"My father this hussar..."etc. Thus starts a famous poem by Victor Hugo that we used to learn at school. Those verses are still coming back to my mind, and if I still write those same words, I do it thinking of my father who served in the Hussars in 1914. I remember his stories as he used to say, that he was telling me at night. For me, as a child, those were only stories, and I did not know that one day they would be part of the History of France. I remember them so well that I can tell them in my turn and write them in all their authenticity. It would be necessary to bring back to life those years of my childhood to know what were those evening in the villages at that time of the forties and fifties...the neighbours, friends, relatives used to gather to warm up near a wood fire, and that's where I used to listen to those stories. How many times have I hear those stories from the mouth of my father !! Sometimes I was asking him myself to tell me a story, then the Hussars were coming with their red and blue uniforms, the horses were prancing about, Heroine, his mare which was galloping at full speed, then the sad moments of the war and of captivity would come. All that was displayed in front of my amazed eyes. But let me tell you...!