BY NIGEL WINTER
Few people have inadvertently done more for French exports than Frederick Forsyth. For his The Day of The Jackal did for the Citroen DS (or Goddess in France), as The Italian Job did for the Mini Cooper. Now in its 70th year the Citroen has been elevated to a place on the freshly minted €10 coin.
The Citroen enjoyed the unshakable patronage of Charles de Gaulle, who owed his life to the DS with which those twin Gallic icons are associated, greatly aided by Forsyth’s bestseller. Indeed, one cannot think of one without the other, or the hail of bullets through which the Citroen safely delivered its most imperious passenger.
It goes back to the war, when France emerged with its rail and road network in rubble. Of the former he bemoaned: –
… no train from Paris can reach Lyon, Marseille, Toulouse, Bordeaux, Nantes or Nancy. None could cross the Loire between Neves and the Atlantic or the Seine between Leon and the Mediterranean.’
Of the latter, the damage to the roads by the advancing and then reluctantly retreating German tanks meant road travel was a bumpy affair. Ever creative, Citroen of Paris concluded they would have a swifter solution to travel comfort than all the road workers in France. Thus, the world-beating hydro pneumatic suspension was born, not of the Gallic penchant for being different (that would apply to much else in the car), but of mere necessity.
De Gaulle would probably have been happier for the roads to have been fixed, but in the absence of a miracle was temporarily content for France to be offered a ‘magic carpet ride’ to iron out the bomb damage. He had little idea that it would save his life in a dramatic fashion, but enjoyed revelling in the fact that whilst Britain and America had made do with ‘cart springs’, he had a 7 piston hydraulic pump to provide constant pressure of liquide mineral pour systems hydrauliques. Whichever corner is under pressure, receives a boost of said liquide keeping it stable and level.
Not a scene from The Day of The Jackal but once an everyday at the Elysée Palace.
De Gaulle was in, out and then back in power again, on this latter occasion on the promise of keeping Algeria French which offends some today. To give it context, 1,000,000 French and Europeans made Algeria their home, on the basis that it was ‘constitutionally’ as much a part of the French Republic as anywhere else in ‘France’. Indeed, it was ‘French’ before Nice on the Cote d’ Azur. Thus, when France was occupied, Algeria was the only part of ‘France’ where the tricolour freely flew and in turn it was an optional home for the French government in exile of which de Gaulle was its partially self-appointed head. Consequently, indigenous Algerians filled the ranks of the French army to varying degrees of willingness, and yet went on to fight valiantly.
After the war a fledgling insurgency endeavoured to raise support from its undernourished and starving population, initially with only modest success. France was rapidly becoming a superpower even to the extent of using Algeria’s ‘backyard’ (the Sahara) to test its atom bomb. Consequently, they were in a position to respond to terrorism with the utmost brutality. This was exactly what the terrorists / freedom fighters (take your pick) wanted, and their ranks swelled.
De Gaulle saw this as the trauma he needed to work his way back into power. In short, he promised to keep Algeria, guaranteeing the safety of one million French subjects and France’s loyal Muslims. With the collaboration in France still a sensitive memory, all took his promise as his bond.
De Gaulle in Algeria as he makes a promise he has little intention of keeping, with lethal consequences for so many, including, very nearly, himself.
Meanwhile in France, the nation was enjoying what would be the glorious 30 years of prosperity, known as les trente glorieuse. And thus in 1955 one of the world’s most unusual and enchanting cars appeared. Even if you had just arrived from Mars, you only had to look at it to conclude that it was French. Apart from the suspension, the indicators were located in the roof, inside it looked like the designer le Corbusier had gone mad with his pencil, the gear lever was in the wrong place, the brake was a push button affair and the steering wheel had a single stem. Best of all, of the four headlights, two of them moved with the steering wheel. To a conservative car buying public, Citroen had broken the mould.
Meanwhile in Algeria, the cruellest of post war conflicts was raging. And de Gaulle decided that after eight years of ruthless bloodshed, he would break his promise. He disarmed the loyal Muslims who were then subject to a genocide, refused to allow them to settle in France and presided over an exodus for which has never been forgiven.
The exodus begins and they hold only one man responsible.
Thus, on France’s southern shores there arrived a body of people whom in their view, had very good reason to lynch de Gaulle and many tried.
With absolute accuracy Forsyth describes the lengths the French state went to, reducing Paris to an occupied city, to keep their president safe.
Meanwhile, their attention was focused on that rare body of capable men known as the Foreign Legion. An elite made-up of mercenaries, foreigners and criminals who had borne the brunt of the fighting. They were ‘the scum of the French army’ in de Gaulle’s own words: he was living dangerously.
But the man who posed the deadliest threat, went wholly unnoticed. Lieutenant Jean Marie Bastien-Thiry was a devout Catholic, father of three, hailing from a ‘good family’. He was also the product of an elite university and the inventor of the SS10 and SS11 missiles which were one of France’s best exports. Thus, he moved freely under the ample Gallic nose of the President.
Enraged by what he saw as de Gaulle’s treachery he planned the ‘faultless’ attack that forms the opening The Day of The Jackal. He placed various gunmen precisely on the road which de Gaulle would take one summer evening, on the basis of intelligence received from an undisclosed mole within the Elysée.
As ever a dummy convoy went ahead which they knew to ignore. De Gaulle followed with his entourage and sufficient supplies of blood in the boot to perform any necessary transfusion. Thus, as the convoy travelled along the Avenue Liberation in the suburb of Petit Clamart, all hell suddenly broke loose. As the speeding entourage approached an estafette van in a side street there was a burst of gunfire; the chauffeur floored the accelerator, the back window shattered and bullets rattled around the body work. A second burst of gunfire followed the speeding convoy and the back tyre was punctured as the vehicle approached 70 miles an hour, which in any other car would have been fatal. At the hands of de Gaulle’s able chauffeur, Francis Marroux, the car slewed but he kept control. At that point another DS emerged from the Rue du Bois. As de Gaulle finally yielded to the pleas from his head of security to get down, an almighty thud was heard as a bullet ripped through the body work precisely where the presidential head had been a split second before.
The Gendarmes told Bastien Thiry, ‘your attack should never have failed’.
Now two DS’s sped along the avenue during which high speed chase, the miraculous side effect of the ‘magic carpet ride’ occurred, and the punctured wheel simply retracted into the body work and the car continued on three wheels.
‘I think we got him’ concluded one of the assassins and with that they melted away and de Gaulle was safely delivered to Villacoublay air base. Later the Anglophobe de Gaulle concluded, ‘had I been in a Jaguar I would probably have been killed’. Touché.
The crime scene was descended upon by the press corps including a young journalist called Frederick Forsyth. In time Forsyth had to be whisked out of France as he was able to get too close to the organisation set on killing de Gaulle, who had no qualms about taking out anybody who got in their way.
As some would like to forget Algeria, Forsyth found the British ‘establishment’ preferred to ignore the Biafran tragedy in decolonized Nigeria. Approached by MI6 to find out what was really going on, Forsyth let the uncomfortable truth come flooding out. In doing so, that said establishment sought to ‘cancel’ him in modern parlance. It was the biggest mistake they could have made.
Unbowed – Forsyth wears the bullet intended for him in Biafra.
On returning to England in difficult financial circumstances, he picked up his pen and began to write:-
It is cold at 6:40 in the morning of a March day in Paris, and seems even colder when a man is about to be executed by a firing squad’.
And on having opened with the fate of Lieutenant Bastien-Thiry, kept writing for another 30 days, and the rest his history.
Forsyth travelled through interesting times, giving his thrillers a unique edge. Today our cars are like hard boiled eggs on wheels and too much of our news media parrots the ‘laminated sheet’. It wasn’t always so dull.
And from his opening to the moment, 382 pages later when he wrote, ‘The Day of The Jackal was over’, one can’t help wondering if it was all really ‘fiction’. That is another story.
This year is the 70th anniversary of the birth of the DS and the 54th anniversary of the publication of The Day of The Jackal. Bonne anniversaire both.
It is said that De Gaulle loved France but hated the French. He happened to be rather fond of their most famous car and with good reason.
Nigel C Winter is currently researching for his forthcoming book on the true story behind The Day of The Jackal. He is represented by the Cull and Co literary agency.
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