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The war in North Africa was approaching its end. The bulk of the Afrika-Korps was bottled up in Tunisia’s Cap Bon peninsula and Rommel had flown to Germany. On Sunday, 8 May, 1943, the German army prepared to surrender. This coincided with the feast-day of Jeanne d’Arc and brought Algiers out in a flurry of bunting and military parades. I had been Jeanne’s devoted admirer since my teens and although I despised the ‘sainthood’ thrust upon her, I went to the Cathedral. I wormed my way in and stood close to a small group of American soldiers.

Mass was being celebrated on the steps where an altar had been raised, overshadowed by a statue of the Maid of Lorraine. There were massed military bands. The day was gleaming-bright, the sunlight picking out the glint of bayonets and steel helmets, contrasting with the glowing red of the Archbishop’s vestments. A choir of some two hundred children was conducted by an enthusiastic deacon whose white beard reached his waist. Oblivious to all this, the officiating priest, withdrawn and quiet, murmured and genuflected his way through the consecration and elevation of the Host. Curiously, the inmost ring of guards were fez-wearing Senegalese askaris — Muslims to a man. Curiously, too, it was on Sunday, 8 May, 1429 that the English abandoned their siege of Orleans, defeated by Jeanne d’Arc.

That night, in spite of the usual black-out, the town was en fete. Groping along the Rue Michelet I bumped into some small obstacle, little more than waist-high. It had a voice: ‘Wull’ye hae a fecht? I’ll gie ye a fecht!’ Some members of the 51st Highland Division, heroes of El Alamein, were in town and lacked occupation now that Germans were ‘off limits’. I did not want a fight, dodged sideways and saw the little man stumbling on, still seeking an enemy.

The French had staged a big military parade in the afternoon with flags, drums, bugle-bands, tanks and armoured vehicles processing through the main streets. There were Spahis too, Arab cavalry in their flowing robes. British soldier-onlookers were unimpressed. ‘French! They make a lot of bloody noise now, when it’s all over,’ said one, ‘Never saw any of ‘em anywhere near the Jerries.'

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