During the Second World War the Château’s owners were the Vignerol family who all refused to depart when the Germans overran the area using our fine manor house as headquarters.

One local resident kept a detailed account in a diary of D-Day itself, The diary was actually found in the Château.

Here is an extract from the diary:
At 1:00 a.m. we heard the German commander’s car circling the house. Bombardments sounded in the distance, but after days of tension and eight previous bombings of Ver-sur-Mer, no one moved. What surprised me was the sound of trunks and suitcases going downstairs: the Germans were preparing to leave.

By 2:00 a.m the bombardment was continuous, still distant, and we slept badly, listening. At 4:00 a.m the shelling became violent and terrifyingly close. I got up to check on the German doctor who had been bedridden for weeks. The soldiers had already deserted the house and were sleeping in the fields. I rushed the children awake, grabbed the clothes and blankets we had prepared weeks earlier, and we ran under an awful roar to the trench. The house shook, windows rattled, tiles fell. Eight of us crouched together in a narrow trench, afraid to return inside.

For more than two hours we endured an unbearable pounding. The sky flashed with fire, shells fell all around, planes dived overhead, dust filled our mouths, and splinters rained down through the trees. I held a child on each side, shielding them as best I could. Smoke rose thickly and smelled of powder; we feared gas. When we heard shells coming from the sea, we knew at last: it was the Landing.

At 6:30 a.m the shelling eased slightly, and the brief calm felt like paradise. Later I went back and forth to the house to light the stove, make bread, and prepare food, always running back to the trench. The village was deserted; everyone hid in shelters. No one was killed, thank God, but the cattle were devastated and houses riddled with bullets.

Around 1:30 p.m after seeing Germans fleeing, I cautiously approached two soldiers hiding near the garden. They were Canadians. The relief was overwhelming. They gave chocolate to the children and searched the house for booby traps. We even shared champagne.

The fighting did not stop. A German pretended to surrender and wounded a Canadian sentry. Tanks thundered through the village without pause. By evening, prisoners passed by, including familiar German faces. That night we returned to the trench amid constant noise. Liberation had come, but with chaos, exhaustion, destruction—and hope.