LÉGION'ARTS
A PANTHEON FOR THE LEGION
The Legion left Sidi Bel Abbès in 1962. It did not leave its dead behind.
It brought some of them back to Puyloubier.
By Louis Perez y Cid
For over sixty years, they have been there. Silent. Lined up along a wall. General Rollet, Prince Aage of Denmark, Legionnaire Zimmermann, veterans of the Institution des Invalides, and other figures from our history such as Chief Warrant Officer Struzina, representing the legionnaires killed in Indochina and illustrious legionnaires who had expressed the wish, Lieutenant Colonel Jeanpierre, General Olié, etc.
They ask for nothing. But they watch us.
And the question is simple: have we made the Puyloubier cemetery the memorial it should be?
We have our regiments, our monuments, our ceremonies, our veterans' associations. We have Camerone Day, every April 30th, which brings the Legion together around its history and values.
But what about the next day?
May 1st could be the day when veterans gather around those who can no longer be with us. Because Puyloubier is not a cemetery like any other.
It is here that part of the "Pantheon" of Sidi Bel Abbès has been transferred.
The stones of the war memorial come from Algeria. The gate that protected the Camerone ossuary came from Mexico. The men who rest here belong to all generations of the Legion.
Camerone is in Mexico, Sidi Bel Abbès is in Algeria, but their memory is in Puyloubier. So perhaps it is time to say it clearly: The Puyloubier cemetery must become our Pantheon.
A story just waiting to be told
The term "Pantheon" is not a mere figure of speech. One only needs to look at what this plot contains.
As early as 1954, the residents of the Foreign Legion's Institution for Invalids were buried in the Puyloubier cemetery. Men whom the Legion had taken in and to whom it had offered a final resting place.
Then came 1962. The Legion left Algeria. The headquarters moved from Sidi Bel Abbès to Aubagne. The remains of the "Pantheon" were transferred to Puyloubier. General Rollet joined his final resting place there, along with the other eternal tombs. Others would join them over the years. Thus, almost without fanfare, Puyloubier became the guardian of an essential part of Legion history.
And that's not all.
On the wall, the plaques bearing the names of our fallen come from the old war memorial in Sidi Bel Abbès. And at the back of the square, this wrought-iron gate is a reminder of Camerone. It once surrounded the ossuary of the legionnaires who fell on April 30, 1863.
In 1963, it crossed the Atlantic, leaving Mexico, and now stands in Puyloubier. It is difficult to imagine a clearer connection.
Camerone, Sidi Bel Abbès, Puyloubier. Three places separated by geography and history, but united here by memory.
The day after Camerone
This is precisely why May 1st takes on its full meaning.
April 30th belongs to Camerone.
To the battle. To the sacrifice. To the words of Captain Danjou and those who carried them to the end. It is the current legion that carries on this ceremony.
May 1st could belong to those who came after.
To all those who served. To those who died in combat. To those who returned wounded. To those whom life broke in other ways. To those who continued to carry the Legion's legacy long after leaving active service.
It would be the Legion's veterans who would lead this ceremony.
On April 30th, we commemorate those who fell at Camerone.
On May 1st, we could gather alongside all those who came before us.
The distinction is important.
This is not about competing with Camerone, much less creating a new ceremony to add to all the others. It is about providing a natural extension to the day of April 30th.
After honoring the dead of Camerone, let us come to Puyloubier to honor all our fallen.
Those whose names are known. Those whose names have faded from memory.
The senior officers, the non-commissioned officers, the legionnaires, and all those who have ever worn the white kepi. Because ultimately, that's what legionnaire brotherhood means: leaving no one behind. Not even in death.
April 30th belongs to Camerone.
To the battle. To the sacrifice. To the words of Captain Danjou and those who carried them to the end. It is the current legion that carries on this ceremony.
May 1st could belong to those who came after.
To all those who served. To those who died in combat. To those who returned wounded. To those whom life broke in other ways. To those who continued to carry the Legion's legacy long after leaving active service.
It would be the Legion's veterans who would lead this ceremony.
On April 30th, we commemorate those who fell at Camerone.
On May 1st, we could gather alongside all those who came before us.
The distinction is important.
This is not about competing with Camerone, much less creating a new ceremony to add to all the others. It is about providing a natural extension to the day of April 30th.
After honoring the dead of Camerone, let us come to Puyloubier to honor all our fallen.
Those whose names are known. Those whose names have faded from memory.
The senior officers, the non-commissioned officers, the legionnaires, and all those who have ever worn the white kepi. Because ultimately, that's what legionnaire brotherhood means: leaving no one behind. Not even in death.
A gathering for veterans
Why shouldn't the AALE (Association of Former Legionnaires) make this a tradition?
Every May 1st, those who can would meet in Puyloubier.
No need for grand displays.
Just a presence, a wreath, the flags, a few words. Then silence.
And perhaps the reading of the names of those who rest there. It would be a simple gathering, but one with considerable significance. Because it would bring veterans together in the same place, around what we share.
Our regiments have different histories. Our paths are different. Our generations are not alike. But faced with this at the graves, these differences fade away.
Only the essential remains: we served the same Legion.
And we are now the guardians of its memory.
Every May 1st, those who can would meet in Puyloubier.
No need for grand displays.
Just a presence, a wreath, the flags, a few words. Then silence.
And perhaps the reading of the names of those who rest there. It would be a simple gathering, but one with considerable significance. Because it would bring veterans together in the same place, around what we share.
Our regiments have different histories. Our paths are different. Our generations are not alike. But faced with this at the graves, these differences fade away.
Only the essential remains: we served the same Legion.
And we are now the guardians of its memory.
Passing on the legacy rather than looking back.
We must also think of those who come after us. A tradition doesn't survive simply by repeating it. It survives because it is given meaning.
If we want young legionnaires to understand what the Legion represents, we must show them more than just dates and ceremonies.
We must show them the men, the graves, the names.
The traces left by those who came before them. We must make them understand that they are entering a history that doesn't begin with them and won't end with us.
In Puyloubier, this history is almost tangible. It is in the stones brought from Sidi Bel Abbès. It is in this gate from Camerone. It is in the names engraved on the marble. It is in these graves before which a veteran can recognize a face, a name, a regiment, sometimes a comrade.
And for those who know no one, the essential remains: they were one of us.
If we want young legionnaires to understand what the Legion represents, we must show them more than just dates and ceremonies.
We must show them the men, the graves, the names.
The traces left by those who came before them. We must make them understand that they are entering a history that doesn't begin with them and won't end with us.
In Puyloubier, this history is almost tangible. It is in the stones brought from Sidi Bel Abbès. It is in this gate from Camerone. It is in the names engraved on the marble. It is in these graves before which a veteran can recognize a face, a name, a regiment, sometimes a comrade.
And for those who know no one, the essential remains: they were one of us.
It is up to us to decide what we want to do with them.
We cannot bring Sidi Bel Abbès back. We cannot rewrite history.
We cannot hold onto those who are gone. But we can decide how we will pass on their memory.
Puyloubier is there.
The place exists, the history exists, the dead are there. All that is lacking is our will to gather there. So, why wait?
Why not make May 1st, the day after Camerone Day, the annual gathering of veterans at Puyloubier?
Why not allow veterans' associations from across the region, and beyond, to meet there every year? Why not make this cemetery the meeting point for all generations of veterans?
It's not about creating something that doesn't exist. It's about recognizing what already exists. The gate, the stones, and the men who rest here belong to our history.
Camerone is in Mexico. Sidi Bel Abbès is in Algeria. But their memory lives on in Puyloubier. It's up to us now to keep their meaning alive.
Every May 1st, together, before our dead.
We cannot hold onto those who are gone. But we can decide how we will pass on their memory.
Puyloubier is there.
The place exists, the history exists, the dead are there. All that is lacking is our will to gather there. So, why wait?
Why not make May 1st, the day after Camerone Day, the annual gathering of veterans at Puyloubier?
Why not allow veterans' associations from across the region, and beyond, to meet there every year? Why not make this cemetery the meeting point for all generations of veterans?
It's not about creating something that doesn't exist. It's about recognizing what already exists. The gate, the stones, and the men who rest here belong to our history.
Camerone is in Mexico. Sidi Bel Abbès is in Algeria. But their memory lives on in Puyloubier. It's up to us now to keep their meaning alive.
Every May 1st, together, before our dead.