Christmas in Verviers, 1944

A Love Story

My father was a sergeant in the 327^th Fighter Control Squadron, the first American unit to bed down in Verviers after Belgium's liberation in September 1944. Christmastime would be wonderful and terrifying for him and his Belgian sweetheart.

Dad supervised two men in a radio van perched atop the hills of nearby Stembert. Fighter Control soldiers were liaisons between pilots in five-plane fighter squadrons and controllers in operations blocks on the ground. They would help guide pilots to their targets. If flyers were lost or hit, radio men would help direct them back to base.

Unlike combat soldiers, who were usually in the field, Fighter Control men lived and worked alongside civilians in urban and semi-urban war zones. Thus my father had an up-close view of Belgian life.

Verviers was a small city of 41,000 in eastern Belgium near the German border. It had cobblestone streets filled with tram tracks and three-story buildings. Apartments had tiny rooms with small, rectangular windows shrouded in black.

Bomb damage in Verviers was modest, but the economy was decimated. The retreating Germans took tons of food and furniture with them, leaving little for Belgian families. Each citizen was rationed 1,200 calories of food a day, half a normal diet. Despite recourse to the black market, it was difficult for most people to get enough to eat.

There were shortages of electricity, gasoline, and natural gas. A natural gas pipeline serving Verviers and Liege ruptured, leaving Verviers without fuel. People could only iron their clothes at certain times of day. The gasoline shortage was so bad that farmers in Stembert manufactured ethanol in their backyards.

Yet Belgians generously opened their homes to American soldiers. My father got so many dinner invitations that he had to turn some down. Belgians did his laundry, mended his clothes, and then refused payment.

In October, Dad met a beautiful, 23-year-old Belgian seamstress whom I will call Denise. When the Nazis overran Belgium in 1940, Denise's husband was sent to a forced labor camp. Two years later, she heard that he had died.