The Angel of the Smile by Peggy Scholberg

Angel of the Smile statue located at Reims Cathedral in France and original typed manuscript

My mother always called it “The Angel of the Smile,” or in French, “L’Ange au Sourire.” She was referring to the 660 page document she typed up about her time serving in the Army during World War Two.

Eighteen years after she passed, I finally pulled those pages out of my closet and decided to attempt to publish her story. I proceeded to shorten it, added key markers about the war, and updated her sketches. Initial beta readers said the title didn’t give a potential reader an idea of what the book was about. In one of her documents, she had commented that this was a story about “five girls in a world at war, too young to comprehend.” The title was therefore changed to Girls in a World at War.

People had frequently asked her to tell stories about her time in the War. She often said it was the war that shaped her life and gave her life direction. Read about visiting the famed statue of the Angel of the Smile at Reims Cathedral in France in 1945, why that visit was so important, and find out what happened to the Major. Later, learn about a midnight Christmas Eve service at the Cathedral.

Book Excerpt

“Go ahead. You did my work yesterday.” Vivienne took the diet from Kathy’s hand. “Why hasn’t Major Powers gone home? He became well before VE day. We never keep amputees two months.”

Kathy slung her purse across her shoulder, “Thanks. Major Powers says he won’t go home. He says his place is here with his outfit. Every day his driver picks him up and takes him to his men. They are in the paratroopers’ old camp. Two legs or one, he’s still his company’s commander.” She looked out the window for his jeep. “Today he’s going to SHAEF headquarters, to the Little Red Schoolhouse, to fight for his command at General Eisenhower’s office. That’s also where Captain McClain is stationed, so I’m riding along. We’ll have dinner with his company, so don’t expect me till late.”

“Remember to salute the brass. We get out of practice here.”

Outside, a jeep drove up. With another “thank you” to Vivienne, Kathy hurried out.

“Hi,” she said to the driver, a Sergeant who opened the jeep. The Major moved his short aluminum crutches to make room on the seat beside him.

“Hi,” said Kathy. “Any news? Are you going?”

"To Reims? Yes.” He spoke with a rich vigorous voice that rose from deep in his strong chest.

"No, I meant to China.” She should not have mentioned China, but the words were out before she considered them.

The Major was not bothered. His smile stayed relaxed. “That will be decided today. I’ve a new weapon.” He held up a fat manila envelope. “My men petitioned to keep me, unanimously. The brass can’t ignore this. My men know what I can do.”

After arriving in Reims, the Major told the driver, “Park in the parking lot beside the cathedral.”

“I can drive you right to the schoolhouse, sir.” The driver spoke with fond respect. The Major was a man his troops would admire. He was a fighting man, a tough-whiskered man, so powerful it was impossible to think of him as handicapped, even with a single leg.

The Major accepted no concessions. “No. Stop at the cathedral. Do me good to walk a few blocks. We leave at 1500. All right by you, Lieutenant? And you, Sarge?”

When they stopped, the Sergeant opened the door. When Kathy stepped out, Sarge offered her a gentleman’s steadying hand. When the Major hopped out, he steadied himself on the jeep while the Sergeant stood at attention. Major Powers dismissed him with, “See you here at 1500.”

The Major swung his crutches with long steps over the cobblestones. Without bothering to look down, he set the crutch tips on the stones, letting them slip securely into the crevices as he shifted his weight onto them. His foot was large enough to bridge the cracks, and so he hobbled with remarkable sureness over the uneven stones. “I want to look at my angel.”

"Your angel? On the cathedral?” Kathy hurried to keep up with his long stride. Her heel slid into a crevice and turned her ankle. She hopped quickly to regain her balance.

“The Angel of the Smile. L’Ange au Sourire the French call her. How could you look at the cathedral without seeing her smile?”

“I’ve looked at the cathedral many times—without seeing any particular smile.”

“She stands over the center door. Just looking at her makes me feel good. Funny, if you’d told me six months ago that I would walk blocks out of my way to look at a cathedral, I’d have snorted. One church was like another. You’ve seen one; you’ve seen them all. That’s what I would have said. Now each has personality.”

He was right. At first, cathedrals had been buildings of stone carvings. With increasing familiarity, they took on individuality. Notre Dame in Paris was sturdy and enduring. Here, Reims Cathedral was delicate and soaring. Notre Dame’s towers were squat and flat-topped. Reims’ towers raised to the heavens with slender spires. Notre Dame said God created the earth and the earth was good. Reims’ complex and upward sweeping arches said something else, something spiritual.

Reims Cathedral took on different faces as the lights of the day changed. In the daylight, the stones were light and porous. At sunset the stones changed to a rose color. In the evening the cathedral loomed as a massive shape with the towers reaching for the stars. Most tourists just cast the angel a brief glance, yet one had to study her, to know her as living.

The Major stopped in front of the welcoming church entrance. Three brass doors were deeply recessed under row upon row of statues of angels and saints. He leaned on his aluminum crutches, looking up at the Angel of the Smile. “There she is.” He pointed with his crutch tip up to the stone carved angel.

She was larger than human size. She stood near the central door, on a pedestal under carved gothic arches. One huge wing was spread high behind her right shoulder. The other wing broken off. If she had she two wings as powerful as the one, she could surely have flown. One arm was raised in benediction, so that all who passed beneath were blessed. The other arm had been shattered at the elbow. For eight centuries she had stood, unharmed by spears or arrows. Not until the twentieth century, when man created weapons of war that reached higher than man, did man break off her wing and shatter her arm. But her smile endured.

Her head was tilted forward and a little to one side, so she smiled down at everyone who passed through the doors of the cathedral or stood before it. What words describe the warmth of her smile? Kind, benevolent, encouraging. Loving. Love, that was her smile.

“Know that smile. You have to look up to see it.” The Major hobbled forward on his aluminum crutches to stand directly in front of the angel’s gaze. “She has lost a wing and an arm. Still, she smiles. All I have lost is a leg.” He did not look down at his stump that had been blasted off at the knee, but up at the angel. “I, too, can smile.” It was then Kathy knew God’s gift of love. She received the peace that passes all understanding.

After Captain McClain’s promotion party, before meeting the Major at 1500, Kathy stopped at a wood carver’s shop beside the cathedral to buy a two-foot statue of L’Ange au Sourire—“The Angel of the Smile.”

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