The life of a soldier...

Class photo (1919)

Journalist's note: The following first-person account was imagined by me, based on the various memories of Hervé du Corail's family. M. du Corail died in Paris in 2000. In the class photo above, Hervé, aged 15, is on the second row from the front, eighth pupil from the left.

My name is Hervé du Corail, I was born on May 18th 1904 at Escurolles. I grew up in Auvergne and studied in Sainte-Marie high school in Riom. I finally succeeded, after obtaining my baccalaureate, in integrating the Military Academy of Saint-Cyr as a cadet officer. I became a cavalry lieutenant in 1925. My training continued in the Saumur Cavalry School. I rode about eight hours a day as a young officer, and I formed the young recruits.

In 1933, I became a Cadre Noir Ecuyer. I rode a lot of special horses racing for civilian races in Cannes, Lyon and Auteuil. But I also rode war horses for military races. I devoted most of my weekends to this activity. In 1933, I won the Pardubice Grand National in Czechoslovakia. This is one of the most famous hurdle races in Europe and in the world. It is by far the most difficult, the most prestigious and probably the most dangerous race. The distance and the obstacles are gigantic. People came from all over Europe to attend this event. So I was very happy to win the first prize without falling off or kiling my horse!

In 1938, I was assigned to the 2nd spahi Algerian, a cavalry unit in the French army. In 1940, I fought with my regiment on horseback against the German armed forces at the Battle of La Horgne. La Horgne is a small Ardennes village of fewer than 200 inhabitants. While the Germans tried to break through the French lines, all available units were thrown into battle. This battle was a great feat of arms for both belligerents but the casualties were heavy. The Germans captured many wounded soldiers. And, unfortunately, I was one of them. We were interned near Nienburg/Weser, north of Germany. We were war prisoners. Naturally I did not expect to wait around; I had to find a means to go out of there. Once, in my youth, during a horse race, the worn bridle made my mount uncontrollable. I remembered that in such cases, I had to twist the horse's ear to stop him. I did just that and so I fell off my horse in the middle of the pack. I woke up at the hospital, my skull completely bashed in! At that time, it was a miracle that I was still alive and compos mentis! I have kept a scar though. I therefore told the camp commander, that because of this injury, I suffered from the cold and asked to leave the camp. I was transferred to Mainz camp, so I was closer to France. It was easy for me to escape and I returned to France in June 1941. Unfortunately, I could not stay close to my family because I was wanted by the Germans.

In December 1942, I was assigned to Tarbes. Hoping to fight the Germans again, I went on an exhausting march through the Pyrenees to get to Spain. When I was arrested by the Spanish Civil Guard, I tried to negotiate a stop-off at an inn to recover from our exhaustion, I and the two or three other soldiers who where accompanying me. Of course it was in exchange for payment, so I handed the Guards a gold coin. They took it and sent me directly to jail.

I was interned in the Miranda camp in Spain, in horrible conditions for eight months. More than food, water was the crucial problem of the camp. The water shortage generated diseases. We also suffered from scabies. Fortunately I had good friends. There was great camaraderie which helped us through those difficult times. In the autumn of 1943, the Canadian forces freed us.

I went to Morocco and Algeria. I was assigned to a tank regiment. We embarked in Algiers and then landed in Naples in Italy in December 1943. It was during the Battle of Garigliano, during the Italian campaign against the Germans, that I was shot in the arm. The bullet that hit me is in the draw of my desk at my office in Escurolles. Canada played an important role during the Italian campaign.

In 1944, the end of the war approaching, we embarked for France. The landing was made at St. Raphael on August 15th 1944. After the liberation of Marseilles, I went back to the Rhone valley, which brought me closer to my family. I considered myself one of the luckiest of men during this period because I had the opportunity to see my family again in Escurolles for a short while. I had not seen them for three years.

The war continued in the Vosges, Alsace and Germany in 1945, until the liberation. When it was finally all over, I could finally go home and be with my family.

I always wanted to tell my story, because I am aware of having lived through an important part of history. When I tell my adventures to my grandchildren, I feel victorious! I had a fascinating time, and I have no regrets, because after all I went through, I was able to return to my family; for me this was a real privilege.

Article by Clémence THELLIER,
M. du Corail's granddaughter