It’s hardly surprising that the locals were not happy with the plaque that was once fixed to the house wall. It said: Adolph Hitler Lived Here. The sign came down a couple of years ago. But there is talk of it going back up again soon. Which just goes to show how even monsters of our own parents’ and grandparents’ lifetimes can fade with memory into items of interest with the passage of time.Or do they really? We passed the house on the recent press trip I made to Lille. This unimpressive building stood on the main road in the quiet and rebuilt village of Fournes-en-Weppes, a few miles from the city. Yet it was here that the corporal signaller was billeted for some months in 1916 – long enough to have had a love affair with a local girl who was rumoured to have had a son to him. The latter’s lineage has been the source of huge debate for many decades – apparently disproved through DNA tests in recent years. It was poignantly ironic that we were on our way to the Fromelles battlefield on a commemorative minibus trip to see the new Commonwealth cemetery. Prince Charles led the opening ceremony there earlier this year to mark the last resting place of the 250 mostly Australian troops whose mass graves had been discovered in the vicinity. We saw how 5533 Australians and a few British troops had been slaughtered in the overnight July 16 1916 attack, which had been a misconceived British-led debacle intended to distract the Germans from the Somme attack further along the front. It remains Australia’s worst ever battle death toll. As we viewed so many white headstones standing proudly against a leaden sky, I wondered how the little corporal - who lived just up the road - had reacted to such slaughter and to that of the many battles before and after Fromelles. Little has been recorded and preserved about Hitler’s First World War service. We know he was decorated and saw action. But we know much more, though, of his bitterness over Germany’s defeat and the subsequent carnage into which he plunged the world when he rose to power a couple of decades later. In that little snapshot – passing the house where he had lived and, presumably, loved – I wondered at how adaptive the human mind can be in suppressing some memories and selecting others. It was a truly fascinating aspect of my short visit to Lille, organised by Sheila Manzano of Railbookers. As France’s most captured city, it endured terrible suffering during those two world wars. Yet today it bears no physical or mental scars, welcoming German and British tourists alike to the wonderfully restored 16th and 17th century cobbled streets of the old ville. As we toured those ancient streets, we witnessed history being preserved and used to boost the economy of a truly 21st century city. Nowhere was this more obvious than when we saw a successful Michelin star restaurant owner praying in his main dining room. It happened when we met Antoine Proye at his magnificent art deco place, L’Huitriere, in Old Lille. His prayers were for the Euro to go down, the pound to go up and the British to come through the credit crunch, which has cut so many of his regulars from making the 80-minute Eurostar trip from London for an exquisite lunch or supper at his family-owned eaterie. He is the epitome of Lille’s gastronomic perfection, having taken over the business five years ago from his father who ran it for 40 years, following in the footsteps of Antoine’s great grandfather who started out selling oysters and snails at a tiny place just down the road. Apart from the mouth-watering dishes served up in the current restaurant, well-heeled London regulars also came for the shellfish served in the spacious deli that fronts the place now. Here there are fresh lobsters swimming in tanks, as well as staff delicately slicing Jambon Bellotu, produced from the wild boar on Northern Spain – unarguably the best ham of its type in the world, it costs a suitable 24 Euros for 100 grammes. Antoine’s favorite world best, however, is the oysters. These are served on high stools with fine wines and include the “Rolls Royce” of oysters, the Huitres Speciales, produced by the Gillardeau family in the Atlantic beds of Charentes Maritimes. They taste exquisite, as do the Prat-Ar-Coum of the Madec family and the Fines de Claire of the Barraus (all based on that same wild French Atlantic coast). The deli was filled with tourists having pictures taken and Dutch and French young men eating oysters, fine pate and sipping wine (a far cry from a Saturday afternoon outing for young men in Britain). And nowhere did we see a suited and booted London type who had just popped over on Eurostar. But we did see Antoine praying again . . . . for history to move on!!!
