The Citroën 2CV, Sabotage, Heroism, and the Spark of Creativity

Vicki Chelf, Artist, Writer, & Producer

People often ask where my ideas come from. Where does creativity begin?

For me, creative thinking grew out of necessity. Living with dyslexia meant I couldn't learn the way most children did. Spelling, multiplication tables, and even the rules of grammar seemed impossible. Rather than giving up, I learned to solve problems differently. I discovered that while words and numbers were difficult, art, storytelling, and cooking came naturally.

Those became the languages through which I understood the world.

That unconventional way of thinking has stayed with me throughout my life.

This morning, while walking through the forests near our home in Aveyron, France, I stumbled upon an old automobile lying at the bottom of a steep embankment. Nearby stood the crumbling remains of a small stone shack. Naturally, with my fascination for the French Resistance, my imagination immediately began weaving a story. Could this have been a hideout for the Maquis during World War II? Had Resistance fighters hidden here? Was the abandoned car somehow part of their story?

When I returned home and began researching, I discovered that the vehicle was almost certainly a Citroën 2CV—known affectionately in France as the Deux Chevaux or simply the "Deux CV." It wasn't introduced until 1948, after the war had ended.

Normally I might have been disappointed that my imagined story wasn't true.

Instead, I found something even more remarkable.

The origins of the 2CV are deeply connected to one of France's most fascinating stories of innovation and quiet resistance.

In the 1930s, Pierre-Jules Boulanger, head of Citroën, envisioned a revolutionary automobile for rural France. The brief given to his engineers has become legendary. The car had to carry four people, transport 50 kilograms (about 110 pounds) of farm produce, travel comfortably over deeply rutted country roads, and even cross a freshly plowed field carrying a basket of eggs without breaking a single one. The project was known as the TPV (Toute Petite Voiture—"Very Small Car").

Then history intervened.

As Nazi Germany occupied France, Citroën feared that the innovative design would fall into German hands. Many of the prototypes were hidden away in barns, attics, and warehouses. Some were even concealed behind walls or buried. Their existence remained secret throughout the occupation.

Boulanger himself quietly resisted the German war effort. He refused to collaborate with Nazi authorities and resisted pressure from Ferdinand Porsche, who oversaw much of Germany's wartime vehicle production. Although Citroën was forced to manufacture vehicles under occupation, stories have long circulated that acts of subtle sabotage took place inside French factories. One of the most famous, tells of engine oil dipsticks being deliberately recalibrated so German vehicles appeared to have sufficient oil when they did not, causing engines to seize unexpectedly. Whether every detail of that story can be verified, it reflects the ingenious spirit of resistance that flourished in occupied France.

After the Liberation, the hidden plans and surviving prototypes emerged once again. Engineers resumed development, and in 1948 the Citroën 2CV was officially unveiled. It would go on to become one of the most beloved, practical, and recognizable automobiles ever built, remaining in production for more than forty years.

As I looked at that abandoned little car resting quietly in the forest, I realized that my imagination had led me to a different story than the one history recorded.

But perhaps that's how creativity works.

Sometimes an old car, a forgotten building, or a walk through the woods sparks a question. That question leads to research. Research uncovers history. And history reveals stories far richer than anything we could have invented.

As an artist and storyteller, I've learned never to ignore those moments of curiosity. They are often the doorway to discovering extraordinary people whose courage and ingenuity deserve to be remembered.

Perhaps that's why I love telling the stories of the French Resistance. Time and again, they remind us that creativity isn't only found in paintings, books, or music.

Sometimes creativity becomes an act of courage.

Sometimes it changes history.

By Vicki Chelf