; then left the car.   He talked to the garage owner about our situation.    After obtaining information for the best way out of town, he returned.  I could feel the car going in reverse; then turning in a new direction; gradually gaining speed as we took a different road free of the enemy.  On the highway again Mr. Dupont gave us the all clear, signal.  Rising up I could see large old trees on both side of the road providing shade like an umbrella.  Beyond the trees were rolling hills with checkered designs of plowed fields, green grasses and vines.