On August 27, 1943, my father took off with a flight of six Douglas Bostons for a low-level bombing run to the Gosnay power plant in France. All made the target and dropped their ordnance, but one aircraft blew up over the site and a second flew into the debris and also “went up”.
My Dad’s aircraft, “S” for Sugar, with one engine barely ticking over and numerous holes in the airframe, made it part way back before being shot down by FW 190’s. They belly landed in a field N.E of the village of Fiefs, where they made the first real contact with the locals who would help them.
Above is the actual hayloft in Fillievres where he spent his first few nights under the care of the French Underground. Below is the route he and Norman Fairfax walked to make contact with the underground in Fillievres.
After receiving food and a large pile of clothes from a "Monsieur Lavite" and some of the other good people of Fiefs, he and Norman headed down this valley towards Anvin, staying in the woods on the left.
This is the bridge and railway crossing that they approached with much trepidation at Anvin. Approaching the bridge, Norman saw a firefly and was concerned it was a sentry's cigarette.
Above is the lane they took out of Anvin heading towards Croisette. The countryside is all cleared farmland now, but the rest of it likely remains pretty much the same as to what it was in 1943. They continued their hike through Croisette to Fillievres.
The country between Croisette and Fillievres.
Below is the ridge overlooking the town of Fillievres, where they hid out for the day observing. On the right is the view that they would have had. Once they decided on which farmhouse to call, they went down in the evening, knocked on the door of the farmhouse in the top picture and announced "Nous sommes Aviator Anglais" in his best French. Pandemonium ensued.
But fortunately for these two, this was the house of Reni Gerault, an ex-sergeant of the French army who had escaped at Dunkirk, and who now just happened to be a leader in the local French underground.
Reni Gerault took them under his wing and got the two of them onto the "Comet Trail." With the help of the French underground, my father and Norman escaped occupied Europe after hiking the Pyrenees into Spain. They both went back to operational flying again before the end of the war.
I approached Reni's son, who was working in the yard, albeit now living at a different farmhouse, just down the road from where he grew up. "Bonjour monsieur, Je suis Colin MacLeod", I said in my best French, which is of course, about all of that language that I know. He just nodded, knowing exactly who I was and why I was there.
Postscript:
Wendy and I attribute this trip to our son Donald, who visited the Geraults about ten years earlier, and was fortunate enough to meet Reni’s wife, still alive at that time. Also, just as an indication of the risk these people took for the Allies, here is a list of the members of the Underground, associated with the Comet Trail, who were caught and executed by the Germans.