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My niece, Janie, and I stood disconsolately
on the platform of the train station at
Châlons-en- Champagne, my mother's birth-
place. We had finally reached Alsace Lorraine,
now called Le Grand Est, a 2:30 hour train
ride from Paris in northeastern France.
Finally! We had been directed to the incor-
rect platform upon our departure from the
City of Lights. After a 20-minute ride on the
wrong TGV train, a not-so-friendly ticket con-
troller told us to get off and find the right one
on our own. An English-speaking soul heard
the man's summery dismissal and came to our
rescue to help us change stations and get on
the right track. Thanks to her, we were only 30 pagne? Janie and I stood on the platform like
minutes late for our rendez-vous with Bruno two drowned mice when we spied a tall figure
Malthet, the historian I met online during my crowned in a halo of white hair making its way
research for Bitter Sweet: A Wartime Journal towards us.
and Heirloom Recipes from Occupied France, "Bonjour Kitty! Quel plaisir de te rencon-
a memoir with recipes. Bruno had also seen fit trer!" (Hello Kitty. What a pleasure to meet
to publish Prosper's Journal in the original you!" ) exclaimed our newfound host, writer
French. and publisher of Le Petit Catalaunien Illustré
Had Bruno received my message that we had (https://catalaunien.net/team) smiling
missed the first train to Châlons-en-Cham- widely. "I'll drop you off at your B and B first,
then I have a lot to show you." Bruno, an au-
thor whose mission is to record the history of
Châlons, had fed me a wealth of details re-
garding my great-grandparents, Dr. Prosper
and Blanche Lévy-Neymarck, notable Châlon-
nais from the early 1890s until their death in
the Holocaust in 1944.
We didn't argue with his invitation to drive
us to our home base, La Maison de Marie Car-
oline, a charming B and B housed in a lovingly
restored historic building across from the cov-
ered market in the center of Châlons. In addi-
tion, the chef, Caroline, had trained as a chef.
We dropped off our suitcases and, with Bruno
in charge, we were off to the races.
Bruno was familiar with my story. I had
filled him in on all the details concerning the
family documents I discovered in a little black
suitcase in my mother's closet after she died. I
felt no need to open the suitcase and instead,
stored it on a shelf at my home. Thus I had no
knowledge of the exact contents of la petite
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