He will return with his immense heart, with his heart of fire, his poor man's soul
and his smile. He will return! And the Immaculate Heart of Mary will triumph!

THE RETURN TO MY SEMINARY

Demobilised in January 1946, I was like a poor bird on a branch. I had returned from my captivity fatigued and depressed. Providentially, my dear parish priest was still there. He came to comfort me and to shake me up. He informed me that the Fathers of the Holy Spirit had opened an apostolic school with a section reserved for late vocations, close to Saint-Brieuc. At Lent, I was on the road to Brittany.

My enthusiasm for studies leading to the priesthood came back to me quickly thanks to our director, Fr. Carlet, who had the gift for putting people at ease, particularly the older students among us. We were in fact separated into two groups, the younger ones were lodged on one side in the dormitory, and on the other the veterans, nicknamed the “vets”, of which I was a member. Each of us had the privilege of having our own room, and we were treated like kings! We were re-taught our Latin and perfected our knowledge of the French language. It was not easy, since we were ten strapping fellows with a heavy past behind us. So, I worked relentlessly, and time passed very quickly in such a pleasant setting.

On 15 August, I consecrated myself to the Blessed Virgin when entering into the Archconfraternity of Mary, Queen of All Hearts.

At that time, I made an attempt at religious life with the Trappist monks, but fearing that I would not have enough strength to support the penances, I abandoned it. I consequently decided to enter the Spiritans definitively. I was given the Habit on 7 September, and chose to bear the name of Brother Paul, in honour of St. Paul. Because I wanted to be a missionary, it was normal that I chose to place myself under the patronage of the first and the greatest of them.

It was a rather difficult year, but O how beneficial for the soul! We were placed in the school of our founder, Fr. Libermann, so as to impregnate ourselves with his life and with his doctrine in order to be able to live according to his spirit.

This year of the novitiate ended marvellously with my Profession on 8 September 1949, a date dear to my heart, which reminded me how much the Blessed Virgin had protected me during the war. I henceforth belonged to the great and so beautiful Spiritan family.

Immediately afterwards, I headed in the direction of Normandy in order to do my studies for the priesthood that began with two years of philosophy.

Then it was the turn of theology, and for this I had to go to Chevilly-Larue in September, 1951. I thus entered what is commonly called the theological seminary. The courses were given by excellent professors. One of them, however, tried to introduce new theories that would flourish at the Council, but I only realised this much later. Several seminarians as well refused to learn certain details, in particular those concerning the liturgy.

Back after an afternoon of gardening. The seminarian Joseph Krémer is on the far right. At Chevilly-Larue, he was one of the extras for Maurice Cloche’s film “A Missionary”.

It was also at this time that I often visited Paris. We went there on bicycle. An entire class of seminarians wearing cassocks did not go unnoticed! And as we did not know what the traffic lights meant, we almost caused a few accidents… We went to teach catechism at the “White House” where children were gathered.

	Some time before his ordination, Joseph Krémer learns the liturgical actions of the Holy Mass. On this occasion, he agreed to pose for his family.

What stimulated me above all, as it did all my confreres, was our rise towards the Priesthood. We climbed the steps one after the other. I thus received tonsure on 12 April 1952, then Minor Orders: porter and lector on 6 July of the same year; exorcist and acolyte on 4 April 1953. The following year, in 1954, were the Major Orders: subdeacon on 17 April, then deacon on 13 June.

Finally I was ordained a priest on Sunday, 4 July 1954, which will remain one of the most beautiful days of my life. I remember that I entrusted to Jesus and Mary all the souls with which I would come into contact one day. On this occasion, I benefited, along with three of my confreres, of a small privilege. We were fifty seminarians that year and ordinations generally took place in September, but we were brought forward three months; for me it was a compensation for the delay that I had taken in my studies because of the war. I was already thirty years old. We were proud to have earned three months of Masses! We were ordained by Mgr Guibert who blessed in 1974 the first stone of the Church dedicated to Our Lady Help of Christians that we were going to build at La Ressource (infra, p. 33). He was bishop of Reunion Island from 1960 to 1975, the last Spiritan bishop to this day.

The day after my ordination, I celebrated my first Mass at the Reparation Sisters on Ulm Street, the chapel of which is situated close to the mother house on Lhomond Street in Paris. My family and a few friends surrounded me.

On 4 July 1954: ordination of Fr. Krémer (dressed in the embroidered chasuble). First row, in the centre, Mgr Guibert, the future bishop of Reunion Island. On his right, the director of the seminarians. On his left, Fr. Krémer’s superior.

MY FIRST MASS AT HERBITZHEIM.

But one of the most beautiful memories of my priestly life is the first Mass that I celebrated at Herbitzheim, my native village, on the feast of the Assumption, 15 August 1954. It was, following an Alsatian custom, the occasion of a solemn ceremony during which all the inhabitants welcomed their new priest.

Fr. Joseph Krémer, kneeling before the house where he was born in Herbitzheim during the opening of the great ceremony organised by the authorities and inhabitants of the village on 15 August 1954 in order to welcome their new priest.

On 15 August 1954, a procession led by Fr. Krémer from the house where he was born to the church of Herbitzheim. Behind him can be seen his mother, in black, and his sister Lucie, in ceremonial dress.

	High Mass on 15 August 1954 in Herbitzheim.

I then celebrated the high-Mass of the Assumption. The church was packed! My entire family surrounded me except my father, who was too ill to go out. This day will forever remain engraved in my heart; it was like a foretaste of Heaven where we will all be gathered around Jesus and Mary.

In September, I returned to Chevilly-Larye in order to take the courses of my last year of theology. On Sunday we did ministry in the parishes of the Paris region, and on Thursday we taught catechism where priests were lacking. Each day, we said our Mass in the crypt of the seminary chapel, where forty altars had been erected.

At the end of the year, that is to say in July 1955, having finished my academic cycle, I had to find a mission land. For this, we went for a medical check-up because health was the first element that oriented the decision of our superiors. It was very simple: the doctor asked me a few questions on my past history, my war wounds and my captivity, then he listened to my heart and lungs with his stethoscope. His diagnostic was quickly pronounced: I was a sturdy man and fit for the most difficult missions! Destination: Cameroon!

CAMEROON

This State in Central Africa on the Gulf of Guinea was indeed considered as one of the harshest mission lands because of its very unhealthy climate.

The Cameroon mission was at that time the admiration of the whole world. Yet Catholicism had arrived there late, preceded by thirty years of Protestant evangelisation. Since 1884, Cameroon was a German colony; Catholic priests arrived in 1891.

There action on the races in the interior of the country was immediately crowned with success, especially when they reached the powerful tribe of the Ewondos, who had been preserved from Protestant preaching. Furthermore, the missionaries benefited from support from the German government, which was mindful of its colonial future. The first seven Fathers of the Holy Spirit arrived after the war of 1914.

The Mission numbered thirty thousand Christians without counting the catechumens! In the following years, the number of Christians did not cease to increase regularly and, remarkably enough, what drew the masses to Catholicism was the desire for confession. For them, this sacrament was the true and sole medicine of the soul.

Thus I was sent there when the Mission was at its height, but national claims had been brewing for several years. They got worse, causing troubles and then conflicts among the population.

FIRST MISSION: MAKAK.

At the end of September 1955, I arrived at around 4 p.m. at the Mission of Makak, where I was appointed. An immense crowd waited for me and soon gathered around the train, especially at the wagon in which I was to be found. I was easily spotted, since I was still wearing my black cassock. Fr. Michel, the Superior of the Mission and the head catechist, welcomed me. Behind them, all the Christians noisily manifested their joy. It was then that I realised that I had left my luggage in the train. Fr. Michel reassured me saying:

« Do not worry about that; your luggage will come. Here one would not dare touch a hair of the Father. »

In fact, the luggage arrived at the Mission well before me. It was not finished: scarcely had we entered the long trail when I heard magnificent hymns being sung. I thought that I was at the Corpus Christi procession! It was in this jubilation that we arrived at the Mission, and night soon fell. This was my first night at Makak.

Our missions were all organised according to the same model, in the centre of a virgin territory. As Christians and neophytes became attached to their church, we began by having the presbytery built, otherwise we could always wait to be lodged! Then the church was built next to it, with a permanent structure or with a beaten-earth floor. Depending on the size of the Mission, there was a house for nuns and a dispensary. Makak did not yet have these since the Mission was too recent. There we were two priests for a radius of action of thirty to forty kilometres, where we had to minister to about forty “hut-chapels,” each of which had a volunteer catechist and sometimes a small school. On the first Friday of each month, all the catechists were convoked to the Mission, where Father Superior indicated to them the different points of doctrine to be developed during the following month. We were also assisted by a Spiritan brother.

Makak covered a territory of thirty kilometres by forty, that is to say half the area of Reunion Island! It was crossed at its centre by the Douala-Yaoundé railway line. Otherwise, there was nothing but small twenty centimetre-wide trails leading through the forest and the mountains to the huts of the various villages. 8,000 natives lived in this mission, of whom 4,200 were Catholics, 490 catechumens, 2,700 Protestants and 30 Muslims. As always, the Protestants built their missions across from ours. In Makak, a river separated us from them. Their temple did not measure up to our beautiful church in the eyes of the Blacks. But they had their school and dogged our footsteps.

The day after my arrival the bell rang for morning prayer in the church; lauds and Mass sung by the young women of the Sixa under the direction of the chief catechist.

The Sixa, from the English word Sister but altered by the native pronunciation, was a Cameroonian institution in which girls prepared for marriage. These girls were taught by the main catechist and Father Superior. They also accompanied their future husband in their preparation for baptism. As a general rule, they have excellent memories of the Sixa, thanks to the teaching of the Fathers.

	Fr. Krémer used to travel on Fr. Michel’s motorcycle the seven hundred metres that separated the school from the Mission.

A new life then began, the true missionary life! With the head catechist and a few students, I learned Bassa while remaining the director of the school of the Mission. Around Christmastime I made my first sermon in this dialect. On the other hand, I had trouble understanding it because with my wounded ears I distinguished its words with difficulty. But the monitors and the children of the school almost all spoke French; I had no difficulty integrating myself. The children of the school came from the whole Mission and remained there during the week. Some of them travelled forty kilometres! At that time we had more than three hundred, of whom a hundred were girls.

These children were divided into nine classes. When a child had no relative there, he entrusted himself to a family from his tribe. It was the custom: a Bassa never refuses hospitality to a Bassa, an Ewondo to an Ewondo, etc. Thus all the children were looked after. After Sunday Mass, they returned home.

I was thus director of the primary school; it was generally the function of the new missionaries. For all Spiritans, the first year of mission is a year of training during which he must obey, without saying anything, the elder religious with whom he has been placed. For me it was Fr. Michel.

In order to be highly regarded by the Blacks, Fr. Michel advised me to let my beard grow, to my great regret, and to smoke. Furthermore, in my relationships with children, he told me: « Be more strict than good, otherwise they will act the fool with you! » I applied this advice so well that a little while later the children nicknamed me: “Fr. Strict!”

My role consisted in wandering through the classes in order to control the teaching given by the Fathers and passed on by the monitors, young seventeen and eighteen-year-old boys from the Mission. Since they were paid, they all wanted to be teachers! They took their role to heart. The subjects taught were writing, reading, arithmetic; I reserved the catechism class for myself.

Fr. Krémer surrounded by a few children from the school. In addition to work in the fields, boys were often used to repair the damage caused by frequent and violent tornados. They were heralded by big bats that came to cling to the doors of the huts.

After a few weeks of adaptation, I created numerous groups: Valiant Hearts and Valiant Souls, movements of Young Christian Workers. The children of my native village sent me hundreds of berets, scarves and pennants that I had the pleasure of distributing. Then I added the Legion of Youth.

Every Sunday, the Mass was entirely sung in Gregorian. It was magnificent! We organised singing lessons twice per week. For the rest, we led exactly life in the seminary. Each morning the bell rang for recitation of the breviary; that was followed by our meditation, then high Mass sung by the Sixa, which was attended by those who could… In short, these were my best years among the children.

TOUR IN THE BRUSH.

	Fr. Krémer carrying the son of the head catechist, who was a precious auxiliary during his tours in the brush.

My Father Superior then sent me on a tour in the brush with a small team of catechists and carriers while he minded the Mission. We each went in turn. The head catechist organised the itinerary.

After a two- or three-hour walk, we arrived at the first village. The catechist rang the bell, but even more so he beat his tom-tom, which was heard for several kilometres around. The faithful hastened to greet me by offering me a small gift. This was the custom that had to be scrupulously respected. We then gathered in the hut-chapels in order to deal with the endless palavers. Thanks to the expertise of my head catechist, all the plaintiffs received satisfaction. I could then do my teaching.

There then followed confessions that took place in a strange manner. I sat on a chair, the catechist placed himself at my side and the penitent kneeled close to him. The latter confessed himself to the catechist, who translated to me in good French. Then I instructed the catechist, who transmitted the good word to the penitent! Finally I gave the absolution; and all the Christians went to confession. Rarely have I heard confessions as sincere as in Cameroon. My catechist was extraordinary; he had a grace of state, for never did he depart from his discretion. It was perhaps not too liturgical, but it bore fruit! I really appreciated this simplicity.

Visiting a family in a village of the Mission.

Then I visited the ill, giving the sacraments in accord with the circumstances. Some were brought in from far away.

At nightfall we were invited to attend their dances around a big fire, during which we were offered the traditional palm wine. During the night a Christian slept close to my hut in order to protect me. The following morning I celebrated a high Mass with sermon; then we headed for the next village. We only left on the condition that their carriers came to seek us. Such a tour could last about ten days with forty kilometres of trails.

I truly felt happy! I lived my missionary life with great regularity: it was so well thought out and balanced!

DECOLONISATION.

Everything would have been perfect if politics had not introduced hatred among these good people. In fact, at that time the upc (union des populations camerounaises) began its campaign of destruction, accusing the Europeans of being there only to grow rich. The Protestants were behind this conflict. Certain tribes were opposed to upc, and soon the massacres began, organised by the fighting branch of the Marxist party of the upc. People were easily massacred because their huts were made of wood and had thatched roofs: a few flaming torches rapidly transformed the huts into infernos that spread, burning everything. Those who opened the doors to escape were immediately killed.

Since our Mission was located in the centre of Bassa land, it very quickly became a target to destroy. We were warned. Fr. Michel and myself were very frightened… why conceal the fact? We made plans, among others that of taking refuge each night at the top of the church steeple. Finally we abandoned ourselves into God’s hands. Now during the evening of 7 January 1958, around 7 or 8 o’clock, a thunderstorm such as I had never seen before broke out and lasted all night. The next day, people came to warn us that the previous night, our Mission had been encircled by terrorists armed with knives and spears, but having been frightened by the thunderstorm they had fled. They attributed this to sorcery while we recognised the mark of Divine Providence. From that day on we never heard talk about an attack on the Mission, but massacres still continued elsewhere.

In this same period a UN delegation came to Douala. A certain number of persons wanted to go there but were attacked on the way. They were led to a bridge on the Sanaga, one of Cameroon’s big rivers. In the middle of the bridge, the death sentence was made known to the prisoners:

« You wanted to go to the UN? Well you will go, as you wished, into the water, naked! » ¹

They were undressed and thrown thus into the Sanaga River as food for the crocodiles. They thought that they were being funny even in death.

THE SECOND MISSION: ESEKA.

After three years at Makak, I was appointed curate of Eseka, one of the finest missions of the vicariate and the place where the great sawmills belonging to “Bois de Cameroun” were located. There as well, Christendom was flourishing. The boy’s primary school was run by Canadian brothers, and the girls’ by Spiritan sisters. We were two Fathers and a Cameroonian secular priest, himself a Bassa, and who helped us much by making us familiar with the customs of his tribe. There as well, we organised the institutions already established at Makak.

Furthermore, we preached to adults the consecration of families to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The beginning of my increased devotion to the Blessed Virgin dates from there. Fr. Le Fur, the Mission’s superior, gave me freedom to do as I wished. In the final analysis, it was better than at Makak, although it is difficult for me to make a choice.

Unfortunately, I only remained a few months at Eseka, for the Mission was entrusted to the indigenous clergy. They were increasing in number. We had opened a seminary; ordinations were regular. When a Cameroonian acceded to the priesthood, his whole family was proud of him! Once I heard a crowd giving an ovation to a very young priest: « Nano ayé n’Kana ! » which means, « now you are a Whiteman! »

In 1959, I was appointed superior of the Mission of Dizangué, close to Édéa. This Mission was located in an immense hevea plantation, around a million rubber trees, with the factory close by where latex was fabricated. More than twenty thousand labourers worked in this complex, but the majority of them lived at Édéa and in its vicinity. I did not like this place, for the men worked every day, even Sunday, in order to harvest the precious liquid. However, I soon adopted the Mission. From the financial viewpoint, the factory paid our primary teachers, and we lacked nothing.

My work was always the same: Valiant Hearts, Valiant Souls, youth meetings, Legion of Mary, family visits, choir practice in order to prepare the Gregorian for Sunday Masses, etc.

But soon everything would change. An awful cough seized me. Given my young age – I was only thirty-five years old – I paid no attention to it until one evening when I started to spit a great deal of blood. That night my confrere sent for a male nurse, and I was watched over the entire night because it was feared that I would end up suffocating to death. Each time I coughed, I started spitting blood again more and more abundantly. My strength diminished. I became weaker than a baby. I was well cared for; then at the end of two or three days, I was taken to the hospital in Douala about fifty kilometres away.

At the hospital, I was lucky to have been placed in the hands of nuns, truly holy women! After three weeks of intensive care, the doctor judged that I was fit to be moved. It was in fact necessary that I return to Europe in order to undergo a treatment appropriate to my case. What was the cause of these spasms of blood-spitting? During my captivity, I had caught phthisical tuberculosis but it only manifested itself in Cameroon because of its particularly humid and unwholesome climate.

A few days later, I flew off to Paris, from where I was to go to Switzerland. This was in the spring of 1959.

CONVALESCENCE IN THE MONTANA SANATORIUM

When I arrived at Paris, I took advantage of a few days of rest before taking the plane to Geneva. From there, I took the train to Sierre, in the Swiss Valais, where a bus drove me to Montana. This entire trip that I undertook alone was extremely painful, for I was still suffering much. Fortunately the beauty of the landscape gave me courage! Montana is in fact situated at an altitude of 1500 metres along the Rhone valley. The scenery is magical and has a panorama that spreads over 150 kilometres! That was where “Our Lady” villa, a Spiritan sanatorium, had been built amidst a dozen others.

It was not a hospital, and yet nothing was lacking. Each morning our beds were transported onto the terrace so that we might be exposed to the sun. We often witnessed an incredible sight: a sea of clouds! We then found ourselves above them and under a bright blue sky that reflected on this immaculate white mass.

My doctor was most pleasant, very good, always smiling and easily engaging in conversation. The well-trained Spiritan nuns cared for us like mothers. I was very happy, all the more so because at the end of a few months, my doctor gave me permission to get up in order to say my Mass at the hour that suited me.

We also listened to lectures given by passing orators. I remember in particular a Portuguese who came to speak to us at length about Fatima. It was not the first time that I had heard about it since, from my seminary days, I had knowledge of the reparatory devotion of the five First Saturdays when the Fathers explained to us the prayers of the Mass encouraging us to follow them in our missals. Before, I liked to recite my Rosary. One day, I discovered in one of the missals an image of Our Lady of Fatima accompanied by a short text explaining the reparatory devotion of the five First Saturdays of the month. At first, the image made a curious impression on me. It was undoubtedly not very clear, so that the Blessed Virgin seemed to be arrayed in a heavy cope, which I did not find very becoming! On the other hand, what I read on the First Saturday devotion was marvellous! From that day on, I thought often about Our Lady of Fatima. She was on my mind!

As a result, I was keenly interested when this conference on the apparitions of Fatima was announced. I listened to it very attentively; certain explanations, nevertheless, did not please me. This Portuguese, for example, wanted to frighten us by explaining to us that it was not petals that had rained down on 13 September but radioactive fallout! Despite this, I remained attached to Fatima. Even though I did not know much, this place attracted me, and I resolved to go there on pilgrimage as soon as possible.

For the time being, as I recovered, I reflected on my future. I knew that there was no question of returning to Cameroon; my health had been too impaired for me to be able to endure once again the rigour of the climate. Where would I go then? What would I propose to my superiors? For His part, the Good God knew very well where He desired to lead me!

	Fr. Krémer, just before his departure for Mauritius.

He thus had me meet Fr. Cadren, who was also in convalescence in Montana for the same health problems as I. He arrived from Reunion Island, and vaunted the beauties of this small island and the kindness of its inhabitants so well that it made me want to go there to devote myself to them. I waited until my entire treatment had been completed before informing my superiors of my desire. For this, I made up my mind one day to ask my doctor if, in his opinion, I was in danger of death for the spasms of blood-spitting had not entirely disappeared:

« Doctor, how many years do you give me to live, one year, two years?

– Oh! But I grant you a minimum of thirty years! »

He was right because, forty-six years later, I am still in the land of the living…

My sojourn at the “Our Lady” villa lasted about six months that passed like a dream. Sufficiently recovered, I was able to return to my family in Herbitzheim, while regularly returning to Montana to complete my treatment. I have after-effects from this tuberculosis: the upper half of my left lung is much scarred but is no longer functional. I no longer had my former strength and thus tired much more quickly.

About a year went by in this way. In the meanwhile, I had written to my superiors in order to ask them to send me on mission to Reunion Island; but, in a return letter, I learned that they had opted for Mauritius where I would be of greater assistance to the congregation.

MAURITIUS

In January 1961, I embarked at Marseille onto the “Ville de Nantes”, a cargo and passenger vessel. Besides the merchandise, we were ten passengers on board. The crossing was splendid with long calls at Suez, Port Sudan, Djibouti, Madagascar, where we stopped in Majunga, Nossi-Bé, Diego-Suarez and Tamatave, before debarking at Port Louis, the aim of our trip.

Call at Madagascar.

Discovered by the Portuguese, Mauritius was first occupied by the Dutch in the seventeenth century, but they abandoned it in 1710. The French conquered it in 1715 and baptised it with the magnificent name of Island of France. The first colonists came to settle there a few years later. In 1810, it became an English possession. On arriving the English had the good sense to respect the language, the religion, the customs and the traditions that the French had established.

For those who are familiar with it, Mauritius is a real paradise! It is a rather flat island, with a few mountains here and there, none of which reach a thousand metres. Sugar cane fields stretch away as far as the eye can see, graciously undulating in the wind; there are an incredible variety of delicious fruits. As for flowers, they are each more beautiful than the next and more odoriferous than I have ever smelled elsewhere. Above all, Mauritius is trimmed with a fine sand beach and a very beautiful turquoise blue lagoon. I was delighted.

At my arrival, the island had approximately 600,000 inhabitants with an Indian majority of about 400,000 and 200,000 Catholics. Among them, the Creoles, descendants of slaves, were the more numerous, and there were Whites. There were also about 30,000 Muslims.

Taken individually, the Indians are very mild, while the Creoles are more vivacious, more aggressive, but they are kind-hearted. I would have willingly spent my life with them. Mauritian Catholics practice the faith much, but religion is not very well rooted in them, whereas on Reunion Island, practicing Catholics are less numerous, but their faith is more solid.

RIVIÈRE-DES-ANGUILLES.

But let us come back to my debarkation. From Port Louis, which is the capital of Mauritius, on the north-west, I was taken to Mgr Liston at Curepipe, an important city at the centre of the island. Also residing there was our local superior, who desired to make my acquaintance before sending me to Rivière-des-Anguilles where I was to make a replacement.

I then left for Rivière-des-Anguilles, not far from Curepipe, where I became the interim parish priest of the parish that numbered six thousand Catholics scattered in eight villages. Very frequent cyclones made life difficult. The rectory was always in a dilapidated state, and the huts of the inhabitants, which were constructed of sheet metal, always needed repairs. As for heat, it was intense. I did not remain idle! Besides the ordinary ministry, I had to continue to ensure choir practice and the meetings of the different movements that we customarily founded. Thus there was the adult Legion, the Young Christian Workers, the spirit of which, among the animators, did not please me at all. At the beginning of each meeting, the director always asked the same question: « Who can report an incident in which the boss lacked respect for you? » I felt like retorting to him: « Did you at least work? »

On the other hand, I much appreciated the Legion of Mary. At my arrival, only one group existed; I created ten of them! I preached above all the Miraculous Medal and encouraged the consecration of families to the Blessed Virgin. I did not yet speak of Fatima because I did not know the subject thoroughly. Nevertheless, I already practiced the reparatory devotion of the five First Saturdays.

There existed in addition the honour guard of the Sacred Heart, but as I did not know very well in what it consisted, I was only slightly occupied with it. Moreover, it did not function very well. I liked this parish much; I stayed there eighteen months.

MAHÉBOURG

My superiors then sent me to Mahébourg, a very big parish on the south-east of the island grouping together fourteen thousand Catholics. It was placed under the patronage of Our Lady of the Angels.

The Daughters of Mary, perfect nuns, ran a big school there, and numerous chapel annexes had been built there as the population increased.

I very quickly found myself alone, for the two other priests present in the parish went away. Three months after my arrival, a terrible flu broke out and made the inhabitants die off like flies. Every day I celebrated three or four funeral services. Otherwise, I ensured the classical ministry and favoured the Legion of Mary. That was the bedrock! After a year, I was informed that the Mauritian clergy would take over. We were in the year 1963.

CURATE AT HOLY CROSS, THE PARISH OF BLESSED FATHER LAVAL.

	Holy Cross Church before the passing of the cyclones Alix and Carol in 1960. In front of the church, the tomb of Blessed Father Laval.

I was then appointed curate at Holy Cross, the parish of Blessed Fr. Laval, the great apostle of the island, where he had debarked in 1841. Born in 1803, he had at first exercised the profession of doctor in a small village of Normandy. He lost the Faith but converted after a serious fall off a horse. He then entered Saint Sulpice Seminary at the age of thirty-two. Ordained a priest, he was appointed parish priest in his native Normandy. Desiring to devote himself to Blacks, he entered into contact with Fr. Libermann who had just founded the Congregation of the Holy Heart of Mary, and he sent him to Mauritius. His arrival was poorly thought of by the English but he was very quickly able to conquer the population, especially the slaves, who has been systematically abandoned by the other priests present on the island. He had many enemies because of this. At his behest, religious practice flourished again on the island. He lodged alongside the Port Louis cathedral; it was he who had a vast residence built to serve as a community for all his confreres on the island. He died in 1864; forty thousand people attended his funeral! Since then, pilgrims of all races and religions come by thousands to pray at his tomb.

I was thus taken to Holy Cross by our Father Superior. The titular parish priest was Fr. de Robillard and together we turned Holy Cross into a model parish. Although I love La Ressource more than myself (infra, p. 32), I must say that Holy Cross is the parish where I worked the best, where I was happy as no where else. The previous parish priest, very old and no longer able to look after the Catholic Action movements, had nevertheless always been able to maintain the parish at a very high spiritual level. Moreover, at the end of his life, he had the grief of seeing his beautiful church almost entirely destroyed by the cyclones Alix and Carol at the end of 1960. With Fr. de Robillard and Fr. Heggui, we reconstructed this parish on all counts.

As for me, I had more than three hundred Valiant Hearts and Valiant Souls while Fr. de Robillard looked after the scouts and guides. I found them less pious than mine, their essential aim being to learn how to tie knots! Together we saw to the Legion of Mary, the Young Christian Workers, the Family Action teams. I had also organised a mixed choir, with four voices, which was my joy. It meant much work, for I first had to learn each voice with the help of a little flute, since the children did not know how to read notes. Each morning, I celebrated my Mass at 5 o’clock so that everyone might attend before going to work. We felt Fr. Laval in our midst. This stimulated us.

Promises of the Valiant Hearts and the Valiant Souls. Fr. Krémer, seen from behind, directs the ceremony while Fr. de Robillard on the right and Fr. Heggui on the left, stand on the platform.

At the same time we rebuilt the church, which is today the joy and pride of the parishioners of Holy Cross.

Yes, truly each day of the year spent at Holy Cross was for me a real feast day!

FIRST PILGRIMAGE TO FATIMA

It is around this time that I went on pilgrimage to Fatima for the first time. I had returned to France for my holidays, and I had just had myself grafted a new eardrum. I thought that the moment was favourable for fulfilling my vow to go visit Our Lady in this blessed place… We first stopped at Lourdes for four days. There I discovered Bartrès. We then took the route of Pontevedra passing through Burgos. One of the heads of the group was a Dominican who succeeded in never speaking to us about Fatima! I was dumbfounded! We made our pilgrimage to Pontevedra on a first Saturday; he celebrated his Mass in Sister Lucy’s cell without even alluding to Our Lady of Fatima and the reparatory devotion of the five First Saturdays. That shocked me profoundly!

When we arrived at Fatima, the aim of our pilgrimage, we went to the Capelinha on the first evening. There, Fr. Simonin, the Dominican priest responsible for welcoming French pilgrims was waiting for us. Immediately he introduced us to message of Fatima, inviting us to convert and embrace the devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary in order to be saved. Hearing this, our Dominican muttered: « Threats already! » For my part, I was delighted!

Fatima immediately captivated me! We attended the very moving ceremonies of the “twelfth” and the “thirteenth”. The farewell procession to Our Lady moved me profoundly. If only for these few moments, I desired to return soon to Fatima. I promised the Blessed Virgin that I would return to see Her on each of my holidays but by my own means. Shortly afterwards, I returned to Mauritius.

After the Council, in our Missions, the changes planned by the Council appeared rather late. To me at that time, they seemed adapted , and I submitted to them without difficulty. I immediately accepted to say my Mass in French; it was very new, and it came from the Council. Doubts only arose much later.

INTERDENOMINATIONAL MASSACRES

For the time being, Mauritius was painfully heading towards independence. In January, 1968, certain ethnic groups began to rise up one against the others, particularly in the Port Louis region. Cadavers of Muslims were regularly recovered in the neighbouring river.

One Sunday morning, we had to shorten our Valiant Hearts – Valiant Souls meeting, because from time to time we saw armed and masked groups wandering in front of the church that was not yet completely finished. We nevertheless had been celebrating Mass there for some time. That day, Fr. de Robillard had to be away. When he left, he advised me to take cover because he sensed an attack. Indeed, it was bloody.

Around 3 p.m., I heard shots from near our new church. I hastened there, but it was empty. I then went to the square, and I witnessed an atrocious spectacle: Creoles were united around a fire where a man was burning. It was one of the three Muslims who had attempted to blow up Father Laval’s tomb. They paid for it with their life, at least two of them. Turning aside, I saw a second Muslim decapitated at the foot of a tree while a third one rushed towards me shouting: “Father, in the name of Christ, save me!” Then he ran to take refuge in the church close to the tabernacle. I entered with him while the furious crowd followed us.

It was a real profanation of the church. The walls were stained with blood. Seeing a Creole approach armed with an iron bar, I made my body a wall of protection for the Muslim. I said expressly to the Creole that he could not commit a crime in front of the tabernacle! It was useless; he climbed on a pew and struck his victim. Hearing police sirens, everyone fled. I found myself alone with the Muslim lying in his blood that had sprayed onto my white cassock to the point that it was almost entirely red. Prostrate before so many horrors, convinced that the man was dead, I returned to the rectory.

Fr. Krémer in Pamplemousses’ big botanic garden on Mauritius Island, after the massacres that took place at Holy Cross. The giant lily pads, which can be made out on the pond, are the unusual feature of this garden.

Fr. de Robillard came back at that moment. Seeing me in such a state, he helped me change my cassock and drove me to the home of a Spiritan confrere at Paplemousses, not far from Holy Cross. Then, my memories of war and captivity suddenly reawakened; I had nightmare after nightmare. I was no longer able to sleep. When I folded back my blanket, I saw it red even though it was grey…

A few days later, Fr. de Robillard came to visit me: « The newspapers speak of you saying that you saved the life of a Muslim! » In fact, the police had transported the man to the hospital where he had been well treated. He repeated to everyone: « The Father saved my life! » Of course, that did not please the Muslims, who forced him to retract and to say: « The Father of Holy Cross lured the Muslims into the church in order to massacre them. » And the newspapers repeated that… Furthermore the Creole priests blamed me for having saved the life of a “Saracen”, as they called him. In such a context, it was impossible for me to remain longer on the island. I no longer knew where I stood; I was completely discouraged. I can say that this moment was the darkest of my entire missionary life.

But the Good God did not abandon me, of course! On the advice of the doctor, my superiors decided to give me a little rest by sending me to Reunion Island that is separated from Mauritius by about two hundred kilometres.

1. Here there is a play on words brought about by the assonance between the French abbreviation: à l’Onu (to the United Nations Organisation) and the French words: à l’eau, nu (into the water, naked).