One last look at the documents I managed to gather about Maud BELLEW, the half-sister of Georges LE PETIT. She will soon celebrate her eighty-eighth birthday. She feels the cold bite of death creeping into her bones. The old rogue does not frighten her — it is simply her turn. Yet before leaving this world, she wishes to tell her story. Her Aunt Blanche, the sister of her stepfather, spoke to her about my conversations with her grandparents, Étienne and Célina LE PETIT. She worries about my age and my health, but everyone reassures her. So, on this 10th of March 1955, I shall pay her a visit at 213 Rue Léonard de Vinci in Calais.
At the beginning of this afternoon, like mischievous children, the wind, the sun, and the clouds are battling one another. With his powerful breath, Aeolus scatters the stratus and stratocumulus clouds, while the sun shoots its rays across the sky. Playfully, the towering cumulonimbus clouds reclaim their kingdom above us. Spring has arrived ; it whispers into the ears of those willing to listen. I smile at it and walk towards the bus stop. Ten minutes later, I step down at La Nation. Another hundred metres, and I stand before a small house with green shutters. I knock at the door. A tiny, hunched old woman opens it.
“Mademoiselle Rose! You came!”
She had forgotten all her fears.
“Come sit beside me, I made lemonade.”
I follow her into the kitchen. Near the stove, two wicker armchairs have been pulled forward. Hers is worn, covered with cushions and blankets ; the second has been brought out especially for me. She settles herself slowly, carefully adjusting a bolster behind her back and a blanket across her frail legs. Without a word, she takes the glasses from the small table and pours me a drink. A moment suspended outside time. Between two sips, she smiles at me, her eyes glowing with happiness. We set our glasses down. I remain silent and let her speak.
Ilford, to the right, in the suburbs of London
“I was born in 1867 in Ilford, near London. My father, Patrick Beckett BELLEW, came from a great Irish family loyal to the British Crown. I never had the chance to know him. He died at sea in 1869 ; he was a captain in the merchant navy. My mother, Ellen WINT, remarried a Frenchman named Georges LE PETIT. I spent three years living with my Aunt Frances ADAMS. My brother Francis and I joined Mother and my stepfather in 1873 when they settled in Calais. By then, we already had two younger brothers, Georges and Étienne, born from Mother’s second marriage. Once more, we had a family. Mother later gave birth to five more children. We were not wealthy. My stepfather worked as a decorative painter ; work was scarce, and his health was poor. Mother was extravagant. She had been accustomed to a certain luxury, and she found restrictions unbearable.”
She drinks a sip of lemonade and adjusts her blanket again. Sadness clouds her eyes.
“I was sixteen when my little sister Rose died. She was only six years old, poor child, taken away by a terrible fever. We were all devastated. Poor little Rose…”
The pallor leaves her cheeks, and a gentle smile brightens her face.
“That same year, I also found happiness. I met my Léon, a tall handsome young man, blond with blue eyes. It was love at first sight. My good Léon, my beautiful Léon! We married on the 27th of October 1885 in Zutkerque, where we were living at the time. Mother was always restless : Calais, then Louches, then Zutkerque, then Balinghem, before returning once again to Calais. Léon and I lived for a while with his parents. It was not ideal for a young couple, but such was life! We had two lovely children, Franck and Hélène. When Hélène was born, I gave birth at my parents’ home because Léon was working in Calais, searching for a place of our own — a small house in Rue du Midi. And it was there that my little baby died from pneumonia at barely eleven years old.”
She falls silent, struggling to hold back tears. Taking a deep breath, she continues.
“My Hélène married a good man from Guînes, Henri CHOCHOY, in March 1908. They gave us three wonderful grandchildren : Émile in 1909, Maud in 1910, and Emilienne in 1920. My son-in-law left for war in August 1914 but was discharged in 1917 because of a problem with his left lung, I believe. He died in 1932, leaving Hélène alone with my two princesses. Years passed, and the Grim Reaper continued his work. My stepfather died in 1904, my mother in 1909. Year after year, we still enjoyed beautiful moments together until the 11th of March 1944, when my Léon left me. Yes, the Second World War was raging, but at our age all we could do was wait for better days. They never came. He died. My daughter, my granddaughters, and my son-in-law surrounded me with all their love. Grief slowly faded and gave way to memories. It has been eleven years now — eleven long years that I have survived without him. I feel that my end is near. I no longer feel hunger. The cold numbs my limbs despite the warmth around me. But my heart is at peace. I shall soon join my beloved and all those I have lost.”
Not another word. I move closer. Maud has fallen asleep. I place a kiss upon her forehead, leave her a little note, and quietly close the door behind me.
I adjust my coat — the air has grown cold. I walk towards the bus stop with a heavy heart, yet grateful to have fulfilled the wish of this remarkable lady.
Francis and Maud were the uterine half-brother and half-sister of Georges LE PETIT, Catherine’s grandfather.
Maud passed away on the 13th of April 1955.
A rebrousse temps généalogie 