The response to France’s military collapse was chaotic. No official plans had been issued for a mass evacuation, yet almost three million out of Paris’s five million inhabitants, including bureaucrats and diplomats, clamoured to get out of the city. Paris-Soir advised women to wear comfortable flat shoes and robust thick stockings rather than the elegant silk variety. But that did little to dispel the collective panic which was largely based on fear of being taken prisoner. On 9 June, Simone de Beauvoir wrote: ‘I took the German advance as a personal threat. I had only one idea which was not to be cut off from [Jean-Paul] Sartre, not to be taken like a rat in occupied Paris.’
Although some of the wealthier Parisians had left as soon as they realized things were going badly, the poorer ones, with no private means of transport, now flooded on to already overcrowded trains, using every inch of space, including the toilets, as additional seating. This use of the toilets caused intolerable problems on long journeys for passengers who needed to relieve themselves. Many women, in the face of dire need, lost their inhibitions and, on at least one occasion when a train stopped, strong men were seen to lift women out through the windows where they then proceeded to raise their skirts and crouch on the ground, embarrassingly close to the train which they feared might move off without them, as they urinated in a row along the railway line. Thousands of other Parisians tried to leave the city using whatever mode of transport they could commandeer. The roads, already congested with Belgian refugees, were now jammed with desperate families, using private cars if they had enough fuel, often with a mattress on the roof in the mistaken belief that this would lessen the impact of a bomb. Others took to bicycles, or walked, pushing prams and occasionally home-made wheelbarrows containing the frail elderly instead of babies. Some historians have estimated that up to ten million French people fled their homes in the wake of the German advance, not always knowing where they were going (south or west was the general direction rather than north, a route that was now impossible). It was a pathetic multitude, those on foot often going as fast as the red-faced, angry drivers uselessly honking horns.
Most of those who left Paris were women, children and the elderly – the men were either working in factories or serving in the army – as schools were closed down early and exams cancelled, family pets destroyed or else left to run wild and be shot by others. What women chose to wear for such a nightmare journey was much commented on. Some, given the extreme heat and believing they would not be on the road for long, wore summer shorts. Others, more cautious, decided that, despite the stifling weather, the only way to avoid carrying luggage was to wear a large proportion of their wardrobe. ‘It was quite common to see women wearing lots of layers of clothes, shirt over shirt, skirt over skirt, jackets covered with coats. The whole ensemble would be set off with scarf, gloves and a hat – the dress code for a middle-class woman could not be ignored even if the wearer had become a nomad.’
Although some took advantage of the sunshine to bring out picnics which they ate, once out in the country, by the poplar-lined roadsides, more commonly families ran out of food or were terrifyingly both strafed and bombed by German planes, which flew low over the crowded roads of civilians. Ditches provided little protection. Such cruelty seemed especially poignant because of the beautiful hot weather and clear blue skies. Yet so dangerous were the air attacks, and so exhausting the task of carrying weary toddlers, that several mothers accepted offers of lifts from strangers for their children and then, unable to track down their children, posted fraught notices seeking information, a clear indication that normal behaviour had been suspended since no one had any idea of the scale or outcome of the unfolding drama. Heart-rending messages begging for news of lost children appeared for weeks afterwards.