It was a tiny peasant farmhouse in a small village near the French border but she had worked hard on the small farm and in the dirt-floored house had raised her large family. During the hardships of World War II she still managed to feed widowed children and grandchildren. Widowed, she prayed daily for peace so that she could learn the whearabouts of those sons and daughters who had emigrated to New York before the outbreak of hostilities. Everyone knew that the war would end soon and that Germany would lose and be devestated although there was still a death sentance for anyone who even whispered that thought.
French were crossing the nearbye border and tension was high when she heard a noise. Genevieve Schweizer went out armed with her broom. On the roof of her house she saw a young German soldier set up his ugly machine gun. He was getting ready for the futile attempt to "save his Fatherland", but Genevieve was also ready to save her little farmhouse. "Get down from there she shouted as she waved her broom. You have lost the war and now you want to draw fire so I lose my house also." The young man was ready to face the French army but he was no match for my Grandmother and so skeedadled down and set up his gun somewhere else. She lived a long time in her little home and saw some of her children return from America to modernize and live in the little house that her courage saved.
