Posted on 04/20/2020 4:09:08 AM PDT by gattaca
Virtually time travel back to 1918.
Peering into this room in France is as if you are stepping into a time portal into the early 1900s. The bedroom, which belonged to a French soldier, hasn't been touched since 1918.
If you drive three hours southwest of Paris, you'll find Belabre, a quaint French village with a population of fewer than 1,000. That is where you will discover the home of the parents of Hubert Guy Pierre Alphonse Rochereau.
When World War I was ravaging Europe, a young Rochereau was deployed to the Belgian battlefield. Sadly, Dragoons' Second Lieutenant Hubert Rochereau died at the age of 21. Rochereau, who was a graduate of the elite French Saint-Cyr military school, passed away in an English field ambulance after fighting in the village of Loker, Flanders, on April 26, 1918. World War I would officially end a few months later, on Nov. 11, 1918.
Rochereau was buried in a British cemetery, and his family didn't track down his burial site until 1922. Rochereau's parents brought their son's body back to their home town of Belabre.
The parents made Rochereau's bedroom a makeshift shrine of sorts, refusing to alter the room. The only change they made was placing a small bottle of soil from the Belgian field where he lost his life. The vial is labeled: "The earth of Flanders in which our dear child fell and which kept his remains for four years."
The memorial to Hubert Rochereau still stands today, 102 years after he breathed his last breath on that WWI battlefield. Rochereau's bedroom is untouched, seemingly frozen in time.
Hubert's parents wanted to honor their son past their time here on Earth, so they included a request in the home's deed: Leave the bedroom exactly how it is for the next 500 years. In 1935, the parents bequeathed their home to a military friend, General Eugene Bridoux, under the condition that their son's room would remain untouched for 500 years.
A small twin bed sits in the unspoiled chamber, as well as a wood desk. Books are stacked up high as they collect dust and spider webs. Rochereau's medals, the Croix de Guerre and the Legion d'Honneur, sparkle in the achromatic room. Black and white photographs of friends who also died in the war decorate the somber walls.
Scattered about the room, you can see Hubert's blue uniform jacket, pistols, knife, keys, a notebook, military manuals, a filled pipe, and hand-rolled cigarettes. "I tried to smoke one," the current owner of the house, Daniel Fabre, said of the old cigarettes. "It wasn't very nice."
"He was young, a military officer, and I imagine him to be quite provincial, perhaps even narrow-minded," Fabre told the BBC. "But it's part of the history of the house, so I keep it."
"I like to say I live in his house, but not with him," Fabre said.
Fabre's daughter will inherit the house, and she too has agreed to never touch Hubert's room.
Interesting commentary.
I found that to be an interesting assertion. Basically a do nothing snooty modern judging that kid based on modern sensibilities. Much like modern academics holding civil war soldiers to modern standards. These arr men of their time. Not men of our time. Provincial? The kid probably was. No TV, no internet, no radio. He had some newspapers and some books. That’s it. Different world entirety. A much much bigger and inaccessible world. So I wonder who is acting the provincial rube? I would say not the kid.
In my youth, I knew a friend of my father who volunteered in the Canadian medical corps before we got into WWI. In summer he operated a floating refreshment stand on the Potomac River. I saw huge scars on his legs. My mother told me he was released from service because he went kind of nuts stacking up corpses during the Spanish flu epidemic.
Both my parents were born in 1918. Bless their souls.
This country now is not what they sacrificed to protect.
Things in the old country endure. Not so much here. Most things are temporary and not built or intended to last.
Not a ramble. A fascinating post. Thank you.
My Grandfather fought in WWI. He died before I was wise enough to ask him about it all.
Too old soon, too late smart.
It is a weakness of man in his life.
Untouched? The dust must be several inches deep by now!
The carnage among junior infantry officers was beyond appalling all war long - they were the first to go. I don’t think a graduate of St. Cyr would be all that provincial, actually, but he would certainly have been a man of his time, one central belief of whose was that the soil of his country was sacred and worth dying to protect from a foreigner (particularly that foreigner). Contrast that with the No Borders cultists of today and you’ll see what I mean.
Thankfully, my WWI vet grandfather survived his injuries although they troubled him the rest of his life. Of course he didn’t say much about it to us kids.
Hubs’ relatives in Canada live near “Monument Corner” ... four boys from the farms at the four corners of a rural intersection all went to fight in France. None of them returned. The families put up a cenotaph in their honor. It’s grown to a little memorial park for all veterans of all wars from the Island. When we visited, DS2 was 18, same age as those guys. I can’t imagine waving to my boy as he got on the ferry and left for the mainland, then he never returned.
Fascinating family history. Thanks for sharing.
What an ass. Typical of liberals who think they can glance at a person's circumstances and make all kinds of conclusions about them, their thoughts, and feelings.
My grandfather suffered the effects of mustard gas attack. Just in the last month, after beginning to go through my parents files that I had boxed four years ago, I found my grandfathers discharge in a trifold leather pouch. During the war he was a horse shoer. Found many documents that are very interesting. I need to figure out a way to preserve them.
This may be Hubert Rochereau's actual picture:
No, they died of Covid-19 you silly goose
fltr
My maternal grandfather served in the US Army in WWI. Really don’t know much about his service other than the 1 picture we have of him with 2 of his friends sitting near a tree in France. He died back home in a logging accident when my mother was only 7 so she didn’t have any stories to share. I’m sure I have family that may have looked into his service but it’s not something I dwell on.
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