If the Time Ghost team do some more detailed “On the Homefront” episodes, I would like to share one of the most powerful descriptions of the different experiences of men and women during the war.
This is an extract from The Prime of Life by Simone de Beauvoir about French soldiers leaving for the front in WWII, and I think it would be extremely powerful to hear it read by Anna:
‘Sartre gets into uniform again. We reach the station just before 9.15. Large notice up announcing that all trains for men going back from leave will depart at 9.25. Crowds of soldiers and their womenfolk making for the underground passage. Am reasonably calm, but the idea of this departure as part of a collective move I find distressing. The scene on the platform brings a lump to my throat – all these men and women with their awkward handshakes! There are two crowded trains, one on either side. The right-hand one pulls out, and a long line of women – some mothers, but mostly wives or girl friends – drift away, eyes glassy and red-rimmed: some of them are sobbing. A few elderly fathers among them, a dozen at most: this separation of the sexes is a primitive business, with the men being carried off and the women returning to town. There are very few tearful ones among those waiting for the departure of the second train, though some cling desperately around their lovers’ necks; you can sense a warm, passionate night behind them, and the lack of sleep, and the nervous exhaustion that morning has brought. The soldiers make joking little remarks like, “Look at the waterworks!” but you can feel their closeness and solidarity. Just as the train is about to leave, a crowd of them jam the door of the carriage, and all I can see of Sartre in a dark corner of the compartment is his garrison cap, and his glasses, and an intermittently waving hand. The fellow in front at the door steps back and lets another take his place. The newcomer embraces a woman, then calls out, “Who’s next?” The women line up and each takes her turn on the step, me among them. Then Sartre vanishes inside again. Violent feeling of collective tension in the air: this train’s departure is really like a physical severance. Then the break comes, and it’s gone. I’m the first to leave, walking very fast.’