The American Major

This is a story told by a British SOE Radio Operator working in Brussels during the winter of 1943

"On several occasions I used to have an evening meal at the Dairy at the Place Albert so as to meet some “Special Guests”. After I had been dealing there for some time Madame informed me in great secrecy that their house was being used as a hide-out for allied airmen on the run. They would be brought there by a member of the escape line and would remain until the next section was ready to take them on to their ultimate destination in Brittany. From there they were taken in fishing boats at night and handed over to M.T.B.s. Monsieur and Madame would put up from one to three airmen at a time and look after them, sometimes for several days. The trouble was that they knew very little English and as most airmen knew even less French, conversation was not too easy. Although I knew I was breaking one of the golden rules of security I would occasionally go and spend an evening there just to try and make them feel at home. How surprised and delighted they were when I greeted them in their mother tongue.

One of the greatest difficulties was fitting them out with civilian clothes. I remember one huge American Major whom I met one night, 6 ft. 3 tall, broad shouldered bull necked, long arms and legs, in fact a typical super man in body, but in clothes he was Monsieur le Notaire of a small Belgian village. Unfortunately this last must have stood 5 ft. 6 in his bed-socks, with narrow drooping shoulders and a large ‘corporation’. How they ever squeezed the poor Major into his present get up speaks very highly for the strength of the seams and the sewing of the buttons. He had a stiff winged collar over which his neck bulged in thick folds; his black coat and waistcoat were strained to bursting point over his broad shoulders, completely restricting the movements of both arms and sagged pitifully around the waist; the trousers barely reached to mid-calf His blue eyes were nearly popping out of his head and he was chewing imaginary gum. The poor man had been incarcerated it this fancy dress for nearly a week and was showing evident signs of strain. To enjoy his meal he excused himself, removed his collar and unbuttoned, both operations being carried out with great difficulty.

He told me, over the meal, that a few days ago he was leading a formation of Fortresses on a daylight raid on Germany. He was right in the nose of the plane when it was hit by a German Fighter and caught fire. The skipper gave orders to abandon plane but the Major found the emergency door was so small that he had to remove his parachute and squeeze himself through. With some difficulty he managed to wriggle through the small opening, then dropped like a stone still gripping his parachute in his left hand. The rush of air tore at his clothes and made his eyes water, and more by feel than anything else, he was able to clip one side of the parachute to the ring on his harness but as he struggled to connect the other he must have pulled the rip cord far the next moment the parachute opened with a bang. By sheer good luck the second hook must have caught on part of his equipment and, although he was hanging in a most uncomfortable position, the canopy had opened properly and checked his descent. As he was unable to see on what the hook had caught and fearing that it might slip
off at any moment he grasped the webbing with both hands and just hoped for the best. He reckoned it took him 10 or 12 minutes to reach the ground where he made a fairly good landing in a field. The weather was clear and he knew he must have been seen drifting down so was pleasantly surprised to find no German escort waiting to receive him. He removed his parachute as quickly as possible and rolling it under his arm ran into some nearby woods. Here he found a ditch full of dead leaves and overgrown with bracken and leaves. He lay down flat at the bottom and had covered himself as much as he could when he heard the sound of voices and footsteps approaching. Sure enough it was a German Patrol out looking for him.

For hour after hour he lay there hearing them probing and searching; sometimes they seemed to be going away but only to return a few moments later. Fortunately they had no dogs to help them. When it got dusk they seemed to abandon the search but still he dared not move in case they had left a few men behind to keep watch. By next morning he felt he really had had enough and decided to risk getting away. At first he was so stiff he could scarcely move but a little sharp swinging of arms and legs soon restored his circulation. The woods appeared deserted and he struck off at random having no idea where he was. Five minutes walking and he could see open fields beyond. Peering cautiously through the outer fringe he saw a man hoeing the ground. For a moment be hesitated then boldly walked across the field towards him wondering how the fellow would react at seeing a large airman all complete in flying kit appear out of the blue so to speak. He was rather taken aback when the farmer calmly addressed him in broken English.

“You are the Airman who come down yesterday? Good, come with me.” He led him back to the wood and using this as a cover reached a farmhouse not far away.

For two days they kept him hidden in a hayloft in case the Germans would return to search the house again. During this time they fed him like a lord and even brought him flowers. Then, on the second day, they had provided him with the clothes he now stood in and the same evening had handed him over to a man who had brought him direct to Brussels and the Dairy. They had walked cross-country most of the night and in the early morning had caught a workman’s tram, which took them right into Town.

He kept asking me if I could possibly send a message for him to England to pass on to his wife. He told me she was expecting a baby during the next week or so and if no news was received of him before 10 days after his plane had failed to return, he would be posted as missing. I regretfully had to tell him that this was quite impossible, as I knew H.S. would not accept any personal messages. I assured him however, that the escape line had, no doubt by this time, already sent in his name and particulars as all persons travelling on those lines had first of all to be carefully checked. Two days later I dropped in at the Dairy and heard he had left on the next stage of his journey home.

During our meal together he gave me his name and address in America. For security reasons I did not write it down and, unfortunately, I have now forgotten it, but I often wonder if he got back safely to find himself a proud father. He was one of the many people I met and of whom, once we had parted, I never heard again. Most of them I never knew their real name; our acquaintance lasted sometimes an hour, sometimes a few days, sometimes a week, then our paths separated and they disappeared for ever."

Like the writer I often wonder what happened to the American Major - did he survive and return to America or was he taken by the Germans on his dangerous journey to England?

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