To tell the tale of Jacqueline and Ivor, I must take you way back in time, all the way back to the edge of any living generations’ memory.
Jacqueline Mureaud was seventeen in the year 1953. Her family was originally from a village south of Bordeaux. On her father’s side, every generation as far back as anyone could remember had been working at the vineyard. Not only producing their own brand, but the businesses also included growing grapes for other manufacturers. On a local basis, the Mureaud wine was both popular and famous; it was a source of steady income for the family.
The tradition was firm. When Jacqueline’s father was old enough, we would be trusted with the family business. It was not only expected of him, but also demanded. Although it seemed as though the young man had no choice, he rebelled against the tradition. “I want to study in Toulouse”, he said one evening at supper. The family was not perplexed. This was just the thing their restless son would do. “Luc!” they cried. “What will happen to the vineyard?” Young Lucas with the fair skin and the profound eyes had always been determined. When he set his mind to one thing, he would always carry through. Within a month he was on his way, with only a pocket knife, an extra pair of shoes and a glorious plan of making the Mureaud wine world famous in his backpack.
In Toulouse, the inevitable happened. Lucas fell in love. Never had a girl seemed this attractive. Her name was Odette, and as the name implied, she was the only daughter of a wealthy family from Montpellier. Lucas got an apprentice post at Odette’s father’s shipping company. After six months, the girl and half the kingdom seemed to be his.
The summer of 1936 was one of those warm summers where nothing seems to help against the dense heat. The house and garden was packed with friends and family, all had come to see the little infant for the first time. Odette, glowing with pride, was holding the tiny girl in her arms. Relatives form near and far nodded their heads, agreeing on what miracle Jacqueline was and what great thing she was destined to do. I would love to keep on depicting the happy life that was laid out for the petite family, but alas. The story must be told truthfully, even though it might not be what you want to hear.
Winter 1950: an unrestrained snowstorm, a dangerous political situation and unstable economics. Lucas had survived hard conditions before. He was familiar with both war and misery. Difficult times had shaped him to become the person he was, but never before had he felt this vulnerable. His precious Odette, Jacqueline’s loving mother, was in danger. The fatal cold was blamed, Odette passed away within weeks. The sorrow was beyond anything Lucas had ever experienced. He was clueless on how to console his daughter. France was not the place for them anymore, especially with Odette gone. He did therefore not see any other option. A fellow named Petenka, who Lucas knew through his business, promised them shelter. Lucas sent his daughter to Petenka, and was supposed to travel two weeks after.
Jacqueline did go to Russia, but her father never did. Petenka was a kind man, but the circumstances in Russia did not improve. Jacqueline was waiting for her father, while working at Mr. Petenka’s factory. Every day she ironed Russian solider uniforms, hoping to receive a sign of life from her father. The only company she had was a scant boy with dark, greasy hair. He wore large round glasses and his factory uniform always appeared three sizes too big. The other factory workers called him “the splinter”, while his real name was Ivor. Jacqueline and Ivor became very good friends, as they both were longing for something that had been absent for a long time. What Ivor lacked in experience he made up for with his goofy charms. Having Ivor with her at all times, gave her a different perspective.
All trace of Jacqueline and Ivor ends at this factory. No one I have spoken to can tell me anything about the couple. I have travelled as far as Yekaterinburg, and how they did it I don’t know, but the disappearing act was certainly successful. I have promised myself I will not give up the search until I have found my grandmother.
