Army American University at Biarritz, France, 1945 by Peggy Scholberg

Biarritz France, Jack Munro in 1945 and Peggy Munro Scholberg in 2024

In 1944 the Servicemen’s Readjustment Act, more commonly known as the GI Bill, was passed in the United States. President Roosevelt believed a post-war education program could increase morale of the troops that had been fighting in Europe. It would take months to ferry troops back across the Atlantic. General Dwight Eisenhower, commander of the European Theatre of Operations, was responsible for its implementation.

Within four months of VE Day May 8, three entirely new ‘universities’ were created in Europe. One was located in Biarritz, on the Atlantic coast in southwestern France not far from the Spanish border. It opened August 10, 1945. Approximately 10,000 students attended at least one 8 week term. Biarritz had been a grand resort town, until the rich and aristocratic clientele stopped taking vacations there when France fell.  To accommodate the military, The Hotel du Palais, built by Napoleon III for Empress Eugenie, became a regular college hostel. The casino became the library with bookcases replacing the roulette wheel.  Student soldiers in uniforms filled the streets of Biarritz, and called it a “GI Paradise.”

My mother always smiled and sighed whenever she talked about Biarritz. Apparently, she was easily accepted to the program. However, getting there was a different matter. Read about the gutsy steps she took to actually get there. She met my father while enroute to Biarritz. Find out what he said to her that had her falling head over heels in love with him. Hint: it’s not what you might expect. 

Last year my husband and I were able to visit Biarritz, taking the train down from Bordeaux. The Hotel Du Palais was even more extravagant than I could have imagined. It was 4pm when we went to the bar in the open air on the beach. We were met with a well-dressed and well-mannered waiter with perfect posture. My husband ordered us both water using his best French. Fancy hors d’oeuvres, none with foods I could identify, passed by, served on three tiered platters. I sipped my $8 dollar glass of water while looking out at the magnificent view of the almost two-mile-long beach. I still have the elaborately engraved cocktail napkin, made out of some sort of linen, not a mere tissue.

Relieved to leave the Palace, we went out onto the beach. I was able to find the exact spot a photo of my father had been taken in 1945. On the back, in my mother’s handwriting, she wrote “Jack, my number one man in Biarritz.”  Read on to find out more about their romance.

Book Excerpt

They watched the landscape change from the rolling green vineyards of France to the rugged foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains. They emerged from the train into the ancient town of Biarritz. Mike and Jim loaded their luggage onto trucks that carried them along winding streets for a quick moonlit tour.

Biarritz lay on a narrow strip of flat land beside a large white sand beach. The beach curved around on the Bay of Biscay from the lighthouse that topped a rocky peninsula to an arched bridge that reached out to a rock island. Buildings perched on hillside ledges well behind the beach.

“No shattered buildings. No signs of war here.” Kathy marveled at the unspoiled magnificence of the villas.

“No industry to destroy,” said Jim. “Just a beautiful beach and elegant houses. This place was plush society, the destination for European royalty. It was the playground of Empress Eugenie. ‘Coût d’argent’. Doesn’t that mean ‘coast of money?’”

“Coast of silver,” Kathy said. “Because the waves are always foam-capped with silver. Yes, this was the playground of the wealthy. Now France no longer has wealth, and no longer plays in luxury. So, this is now a place for ideas.”

They drove along the town’s quaint crooked streets. In the window of the Bon Marche department store was an Army-stenciled sign: “Enlisted Men’s Recreation Center.” Kathy said “I guess they may as well rent the building to the Army. There’s nothing in France to sell.”

They drove by a huge white modern building with large gold block letters spelling “Casino.” Below this, was a smaller Army-stenciled black lettered sign that said, “Library, Biarritz American University.” GIs were unloading containers of books from an Army truck parked at the front door. Jim said, “I’ll bet that Casino never saw a book before. For that matter, I’ll bet that Army truck never did either. There is hope for better ideas ahead.”

Their truck then stopped before the most imposing of villas, ornate with wrought-iron balconies and a many-windowed tower. The black-on-white Army sign hung over the coat of arms on the front door, “Headquarters, Biarritz American University.” Inside a Lieutenant assigned them quarters.

Then they drove through a wrought iron gate displaying an elaborate Victorian coat of arms. They continued up to Empress Eugenie’s Palace, now the Hotel du Palais. The truck circled round a courtyard and backed up under the domed canopy at the front door. They jumped down off the truck and walked around to the side of the seven-story building, marveling at its size and magnificence.

Kathy said “I was told that after Napoleon married Eugenie in 1853 he built this lavish palace for her on the beach—in the shape of an “E” for Eugenie. As the most fashionable woman in France, Empress Eugenie turned this area into an international center of luxury. It became the beach of kings.”

“It figures,” said Jim. “Just what I’d expect of a French palace. About this time of night, a gallant knight should climb out a fourth-story window, run along that iron balcony, slide down those columns, dash along the stone balcony around the second floor, and pop into the room of his mistress. What red-blooded Frenchman could resist the set-up?”

Mike and Jim carried the girls’ baggage up to their second-floor room, and set them on the deep-piled maroon carpet. Kathy pulled open the golden damask drapes and opened the French windows to step out onto the balcony. Jim, Frieda, and Mike followed to lean on the chiseled stone railing and watch the waves splashing over craggy rocks. The lighthouse beam circled around under the stars and moon.

Kathy deeply breathed in the spring-scented air, a blend of lilac and sea-salt. She opened her arms wide, “It’s a lovely world.”

Jim sat on the stone rail, half facing her and half watching the lighthouse beam sweeping round under the moon and stars. “Will you like living in a palace?”

“Certainly. I’m even more thrilled by the air and the ocean. In the spring, my brothers and I would always build a raft and dream of reaching the ocean. Now I smell the lilacs of home, and I’ve actually reached the ocean.”

Mike clapped his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get our gear up and get to chow.”

While the men carried their things up to their fourth-floor room, the girls washed their faces. Then they all went down for dinner. The dining room jutted out over the beach in a semi-circle of picture windows. They sat at a white-clothed table and watched as the rising wind blew the waves higher and higher. The waiters served crisp-crusted fish with a tartar sauce. The mashed potatoes were fluffier than anything Kathy had achieved with dehydrated potatoes. The green beans were in a sauce of onions and mushrooms that smothered the dehydrated processing.

“Can you cook like this?” Mike asked Frieda.

“Well, maybe if I had the mushrooms...,” Frieda responded. “Well, if you must know, no.”

Kathy shook her head. “I’m going to learn. French cooks always give me their secrets.”

Dessert was an apple-filled flaky crust. “I’ll bet,” said Kathy to Frieda, “this is plain old GI rations—flour and shortening and dehydrated apples. I was always proud of our pies.”

The ocean spray was now splattering against the window in magnificent patterns, repeatedly lit by the lighthouse beam.

Jim watched. “The tide is coming in. The waves will be pounding against the windows soon.”

As they drank their after-dinner coffee, the waves broke against the window with a fascinating force. There was an excitement in watching from behind the window, with two men and a girl who were already Kathy’s friends. Sitting in the Empress Eugenie’s palace was a world away from the drunken misery of Mourmelon. It was with reluctance that they left to return to their rooms.

The next morning Kathy woke to the cheerful music of an organ grinder. She quickly dressed, and ran out on the balcony. The ocean waves were now gently rolling in, swirling silver around the rocks and onto the beach. Across the bay was the rugged Spanish coastline. Below, in the sunshine, stood the organ-grinder wearing a black beret, and his monkey wearing a red pillbox hat. The sweet scent came, not from lilacs as she had thought, but from a cluster of pink-flowered camelia bushes below her balcony.

Kathy and Frieda signed up for classes, and located them on the map of their classrooms. Twenty-two villas were taken over by the Army for the university. They were told the rules. Restrictions of rank were removed. Enlisted men could date officers. Wearing of hats and neckties was no longer mandatory. On campus, Kathy recognized Dutch, Polish, English, Spanish, and Canadian uniforms.

Kathy and Frieda walked to their class building. On their way, they met an old woman selling violets. They bought a bunch, and delighted in the bright purple against their olive-drab uniforms. They walked to a sidewalk café where GIs, with berets on their heads and violets in their buttonholes, drank Cokes at tables piled high with books.

An infantry Sergeant stood up, and invited them to have a Coke with him and his buddies. “And maybe you can explain this,” he said. He pointed to a book on comparative religions. “We’re trying to understand the Hindu concept of time. It’s the first time in three years I’ve tried to think.” He hit his head with the heel of his hand. “It ain’t easy,” he grinned. “and if I expect to become a minister, there’ll be some changes made.” The Sergeant had three battle stars on his ETO ribbon.

That evening, Kathy and Frieda met Mike and Jim in the dining room for dinner. Mike greeted Frieda warmly, “There’s a concert tonight; a piano concerto and a violin something. Or would you rather go to the officers’ club?”

“Both,” said Frieda, “The concert, and then the club afterward. Jim and Kathy, will you make it a double date?”

“OK, Kathy?”

“Sure.”

Girls in a World at War by Peggy Scholberg is available online wherever books are sold.