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14 octobre 2007 7 14 /10 /octobre /2007 19:56

       

       Le USS Missouri (BB-63) est un cuirassier. Le 3 ième navire à porter ce nom en l'honneur de l'Etat du Missouri. C'est le dernier des navires de 45.000 tonnes du type Iowa. Il est célèbre pour avoir été le lieu de reddition du Japon à la fin de la 2ième Guerre Mondiale. Il fut projeté en Juin 1940 et participa aux batailles d'Iwo-Jima et Okinawa dans le Pacifique. Après la guerre de Corée, il fut désarmé mais en 1984, modernisé, il reprit du service pour  participer à la Guerre du Golf. En 1998, il fut transformé en musée flottant, amarré au port de Pearl-Harbour, à Hawai.

       Après la victoire sur les Forces de l'Axe, et sous prétexte de transporter à Istanbul le corps de l'Ambassadeur Mehmet, décédé en 1944 à Washington, le Missouri et son escorte, passant Gibraltar, firent escale dans de nombreux ports du bassin méditerranéen : Maroc ,Grèce,Italie, Turquie, histoire de montrer la Pax Américana dans cette région instable.

Et ce passage dura les 2 mois d'Avril-Mai 1946.

Ainsi s'imposa définitivement  la Sixième Flotte dans nos eaux  juste au début de la Guerre Froide. Et ainsi nous eûmes l'aubaine de voir ce monstre de 45.000 tonnes en rade d'Alger.

Une enveloppe , Jour d'Emission. Lancement du Missouri le 29 Janvier 1944.

 


Quand le Missouri sort ses griffes :

 


Le Missouri fait feu de toutes ses batteries !
Remarquez l'onde de choc produite sur la mer .

 



Jour de la Victoire sur le Japon. Le 2 Septembre 1945, les avions américains survolent le Missouri au large de Tokyo.

L'Empereur du Soleil Levant, Hiro Hito annonça à son peuple exangue la reddition du Japon, dans un language fleuri qui ne comportait pas le mot de "capitulation" ! Ce qui n'empêcha pas de nombreux suicides d'officiers fanatiques. Il fallut deux bombes atomiques, à Hiroshima et Nagasaki pour le persuader de déposer les armes. (Exception faite dans la Jungle de quelque île isolée où un japonais continua quelques années encore à se croire en guerre !).

 Et celà, deux mois après la Capitulation de l'Allemagne, le 8 Mai 1945. Curieusement (ou pas), l'Empereur ne fut pas condamné pour ses crimes de guerres, comparables à ceux de ses amis nazis vis à vis des populations civiles (et prisonniers militaires). Hiro Hito coula des jours paisibles dans un Japon démilitarisé mais en pleine expansion économique, face à la Chine Communiste.

Ci-dessous un certificat de présence, souvenir pour tous ceux qui assistèrent à la signature de la capitulation, comme le "Lieutenant Commander Balfour".

 



Qu'est devenu ce Lieutenant Commander Balfour  ? :
http://lcweb2.loc.gov/diglib/vhp-stories/

loc.natlib.afc2001001.02531/



Le Général Mac-Arthur paraphe après les officiels Japonais l'arrêt des combats (avec six stylos!). A cet endroit, fut incrustée, sur le pont, une plaque commémorative dont je me souviens de la couleur cuivrée.
Le Général Leclerc représenta la France à la cérémonie de la reddition sans conditions.
Voici un reportage sonore d'Actualités Françaises de l'INA :

http://www.ina.fr/archivespourtous/index.php?

vue=notice&id_notice=AFE86003265

Mais revenons à Alger au printemps 1946 .

Je devais avoir dans les huit ans, et déjà toutes mes dents, lorsque le Lion des Mers de l'U.S. Navy, le Cuirassé Missouri, croisant en Méditerranée, vint faire à notre ville une visite d'amitié et mouilla dans notre port. Ce fut pour nous les enfants, un événement à ne pas manquer .
Nous étions habitués par les revues de propagande en couleurs et sur papier glacé aux silhouettes  de ce genre de navire de guerre , comme  le "Victory", en les ayant taillés dans le bois, et en ayant construit des canons avec des épingles, et des tourelles collées au chewing-gum !
Mais cette fois, il ne fallait pas manquer l'aubaine de poser nos sandales sur ce pont.
Evidement trop imposant pour être amarré à quai, des chalands en file indienne reliaient la terre ferme à son flanc. Des planches recouvraient l'espace entre deux bages et je me souviens d'avoir un peu appréhendé cette traversée de quelques pas, en voyant l'eau noire du port à travers!

Des marins nous aidèrent à gravir cette passerelle qui pendait le long de la coque de ce monstre gris..

Une photo rare du Missouri dans le port, prise d'un autre navire de guerre de l'escorte sans doute..


Les impressionnantes tourelles à triples tubes.
Pompons rouges et Bonnets blancs fraternisent.

 



Mes remerciements à Christian Ripoll pour ces souvenirs remarquables du printemps 1946: Christian est à droite sur le cliché. A gauche, son ami Claude Bisquerra (décédé).
Une vue épatante de l'hydravion embarqué, un mono flotteur.
Du type Vough OS2U, avion bi-places pour la reconnaissance et surtout le sauvetage en mer. La vedette de l'Amiral est sur sa remorque .



Mais le Cuirassé reçut aussi la visite d'élégantes algéroises en robes blanches, bien-sûr.

 


A la suite de notre correspondance sur Essmma au sujet du Missouri, un message de J.P.Follaci :

J.-P. Follacci (Nice)

 

07/12/2005 14:21

 

Le livre d'or fait ressurgir trois souvenirs enfouis de ma visite au Missouri :
- le jus d'orange gentiment offert par un marin noir qui semblait droit sorti de nos comics préférés,
- Hiro Hito capitulant en chapeau haut de forme,
- l'énormité des canons.
Un de nos copains, dont la binette juvénile figure sur Es'mma et qui se reconnaîtrait s'il pratiquait le web, garde un souvenir cuisant d'une escale de l'US Navy. Attiré à bord par l'espoir d'une juteuse combine à base de Lucky Strike à bon marché, il faillit y être initié aux moeurs de la marine. Il ne dut son salut, au terme d'une fuite éperdue dans des coursives de hasard, qu'à un plongeon nocturne dans les eaux glauques du port, depuis un hublot étriqué.


Une vue des deux hydravions embarqués et de la grue qui les hissait sur le pont.


Retour au bercail, l'hydravion  amerrit, opération délicate par gros temps .



Une vue superbe de l'équipage du Vough, avec l'hydravion prêt sur sa catapulte à vapeur.
Sur le site ci-dessous, une maquette en "3D" pour les amateurs d'aéromodélisme :
Maquette 3d Vough OS2U KinG-Fisher

http://www.lembrechtsart.be/en/3d7.htm


Ouvrez votre audio, car  voici que s'avancent , montant vers la rampe Chasseloup-Laubat , les Fusillers-Marins devançant la fanfare de l'US Missouri , escortés par les yaouleds enchantés de ce spectacle,
(et nous aussi):

http://www.usarmyband.com/Audio/

flash_player/media/ceremonial/american_spirit/

the_army_goes_rolling_along.mp3

Après de longues journées en mer, quelques heures de permission bien méritées pour visiter la mystérieuse Casbah, qui clignait de l'oeil aux soldats, juste au dessus du port..



Mais ça n'a pas l'apparence des Contes des Mille et une Nuits !

La Guerre en musique :
-------------------------------
Avec l'arrivée des Alliés, je découvrais des chansons de guerre que je chantais à tue-tête dans la salle de bains qui résonnait si bien. Cet air que je chantais, c'était celui des pilotes alliés au mess, autour d'une chope de bière. Ce "Bless em'All", c'est mon père qui me l'avait fait découvrir alors qu'à l'armée il était en contact avec les américains en Tunisie pour utiliser le nouveau matériel de Transmissions. En fait, c'était une rengaine datant de la Première Guerre Mondiale, et d'ailleurs toujours actuelle....

Photo du disque de l'époque (1912),78 tours/minute:

Ecoutons l'interprétation :

http://sniff.numachi.com/pages/

tiBLSSAL10;ttBLSSALL.html

(
Words and Music by Irving Berlin)

Bless 'em all, bless 'em all
The long and the short and the tall
Bless all the sergeants and W.O. Ones
Bless all the corp'rals and their blinking sons
For we're saying good-bye to them all
As back to the barracks we crawl
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean
So cheer up my lads Bless 'em all,

Mais voici une version beaucoup plus poivrée !!:

To the tune of
"Bless 'Em All"

Sod 'em all. Sod 'em all,
The long and the short and the tall,
Sod all the sergeants and WO ones,
Sod all the corporals and their bastard sons,
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to their billets they crawl,
You'll get no promotion
This side of the ocean,
So cheer up, my lads, sod 'em all.

Mais j'avais aussi à mon répertoire le non moins célèbre "Typperary" :

IT'S A LONG WAY TO TYPPERARY !!...

Certainement l'air le plus populaire chanté par les soldats sur le chemin du Font Ouest pendant l'enthousiaste début de l'été 1914.

Tipperary est une ville d'Irlande.
La chanson fut écrite par Jack Judge et Harry Williams quelques deux années auparavant, en 1912. Et reprise avec succés par les alliés en 39/45.



C'est un air que j'aimais chanter sans en comprendre les paroles, puisque je croyais que "C'était une longue marche pour arriver à ...Paris " !!!!

It's a Long Way to Tipperary

Up to mighty London came
An Irish lad one day,
All the streets were paved with gold,
So everyone was gay!
Singing songs of Piccadilly,
Strand, and Leicester Square,
'Til Paddy got excited and
He shouted to them there:

It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know!
Goodbye Piccadilly,
Farewell Leicester Square!
It's a long long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there.

Paddy wrote a letter
To his Irish Molly O',
Saying, "Should you not receive it,
Write and let me know!
If I make mistakes in "spelling",
Molly dear", said he,
"Remember it's the pen, that's bad,
Don't lay the blame on me".

It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know!
Goodbye Piccadilly,
Farewell Leicester Square,
It's a long long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there.

Molly wrote a neat reply
To Irish Paddy O',
Saying, "Mike Maloney wants
To marry me, and so
Leave the Strand and Piccadilly,
Or you'll be to blame,
For love has fairly drove me silly,
Hoping you're the same!"

It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know!
Goodbye Piccadilly,
Farewell Leicester Square,
It's a long long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there.

Extra wartime verse

That's the wrong way to tickle Mary,
That's the wrong way to kiss!
Don't you know that over here, lad,
They like it best like this!
Hooray pour le Francais!
Farewell, Angleterre!
We didn't know the way to tickle Mary,
But we learned how, over there!


http://www.firstworldwar.com/audio/

American%20Quartet%20&%20Billy%20Murray%20-

%20It's%20A%20Long%20Long%20Way.mp3


La Ligne Siegfried était une suite de fortifications érigées par Hidenburg à la Premiere Guerre mondiale et qu'Hitler en hâte modernisa
à la seconde:


http://musi.ca/refer/weregoi2.MP3

On ira pendre notre linge sur la ligne Siegfried

Un p'tit  Tommy chantait cet air plein d'entrain
En arrivant au camp
Tout les p'tits poilus joyeux apprirent le refrain
Et bientôt le régiment
Entonnait gaîment:

Refrain :
On ira pendr' notre linge sur la ligne Siegfried
Pour laver le linge, voici le moment
On ira pendr' notre linge sur la ligne Siegfried
A nous le beau linge blanc.
Les napp's à fleurs et les ch'mis's à Papa
En famille on lavera tout ça
On ira pendr' notre linge sur la ligne Siegfried
Si on la trouve encore là.

Tout le monde à son boulot en met un bon coup
Avec un c?ur joyeux
On dit que le colonel est très content de nous
Et tant pis pour les envieux
Tout va pour le mieux

Refrain

The washing on the Siegfried line

Mother dear I'm writing you from somewhere in France
Hoping this find you well
Sergeant says I'm doing fine "A soldier and a half"
Here's the song that we'll all sing
It w'll make you laugh

Refrain :
We're gonna hang the washing on the Siegfried Line
Have you any dirty washing mother dear ?
We're gonna hang the washing on the Siegfried Line
Cos' the washing day is here
Wether the weather may be wet or fine
We'll just rub along without care
We're gonna hang the washing on the Siegfried Line
If the Siegfried Line 's still there.

Ev'ry body's mucking in and doing their job
Wearing a great big smile
Ev'ry body's got to keep their spirits up to day
If you want to keep in swing
Here's the song to sing

Refrain


                                               A T T E N T I O N   

                      

    A partir d'ici ce texte est interdit au moins de dix-huit ans !

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjAC3IJbTJo&mode=related&search=
                             

     "Ya Mustapha par Bob Azan" !!!


" Let  Take You to the Casbah ".....

Billet de 5 Francs, imprimés par l'Amérique en 1942 et distribués  aux soldats Alliés..Pas de mention de la "République Francaise"! Les Etats-Unis battèrent la monnaie jusqu'à l'arrivée tardive de De Gaulle en 1943, après que les eaux troubles d'Alger se soient éclaircies....


J'ai le souvenir des pièces de deux francs jaunes qui remplaçaient celles à la francisque.


De tout temps, le danger de la vie militaire n'est pas qu'au combat :
Déjà en 14-18 l'affiche prévenait le soldat du danger des maladies vénériennes .

"Soldat ! la Patrie compte sur toi,
Garde toutes tes forces "

  Les lignes qui suivent peuvent choquer, et donc ne s'adressent qu'au plus de 18 ans!  (Quoique à notre époque  les enfants en savent presque plus que leurs parents !).

   Ce qui nous amène à découvrir le témoignage d'un soldat Anglais,le Sergent Len Scott, en garnison à Alger .

   Je n'ai pas voulu traduire ce texte scabreux pour ne pas le déflorer et  laisse le soin au lecteur ou à la lectrice de le découvrir dans son originalité .
   Le sujet est universel, toujours actuel tant qu'il y aura des soldats mobilisés loin de leurs foyers.

 

 Soldats en goguette dans la casbah.


                                  Belmondo (Nu,1935).       



 Sex in the City: Algiers,1943 (Ou le repos du Guerrier )

"I had become friendly with an RAPC corporal before I went overseas, and had introduced him and his wife to my own wife, Minna. She invited them to 'Clear View', our Warlingham hilltop home. All went well until, as Minna wrote: 'He entered upon an indignant accusation against the indiscriminate issue of prophylactics to soldiers and sailors brought to his notice by a letter in a Catholic paper... from an equally indignant soldier serving abroad. My visitor's wife heartily concurred. He called it an insufferable interference in a man's private life, encouraging promiscuity, turning men into animals etc. Let them dare to treat him that way - he would show everybody. Of course, the Catholic Church was dragged into it over and over again - and I just wanted to tell him that I thought him an intolerable, self-righteous little blighter, particularly with his wife sitting there voicing her approval, big with child.

They both refused to believe that enforced separation made any difference to the physical well-being of men and women. Apparently religion of the right brand - their brand - sees to all that. By heaven I could have told them a thing or two but managed to refrain. I do not wish to discuss my private life with anyone but you.' It is only fair to add that their attitudes changed after the war? and that we all became the best of friends ? but at the time I shared Minna’s feelings.

'Poor chap,' I wrote, 'I can just imagine him sitting there, his fists pounding the table, his eyes gleaming. If I could write freely [all my letters were censored] I could advance a hundred practical arguments against his ?spiritual? ones. He should live here for just one day. In any case, his facts are wrong. For "indiscriminate" substitute "on demand".'

Military censorship apart, I could not bring myself to write about the Allied soldiers, sailors and airmen waiting outside a brothel only a few hundred yards from our office; the grunting and gasping coming from Army trucks parked in side-streets (with a pimp standing nearby); or the corrupt shoe-shine children ('You want jig-a-jig, Johnny? My sister very pretty, very clean, very cheap... twenty cigarettes!'). Nor did I quote the little couplet circulating as the battle for Tunisia reached new heights:

'Pox does more than Rommel can
To bugger Monty's battle-plan.'

We believed (without knowing any figures) that VD casualties were far from negligible, though jaundice was another common and crippling illness. An order had appeared affecting all those who chose to use brothels or obliging locals. As I recall it, it demanded that after intercourse a visit to a prophylactic station was obligatory and a certificate would be issued. Any man contracting VD who could not show a certificate would, possibly, face a similar charge as for a self-inflicted wound. Later on in the war my unit in Italy had its own 'prophylactic station' in the First Aid Room where the procedure was called 'a wash and brush-up'.

Place thousands of young men, womanless, in a strange country and home-nurtured moral attitudes usually succumb to hormonal activity. I heard that French soldiers in battle areas had access to medically supervised mobile brothels, but could never confirm this. As in my earlier article, Race Relations in Algiers, it is imperative to put in context the situation of we young Britons in 1942-45. To do so I have to use words and phrases which are now politically unacceptable.

In pre-war Britain access to condoms was difficult. Few of us dared to ask for them at a chemist's shop, where the assistant might be a woman. My hairdresser would ask 'Is there anything you need for the week-end, sir?' As for condoms in slot machines... inconceivable (sic). The contraceptive pill - like political correctness - had yet to be invented, and girls who produced ?bastards? were often ostracised. Abortion? Illegal, but it might be had - expensively - in some back-street room with a dodgy doctor or, more cheaply, from a woman with a knitting needle. Some families contrived to get the delinquent girl certified and sent to what we called a lunatic asylum. Years later Minna and I became visitors to such a place (by then described as a ?mental hospital?) and discovered just such a case.

For most lads and girls sex was never simple - it was hedged about with fear, religious prohibitions, disgrace and terror of venereal disease. So 'nice girls didn't' until they grasped their marriage certificates. Divorce was frowned upon, and was difficult and expensive. There were prostitutes on our city streets, but they were liable to arrest and many were infected with V.D. Alexander Fleming had discovered penicillin but in the mid-1930s it had hardly developed. I may invite ridicule when I suggest that in 1942 the majority of young unmarried soldiers were still virgin. Now, suddenly, sex was on tap for a modest sum in francs, and the prophylactic stations - rightly or wrongly - lulled the fear of disease. Algiers was, for many, an Aladdin's cave of once-forbidden delights.

An NCO I knew made no secret of his brothel-visits and it was he who proposed a communal visit to 'The Sphinx' where 'the girls would give us "an exhibition" which will make your toes curl.' We looked at each other, all tempted by something unimaginable in the Britain we knew. 'The madam won't fix it for less than a dozen of us, but I've already got six R.E.s who want to come. So how about it?' I had always despised what is now called peer pressure, but this time I went with the stream, propelled also by intense curiosity.

'The Sphinx', situated in a side-street, was vaguely Moorish in character. There was a large salon furnished with divans and a scatter of chairs. On right and left stairs led up to a balcony, at the rear of which were half-a-dozen doors. A few girls were on the balcony - some naked, some wearing short chemises. I had expected the 'madam' to be a tough old crone. She was young and pretty. After collecting her fees she clapped her hands, and half a dozen girls descended the stairs in a hip-swinging, provocative manner. Four, at least, were European, the others doubtful - brown-skinned, dark-eyed. All were naked.

I leave the scene which followed to the imagination. Enough to say that whatever could be done by them (with the aid of 'appliances') as a duet, trio or sextet was done - largely obscene or grotesque but occasionally unintentionally comic. After about fifteen minutes ?madam' suggested that we might like to take on one or more of the girls and give 'a real 'exhibition'. There were no takers.

Little was said as we returned. I discovered something about myself: it is possible to be excited and disgusted at one and the same time, and there can be a delight in disgust. Later, when recalling the scene, I found that disgust prevailed. One of the others was a timid little fellow who seemed even more timid after this experience. He began shouting in his sleep and exhibiting other nervous symptoms. Matters grew worse; and he was removed to hospital for observation. In a month or two he was in what we called the 'bomb-happy' ward and was sent home as a psychiatric case.

Another of us, a bright and intelligent man, was invited to a party close by AFHQ (the Hotel St. George). There were lots of American servicewomen, the food good and the drinks plentiful. He enjoyed himself hugely. I knew him as a quiet young man who never used foul language. He was even more quiet when he returned, and not until a day or two later did he confide what had happened. 'I danced several times with this American girl and then we went out into the gardens. She was good-looking and I wanted to kiss her, you know, have a bit of a cuddle. So I did. She looked at me in a funny way and I thought she was angry. Then she said, "Have ya gotta rubber?" I didn't know what to say, where to look, mumbled something. Then she just laughed and walked away.'

Apart from brothels, there were hôtels where a tip, a nod and a wink to the barman would elicit the number of a certain room where satisfaction awaited the client. Of a different class was the Hôtel Aletti, down by the sea front. This elegant establishment - reserved for officers of field rank (majors and above) - was reputed to provide ladies of equal elegance. It was further reported that some of these ladies, if reasonably thrifty, would be able to buy hotels of their own after the war.

There was another curious aspect to the sexual scene in Algiers. At a certain hour a cluster of respectable-appearing civilians would be waiting outside our local brothel. Some were wheeling perambulators. When the girls appeared they embraced their men and kissed their babies. All walked away together. Occasionally, on a Sunday, I had seen some of these girls emerging from the cathedral, clasping their prayer books, their heads covered with lace mantillas.

I had been brought up in the Catholic faith and knew the serious sins (known as 'mortal') which, unless repented and confessed, merited damnation and a permanent residence in Hell. This knowledge had been impressed upon me by constant reiteration, and further impressed upon my palms and posterior with a cane. Fornication was one such sin, and missing Sunday Mass another. Taking Holy Communion while in a state of 'mortal' sin aggravated the offence. Problem. How could the girls - after servicing the Allies all week - go to confession on Saturday, participate in the Mass on Sunday and resume fornication on Monday? Perhaps my one-time War Office Catholic friend knew the answer. I did not. After the war Minna and I saw a French film, ?Le Corbeau?, (made, oddly enough, in 1943). There was one scene which particularly amused us. One character, an atheist anti-clerical, was spotted emerging from Sunday Mass and was challenged by a friend. 'Well,' said he with a grin, 'I don't expect my house to burn down, but I take out fire insurance.' So how do I describe myself in 2004? Like Graham Greene, I am 'a sort of Catholic.'

Many of the soldiers I knew never frequented brothels but yearned for congenial - not necessarily sexual - feminine company among respectable French girls. I saw them sauntering along the Rue Michelet, impeccably turned out - trousers with knife-edge creases, gaiters blanco-ed, cap-badges gleaming. I had also seen Italian prisoners-of-war employed on various menial jobs. Their P.O.W. status was shown by a circle of contrasting colour sewn upon the backs of their often dilapidated uniforms. They were young, often darkly handsome with black curling hair, moving with animal grace and arrogant confidence. 'I can't bloody understand it,' said a soldier to me, 'The girls go with those scruffy Eyeties with the backsides hanging out of their trousers.' And so it often was... Latins attracted by Latins perhaps.

I suspect that most of we soldiers remained relatively chaste, with an occasional lapse. 'I have been faithful to you, Cynara, after my fashion' was the favourite quote of a sergeant I knew. Me? Once, in a barman-friendly hotel. A brief encounter. All went normally until the air-raid siren sounded. A classic case of coitus interruptus. Alcohol was the popular relief and with local wine at the equivalent of 5p the litre, the night-time streets of Algiers stank of urine. The Military Police cruised around in jeeps and trucks breaking up brawls and collecting supine bodies.

Other remedies? Masturbation, naturally - but in all my five years of service I heard of only one court-martial for sodomy. I might have got relief in my love-letters to Minna, but they could be read by the Army censor. Impossible. To write such a letter would be like learning to dance with two left feet.

Today there is a torrent of pictures and reports from Iraq, but I have yet to discover anything which examines this side of a soldier?s life. Are today?s young men so different from those I knew? Is censorship still a problem? Is this too sensitive a subject to be tolerated by those ?at home?? Or do today?s soldiers relieve their frustration and loneliness on their mobile telephones?"

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Monique Dinet 18/10/2007 11:32

"interdit aux moins de dix-huit ans"? je ne sais si je vais pouvoir vous lire : quand je me rends chez vous, je n\\\'ai pas quatorze ans ! une véritable oie blanche. Et vous savez bien que les oies ne comprennent pas grand\\\'chose, mais le clament haut et fort... au grand dam du voisinage !

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