ĂŰŃż´ŤĂ˝

Gefangenennummer 331
Stalagluft VII Bankau, Germany

Beginning

Unfortunately I can only start this book as from the date of my unhappy last ‘op’. which wastes 4½ years of rather unusual adventure. I have read books about people who had some sort of premonition of any eventful happenings, but until we were shot down I had no warning or feelings at all out of the ordinary.

The date was the 28th of June 1944. Briefing was quite normal, though the trip was farther than the last few the squadron had done. My first night op. I was rather excited – at last I was down to brass tacks. The daylight ops. I did had been very easy, hardly more than a cross-country. We all went out to the kite, joking as usual – corny jokes without much point, but getting a laugh just the same. I talked the fuel system and all up weights over with Pat and ate half my ration, and loafed around, making last minute checks, till Pat said “Figure we’d better start up, eh?” All the engines went ok, in fact everything was wizard. Keith on the intercom “Hullo, rear gunner, intercom ok?” “All ok here” came back from Ed. Keith checked everyone else. Jamie giving out the time check, the usual argument about half a second. Don saying the usual – “Well I don’t rightly know” in his attractive Western drawl. James’ well-educated cultured voice coming back with the usual “Aw, you’re full of prunes”, sounding so incongruous from him. As usual, not a sound from Don, he could keep quieter longer than anyone I ever knew. We taxied out, behind the other kites, came the green, Pat’s “ok for take off, Jack”. Quick check, gills ½ open, temps. and pressures ok, “yes, Pat, she’ll do’. Pat’s “off we go” and we were belting down the runway. I could see the ground crew watching us, sweating the take off out, just as much as we were – “2400” – “+2”. The crew going to their positions, and everything settled down nicely.

Darkness soon came down, I got the all up weight at target worked out for Don, and wondered for the hundredth time what it was all going to be like – I soon found out. The minute we crossed the French coast we were ringed by fighter flares, big yellow lights that made one feel twice as big as usual. Ed came on – “There’s a fighter out there about 1,000 yds.” Pat – “well watch it. I saw a kite way out on the front beam.” A fighter on the port beam, skip” – No! sorry it’s a Hally corkscrewing.” Then it happened. A hell of a banging on the starboard wing and a fire at the trailing edge, inboard. I didn’t feel a bit excited, it was entirely different than I had expected. I said, “We’re on fire, skip – It looks like No. 1 tank’s bd. I’ll turn the petrol off.” “Ok”, said Pat. “Put on parachutes.” He said it like he would say “Have a cigarette” or “It’s a nice day.” I knew it was pretty useless, the fire was getting bigger, it was like a gigantic blowlamp, already the flames were as far back as the rear turret. Pat said – “Well, boys, it looks like an emergency.” I acknowledged along with the rest of the crew. I looked at Pat, he was sat there just like he was driving a bus. He said “Jump, jump.” I wanted to do something, but there was nothing, it was useless. I checked my chute and discarded my intercom and oxygen. I nipped smartly down the fuselage, the door was open. Don had gone. The kite was going pretty fast. I thought “Well – here goes” and dived out. I don’t remember pulling the cord – the chute was swaying me about gently, my feet were cold and I suddenly realised that I had lost my boots. My left leg was aching at the knee. I felt awfully lonely, but glad to be alive. The sky was full of flares, and I could see 5 more chutes. There was no dropping sensation. I began to wonder if I was going down at all. I could see a forest below me, and suddenly I seemed to be dropping at a hell of a rate. I though “Christ! I’m not ready,” and I was down very gently with the chute on top of me. I felt like staying there, I was dazed and couldn’t think coherently. I got up, the woods were silent.

I walked away and could feel my leg stiff, and hurting like hell. I went about two hundred yards and thought “I’d better get rid of my Mae West.” I dropped it near a tree. I wondered where the Jerries were. My leg was getting stiffer and when I came to a road I stopped and rested under a tree. I was lost and wondered where the crew were. I heard shots but I was too dazed to worry. The morning seemed ages coming. I wished like hell I could see one of the crew. I got up when it became light and walked down the road. My map was useless as I didn’t know where I as. My feet were getting cut by the gravel on the road and my leg was giving me hell. I could neither straighten it or bend it. My face was burned by the chute as it opened, I must have looked a sorry mess. I went down a bend in the road and found myself in the middle of a village. Some soldiers were sat on a wall. I walked on and had got past the Jerries when one came to ask me what was the matter. If I could have spoken French I would have got way; they didn’t know I was ENGLISH.

The Jerry took me and fixed my leg. It was bruised across the knee. I must have hit the kite on the way out. I was given coffee, it was ersatz and I didn’t like. He asked me for an English cigarette. I had none, so he gave me a German one. I realised then why he wanted an English one, it was like straw. He asked me what was going to happen to Germany after the ware. He knew they couldn’t win. He was in the last war, and wasn’t very interested in this one. Unlike the young Germans I was to meet, he didn’t believe in the “master race” propaganda. They put me in a small room and I found out that I was in Compiégne, a small village some 10 kms south of Paris. Looking out of the window I was the French people all looking at me. They gave me the V-sign and some of the women kissed their hands and waved. It heartened me considerably and I wished that I had been able to get in touch with them before the Jerry packed me up. I was given a receipt for my money, and they put me in a lorry to go to Paris. I noticed that all the lorries and cars ran on producer gas, and that the apparatus was neater than the ones I had seen in England. The trip to Paris was quite uneventful, I nearly choked on a piece of bread they gave me, it was black and sour tasting. In Paris everyone seemed to be cycling. The girls were the smartest I had seen for some time, very chic, in silk stockings and bright summer dresses. The weather was beautiful and I felt miserable being a prisoner. I still had no shoes and I had to walk along in my stockings. I was put in a cell, my first taste of solitary. They had left a pencil in my pockets so I made a calendar. The food was good, but I still didn’t like the bread or the coffee. I used to try and make the guard jealous by telling him of the white bread and real coffee, but it also made me homesick so I stopped. I tried hundreds of ways to pass the time, the window was high up but I could see out by standing my bed on end and clambering up. I was opposite a park and could see the people walking about. I realised what freedom meant. The third day I was taken to an interrogator. We walked in the park, it was Sunday. The people made the V-sign when the guard wasn’t looking. I enjoyed myself. The officer wasn’t bad, when I refused to tall him anything we talked of England, ad he gave me two American magazines. I read them the same night, and the next day I read them again, and the adverts backwards.

They sent for me on afternoon of the fourth day and we entrained at the Gare de l’Est for Frankfurt. The journey seemed interminable. The train kept stopping for air raids and I saw some bad damage in some of the railway yards. After 26 hrs. we arrived in Frankfurt. The bomb damage was terrific, I saw no undamaged buildings. I was told later that Berlin was worse still, it seemed very stupid and rather unnecessary to me. After another two or three hrs. we arrived at Dulag Luft at Oberürsel. I was put in a very small cell and really knew what solitary was then. We were only allowed to the toilet singly and I never saw another soul. We were not allowed to wash or shave. I was filthy and could smell myself. The windows in the cell were opaque so on the second day I forced them open. I tried everything to pass the time, but it was impossible. I recited poems; sang songs, cursed and considered. I took every fitting apart in the cell, and longed for a smoke. I was hungry too, 4 pieces of bread and a bowl of soup a day. After three days I was told I would be moving. I couldn’t stop laughing. I felt slightly drunk, and the cigarette I scrounged was wonderful, but it made me dizzy.

The next morning we got two pieces of bread at 05.30, and we entrained for Wetzlar, still unwashed, but happy just to have someone to talk to. There were several Americans. We were all filthy and dressed in the funniest clothing. We had two fags each for the trip, but I had been given a packet by a F/LT who had pinched them. I gave so many away though that I had none left by afternoon. We were very hungry but got no food. We got to Wetzlar about 15.00 hours and had to walk to camp, about an hour in blazing sunshine. We were all lathered in sweat, which made us smell all the more, and three men flaked out. In the camp we were issued with a vest, pants, shirt, boots, 3 bars of toilet soap, one of common. We were unlucky as they had no razors or toothbrushes left, 1 towel and a kit bag. They gave us a shower bath, the water lasted for 3 minutes, it was the best shower I ever had.

We lived in tents and had our first experience of Red Cross parcels, the only thing which makes life worth living as POW. Food was good, and we all felt happy. After two days we were sent to a permanent camp at Bankau, Stalag 7. The journey took 4 days and nights in a sort of cattle truck, again no wash. For rations we had ½ Red Cross parcel, ½ loaf and a piece of sausage which stank of garlic so much that I couldn’t eat it. I was never so browned off of a train before, the journey was ghastly. We saw bags of evidence of RAF and American bombing. Upon arrival here we found a fairly new camp, and soon got settled, 6 in a billet with a parcel per man per week, which makes very good food. I wish I could let mother know, as I know she will be worried. I am very happy though under the circumstances, especially as I picked Ed up at Wetzlar. I wish I knew where the rest of the boys were. There is a nice library here, I have a book of Russia short stories and there are several games to play. The best thing that has happened so far is the issue of this book, the best news that Stalin is in East Prussia. The best bet, that we are home for Xmas. We are 8 miles from Poland, about 25 from Czechoslovakia. As I become more settled in this camp I realise my colossal luck, so many men have lost members of their crew – killed, maimed etc. that I am very fortunate in being whole. My experience in Malta helps me to bare this life, the boredom is the only snag. I have a very good crowd of companions in the billet, three Canadians, one of whom is Ed my rear gunner, an Aussie and another Englishman who is an Engineer also. Fortunately Ed doesn’t smoke, so I get his gags and cope just nicely. I have had a few books from the library, some good, the majority however rather indifferent. The camp has just acquired a few more sports’ articles, softball, badminton, boxing, football, all are practised daily. We have a band too. Quite a happy camp.

After Release
Well we have now been liberated for 14 days and nothing has been done to get us out. There has been a wizard battle round the camp and 120,000 Germans were captured. The area is pretty clear now, and tomorrow I am breaking out to make my way to the Yank lines about 30 miles away. I have come to the conclusion that it will be the quickest way home.

Today is Thursday 10 May. Since last Friday four of us have been on the road to proper freedom. We have had the time of our lives. Friday we stayed in a house that was evacuated, had mushrooms, spam, potatoes, beans, asparagus, pancakes and gooseberries. Saturday walked to Zahna, tapped a Russkie for beds. He barged into a house and told the people to feed us and give us beds – or else. The Germans get rough treatment from the Russkies. The people were good though and had a very interesting talk with them, they burst into tears when you tell them that the Yanks aren’t coming there. Sunday arrived at Wittenburg and found that the Yanks were not there, but at Bitterfeld, about 50 kms farther. Pushed on the Entzsch. A woman asked if we were French, but seemed even more pleased when we said no, but English. Decided to stay in Entzsch. We found a flat which formerly belonged to one Baron von Schele. Running water, electric kettle, toaster, bath, shower, and oceans of clothing. Next door lived 3 women, who were only too pleased to have us about for protection from the Russians, who rape the women wholesale. We were so comfortable that we stayed until Wednesday. We pressed on to Gossa where we had a good experience. Feeling hungry we asked a Russkie for some food – we picked the right one as well. He had been a prisoner for two years, so couldn’t do enough for us. We got white bread, a cake, bacon, sausage and eggs, so we asked him for a bed. He dived into a farm and told the people to feed us tonight an din the morning and give us a bed, if they didn’t he would shoot them. Then he went away and came back later with white bread preserved plums and cherries (about 20 pounds), 5 pounds of bacon and two big German sausages. When he went away again we had another good meal and this morning had bacon omelette for breakfast. We were in a good position. The Russians would do anything for us, and the Germans were all very friendly because having an Englishman in the house was protection for the women, we couldn’t go wrong. This morning we crossed the Muhlder River and are now safe and happy with the Yanks. We had a marvellous holiday. Just now we are waiting for transport to take us for a bath and clean clothing etc.

All is good!

Š Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.