When we pop open a bottle of champagne, we think of celebration. Clinking glasses, laughter, lightness. But hidden deep beneath the rolling hills of Reims and Épernay lies a story of war, resistance, and quiet resilience.
During World War I, the city of Reims was bombed relentlessly. Entire streets were turned to rubble. But beneath the chaos, in ancient Roman-dug chalk cellars known as crayères, life continued. Entire families sought shelter underground. Candlelit tunnels became makeshift homes, field hospitals, and schools. And in the shadows – champagne was made.
The workers, many of them women, turned riddling racks by hand, adjusted the bottles by instinct, and cared for each other as shells exploded above.
Then came World War II. German troops occupied the region, and Nazi officers set up requisition offices to claim Champagne as spoils of war. But the houses didn’t give up easily. Beneath their feet, they built false walls, disguised entryways, and mislabeled cases. Their most prized vintages were hidden in silent rows behind chalky barriers—safe from greedy hands.
Some quietly altered cellar records. Others sent coded messages hidden in corks. A few smuggled information for the Resistance right under the noses of those who would claim their heritage.
And all the while, the bottles sat in the dark – waiting. Resting.
Today, if you visit Champagne, you can walk through those tunnels. You’ll see graffiti carved into the walls. Chapels still holding candle stubs. Bottles covered in the dust of decades, holding not just wine, but the weight of memory.
So the next time you raise a glass of champagne—pause. Not just to celebrate the now, but to honour those who once hid in the dark, who guarded their craft with courage, and who believed in a future where bubbles would rise again.