The Woman Who Made Tin Faces

​Chapter Sixteen 
November, 1923 
​Grande Parade


A mixture of rain and snow fell on the crowds gathering for the Grande Parade. The grandstand was covered by a large tarp so that those invited to this place of honor would not get wet while the rest of the crowd sat under their umbrellas. The soldiers would assemble at Place de la Concorde.  From there they would march under the Arc de Triomphe.  Then they would turn left on Avenue du Bois de Boulogne where they would pass the grandstand standing on left side of Boulevard Peripherique before ending their parade in the Bois de Boulogne Park once the haunt of many of the Impressionist artists like Monet and Surat.  Prime Minister Raymond Poincare would deliver a keynote speech honoring the soldiers before Monsieur Dobbenay  would deliver some noble words to recognize some of the dignitaries and heroes assembled for the Grande Parade.  

Vendors moved quickly through the crowds selling flags and other patriotic memorabilia before the ceremony would begin.  The soldiers dressed in their uniforms with their overcoats tried to find shelter from the cold icy rain.  It was a typical day in Paris in November, many of them thought.  

General Ferdinand  Foch would sit next to the Prime Minister on one side and Monsieur Dobbenay on the other.  Rumors were running rampant that the old field marshall was leaving for Poland to assume the leadership of that country after settling the conflict between Russia and Poland.  Having spent his entire adult life in uniform, his manner was very formal and he addressed a lot of the people by military rank such as “captain” or “general.” His counter attacks at the Battle of Marne won him international acclaim, but at a very steep cost of human life.

Martin Delliuege sat in his wheelchair blowing into his hands.  They had gathered about a hundred meters from the grandstand where they would join the soldiers as they marched past.  Many were in poor physical shape, but each was willing to join in and do their best.  Those who had tin masks wore them.  As they passed the grandstand, a signal would be given and they would remove their masks revealing their disfigurement to the dignitaries in the grandstand.  As Martin had said to them, “Time to show our countrymen the true face of the Great War.” 

Many of them wore their overcoats, some placed their medals on their left pocket as they would have worn them in a ceremony.  

The marching band would lead the procession, so the horns and drums sounded from a distance.

Monsieur Dobbenay smiled as his dream was coming to life on this cold November day.  He remembered sitting in his office when he first got word that the war was over.  There was all kinds of celebrating and shouting in the Assemblee for hours.

Victorious.

It had taken seven years, but now all was in place.

Some of the cannons were fired, twenty one to be exact.  

“Not such a pleasant day, general.” Field Marshall Foch blew into his bare hands.

“No sir.” Dobbenay shook his head.  He had worn gloves and a jacket to repel the rain.  The music got louder as the procession passed the Arc de Triomphe.  He could hear people shouting “Viva la France!” 

No matter how cold the day got, just hearing the shouts from the crowd was enough to keep his heart pumping and thumping like a drum.  

“Monsieur Dobbenay, I must get to a meeting as soon as this is over.” Prime Minister Poincare whispered into his ear.

“Yes, sir.” Dobbenay nodded.


“Here they come, Monsieur Delliuege.” One of the men announced. 

“Everyone get ready!” He called out to those waiting behind him.  

If ever there was an army that appeared any more pitiful and weatherbeaten than the men surrounding Martin, history has not recorded such an event.   Men with crutches replacing missing legs, men with sleeves pinned with one or both arms missing, nearly fifty wearing tin masks over disfigured faces, men who were blind from mustard gas, men with useless ears that could no longer hear, men who were missing pieces and parts that made them appear as walking skeletons, men who had lost their cognitive abilities for physical and mental reasons filled in the ranks.  These were the men who were the true heroes.  These were the men who deserved the prompt and ceremony Martin felt as the marching band came into view, horns and drums in perfect synchronization.

“Ready.” He nodded, “Steady.” 

The soldiers in the ranks following the marching band were old veterans from the war.  Some of them wore armbands proclaiming the campaigns they had fought in.  When they saw the band Martin had assembled, some of the soldiers nodded or tipped their hats to them.  The final row carried the colors of the companies present at the parade.

“Step in front of the flag bearers.” Martin ordered them and with that, they began to step out into the parade.  The color guard did not know what to do so they made room for the group.  There were men who pushed the wheelchairs of non ambulatory veterans like Martin. 

People in the crowd began to murmur as these ragged soldiers passed.  And then the crowd became quiet to see so many maimed and injured soldiers heading for the grandstand.

“What is that?” Prime Minister Poincare pointed to Martin’s group in the rear of the formation.

“I...don’t know.” Monsieur Dobbenay’s eyes grew wide.

“Is this some kind of stunt, general?” Field Marshall Foch shook his head.

“No, no.  This was not supposed to happen.” He gasped.  Just then the signal was given and those wearing the tin masks removed them so the crowd could see the horrible scars and disfigurement they were left with as a souvenir of the Great War. 

“We must get the authorities to rid us of this despicable display.” Dobbenay whispered to the head of security.

What Dobbenay did not see was Field Marshall Foch standing saluting them as they passed the grandstand.

Once they reached the park, the police were waiting for them.  Martin could not figure out how the police were going to deal with them, but they began taking the men down to the ground and put restraints on them.

“Stop that!” He called out, but a policeman had taken the man pushing his wheelchair and forced the man’s head into the ground as he put restraints on him.

“Are you their leader?” Asked one of the policemen.

“There is no leader. They have come on their own free will.” Martin answered.

Etienne Romeaux stepped in front of the policeman who was questioning Martin.  His odd facial appearance made the officer gasp, but another officer closeby brought down a club on Etienne’s head.  His knees buckled and he fell face first into the grass.  Blood streamed from his head.

“Got that one.” The policeman laughed as he went to help round up some more of the rabble rousers. 

“He’s dead.” Martin leaned over his friend.

“He’s not dead.” The officer questioning Martin shook his head.

“Hey, this man is dead.” Martin asserted. 

“Just a blow to the head.” The policeman tied Martin’s hands to his wheelchair with a thick leather strap.

“He is dead, I’m telling you.” Martin was now unable to move. 

“We will take him to the hospital before we charge him.”  The officer rolled Martin’s wheelchair toward a van, but the ground was uneven and the chair tipped over.  Martin had his face pushed into the dirt making it difficult to breathe. 

“Get these men out of here.” Monsieur Dobbenay commanded.  His face was red with anger. “Public disturbance.” 

What the battlefield had not been able to do to him, a single blow to his head had ended Etienne’s life as he bled to death in one of the most beautiful parks on earth. 

In the rush to get the rabble rousers out of the park, Martin was left there, hands still tied to the arms of his wheelchair.  After the chaos had settled, a man came over to help him.

“Just get my chair up.” He could barely speak as his face was pressed into the dirt.  The man did as Martin had requested. 

“I was glad to see you and your men.” The man said as he undid the leather straps that left a welt in both of Martin’s wrists. “France needs to honor you.” 
“Who are you?” Martin asked.

“Captain Reginald Wright, Royal Army.” He saluted. “I was at the Marne and the French really saved our bacon. I came because I heard about this parade. I am glad I did.” 

He was able to push Martin’s wheelchair easily to the sidewalk.  

“Carried litters when I was asked to.” He chuckled. “Buy ya a cup of tea?” 

“It would be rude to refuse.” Martin spoke in English as Reggie pushed him to a small cafe near the park.  


When she heard of Etienne’s death, Mindy was inconsolable in her grief.  The whole awful affair had been plastered over the front pages of most of the newspapers in the city.  Monsieur Dobbenay was livid when he saw that his Grande Parade had been turned into an embarrassing political statement.  Martin on the other hand was pleased that his men got so much attention, but he was also sad for the death of his friend.  As he would tell the others, “Too high a price to pay.” 

Father Riggligeur performed the service for Etienne Romeaux to a filled chapel.  

“His gentle nature will be missed.  Rest assured that he has been returned to the image that God created him in.  We must see ourselves as which were made in His likeness.  Any variance or abolition of His creation will be returned to that which pleases our Creator.  We are his children.” He closed the book and looked out into the crowd. He bowed his head, “Let us pray.” 


“Was this necessary?” Mindy asked Martin after the mass.

“We went there of our own free will.” He said without meeting her in the eyes.

“They look up to you.” She said as he stared at the floor, “They would give up their lives for you just like Etienne did.”

“He was murdered.” Martin glared at her.

“He would not have been if you had not gone there.” She got close to his face.

“Something else would have come along.” Martin was barely able to control his temper, but Mindy had always been on his side even when nobody else seemed to be.  

“It always does.” She crossed her arms.

“We did the right thing.” He said.  His words came out of a place deep and close to his heart.  She could see it.  She had to admit, Martin was not afraid to speak of things that touched him very dearly. “I miss him, too, you know.  He was always ready to do what he felt was right.”

“I’m sorry.” She put her hand over his, he looked up into her eyes, “I sometimes forget what you have been through...all of you.  I sit here in my shoppe and make these tin masks without ever really considering what was sacrificed before they come here.”

“Everybody hopes we die soon so we won’t remind them of what we did.” He looked away so she would not see the tears in his eyes. “My father saw me and told me he couldn’t use me.  He has some heffers.  I told him I could milk them, but he told me that I would just embarrass myself if I did. When he told me that I began to hate him.  Hate him for making me feel that I wasn’t his son anymore.  Jasper, my younger brother, gave me this necklace I wear and told me that God would look after me.”

“You are always welcome here.” Mindy managed to say as her tears fell freely.

“Why won’t a woman fall in love with me?” Jean St. Paul asked as Mindy put the strap over his ears.  It fit as it was supposed to. “I go to the cabarets, but as soon as they see my face, they find other men.” 

“I’m sorry.  You seem like a good looking man.” Mindy held up a hand mirror. 

“I was once very handsome, you know.” He said with conviction.

“I have no reason to doubt you.” She removed his mask to do a couple of touch ups on the decoration.

“Could you  make it look like my skin?” He asked.

“I could, but it would take longer.” She shook her head.

“I want to enjoy the company of a young lady who likes me for who I am.”  His nose was no more than a bump in an otherwise empty face.  Missing both eyes, he needed to use a cane to get around.  The eyes she had painted into the mask appeared like a masquerade mask.  Some of her customers were more interested in appearing more realistic for the same reasons Jean wanted his mask to appear more natural.  But it was difficult to do that on tin as no matter how it was painted, it still looked metallic.  There wasn’t much that could be done to make the mask appear natural, but she would do her best.  Since Jean was missing both eyes, she could tell him how natural he looked, but she also knew as he frequented the red light district, the women would not be drawn to him.  It made her sad to realize that most of her customers lived alone or in institutions that would shelter them from society.  

Faces were important and beauty was often fleeting.  When she looked into a mirror, she began to notice the age spots and lines that were not there such a short time ago.  Jacques always told her that she was his princess when she was a girl, but lately she did not feel so royal or so desirable.  She found herself spending more and more time in her shoppe, isolating herself.  It had been over a year since she went to the SFOI.  She promised after Solomon’s passing that she would come in for meetings, but she had failed to live up to that promise.  And now that Agnes was married, she missed her coming over once a week to have tea at the bistro across the street. 

“Emile is awake.” Monique appeared from the back.

“Bring him to me, please.” Mindy knew that her son was the reason she did not give up and pack it in.  

“Here you go.” Monique handed the squirming baby to Mindy.

“Can I see him?” Jean asked, but for him to see, he would need to use his hands.

“Sure.” Mindy held him as Jean’s hands went over the baby’s face.  His touch was gentle and soothing.  

“If I had a son like you, he would not want to see me, would he?” Jean asked, “Because I am so awful to look at.” 

“No, no...he would think you were a handsome man.” She held Emile close to her chest.

“I am not.  I may not have eyes, but the women call me the monster.” He took the mask off the table and put it on, “But at least when I wear this, I won’t be ugly anymore.” 

He put his hands out before him.  Monique took his arm and led him out of the shoppe.

“I will send for you when your mask is ready.” Mindy told him as he left with Monique still holding his arm.  Holding Emile, she laughed, “Someone needs a diaper changed.  Phew.”