There Was Never A Month Like It (Part Two)

We woke refreshed and had a huge breakfast. We were recovering rapidly but Vic was still suffering with his leg. After breakfast, a Luftwaffe officer interviewed us. A prisoner was only required to give name, rank and serial number so the captain didn't get very far with either of us. I did however give my home address and as a result, my name was read out on German radio by the wretched Lord Haw Haw. The news was picked up in England and my mum and dad were told that I was a POW but to be cautious as similar broadcasts had been made using information obtained from the identity tags of airmen killed in action.

I was then moved to a detention block and Vic remained in hospital for treatment to his leg. In the afternoon I was sitting on my bed feeling pretty miserable as the realisation that I had lost my freedom was sinking in fast. I was however alive and well and I had a lot to be thankful for because as I found out much later we were the only two survivors from the 14 crew members shot down during the attack.

I was lost in my thoughts when the door opened and the guard introduced me to two Luftwaffe officers in immaculate uniforms. I could tell by their decorations that they were obviously very experienced pilots. They told me in perfect English that they were two of the three pilots who had shot us down and that they were very pleased to see that we had survived. They had radioed their base with our position and this explained how the seaplane had managed to locate us but it didn't shed much light on why it had taken so long. Anyway, I thanked them for their help. They then asked me if I would like to go for a ride in the sunshine and I soon found myself sitting in the sidecar of a BMW motorcycle. They drove me all round the airfield and I got a good look at just about every type of plane the Luftwaffe had.

From the airfield they took me to the officers' mess and I had a feeling that this was where the interrogation would begin. I was wrong. They bought me a plate of sandwiches and a very large bottle of beer which we shared. They asked me where I came from and I saw no harm in telling them that I was from Witney in Oxfordshire. One of them looked very surprised and told me that he had learned to fly at Witney civil airfield. He rattled off the names of most of the well known pubs in the area, the brewery and I suspected that he was well acquainted with several members of the fairer sex as he was a stikingly handsome chap. I was able to check out his story when I returned to England in 1945. After a very pleasant two hours I was taken back to the far less salubrious surroundings of my cell.

The next morning we were moved to the prison in Stavanger where we spent a couple of days. We had all the food we wanted and the govenor even arranged for us to have a haircut. Generally, our treatment at the hands of the Germans in Norway had been excellent and we certainly had no cause for complaint. Eventually we we taken to Stavanger station for the trip to Oslo. The platform was crowded with German sailors and our two guards immediately turned us around and took us back to the prison where the govenor explained that the sailors were from the convoy we had attacked. All 5 ships had been seriously camaged and the casualties had been heavy. We would not have been at all popular on that train. We tried again the following morning and this time Vic, myself and the two guards had a carriage to ourselves.

Three days later we were walking around the exercise yard of Oslo prison accompanied by a middle aged guard with a rifle. He didn't quite look the part as he had a kindly face and he was smoking an old briar pipe. We had noticed a group of German workmen who were repairing the prison wall which had ladders up against it. After a few minutes the workmen disappeared for a coffee break. Our guard retreated behind a butress in the wall to light his pipe and at that second we saw our chance and haired up the ladder and over the wall which was about eight feet high. Suddenly there we were in the main street surrounded by people. We ran or rather I ran and Vic limped down the street and into what apperared to be a deserted timber yard. We hid behind a pile of wood under a tarpaulin to get our breath back.

We had to venture out sometime and later in darkness we crept out into the street with not too many ideas about what to do or where to go. We hadn't walked far when we felt something in our backs and up went our hands in surrender but the voices we heard were unmistakably Norwegian. The two men bundled us into the back of a car and covered us with a couple of blankets. After a short journey lasting about ten minutes we pulled up outside a house with a drive in front of it. We got out and went inside where a lady and her daughter welcomed us and assured us that we were in safe hands. Our two rescuers remained out of sight. Our training back in England had taught us that what we hadn't seen or heard would ensure that we could give nothing away if we were recaptured.

For the next three days we lived in the attic and did exactly what we were told by the lady of the house. She told us that as soon as we had a dark night to help us we would be taken to the Swedish/Norwegian border. Sure enough, after three days our two friends turned up and we were put in the car and covered with the blankets again. We drove off into the night and after an hour or so we pulled up in a forest. We were told to walk three hundred yards where we would find a barbed wire fence. We thanked them profusely and said we were aware of the risks they were taking. They wished us luck and we were gone. We trudged through the pine forest and suddenly there was a terrifying scream. A light came on and for a few minutes there was mayhem. German voices were all around us and when they lit a storm lantern we saw what had happened. Vic had walked into the side of a bell tent in which six border guards were sleeping. He had stepped on the head of one of the soldiers who had a boot mark on his face. For this Vic received a swingeing blow to the side of his head from a rifle butt. They tied us both to a tree where we stayed for several hours until dawn broke. At first light the sargeant and his merry men untied us and walked us the few yards to the Swedish border. So near yet so far. We were both close to tears. We learned later that guards were placed every ten miles along the border and for Vic to step on one was was bad luck to say the least.

We were marched back through the forest, placed in a truck and taken to Fornebu airport and placed in cells reserved for illegal immigrants and the like. On the second or third morning the rain was pouring down and the guard asked me if I would like some exercise. Sitting in a cell with nothing to do or read was pretty boring so I gratefully accepted his offer. He brought me a Luftwaffe greatcoat which was far too big for me and which reached down to my ankles. I plodded round the circuit which was a roundabout outside the main airport building. Vic had his exercise separately. In no time I was very wet and bedraggled but I was enjoying the fresh air. The rain eventually stopped and the sun broke through. I was suddenly conscious of a very large car alongside me and I jumped onto the grass. It was by far the largest car I had ever seen, an open topped Mercedes. I froze in my boots when I looked in the back of the car and saw Field Marshall Hermann Goerring, the deputy Fuhrer. With him was Vidkun Quisling, the puppet Prime Minsister of Norway. Goerring signalled the guard to come over and they were obviously discussing me. I learned later that Goerring had thought I was a German airman who was being punished for some misdemeanour. When he found out that I was a British airman he stood up in the back of the car and raised his jewel encrusted baton. He shouted 'murderer, luftgangster, terrorbomber' and a few other epithets I couldn't understand but I was getting the message. After his ranting he slumped back in his seat and drove off. So ended my brief one sided interview with the deputy Fuhrer. Back in the cell block the young guard was elated at the the fact that he had actually spoken to Goerring but I am afraid I was unable to share his enthusiasm.

The next morning the guard told us we were going to Oslo and I guessed we were at last on our way south. Not so. We drove into the city and Vic and I finished up in a very large building near the Palace. Once inside it became very clear that this we were in the Gestapo headquarters. We were terrified.

We were ushered into a large plain room and seated at a bare table. We sat there in silence for about half an hour and eventually a tall ugly man came in dressed in a leather greatcoat and highly polished jackboots. He knew that we had been helped by the Resistance and he wanted to know who they were and where we had been taken for shelter. We couldn't tell him because we had never seen the men in the light and we hadn't a clue where they had taken us. Every time we said 'no' or 'we don't know' he hit us across the side of the head with a large black guantlet which had a metal buckle on the back. One particularly savage blow sent me sprawling to the ground. This went on for at least an hour and we lost count of the times he hit us. We were both dazed and in considerable pain. At last he gave up and stormed out of the room and to our surprise and immense relief we were taken back to the airport. Our young German guard having been with us during the interrogation and seeing the state we were in was very sympathetic.

The following morning the guards came into the cells with a couple of 'Mae Wests' - life jackets of a German pattern and we were marched out to a Junkers 55 transport. We sat in the back handcuffed to two guards. I wondered what we were supposed to do in an emergency. We flew to Aarhus in Denmark for fuel and to pick up more passengers. We were taken to the airport restaurant for a meal and our young guard (who we both liked a lot) suggested that we should make the most of it as the food where we were going was not very good. That turned out to be the understatement of the year. We took his advice and filled a paper bag with cakes to eat on the plane. Our final destination was Templehof airport in Berlin. We were lodged in Spandau jail which is where Rudolf Hess was to spend many years in isolation.

Spandau was a truly awful place, dark and forboding. After two days we were walked to the railway station. Unfortunately for us, Berlin had just been well and truly flattened by British bombers and we encountered groups of very hostile and clearly homeless civilians brandishing large planks of wood. Our guards who I reckon were as scared as we were, drew the bolts on their rifles and the mob backed off. We were both very relieved to get on the train and we were taken to Amsterdam and yet another grim prison where the food was simply ghastly.

After four days we were on the move again and ended up in Dulag Luft, the interrogation centre just outside Frankfurt. We were now well and truly 'in the bag' as imprisonment was euphemistically termed. We spent two weeks in the cells being grilled by interrogators who used various methods to try to get us to talk. Their favourite was to heat the cell with electric radiators to a temperature of well over 100 degrees. This lasted several hours until the heat became unbearable. If you stood up it was impossible to breathe and the metal of the bed frame became too hot to touch. The air near the floor was slightly cooler so I had to lay down close to the gap under the door to try to get a few gasps of cool air. They waited until I was barely conscious and then took me to a room where an officer demanaded to know my squadron number, type of aircraft, details of the operation and the weapons we were carrying. (We learned later that Vic and I were the first two prisoners to be captured from Strike Wing of Coastal Command which had been causing havoc among shipping convoys and U Boat pens. This accounted for the depth of the questions and their technical nature.

The interrogation process went on for days but all he got was my name rank and serial number. After about two weeks he came into my cell one morning with a rather jaunty look on his face and he proceeded to tell me my squadron, station and aircraft type. The look of surprise on my face told him everything he needed to know. I can only guess that a letter or an envelope found on one of the bodies washed up on the shore at Stavanger had contained the information they wanted. Anything incriminating, such as letters and personal wallets had to be left behind in named containers but I am sure that on occasions, not every pocket was emptied.

After that Vic and I were left alone and a few days later we were taken to the outer camp where we were put with a party of about 40 other prisoners who told us we were about to be taken to the station and onto yet another prison. We were each given a Red Cross food parcel, a bar of chocolate and 50 cigarettes which was to last us during the very uncomfortable four day trip in cattle trucks to Stalag Luft 1.

We finally arrived at the small town of Barth up the Baltic coast. At Stalag Luft 1 we joined over 600 other RAF prisoners.

It had to say the least been an eventful month since we had been shot down. In many ways we were relieved to be 'settled' and with our comrades with whom we could exchange stories.

Stalag Luft 1 was the most northerly of all the prison camps in Germany and a mere 65 miles across the Baltic from Sweden which we had so nearly reached.

If you would like to read about Cecil's moving and tragic account of his 500 mile forced march from Poland to Belgium during the closing days of the war then go to the story entitled 'The Army That Didn't March On It's Stomach.'

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