War Heroes - The VOS Family
The Vos Family - A Story of Peace and War
Spouses Louisa and Maurice Vos from Montignies Lez Lens rescued and hid more than 18 Jews during the Second World War, including the Miliband family. The whole village is united
But these people are not going to live hidden and secluded, far from it. The whole village of Montignies-Lez-Lens is united and shares the secret, they will be able to live freely within the village and participate in many activities. Some people even go to work in the village school or study.
Louisa and Maurice Vos were recognized posthumously in 2022 after the publication of a book relating half a century in the tumults of the second war.
Story of the daughter of Renée Miliband who recounts her life as a Jewish refugee with the VOS family who sheltered all these people in the greatest secrecy during the 1940-45 war - Honor to this Montagnarde family
Narrative
My mother. Renee Miliband. met Louisa Vos around 1934 in the small town of Soignies where every week, mum went to the market to sell steak hats. Louisa Vos also went there to sell butter and eggs from her farm located in Montignies-lez-Lens in the province of Hainaut. Mom was coming back from Soignies with good farm butter and fresh eggs.
After a few weeks, they began to talk about their families and their very different lives. Mom told Louisa she had a son and a granddaughter; for her part, Louisa said that she had two daughters and two sons: her eldest daughter, Renee, was about my age. Louisa was happy to know how much I liked good butter and eggs. Mom told him that I didn't have a big appetite but that I really liked the farm produce. Louisa suggested that my parents, my brother and I should go to Montignies to meet the Vos family and have lunch with them next Sunday.
So we left as a family one fine Sunday morning and it was actually this visit that decided our fate. We took the train from Gare du Midi in Brussels and got off at Masnuy St. Pierre where Louisa's husband, Maurice Vos, was waiting for us at the station. A cow, Boulotte, was hitched to a cart - the Vos having no horses, the cows did the work in the fields; Boulotte was very docile and after about 40 minutes of bumping on an old cobbled road, we turned left to finally see Briguolet, the Vos family farm.
The farm gates were open and the family was assembled in the yard. Louisa was there with her four children. Maurice Vos's parents were also expecting us. We introduced ourselves and we were kissed four times by each. Maurice Vos's parents, Victor and Rosalie were called Godfather and Godmother. They lived on the farm and had their small apartment on the ground floor. The children took me to the 'chassis' - a sort of barn with a roof but no door - where there were swings. My brother was with us but he wasn't as thrilled as me. He was a very serious boy who might have preferred to stay in Brussels surrounded by his books and notebooks. After the swing, they took us to see the pigs, rabbits and cows. Gustave Vos, the eldest child asked me if I would like him to teach me to ride a bike; I naturally agreed.
Louisa told us to go back to the farm for dinner. The two families sat down at the large table where a sumptuous dinner awaited us. We sat at the table for a few hours eating and praying. I was happy to be there and felt at home on the farm and with the Vos family. When it was necessary to take the way back, Boulotte was hitched up again and we left for Masnuy St. Pierre. After this visit, I often thought of my friends from Montignies and looked forward to my return to the farm. The Vos family came to our house in Brussels and we became good friends. During the holidays, I would gladly spend some time on the farm. I met several people from the village and I quickly learned the patois, which amused the inhabitants of the farm and the village. I was happy among my Walloon friends and my parents were happy to know that I had a good appetite. Gustave taught me to ride a bicycle and we would leave with Renée to visit Monsieur Maurice's sister in Erbaut and also Madame Louisa's mother in Louvignies.
My friends taught me how to milk cows, feed calves, chickens and rabbits. I also went to the fields to try to help. Mr. Maurice's father was a gardener of great renown and I remember that he went every year to the Floralies Gantoises where he was a member of a jury. He was also a beekeeper and I liked to see how he operated to take honey; he gave me delicious pieces of wax full of honey.
So I spent as much time as possible in Briguolet and these good vacation days continued until May 1940.
Belgium had remained neutral until May 10, 1940, when the Germans violated this neutrality and began their invasion of the Netherlands and Belgium. My parents, my brother and I tried to leave Brussels to go by train to join our family in Paris but the trains had stopped running and my father finally refused to leave Brussels because he thought I was too young to join the hundreds of exiles on the roads of Belgium and France. On May 16, 1940, my 15-year-old brother declared that he did not want to stay in Belgium and that he was going to try to go to Paris alone. After long discussions, my parents have decided that he should not go alone and that our father will accompany him. They had decided to march towards the Franco-Belgian border because the bridges had been bombed and the trains were no longer running. We will join them in Paris when the situation 'settles down'! They left at 5:00 p.m. on May 16. A few years later we finally learned that, instead of heading for the Franco-Belgian border, being convinced that France would not be able to drive back the German troops, he succeeded in persuading my brother that they should rather head for Ostend to try to board a boat leaving for England. They were lucky enough to be able to get on a boat - the last boat leaving Belgium and they then became Belgian refugees. The Germans arrived in Brussels on the morning of May 17 and it was on that day that I
When she learned that my mother and I were alone in Brussels, Louisa came to see us - by bicycle if I remember correctly. She wanted us to leave Brussels for Montignies and stay on the farm until the end of the war. Mom told her that we had to stay in Brussels since she had to continue working and I had to go back to school. Louisa made him promise that we will come to Montignies as often as possible; so we can come back to town with butter, eggs and vegetables.
During about the first two years of occupation, we went there as often as possible and I could spend my holidays on the farm. All our friends were welcoming and we felt good in the countryside surrounded by friends. This kind of life continued until the summer of 1942 when we were obliged to wear a yellow star on our clothes and also had to observe - like all Jews - the curfew; the life of the Jews became more and more difficult and dangerous.
In mid-August 1942, Maman was summoned to the Gestapo located at Avenue Louise in the center of Brussels - it was the headquarters of the Gestapo in Belgium. We never found out how the Germans managed to discover that my father and my brother were in England and not in Switzerland as we claimed. After discovering by chance that they were in London, we managed to correspond with them through the Red Cross (25 words per special document every few weeks). Mom had also managed to obtain an address at Chaud des Fonds in neutral Switzerland and also an address in Portugal, also neutral and a contact in Brazil. The Gestapo intercepted a letter my brother had written to us, I
She decided it was better to go to the Gestapo – I never knew why she decided to go.
Two officers questioned her; she told me that they were very correct and very polite. They must have known she was Jewish since she had to wear her yellow star. They asked her if she spoke and understood German; she told them that she had never learned this language - which was not true - and they believed her. She told them that she had been separated from her husband for a long time and he had taken her son to Switzerland where she knew they were still. The two Germans discussed among themselves what to do and thought that since there was a girl at home, they could monitor our movements and pick us both up later. Miraculously, they gave him a permit allowing him to leave the Gestapo and when
I was waiting for her at home and I was sure that she would not be allowed to leave the Gestapo and that I would be alone in Brussels. While she was at Avenue Louise, our summons was slipped under our door ordering us to go to a camp at Matins where the Jews were incarcerated until the time of departure for Eastern Europe and the concentration camps.
When Mom finally came home, I showed her the invitations and she decided it was time to leave our apartment and go to Montignies. We packed some clothes; I took two or three school books and we were ready to leave Brussels. We gave the keys to our apartment to our neighbor, Madame Grognet, whom we trusted. She was part of a resistance group and had told us that she would do her best to help us and especially to keep our secret. She guarded our property until collaborators received permission to occupy our apartment.
When we left 95, rue de la Victoire in Saint-Gilles; we said goodbye to a few neighbors telling them that we were going to Gare du Nord to take a train to Mechelen. Mom decided that we had to go to the Gare du Nord; she suspected that we might be followed – she had left the Gestapo a few hours before and it was therefore quite possible that she was under surveillance. When we arrived at Gare du Nord, we crossed a few streets and then took a tram to Gare du Midi where trains left for the south of the country. Mom demonstrated her intelligence and excellent strategy; it was always by his courage and his composure, that
We took the train to Masnuy St. Pierre. We naturally wore our yellow star on our summer jacket. Like many Jews under occupation, we wore our handbags on the left side of our jackets to try to hide our yellow star. Many Jews hid it either with a book or a newspaper.
The weather was fine this August afternoon and mum told me that as soon as the train leaves the Flemish part of the country, she will go to the bathroom to take off her jacket and thus get rid of this yellow star; when she resumes her seat, I must do the same. Everything went well and we were sitting in our sundresses and no traveler had noticed our maneuver.
We got off at Masauy St. Pierre where Monsieur Maurice was waiting for us with his cart and Boulotte. We were all three very moved to find ourselves. We arrived in Briguolet where the Vos family was waiting for us and our welcome was warm. We were all very moved. Maurice and Louisa told us that we were safe and that we would stay with them until the end of the war. A little later, a young man from the resistance came to give us our false identity cards and our supply cards. Mom became Madame Renée Banquet and my identity card was under the name of Anne-Marie Debienne.
Our story was that my father - Renée Debienne's first husband had died and she had married her second husband named Banquet; so that was why our names were different. We lived in La Louvière and while we were doing work in our house, we lived with our friends, Maurice and Louisa Vos. Naturally, our new identity cards were not stamped with the word Jew.
There was a primary school in the village and Andrée Oreins, teacher, kindly gave me private lessons two or three afternoons a week; So I went to her house on the little farm where she lived with her mother, Damyre. We spent two hours together and became friends. After a few weeks Mom decided that I should learn Latin. Where to turn? Monsieur le Curé of course. We went to mass every Sunday because Mr. le Curé had told Mama that it would be a good idea if we went to mass on Sunday; the inhabitants of our little village knew why we were in Montignies, but he thought it would still be a good idea for them to see us at mass. That's why on Sunday morning Mama and I put on a nice dress to go to church with Louisa and her family; neither Maurice Vos nor his father went there. There was also a convent in the village and Sister Jeanne took care of the kindergarten.
The Mother Superior invited my mother and me to the convent to get to know each other. It was the first time we had set foot in a convent. There was a fresh smell of wax and the old furniture gleamed. The room we were in seemed luxurious to me; there was a large crucifix on one wall and frames representing the Blessed Virgin and other saints; naturally there was a portrait of the pope. Pius XII. The Mother Superior told Mum that Sister Jeanne would very much like me to help her prepare lessons for her young students; we naturally agreed; I was delighted because it would give me the opportunity to go to the convent and help Sister Jeanne. If, by misfortune, the Germans were to come there while I was there. mother superior me showed where she will hang a novice's garb which I should then put on. The Germans never visited us.
As for my Latin lessons, Monsieur le Curé told us, in confidence, that one of his nephews, also a priest, was hiding in the presbytery after ignoring the summons he had received from the Germans. He had been a Latin teacher in a Belgian college; and so I went twice a week to the presbytery where the young priest gave me Latin lessons. M. le Cure had installed us in the dining room and we were seated at the two ends of the large table. M. le Curé was seated in the middle of a corner of the table and sometimes took a short nap. My teacher had to drag the Latin book across the table and when I had read the exercises, I had to send the book and my notebook back to him. During one of my lessons, my teacher suggested that it would be much easier to share our book if we sat next to each other. When M. le Curé woke up and saw that we had changed places, he decided not to say anything.
Montignies-lez-Lens was located a few kilometers from a German military airfield. Our resistance group had grown and Gustave Vos and two or three young people we knew were part of the resistance. They were leaving to dynamite the railroad tracks. Masnuy St. Pierre - our nearest station - was on the network that ran from France to Eastern Europe. I was helping them by preparing the dynamite they needed and so I spent many hours with these brave guys preparing the dynamite.
A nephew of Mr. Maurice's father, José, had received his summons to report to a meeting place to go to work in Germany. Like many other young people, he decided to ignore this order and Maurice and Louisa Vos agreed to let him join them on the farm. So that the inhabitants of Briguolet included Maurice and Louisa Vos and their four children, Godfather and Godmother, Mom, one of my uncles and me, José and Marcel, another young man who had also decided not to go to work for the Germans. . We were fourteen around the table. There was no embarrassment of riches but there was enough to eat.
At breakfast there was a large toast with a little butter, sometimes jam and a cup of coffee with milk. At noon we had soup, enough potatoes, vegetables from the garden and a small piece of bacon or pork and sometimes a piece of chicken or rabbit; for tea we had a large slice of bread with butter and jam; at supper, if there were any potatoes left over from noon, they were crushed on the bread and it was delicious. Nothing was wasted.
I must mention the eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Vos: Gustave. The leader of our resistance group decided that the guys should get supply cards from the town hall in Lens. Gustave and another young man put a scarf over their faces and only their eyes were visible; they slipped their guns into their socks and cycled to Lens. There, Gustave pulled out his revolver and ordered the young girl who was sitting in his office to give him as many supply cards as possible; her name was Fernande and Gustave immediately fell in love with her! The next day, he returned to the Hôtel de Ville - without his camouflage and without his revolver - and told Fernande that he loved her! They married shortly after the end of the war and lived together with their son,
Towards the end of 1942, we learned that several members of our large family in Brussels were deported. We were told that Mom's sister had been taken by the Germans along with her
13-year-old son, Paul Milman. My uncle, Jacques Milman, was at work and when he got home, his neighbors told him that the Germans had taken Aunt Mania and Paul. He found himself alone, most uneasy and
unhappy; he was at one of his neighbors but had to leave there as soon as possible, On hearing this sad news, Maurice and Louisa Vos decided that he should join us at the farm and Louisa, devoted
as always, went to Brussels and brought him back to Briguolet. He was born in Russia and when he spoke French he had a strong foreign - Russian accent. The resistance also provided him with a false identity card but
they told him that if the Germans came to the farm, they would say he was deaf and dumb so as not to betray his accent. He was very unhappy and most worried about his wife and son - they were killed at
Auschwitz - and spent most of his time smoking with his ear on the radio where he listened to the BBC.
Every evening we all listened to the French BBC program and there was always someone listening at the door in case the Germans arrived. It should be mentioned here that miraculously, Montignies never had German soldiers quartered in the village.
When it rained the roads became muddy and their motorcycles, trucks and cars got stuck in the mud. They were confined to Lens and did not come to the village regularly. During the fall of 1942, one of my father's sisters let us know that the daily life of the Jews of Brussels was becoming more and more precarious and that it would be better for her to leave her apartment with her husband and son. Once again, Maurice and Louisa Vos decided to try to find accommodation and with the support of my mother, accommodation was found in the village: Louisa left for Brussels and brought back my aunt, my uncle and my little cousin; they stayed in the village until the liberation and shared the small house with this family.
Uncle Vlad Slupowski became Monsieur Arthur, was an electrician and managed to work with the village electrician; he was even able to pay something to the owner of the little house. He became quite popular in the village as he was jovial and always ready to help. My aunt was also called Madame Renée and their 4 year old son was Henri George, known as Rigeo. He went to the convent every day and was in Sister Jeanne's class.
All three survived the occupation. My father's younger brother was deported with his 6-year-old son; my aunt was not at home when the raid was carried out and she found herself alone - her husband and her son were killed in Auschwitz. When we heard this terrible news, my mother went to see M. le Curé to tell him what had happened. He has decided that she will be able to find refuge in the parsonage and that he will say that he needs another housekeeper to help with cleaning and meals.
Mom told her she spoke French with a strong foreign accent; he then decided to say that she was from Flanders and that she spoke very little French. Mr. Maurice agreed that Louisa should pick her up in Brussels and bring her back to Montignies. M. le Cure called her Maria and my aunt became very devoted to her. She was understandably most unhappy as she was terribly worried about her son and her husband.
We learned soon after that another brother of my father had been taken during a roundup and had been deported – he too was killed in Auschwitz. His wife, Sara, and his two sons, Fernand - 7 years old - and Maurice - 2 years old - had not been caught and had nowhere to go. Louisa's mother lived in Louvignies, a neighboring village, and she agreed to accommodate my aunt and little Maurice; it was decided that Fernand would live on a farm very near Briguolet and the farmers welcomed the little boy very warmly and he too went to the convent in Sister Jeanne's class. Fernand was a handsome and nice boy and Hortense, the farmer's wife, loved him very much. He learned fairly quickly to speak Walloon. Louisa's mother lived alone and had a small farm with a vegetable garden and an orchard and Sara helped with housework and cleaning. Shortly after, we learned that two of my father's sisters had been taken by the Germans during the night.
The son of one of my aunts was sleeping with his parents and he too was taken away. My two aunts and their family shared a big house in Brussels and my cousin, Maurice Celnik, also lived there with his parents. The night of this roundup, hearing a noise, he woke up and seeing what was happening at home managed to hide in the house and was able to escape. My aunts, their husbands and my cousin Jacky were deported and they all perished in the concentration camp. My cousin, Maurice, who managed to escape, also arrived in Montignies and joined Femand in the farm of Mes and Hortense. He was strong and was able to help the farmers in the fields and on the farm; he too joined the village resistance movement.
We then learned that friends of my uncle who lived with us in Briguolet had been hidden in an attic that they had to leave as soon as possible. The family consisted of father, mother and their two daughters, Maria and Rosa. The father was a well-known tailor in Brussels and he had the means to be able to pay the family willing to accommodate them. Once again, Maurice and Louisa Vos and my mother managed to find them a home. The two girls came from time to time to the farm; they were older than me and we never became friends. I preferred the company of Renée, Gustave, Marie-Louise and little Maurice.
After the liberation of Montignies, this family returned to Brussels and they did not stay in contact with us or with our friends from Montignies and I never saw them again. Incredibly, Louisa and Maurice Vos and my mother managed to find accommodation for seventeen Jews who survived the occupation.
Towards the end of the fall of 1942, I had less and less energy and had no appetite. I didn't want to tell my mother that I didn't feel well because I knew she had enough problems without having to worry about me too. She realized that I was feverish and it was decided that I needed to see a doctor. Doctor Cuvelier de Lens came to see me; I had seen him in the village; he was friendly and did his tours by bike. He knew why we lived with the Vos family. He told us that I had pleurisy and had to stay in bed for six weeks. He prescribed a series of 36 injections. Marcelle Cowez lived on the neighboring farm in Briguolet; she lived there with her mother and I had known them for a long time. They were both very nice and Marcelle agreed to come every day to give me my injections; she stayed with me for a while to cheer me up. Dr. Cuvelier said I had to sleep in a heated room; the room where I slept with my mother had no heating and was rather humid. Maurice and Louisa immediately decided that the big bed I shared with my mother would be put in their bedroom because there was a way to heat the room.
There was, however, one big problem: how to get extra coal rations; the doctor had to fill out a form and Mr. Cuvelier decided that my false name should not be put on the form. Maurice and Louisa have. once again, saved the day. Why not put the name of Marie-Louise, their youngest daughter. Mr. Cuvelier agreed immediately and filled out the form and signed it.
From time to time friends from the village came to see me; M. le Curé and Sister Jeanne also came. Louisa watched my diet; she gave me cream of milk and bacon.
I also had books from the castle library. We did not know then that the count and the countess who lived in the castle were hiding Canadian airmen there. M. le Curé lent me books and I learned a lot about the lives of the saints and their ordeals; I have read and reread the Old and New Testaments; I read the books describing the 'Yellow Peril' and the 'Red Peril'! Everything made flour at the mill.
Those six weeks that I spent in bed were very hard on my mother; in addition to everything she had to do, I called her dozens of times; she was also very worried about me; unfortunately, I didn't realize how tired she was, and Louisa made me promise not to exhaust Mom. The weeks passed and I recovered and resumed my lessons with Andrée Oreins; I was happy to be able to start milking the cows again and going to the fields.
Weeks passed On February 4, 1944, an American plane was returning from a mission - bombing the city of Frankfurt. The plane was separated from its formation because it had been hit by fire from the German airfield. We could see like little white clouds surrounding the plane. We were in the back garden of the farm and from there we could see what was going on. After a few minutes we saw parachutes leaving the bomber; the Germans were still firing and we were very worried. We saw that one of the parachutes had landed in the field behind the garden. José, Gustave and Roger decided to go and see if the paratrooper was alive. I wanted to accompany them but my mother managed to hold me back. After a few minutes, our young people came back carrying a parachute. Two other armed resistance fighters opened the door of the farm, supporting a man in uniform; the latter seemed not to realize what was happening to him. When I saw him, I realized that the man in uniform was an American airman and I must admit that I threw myself into his arms to kiss him. I was the only one who spoke and understood some English and I managed to make him understand that he was with friends who were going to take care of him. He did not know in which country he had landed. man in uniform was an American airman and I must confess that I threw myself into his arms to kiss him. I was the only one who spoke and understood some English and I managed to make him understand that he was with friends who were going to take care of him. He did not know in which country he had landed. man in uniform was an American airman and I must confess that I threw myself into his arms to kiss him. I was the only one who spoke and understood some English and I managed to make him understand that he was with friends who were going to take care of him. He did not know in which country he had landed.
Mr. Maurice was in bed that day and when his son Gustave came upstairs to tell him what was going on downstairs, Maurice – with his usual coolness – said there was only one thing to do; the American had to stay on the farm. He was stripped of his uniform and boots; the boys left to hide them with also the parachute. Louisa found clothes for him.
Our airman was called Monroe Cordon and he told me he was in London the very morning of the bombing of Frankfurt. I told him that my father and my brother were in London and he told me that when he returns to England he will write to them; I gave him their address which he learned by heart because it was too dangerous to have this address on him in case he was taken by the Germans. He wanted to know what we were doing on the farm and I told him why we were there. He told me that he too was Jewish, that he lived in New York, that he was 27 years old and that the planes had just returned from having bombed Frankfurt. He told me that one of his legs was hurting him and that he also had quite a pain in his chest. We learned later that his plane got
Maurice Vos told us that if the Germans were to come and search the farm, they must not find us at all costs. He had decided that Mom and I should spend the night at a nearby farm, at Divine's. We knew her well and found her very pleasant. I told my mother and Maurice that I couldn't leave the American because he didn't understand French and that I absolutely had to stay in Briguolet. Despite all my explanations, I had to leave. Mr. Maurice told us that he had sworn to see us survive the war and to see us reunited with my father and my brother.
During the afternoon, some resistance fighters came to the farm to say that the Germans had arrived in the village to see if any Americans were hiding there. They decided to hide our paratrooper in the barn. Before they could hold me back, I left with him towards the barn, still under the excuse of being able to explain to him what we were saying. He was very tired and his leg and chest hurt, and he was also very worried about being found in civilian clothes. At the barn, we climbed the ladder and I covered him with hay before hiding beside him. After a while, the barn door opened and a few armed Germans came in and started to stir up the sheaves of hay that were scattered on the ground floor of the barn. We hid, hardly daring to breathe. Luckily they decided to leave after a few minutes saying there was nobody at the barn.
I knew enough German to understand what they were saying; they left, leaving the door ajar. It's a miracle that they didn't find us. The paratrooper then told me that he had never had the opportunity to see a 'real' German soldier and he absolutely wanted to go down to try to see the Germans! It was sheer madness. He saw the German soldiers climb onto their truck and leave the farm. We made it back to the farm, safe and sound - for now.
In the evening, Mom and I went to Divine, who had prepared our room and was most welcoming despite the danger. Before going to bed I told my mother that I absolutely had to go to Briguolet to make sure that our American wasn't too worried, that he was a little reassured and a little more comfortable. . Before Mom could hold me back I put on a pair of clogs and put a big black shawl over my head and shoulders and ignoring the curfew I ran towards the farm avoiding the path and going through the fields, walking along the paths and falling in the mud more than once. Mom was following me, furious but unable to catch me and hold me back.
When we arrived in Briguolet, the children were in bed and our friends and the paratrooper were very amused to see what a state I was in, muddy and covered in mud. Everything was fine at the farm and my mother made me turn back to spend the night at Divine's. The next day, a few members of the resistance came with a passport for Monroe. He couldn't pronounce his fake name with a convincing French accent and I had a good time trying to get him to say it. Eventually he was told that if, by misfortune, he was questioned, Maurice and Louisa Vos would declare him deaf and dumb - or the village idiot. The young people of the resistance said that as soon as he can travel, one of them will come with a cart drawn by a horse to take him back to the French border where French guerrillas would take care of finding him a refuge and as soon as possible, take him to Portugal from where he could return to England. I was very sad when he left after promising to get in touch with my father and my brother as soon as he arrived in London.
It was for me the end of an incredible adventure but in 1960, my husband, my children and I lived outside of Washington and my friend who worked at the United Nations managed to find where Monroe lived; she called him to tell him that I was in the United States and gave him our phone number. He called me and came to see us. He told us that he had to stay in France where two old women hid him until the end of the war. In the meantime, his parents had been informed that their son had to parachute somewhere in occupied Europe and they stated that since there was no news of him, they presumed him dead. I met Monroe's father in 1960 and he told me how grateful he was to the Vos family of
Montignies was finally liberated on September 4, 1944 when the first American tanks arrived in the village.
Everyone was so happy to see our liberators. We were alive thanks to the courage of the Vos family and our friends in the village. The burgomaster of Montignies, M. Degauquier, joined us on the road full of American tanks and he told my mother that he had never seen me so happy. Because. We remained friends with the Vos family and our friends in the village.
Louisa Vos came to London to attend my wedding in 1953 and. after his death, Maurice Vos came several times to spend holidays with us.
The years have passed and I very often think of my friends from Montignies. Words fail me to express my feelings for the Vos family and the affection I still feel for Maurice and Louisa. My parents and my brother have never forgotten what these people have done for us.
What more can I say?...
In Addition :
- Find the link of an article from the English newspaper the Telegraph relating the story in Montignies of Ed Milband and his family
- Please find below, a Youtube film recounting the memory of Henri Slupowski, nephew of Renée Miliband (who himself was accommodated in Montignies thanks to the help of the Vos family), during a recent visit to Montignies-Lez -lens
3. and finally a very nice report from TELEMB about the VOS family