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A LEGIONNAIRE’S HOME IS HIS CHATEAU…

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by Jeremy Josephs, an English freelance journalist and writer living in Montpellier, France.

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"The grandest assembly of real fighting men that I have ever seen, marching with their heads up as if they owned the world. Lean, hard-looking men, carrying their arms admirably and marching with perfect precision. They are Devils, not Men!"

Field-Marshall Viscount Alanbrooke’s words about the legendary French Foreign Legion still ring out today. Which makes one wonder, of course, what the late head of the Imperial General Staff during World War II would have made of the remarkable Institution des Invalides de la Légion Etrangère, the Legion’s handsome retirement chateau situated in deepest Pagnol territory in the sunny south of France. He would in all likelihood have concluded that old age creeps up on everyone – even devilishly able fighting men. But that there might well be worse places in the world where one can prune the grapevines and burnish the myth.

Romanticised by Gary Cooper in the 1939 movie Beau Geste as a haven for the lovelorn and those anxious to establish a new identity, the ranks of La Légion have now thinned considerably - down from 45,000 at the outbreak of the Second World War to fewer than 8,000 today. Yet its appeal is stronger than ever, a mysterious piece of PR pulled off without so much as a single spin-doctor on the Legion’s payroll. And each and every eager new recruit apparently oblivious to the fact that some 35,000 legionnaires have given their lives for France during the Legion’s glorious but bloody 170-year history. ‘Foreigners who have become the sons of France, not by the blood they have inherited but by the blood they gave’, the official literature will inform you. But there is no stopping these boys, over half from eastern Europe, who continue to beat a path to the Legion’s Headquarters at Aubagne, near Marseilles, in search of excitement, fun and adventure. Not to mention the tantalising carrot of French nationality dangling deliciously if they can survive five years of service in what is now acknowledged to be one of the toughest fighting forces in the world.

George Robinson was one such young hopeful – and an Englishman at that. A happily married family man he held down a good job when, at the age of 26, disaster struck:

"My wife and I had a baby girl - the sunshine of our lives. But she died when just a few months old. We then had a second daughter – but then my wife was also struck down with a terminal illness and died at the age of 24. I couldn’t take it, I didn’t know what to do with myself - how to deal with my grief. All I did know was that I was in danger of cracking up. I had to get away to preserve my own sanity. I entrusted the care of my daughter to my mother and sister-in-law – they agreed to share responsibility equally between them – and I headed off to France to join the French Foreign Legion, where I served for 10 years. The Legion is not just tattooed on my arms – it flows through my blood and is in my heart."

Founded by King Louis-Philippe in 1831 as an aid to controlling French colonial possessions in Africa, the Legion established its headquarters at Sidi bel Abbès, Algeria. And from where, under the orders of the appropriate political and financial masters of the day, it proceeded to enforce French foreign policy, much as we Brits did in what is now referred to in the history books as gunboat diplomacy. With the scramble for colonies poised to begin in earnest, there was no shortage of battles to be fought. The most famous of these was the decision to support the ill-fated emperor Maximillian in Mexico. On 30th April 1863, at the Camerone Hacienda near Puebla, 65 men under the orders of Captain Danjou contained the assault of more than 2000 Mexican soldiers. At the beginning of the battle the Captain solemnly reminded his men of their duty to defend their position at all costs. Faithful to their word the legionnaires resisted until their last breath so that their mission – the safe passage of a convoy – could be successfully carried out. After a day of heroic fighting the last five survivors then fixed their bayonets and charged, fully aware that in so doing they too were running headlong towards their own deaths.

The name of this battle adorns every Legion flag to this day – and remains a symbol of a mission carried out to the bitter end. The expression "faire Camerone" has also been found on every campaign waged by the Foreign Legion ever since. Needless to say the good Captain Danjou (who died at noon in the bloodbath) is one of the greatest names in Legion history. In fact, in a rather macabre ceremony performed at Aubagne on 30th April of every year, the Captain’s artificial wooden hand (lost in previous fighting but recovered at the site of the battle) is removed from its hallowed crypt and shown to present day Legionnaires – a symbol of sacrifice designed to remind the current fighting force what might be expected of them.

If Captain Danjou’s wooden hand hasn’t done the trick, then the organisation’s unofficial motto "Legio patria nostra" ("The Legion is our fatherland") further reminds the legionnaire where his first loyalty lies. Likewise upon enlistment his oath is not to serve France but the Legion. In return for such unquestioning devotion, however, can the Legionnaire expect anything in return?

"Most certainly", George Robinson retorts. "The use of this magnificent chateau for one thing. I feel at home here, as if I am with family – even if they do insist upon calling me Gaston rather than George!"

Situated at the foot of the (appropriately named) majestic Sainte Victoire mountain, and just a stone’s throw from the picturesque village of Puyloubier the (clumsily named) Institution des Invalides de la Légion Etrangère (The Invalids’ Institution of the Foreign Legion) represents a veritable haven for a number of these former fighting men. As you drive through the surrounding countryside – delightful, even by the standards of Provence – and surrounded by vines in each and every direction - you occasionally come across the locals playing pétanque or making their way back home with a freshly baked baguette tucked securely under their arm.

Of course Groucho Marx once memorably remarked that ‘marriage is a wonderful institution – but who would want to live in an institution?’ Well, when it comes to the French Foreign Legion, at least, the answer is 134 - to be precise. The principle is simplicity itself: this group of men – foreigners for the most part – were prepared to give their lives for France. Time, therefore, for France to give due recognition to their service and to look after them in old age. Such was the guiding philosophy of reciprocity which led the State to acquire the 220-hectare estate, including its historic chateau, back in 1953 – and to hand it over to the Legion. It was promptly renamed the ‘Domaine du Capitaine Danjou’ – quelle surprise!

Gilbert Hensinger, only recently installed as the Institution’s new Director sums up the approach:

"There used to be mostly wounded people here – that’s why it’s still got the word invalid in the title. This was in the aftermath of the war of independence in Algeria and the war in Indo-China. But since, thankfully, there are less wars now – we also have room for people who can’t function in civvy street. I sometimes refer to these people who have been wounded – not by war – but by life. And I am talking here about issues such as divorce, unemployment, depression – and so on. We owe these people a debt. So if they come and knock and our door we take them in. We don’t leave a legionnaire in la merde – voila."

The criteria for admission are simple: to have served in the Legion and been discharged with good behaviour – and to be prepared to abide by the interior rules and regulations of the Institution – which means leading the life of a bachelor, not a family man. There is a also a financial contribution to be made.

Do not be lulled into believing, though, that this is a tale with a happily-ever-after ending. The centre has more than its fair share of psychiatric cases and a serious problem in relation to alcoholism. Commandant Hensinger confided that he had only been in his new posting for a month and a half and there had already been two suicides. On my visit to the Domaine I shook hands with one ancien who was so frustrated with himself because he could only utter 3 words since his stroke – oui, non and merde. "Merde", he cussed, as he wandered off, "merde, merde merde!" Another former legionnaire would wander into the village of Puyloubier most days where he would be brought back by some kindly soul.

For those anciens possessed of their full faculties, however – and that accounted for the vast majority – there is work to be done. "Preoccupations", Hensinger told me, "deviennent occupations". In other words the goal is to redirect worry into work. And there is plenty of work to be done – including wine-making, animal husbandry, book binding and ceramics. George Robinson had managed to pick up on his previous career which had been so tragically interrupted and was using his skills as a graphic designer to produce stickers, posters and other Legion memorabilia – his finger no longer on a machine gun but a mouse. A Greek Cypriot was producing porcelain Kepi Blanc mugs – there was even a former German ace fighter pilot in charge of looking after the residents’ clothes and laundry.

"But that’s the Legion for you", Robinson reflects, "we always draw a line under someone’s past – no questions asked. Once you are in the Legion – then you are a member of the family. It’s as simple as that."

Legion rhetoric? Hardly. For even that old American tough guy Norman Schwarzkopf – ‘Stormin’ Norman’ as he was known in his Gulf War days – was suitably impressed when he came to visit to the Domaine a few years ago. He recalls:

"We went all around the different workshops. There were so many to be seen. And, on each occasion, the men who were working there – people in their seventies and eighties – would leap to their feet and salute me. Thanks to the Legion it appeared as if they had not the slightest difficulty in keeping their soldier’s pride in tact. That’s so important. And it was truly a wonderful thing to behold."

"I’m terribly sorry – but I’ve got to go now", George Robinson informs me. There is a note of urgency in his voice.

"You have got time for a few quick photographs though?" I plead.

"Alright, but I must shoot off after that. It’s a big day for me today. Guess who’s coming to say hello to her old dad? My daughter!"

And whereupon he disappeared into the grounds of the Chateau, wearing a legendary, legionnaire’s smile.


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