The Trail of the Comet

Boston AL693 'U' flown by F/L Johny Reeve and his crew on the Eindhoven raid. This photograph, taken during a practice flight just prior to the raid, shows WOP/AG (Wireless Operator/Air Gunner) Jim 'Dintry' Moore in the rear gun turret with F/O 'Skeets' Kelly, who took photos of the raid from this aircraft. AL693 flew 31 sorties in 88 Squadron between 23 March 1942 and 3 January 1943 before going to North Africa. In later served with 114 Squadron and was lost in a crash landing on 17 September 1943. (IWM)

This is a sister ship to "S for Sugar". 

 

THE TRAIL OF THE COMET  

                              by  RODERICK JOHN ANGUS  MACLEOD                             

With grateful thanks to my grandson, Graham Lange, who typed this manuscript from his grandfather 's copy and then arranged  for its  publication.    Sarah May MacLeod

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Prologue                                                                                     Page 5

Chapter  One:  Historical  Notes  No. 107 Squadron           Page 8

Chapter  two:  The Raid                                                            Page 13

Chapter  Three:  France                                                            Page 17

Chapter  Four:  Contact                                                             Page 30

Photos:                                                                                         Page 44

Chapter  Five: Prevent                                                               Page 60

Chapter  Six:  Bapume                                                               Page 68

Chapter Seven: Paris                                                                  Page 79

Chapter Eight:  Spain:                                                                 Page 91

Epilogue                                                                                        Page 100

PROLOGUE  -  Sarah May MacLeod 

This is the story of a brief period in the life of Roderick John Angus MacLeod. Roddie, as he was known, was born May 31st 1918 on his father's homestead just outside of Keeler, Saskatchewan. His father, Roderick, was born to Angus John McLeod and Christie (Christina) McPherson on May 16th, 1889 in Saskatchewan. Roderick married Sadie (Sarah) Watchhorn  in Winnipeg on 1st of March, 1917. They farmed in Keeler, Saskatchewan at the time of Roddie's birth. Sadie had immigrated some years earlier as her birth certificate shows she was born in Ireland on July 23rd 1890. Roddie was named for his father and paternal grandfather Angus John McLeod. His sister Mabel was born in 1920, also on the farm. His father contracted Tuberculosis, common in the twenties and died December 30th, 1920 at the age of 3I years. Interestingly his death was not registered with the government until February of 1921. Roddie's birth was registered at this same time. This is indicative of the difficulty of travel in that day and the importance of the family bible in which all family history was noted.

Sadie, Roddie's mother tried to manage the farm for a few more years but even with the help of her Watchorn relatives, it was impossible. When Roddie was six and  Mabel  four she returned to Ireland  with her children.

Roddie grew up in Ireland. He was sent away to school about age twelve with the financial backing of the church. However after about two years his mother decided he should come back and help her on their small farm. We  are not sure if he bad any more formal schooling.

                                                                                 

In 1938, like many young Irishmen, Roddie decided there was little future in Eire for him and so he set out to England. He landed a job  as an orderly in a mental hospital in Epson Surrey, here he met his future wife Sarah May Gregory. He did not enjoy the work in the hospital and shortly joined Oxford City police as a city policeman. It was from this job that he joined the R.A.F. at the outbreak of the war and it was to this job that he would return after the war was over.

He married May (as she was known) July 2nd, 1940. Their first child, a daughter, Valerie May was born February 20th, 1941.  At the time of this story May was expecting their second child.

CHAPTER  ONE:       HISTORICAL NOTES NO.  107 SQUADRON         By Rod MacLeod

In April of 1943 I had the honour of joining the 107 Squadron of the Royal Air Force. My crew consisted of a Navigator, Pilot and Air Gunner.  James Charles Allison a South African was the pilot. Norman Fairfax took the position of wireless Air  Gunner.  I was the navigator. The 107 Squadron had a long and rich history, beginning in the First World War.

The First World  War was in the dying stages, on May  15, 1918,  when 107 Squadron of the Royal Air Force came into being at Lake Down aerodrome, Salisbury. It was formed under the command of Major J.R.Howett and in just 18 days found itself in France.

On June 15 the first bombing operation was carried out by the Squadron. 1400 lbs of explosives were dropped on Minim Railway Station by seven aircraft.  By the time the Armistice was signed the squadron had dropped a total of 40 tons of bombs on the enemy. They had been congratulated by their brigade commander on having succeeded in establishing a reputation which compared favourably with any squadron then operating in the newly formed Royal Air Force. The squadron like so many others, was disbanded in June 1919, at Hounslow Aerodrome.

The Second World War saw reformation of the 107 squadron at Andover in  August 1936 under Squadron Leader E.A.  Healy.   Healy  adopted the now famous motto "We shall be there". It was taken from the magazine which the squadron had published in the first war and was called the "Objective". As the ideals of the old squadron still lived, the double headed eagle was adopted as the crest. It was one of the supporters of the arms of the City of Salisbury where the squadron had been formed in 1918. The collar of Fleur-de-Lis was added as a tribute to the French Command under which the squadron first saw service in France. Ever since it was formed the squadron  has been closely connected with France.

From the time of the Munich crisis life took on a new aspect for everyone in the squadron, and when the Germans marched into Czechoslovakia an air of anxiety was felt by everyone. The climax came on Sunday, September 3, 1939, when the Secretary to the Cabinet said,  "Gentlemen,  we  are at  war with Germany." That same afternoon a Blenheim took off from the  R.A.F. Station at Wyton, and flew to Wilhelmshaven at 24,000 feet; on it's return it had information of the first target for the R.A.F. in World War II, the German Fleet.

The next day September 4, at 4 o'clock, five Blenheims of No 107 Squadron led by Flight Lieutenant W.F. Barton took off to join other Blenheims and Wellingtons of Bomber Command in the first air attack of the War. The attacks were to be made at 600 feet, but it was learned later that 107 made their attack at mast height, after the hornet's nest had been aroused by   earlier waves.

This invoked the comment from the enemy of "reckless gallantry" . The price  was high, for only one aircraft was ever seen again, the Squadron  played  a  brave but costly price in starting the war. This deadly tradition was maintained  in the spirit which they inherited from their fore-fathers who had fought the same enemy in the First World War.

In September, Wing Commander Basil E. Embry took command of the Squadron, a great leader for a great Squadron. The winter months of 1939-1940 were spent mostly in attacks on shipping, and long tedious coastal patrols. March 1940 saw the first submarine sunk by a Sergeant Pilot, off the Norwegian coast. A month later the Squadron, while on patrol, saw 17 German Warships including the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. The patrol was being led by the Wing Commander who after radioing the position to the Navy, took in his twelve Blenheims to bomb from a medium altitude, results could not be seen owing to a layer of middle cloud.

After this period of shipping attacks the Squadron was given many jobs diverse in character and even in command. During the next year the Squadron saw service with bomber, Coastal, and Fighter Commands according to the type of task required of them. In May 1941 the Squadron returned  to East Anglia and commenced a period of low level daylight operations. This type of operation seemed to suit the squadron very well and quite an enviable reputation was built up while on these low level attacks.  Many decorations were awarded and many crews were lost. For a time Wing Commanders in particular seemed to be rather cheap, as for several days they lost one a day. The Squadron Adjutant of those days has immortalized many members in his poignant book of verse "Because of These".

From the outbreak of the war until I had the honour of joining this  great Squadron, it had received 90 individual decorations for gallantry. It had carried out about every type of air operation performed by the R.A.F.

CHAPTER TWO:     THE RAID

During my time in the Second World War I flew on many missions with the 107 Squadron. On the morning of Friday, August 27,1943 we sat down for a briefing. The foremost thought on each persons mind before a mission is that he may not come back.It was today that this thought would become a reality for my crew and me.

At the briefing the crews were informed that the target, Gosnay Power Installations, an electrical power plant in Northern France had to be put out of commission at all costs. The target was of very great importance to the enemy as it was the only means of supplying power to the North of France.  We were to conduct a low level at 7 p.m. exactly, so as to coincide with the change over in work shifts between the Day and Night duties.  We were told we may  have a fighter escort covering our withdrawal. This statement was a considerable boost to our morale, but we still had to get there and be on our way back before we could hope for any relief from attack.

In the late afternoon my crew and  five others took  off in our Bostons  of the 107 Squadron from our base in the South of England. On this trip we brought along a Journalist, Skeets Kelly . Skeets belonged to a film unit, and came with us for the sole purpose of obtaining newsreels. 

Crossing the enemy coast at fifty feet above the ground and cruising at 250 m.p.h. we were met head on by several Folk Wolf 190's, the best  fighter  the Germans had. They had taken off to intercept some Fortresses overhead, but on seeing us they decided we were easier prey and broke off to attack us. When we first encountered the enemy, we were flying echelon to starboard with the leading aircraft piloted by Flying Officer George Turner, on  the extreme left. We, in the Boston "Sugar" being the number two ship, were flying on Turner's right and so along the whole formation of six. On  being  attacked at low level, evasive action depended on each aircraft taking it's own course, thus tight formation would be impossible. The idea was to remain low and avoid being silhouetted as once a fighter made his attack and broke off it was very difficult to make a second attack because the relative speeds at ground  level  were not much different. Therefore from the coast to the target all six Bostons were flying around forests instead of over them and literally down the roads and streets of the small villages which we passed. It was quite possible to get a time check from the Church Clock as we pinpointed each village and navigated our way in and out of enemy territory. On previous low levels we had brought home yards of telephone wire, leaves, and small branches usually collected in  the actual target area.

On reaching the target we received a very hot reception from light anti­ aircraft and machine guns. Our flight path was parallel to the intended approach, consequently, at the last moment we had to make a violent tum to Port. On reaching the target area the German fighters broke off their attack and awaited our withdrawal. Our Boston formation had got in pretty well again, and so far, not one of the planes had been damaged.

All bombs had been equipped with eleven second delay fuses. Turner bombed first, we were second to straddle a large target area at only roof top height. Three others got in and released, but number six could not get in before the first bombs would have exploded, so he went  around  the target.  His trip  was abortive as far as the principal target was concerned; however secondary targets were numerous and easily identified, therefore he could make use of his bombs on the way out. After releasing our bombs we still had  to contend with the attacks from below. One of the Bostons got a direct hit over the target and  just disintegrated and another aircraft flew into the explosion and also went up. Noble "S" for "Sugar" had been hit many times but was still airborne. Our left motor had received the most hits and was barely  turning over. We got out of the target area and were on the way home but again ran into the old bogey, the German fighters. They pounced on us and shot away one aileron and a big piece of our rudder. Our aircraft flat out was only able to do about 230 mph  while it normally could do 330 mph for a limited  time.  The usual  procedure  was to fly flat out as soon as we left the target, so while the remaining three Bostons were stepping it out we fell far behind. While being attacked by three fighters Allison did as much evasive action as was possible on one engine, but got into a port turn and could not straighten out. As the aircraft was starting to go over on her back out of control, our pilot put her down in a grain field on what felt like a perfect belly landing. The time was 7:25 pm Friday, August 27, 1943 and  three Bostons out of six had  failed to return from another low  level.  

S for Sugar "An old faithful pal of mine."

 CHAPTER THREE:     FRANCE 

The landing was a perfect one under the circumstances and I, sitting in the nose surrounded by glass, certainly owe my life to a very good pilot. There was a belief among navigators on Bostons that in a crash landing they could not stand a chance, so no one ever strapped themselves in. Besides, it was most uncomfortable and made map reading more difficult than ever, it already being quite a task at 50  feet and 300 miles an hour.  Consequently when we hit the dirt I was not strapped in my safety harness. I was first out through the emergency exit in the roof, the pilot was next closely followed by the two gunners, Norman Fairfax and Skeets Kelly. Quickly we took off our harness, Mae West, and threw them into the aircraft. Someone got the one pound incendiary bomb out and threw it into the gas tank. We all ran as fast as we possibly could for a mile or so into some shrubs which were growing in a ravine not far away. Four farm workers in the field gazed in amazement at the burning wreckage, naturally we avoided them.

We had four cameras on board, and Skeets stated that he had got some of the best action shots he had ever taken. That was his 26th trip having flown on Fortresses, Lancasters, Mitchells, and twice before on  Bostons. However now the  "Gaumont News"  would  have to wait  for these action shots.

 We saw a church spire about a mile away and figured it would take the troops about a half hour to arrive unless some were stationed in the village close by. We decided to wait and keep the plane under observation for a while until we saw if any enemy troops came.  The aircraft was now burning  furiously with the ammunition causing little explosions as the rounds went off in the heat. We decided that it would be best to wait until dark before setting out on the first leg of our escape journey.

Hiding in a ravine a mile away from a burning aircraft in a hostile country not knowing when, if ever, we would get home again was quite a sickening feeling. It was decided that for us all to stay in a unit, would be impossible. Similarly, no one wished to go alone, particularly as all agreed the obvious method of travelling was to go in pairs, at night, and rest during the hours of daylight. The question was who was going to go with whom?  Our crew had been together for over eighteen months, but "Skeets Kelly" was to all intents a stranger with us. He must have sensed this feeling because he suggested we draw lots to see who he went with. We all agreed, and it turned out that he and Allison went together while Fairfax and I would make the other pair. We shared the last cigarettes prior to parting company.  We all shook hands, wished each other the best and hoped to meet in England sometime, maybe not  till after the war but we all hoped it would be much sooner.   It is a funny feeling saying goodbye to a pal in enemy territory and then going out into the unknown. We were all wanted men liable to be arrested at any moment. One and a half hours after we crashed , it was dark enough for us to travel without being noticed. Fairfax and I set out in a South Easterly direction, walking and stopping to listen every few minutes.

After walking for six hours cross country we encountered great difficulty with fences which were very high and very thick in this part of the country. We kept off the roads as we figured any patrols would most likely be along the highways and sideroads. We came across many herds of cattle, and Norman became very thirsty so we decided to milk a cow. They must have been accustomed to being milked in the fields, as it was not too difficult. Luckily, I had milked previously many times. Norman could not milk so it was rather difficult for him to get the benefit, so he lay on  the ground  and I squirted milk down into his open mouth.

By three a.m. we decided that we must have covered about six or seven miles directly but had probably travelled twice that distance by retracing our steps so many times owing to the fences being so difficult. We lay down in a haystack for a rest , and at five am were awoken by people laughing and talking excitedly so realized we were close to a village.  After awakening we did a reconnaissance as folks were still not about in large numbers. Creeping up to the back of the houses we noticed that all had telephone wires, not expecting the ordinary villagers to have phones we decided that they must all be wealthy collaborators.  Later it was learned  that these were power cables as all villages in this part of France had electricity. After retreating from this village we decided the best thing would be to approach an isolated farmhouse and see if food could be obtained. We hoped to keep our emergency rations for a real emergency and try to live off the land.  After walking for some time I  spotted an isolated farm and decided to try our luck there in our quest  for food.  The time was 6:30 am so there wasn't too much of a risk of being detected by many people. On reaching the farmyard we carefully inspected  the  layout  before letting ourselves be seen, then just at the right moment as an old  farmer came out to feed the chickens in the yard Norman whistled and drew his attention. On seeing us he became very afraid. His great reluctance to assist us could be explained by the fact he suspected that we were Germans trying to catch any Frenchman who might be helping allied airmen. I asked him for a drink in my best schoolboy French. He invited us into the house and gave us a glass of wine and a glass of beer but did not offer any food. The old man and a girl of about sixteen seemed to be the only occupants of the farmstead. They both treated us with great caution, and after we informed them that we were members of the Royal Air Force, neither seemed at all convinced nor in any way  anxious to detain us. As no future appeared here it was decided to move along and  hope for more assistance from the next contact. However we did get a map of the province of the Pas-De-Calais from him which he had on the wall. It was the back of an old calendar, and it proved to be very useful. The map was in great detail and we were able to lay out our route as the roads were marked and each village was named . The old man pointed out the village to us on the map and bid us farewell. We left him just after seven am and went to the next farmhouse some half mile away where smoke was rising from the chimney. A beautiful morning with  the exception we were still quite hungry.

Approaching the farmhouse we saw a woman milking in the little corral so we went to her, told her who we were and that we were very hungry and asked for food. She became very suspicious and  asked us many questions, where and when we crashed, where we spent the night, etc. I might say that we both looked like anything but airmen, tired, dirty, hungry,  cold,  and shivering as well as suffering to some extent from shock even though not injured. After the trek through the fields at night we had mud up to our knees, our hair was standing on end as we had lost our caps in the aircraft, moreover we looked nervous and were still slightly shaken. The old lady and her daughter had a conversation in the fastest language I have ever heard spoken, the result was a  big decision as to whether we were real or just stool pigeons as had already been suspected by the man on the previous farm. They both impressed on us how dangerous it was for them to help airmen in any way and if caught they would be shot on the spot as an example to others. This we fully realized and appreciated but we were getting more and more hungry. After some time they brought out a bowl of coffee which was very cold and  some bread  which  was not brown and yet not quite black either. This was the famous Black Food that the Germans were supplying to the French. It was much worse than the worst quality of cattle feed.  The bread was in long rolls about three inches across  and a foot long and very hard. They were most anxious that we leave as soon as possible as they were really afraid and goodness knows they had every right to be.

We wandered over to a wood and rested. We chewed at this chunk of bread until we could not stand the taste of it. Somehow, it tasted very sour even as hungry as we were. The weather changed and as it started to rain we lay on some logs or tree stumps. We collected some small branches to lie on as the ground was now quite wet. We tried to sleep but to no avail, hunger added  to  our troubles. About noon we decided to walk across an open field of about two  or three hundred yards to another forest, and while  doing so we had  our first  bad fright. A Folke Wolfe 190 passed over our heads at 500 feet but luckily did not  notice  us,  so after  that we stayed close  to cover  during daylight.

By three in the afternoon after wandering from wood to wood and not getting anywhere or accomplishing anything, we agreed to try again to get some help as we could not go on like this. Our morale was suffering more than anything else, so on coming across a woman milking we thought that we would approach and try to convince her that we really were Allied airmen.  With luck  a meal and some civilian clothing might be obtained. Here we were in France and no one wanted to have anything to do with us at all. While the rest of the squadron on a wet afternoon would be in the Mess, describing yesterday's effort and consuming all the beer that their audience would willingly supply them. For us it could have been worse, yes much worse, but at that very moment it did not seem very likely to us. From lectures that had been given on this Escape Organization present on the continent, it was just a piece of cake. In fact many half-heartedly looked forward to this wonderful experience of being in enemy territory, where you would be welcomed with open arms, and be in civilian clothes spending the same evening in a local establishment drinking beer. This was quite possible, but such was not our luck, because so far we were unable to convince anyone that we were not Germans posing as Allied airmen.

The next milk maid, who was much more amiable, gave us some milk which we drank and enjoyed. She promised to try and get us some clothing by that evening, so a rendezvous was made for seven o'clock. We never kept this appointment with the milkmaid for fear of a double cross. Around five or so while sitting under a hedge of bushes wet through, tired, feeling exhausted, and thoroughly disgusted with our misfortune, we noticed a man was slowly approaching us. He was an elderly man and carried a hayfork, because of his age we were not afraid of him should he decide to use this weapon on us. As he came closer we noticed that he bad lost an arm and had an iron book in instead. A flash crossed my mind that this fellow may have been a first world war victim and if so would in all probability be very sympathetic. I said,"Bonjour" when he stopped in front of us, he replied and asked if we were Germans. This was an insult to us, as we had not asked him for anything. Feeling very angry at this accusation, I went to the trouble of showing him some English currency that I had in my pockets. He still wasn't convinced. I produced a copy of the Daily Herald which I always carried with me on trips. This tip I had learned from an escape lecture when some joker said if you have a very recent issue of an English paper with the date, generally you will convince them that you are not a stool pigeon masquerading as a shot down airman. Although  the paper was now 2 days old, it did the trick and the old man changed his attitude completely.

This man, Monsieur Lavite, of the village of Fief, took us to his little cottage where he lived with his mother, a very old lady but still able to putter about the house. They made us feel very welcome. He went out and killed a tame rabbit and boiled it making a large pot of soup for us.  We took of all our clothes that modesty would allow and dried them by the open fire as the rabbit was cooking. About ten pm we had a good meal and now felt sleepy, but many of the trusted friends and neighbours had to come and see these two "Aviateurs Anglais". They came to wish us luck and some brought us old clothes, caps, etc, anything that would be of any use to us to make good our escape, so that one day we might fly again against a cruel, ruthless enemy, an enemy no one knew better than these very same peasants. This was the France that we had heard about and expected.

By midnight the pile of jackets, trousers, and caps was mounting quite high, thus allowing us to pick out the best fit and wear it with the  owner's regards. After rigging ourselves out pretty well we retired to the old mans bed while he slept on a chair in the kitchen. We were awakened at what seemed a few minutes later, but actually was five hours, it now being five am.  After having a quick cup of coffee and receiving a parcel of food each we were taken to the forest before anyone was up and about. It was raining again and another day of just wandering around in the forest was in store for us.  Previously it   had been decided to rest in the day and travel at night, but now  with our civilian outfit over our uniform we decided to walk out in the open during the day. We travelled in a South Easterly direction, keeping to the fields and avoiding the main roads if possible. We did not know why, perhaps it was just our feeling of guilt and the feeling we were conspicuous. We walked on until about nine pm when a river barred our way. On studying the map we noticed  that a road and a rail line crossed the river. We figured on crossing the bridge if possible, bearing in mind it might be guarded. By the time we reached the bridge it was very dark. Climbing  up  the  embankment to cross the rail lines, we had a terrible shock, as Norman thought he saw a cigarette light in the grass. Both of us stopped absolutely motionless for a minute or two and our hearts probably stopped beating also for the same time, until we realized that we were watching a glow-worm. We continued up the embankment and crossed the river safely.

Eventually crossing all three, the main road, river, and the railway at Anvin, we walked down a lane out of the village in the direction we wished  to go and walked until after midnight. Having covered roughly 50 miles direct for our second night in enemy territory we slept in a straw pile until three am until it became too cold to stay any longer. We walked again for two hours and by six had come to the little village of Croissete. Here we decided  to stay for the day if possible, as we were  very hungry and  it was raining again.

We went up to a door and knocked, asked  for a drink, but  the old  man did not want to bother with us, so we went to another door close by and asked for a drink. Here we were immediately invited inside, and offered a meal. Our clothes were slightly wet so we got them dried and had our first wash and shave since we left England the previous Friday. It was now Monday morning and we bad a very good meal and were taken up to a hayloft to sleep and spend the day. The male members of this family were engine drivers on the railway. They were very happy to entertain us even though one brother had been shot up by train busting aircraft five times. He still felt he was honoured to be able to help us in our effort. Once his fireman had been killed in one of these attacks. Another brother had experienced two attacks on his trains. When they learned that we belonged to these low level train wrecking outfits they were all still willing and thrilled to have us. For a moment neither Norman nor I visualized what kind of an impression that information might have on them; and we were prepared to make a hasty exit if the need required. Instead when we left them that evening we had another huge meal,  were refreshed, each of us was given a huge package of boiled eggs, boiled potatoes, bread and a large bottle of wine; real hospitable people these  French!

This time we set out for a place called Fillievres, some thirty kilometers away. We figured we should arrive there by the next morning easily, with very little effort, as this time we were really organized and had plenty to eat.  We just milked a cow whenever we wanted a drink, using our water bottles as milk containers.

Norman and I would get into terrible arguments over which way we were going. More than once we parted company each of us going our own way. It would be only a matter of minutes until I would hear a shrieking call in the night air "Mac, Mac where are you? Wait for me!". So I would wait, feeling much better having him to argue with. After all who ever heard of an  Air Gunner being able to find his way anywhere, anyway? His nickname was "Tracer" mostly because his real name was Tracey. He was a good fellow even though he would argue about  things he knew nothing  about!

Walking along the roadside after leaving Croisette, a German staff car passed us, carrying four officers. When it slowed  down, so did we. Fortunately they decided that we were just natives or tramps, because they drove on again. We reached  Fillievres about one in the morning, and slept in a stack of sheaves until five am when we did a reconnaissance of the  village. We skirted the outside, and were happy to see a total absence of any military personnel. This village was a little larger than any we had encountered as of yet. A main East-West highway ran right through the village and we could see long convoys of troops passing enroute to the defence of the Western wall. The large scale map which we had obtained on the first morning was great help. It was much more useful than any escape maps we had been supplied with, as they were not in such detail. Our primary reason for coming to Fillievres was that we were told twice of a British parachutist who was operating out of the district around the village. Now that we were here, we had to be very careful not to be caught or to betray any saboteur who might be operating unknown to many of the local people. So we stayed in a few bushes on top of a little hill  all day and watched the people and the happenings of the district. From our vantage point we could see all the village pretty well. We watched  the peasants at work as we lay in the sun on this, our fifth day in France, thus far undetected. About 11 am, we watched a formation of Mitchell bombers pass overhead, and be attacked by enemy fighters. Later in the afternoon, two Mustangs flew right over us at low level. It  gave us quite a thrill to see our own aircraft do a beat up in enemy territory while we watched  from the ground.

During the day, we discussed how we should approach this spy chappie. After long arguments on the subject, we knew that if such a fellow existed around these parts then someone, a local saboteur or patriot, would surely know him. If we could get in touch with one of them, they in tum could contact this spy for us. The burning question was how were we to get in touch with the right people. We eventually decided that we would just have to chance our luck again and hope to avoid running into a collaborator. After dusk we wandered into the village hoping for the best. The first to see us were three women bringing home a can of milk from the fields. We asked them the name of the village as a means of starting a communication. They told us it was called Fillievres and continued on their way. We waited a little longer and then decided we would call at the nearest farm house, put our cards on the table, and hope to be received by a sympathetic family.

CHAPTER FOUR:     CONTACT

We entered a large farmyard and went to the door of the house. After knocking, a voice said, "Entre". Here we made a mistake by entering. We found about sixteen people in the large kitchen having the evening meal; the party consisted of three men, five women, and the remainder were children of all ages. We said in our best French, "Nous Sommes Aviateurs  Anglais," and the effect was alarming. All these folk were immediately scared out of their senses, and semi-panic broke out with all and sundry talking at once and gesticulating. One man, a young fellow about 23, took us outside and asked us various questions on the way to the barn. He asked us to prove that we were Allied airmen, here I produced my English currency, the Daily Herald now six days old and our regular identification disks. He seemed satisfied and said he would help us.  His name was Reni Gerault and be was our first contact with the underground

This fellow, Reni Gerault, lived with his wife Paulette and two small children in this large farmhouse. The farmhouse was owned  by  his uncle, one of the other men in the kitchen, when we rather stupidly entered and told everyone who we were. We should have got the occupier outside by himself and then only he alone would know of our existence. By this approach we would stand a much better chance of assistance. Luckily, all turned out very well and this was our first real contact with organized  assistance.  Reni had been in the French army in 1940 and at the time of Dunkirk was a Sergeant.  He managed to avoid capture and disappeared into Southern France for a time. After things settled down under the occupation, the Germans were conveying many of the able bodied people from France to the Ruhr to work on war work. However they also were most anxious to produce as much farm produce as possible, consequently farm workers bad a very high degree of exemption. Reni decided that he would drop his normal occupation of brick-layer and become a farm labourer on his uncle's farm. He managed quite successfully to accomplish this. To consolidate his position he decided to join a local German sponsored auxiliary police patrol for which he received two hundred francs a night for a two hour patrol. Needless to say this patrol was never able to capture or find any of the local saboteurs. The chief saboteur was a fellow of absolute reckless courage, at times almost foolish with his bravery in deceit and double cross, a fellow known  as Reni Gerault.

Reni had an elderly aunt, his mother, two cousins, and his unmarried sister Yvette living with him. The two little cousins were evacuees from Lille. Having completed a day's work in the fields they were all having their meal at his place when we interrupted their dinner. After our interview with him in the barn and having completely satisfied him of our identity he took us back into the house. The small children bad now gone to bed. He introduced us  to everyone although the women folk were still very shaken and not too happy with our being there. The rest accepted us and asked numerous questions and seemed quite interested and helpful. We had a marvellous meal of steak, eggs, potato chips, and plenty of fresh home made bread and butter. We enjoyed  it immensely, and for the first time learned how inadequate our French was, as we were being asked all kinds of questions from nine or ten different people, and found our knowledge very limited. The slang phrases really floored us,and we were quite some time getting around "kaput", "comprez", and similar abbreviations. However we managed to understand each other even though our speech was not grammatically correct. That night we slept in the barn and Reni called for us at five. After a coffee we set out complete with fishing rod and a days food including a couple bottles of wine, also a pack of playing cards. Reni took us out into the forest before the village awoke. We spent the day there and awaited his return in the evening. We spent our time pretending we were just out on a spot of fishing in the river that ran alongside the  forest.

The morning was beautiful and we rather looked forward to the day that lay ahead. Somehow I felt very safe now, although Reni himself was not the Escape Organization, we felt that he would get in touch with someone who was, as soon as he safely could do so. His wife, sister, and mother were more or less of the opinion that Reni could and would take care of us safely, so it made them feel a lot better. They were being very good  to us, after the initial surprise they recovered their composure and proved to be very helpful. At noon on our first day in the forest, Paulette and Yvette, brought us some more food and cigarettes for Norman. After the first day one or the other would visit us around noon with a bottle of wine and some grapes or something else. The weather now being very good we rather enjoyed our daily picnicking expeditions to  the forest.

About eight o'clock Reni called for us as promised. He took us to his house for another good meal, followed by another night in his hayloft which was very comfortable because we had blankets and pillows from the house. On the following morning we went to the forest bright and early.  So far no one knew of our existence in the village except the Gerrault family. We were assured, the third man in the house when we made the original contact, a Monsieur Emile, was a good patriot. He visited us with food, wine, cigarettes, grapes and French beer. The beer he brought us, in two large quart bottles, was very sour and watery to our palate but drinkable nonetheless. In the evening we were  taken to Reni's parents place for our supper well after it was dark.  That night, our third in Fillievres, we slept in the barn of  Monsieur  Emile.  It was considered not too safe to frequent the same place too often. When we travelled through a village someone would always go ahead a short distance and if the  way was not safe, then the advance guard would whistle the then popular tune "Lili Marlene" . On hearing the same we would retreat or disperse entirely from off the road or street, remembering that these people were in much greater  danger than we were. If captured we would spend the rest of the war in a  prisoner of war camp, they would be shot on the village green or the local  market place as a warning to all and sundry of what traitors could expect. The very tense atmosphere which was evident when we were in a house was quite understandable and we at once could sense it too, but could not do very much about it. The women were always tense when the men folk would  invite us in for meals.  We actually felt much more at ease out in the open, probably the feeling of the open air was more assuring to us than to be inside four walls.  Being wanted men we preferred not to be surrounded or enclosed. All these suppers which we had at various homes were real banquets.  We began to realize that the French people really lived, their staple diet was wine, and steaks or chicken. Wine was only two francs a litre. All during our time in  their country, we lived like kings far as the food was concerned, especially in rural areas.

On Thursday it was Reni's night to patrol the village and local railway lines for sabotage. At about ten pm he set out with his white arm band on which was a large swastika in black. Before departing he told us to  remain in the barn as otherwise he would have to arrest us. When any damage was done, it was always on a night when no patrols were out. His utter contempt of the ordinary German soldier was unbelievable. Because he was active in this outfit, be gained the full confidence of the local troops. He even wanted Norman and myself to go out with him one night looking for these saboteurs, this invitation we refused, amusing and exciting as it would have been.

After spending another night in Monsieur Emile's barn he awoke us early with a hot jug of milk and a couple of slices of bread and butter. We enjoyed the breakfast before setting out again for a wood, only this time a different wood. They thought a change of scene would be a good thing for us and would less likely lead to suspicion. There were one or two  families in the village who could not be trusted, one was of Polish descent. Germans were stationed in the village every now and then and there was a German battery quite close to the village. This Polish family was known to refuse to sell milk and butter to the local people, yet they would turn around and sell it to the Germans. On the other hand several people who were not actively engaged in sabotage or organized resistance could be trusted implicitly. This was the case of the Priest, and the local storekeeper, both of whom were very patriotic and sympathetic to the Allies. Both longed for a liberated France. One day when Yvette was in the store the storekeeper asked her if she would like an English-French dictionary. He offered it to her with a wink and a qualifying statement that it might be useful when the Allies returned to France. However he felt that Yvette should take it now so as to get some practice. Obviously someone had been talking and word was getting around that we were in the  village.

Friday morning was like the previous beautiful fall mornings. We had been in the new surroundings about one and half hours when we noticed five men with bicycles coming toward us. They were over a quarter of a mile away when we noticed them. At first we became very alarmed and were about to make a run for it when we saw Reni among the group. We relaxed and thought it was some friends of his, although we were bewildered by them coming during the daylight. It was now 7:30 am. Among this group was Monsieur Emile and a third man with a very red head whom we had met previously.  We did not know his name, we only knew that he was an active patriot and saboteur in the district.  On reaching us we saw that the two newcomers were very well dressed and obviously did not work on a farm. One man of about 30 years was the  Math teacher in the high school in the local town of Frevent. Frevent had a population of about 3000 and was some ten kilometers distance from Fillievres. This man's name was Reni Gitaud. His companion was a mere lad of seventeen called Maurice Malo, a very blond boy, with blue eyes and of German descent.  A very true and active French patriot, he too had no fear of and despised the Germans.

These new acquaintances were very official in the method of operation and obviously had some experience  in that work.   Reni Gitaud, was the local agent in the Escape Organization.  He asked,  "You are RAF?"  and then asked to see our identity disks, took our numbers, names, ranks, and all the details on the disks; then the target, date and time of attack, the type and serial number of the aircraft. He then said, "I will be coming back in a day or two and if this information is correct you will be going back to England a day or two later by airplane". This was too much to believe and all sounded so mysterious. Yet we knew that aircraft were landing in France at night for various purposes, and in fact knew one fellow who was on this type of a job.We reasoned  that perhaps he may even come to pick us up. We were also told that our relatives would  know within twenty four hours that we were safe in France.  All this in one week after crashing was wonderful news. We learned later that this information was not correct, but was told to everyone as a morale  booster.   

On  returning that evening to Reni's for supper, everyone was in a jubilant mood and an air of expectancy was evident. That same evening an old man came to give us a haircut, and we also had a visit from the priest to the Gerrault home.

Nothing of interest happened over the weekend. We had been told a couple of times that we would be moving to Frevent but no date was announced as to when we would leave Fillievres. Young Maurice Malo brought dispatches to Reni Gerrault several times over the weekend. He brought one by placing it in an ordinary bottle of milk. We saw the waterproof message container extracted from the milk bottle, but did not learn the contents. Since Friday we had not gone out to the forest at all but had stayed in Reni 's house and slept in a room. We now were spending a few hours daily in the garden.  A well fenced garden with very high bushes which obscured all vision and in which we felt fairly safe. We generally received the B.B.C. news once a day, and on the Sunday Yvette took some photos which we received copies of a year later in 1944,  when we were stationed  close to Fillievres.

Monday at 10 am was the time arranged for our departure for Prevent. At 7:30 am a formation of Flying Fortresses or B17's passed overhead, when for no apparent reason four parachutes came out of one aircraft and then it exploded in mid air. They were not being attacked nor being fired on so the whole thing was a mystery to us watching from the ground. However on meeting one of the four survivors later, we learned that they were carrying a new type of fuse in the bomb  load. The engineer whose job it was to know about these fuses, in fact, did not know anything about them. So when one incendiary bomb started to smoke, caught on fire and filled the aircraft with smoke the pilot gave the order to jump. Only four made it before the aircraft exploded, trapping the other six of the crew. Sometime afterwards I saw the graves in the  local cemetery.  After the Germans had buried the six bodies, the local people piled all the graves high with flowers and someone placed the control column from the wreckage over one of the graves as a memorial. There it stood as a silent tribute to the efforts of the Allies in general and to these six airmen in particular who had given their all. As soon as any parachutes are seen, of course the hue and cry goes up, and the Germans are on the spot very soon searching for prisoners. They patrol all roads and interrogate everyone, so our departure was unavoidably delayed.

Three out of four who bailed out of this aircraft were arrested, one was injured on landing and two were spotted by the Germans and arrested immediately when they reached the ground. The fourth, whom we met, landed safely quite close to a forest. Realizing the danger, he did not take time to bury his parachute or anything but ran straight for the forest. He was only 100 yards from a road and a half mile from a village, so he knew the Germans would be about very soon. He threw off his gloves, his Mae West , helmet, and then his harness in that order and dived into the closest coverage. He saw five men and two girls sawing wood and on seeing him they motioned him into a  ditch covered  over with long grass and briars. In  he got and lay there motionless while the enemy troops searched all around for him. Ten Germans dashed into the forest and enquired from the woodcutters if they had seen an airman. The woodcutters replied that they had not, whereupon, the German in charge told them they were a bunch of liars and to clear out of the forest immediately. This they did, only to return after the search was called off. The Germans saw the parachute in the field and ran towards it, finding his gloves, helmet, Mae West and harness on the way and lastly his chute. When they realized they had been going in the opposite way to that which the airman had actually gone, they retraced their steps running twice as fast back into the forest, this time to search it more thoroughly. One German actually walked over the ditch in which the American was lying, almost too scared to breath.  All this time he could  hear the excited shouts of the Hun and the cars dashing to and fro. He just lay there wondering what would happen next, he assumed that at least one of the Frenchmen who knew of his whereabouts would help him when it was safe to do so.  About 11 o'clock  the Germans finally gave up the search.

Shortly after this the Yank heard a whistle, but did not move in case it was a trap. After a few minutes a man came right to the spot and called for him  to come out. He recognized  him as one of the woodcutters whom  he had seen  on entering the forest.  The Frenchman  told him  to wait  for an hour  or so, and a man would pass by with a horse drawn water-cart on which would be two  water barrels. One would contain water, the other would have some civilian clothing  in it and the farmer would  stop and leave the clothes at  the  forest and then go on to the cattle. On his way back the farmer would pick up the American's uniform, and take it back in the water barrel. In the meantime another man would come for the Yank and they would walk to the farm house. It turned out as arranged so this American escaped capture. I mention the experience of this fellow because it had a direct bearing on our own events. Owing to the explosion and crash at 7:30 on the Monday morning only three miles from Fillievres, all vehicles were being stopped and occupants interrogated. Our move was postponed until Tuesday when all the panic would be over.

Another disappointment was in store on the next day. On Tuesday a large formation of Marauders bombed the rail marshalling yards at St. Pol, another small town about 20 kms North of us. Although the yards and much of the town were well bombed, great numbers of casualties resulted. Consequently all motor transportation was commandeered as emergency ambulances to evacuate the injured. During the raid a troop train as in the yards and over 400 were killed and 1000 injured. The civilian population also took a bad beating, over 600 were killed and a very large number injured. I saw St. Pol eleven days later. It was still a mess, train carriages had been lifted and were standing on end 40 yards away. All the rail lines had been blown to pieces and even after eleven days they only had one line, through the main marshalling yards, for the North West of France. This was unusual because the Huns were usually very efficient at getting their rail lines open  for through  traffic. As a result  of this destruction we were forced to wait in Fillievres another day.

Having been in the village a week now we were of the opinion that it would be much better for all concerned if we left as soon as possible. The house was small and Reni was a little reckless in his bravery and contempt of the Germans. It was a very dangerous situation. On our last afternoon there we had two more quite bad scares. Firstly, two Germans called at the door while we  were in the room off the kitchen, however they were only in search of billets for some more troops coming into the village. They had not come to arrest anyone which is what we at once suspected. This new outfit coming was the German Goering Division who was being placed in the Western wall. They were coming from the Russian front so they might rest and reform. Our second fright was when the local Gendarme came into the garden where Reni, Norman and I were sitting shelling beans. However the Gendarme was only delivering a radio permit. Although we had not met him nor were we introduced no questions were asked. He left while we continued to shell beans as though we hadn' t a care in the world. At this time we had just about all the close calls  that our nerves would stand for in one afternoon. After this even Reni thought it might be a good idea if we left very soon. After these visits his wife Paulette, his mother and aunt were all suffering from shock. The strain was beginning to show on them and so special efforts were made to try and get us away on Wednesday.  The car however was still engaged in the evacuation work, but after many visits back and forth by Maurice Malo,  it was arranged  to move us in a butcher's  van the following day.

CHAPTER FIVE:     FREVENT

Wednesday morning came and we packed a little bag with some food, an extra shirt, a pair of socks and one or two things we had collected that Reni and family had given us. Paulette had our washing done and we were fitted out as best as could be done to make us look like Frenchmen. Our departure was a little sad because this was a wonderful family. They were typical of the real French; courageous and only too willing to do all in their power to assist the Allies. Their only means, at present, was in enabling as many as possible to escape from enemy territory. We,and they,fully realized the danger they took in helping us, and that was what made it all the more sad. We could not in any way repay them for what they were doing for us, except to go back and help in the liberation of their country as soon as possible. We had 1000 Francs each in our escape wallets. This amount would not buy them a pair of shoes, yet we offered them our two thousand Francs. They refused but stated they would like some Air Force souvenirs as a remembrance of the two airmen they sheltered for a week. We gave Reni our battledress, complete with brevets. Our silk maps of France we gave to Paulette and Yvette, as well as any other such things we had. We said "AuRevoir" to the family around one o'clock, R ni came with us to where the butcher 's van was waiting outside the village. As we walked through the roads this lovely September afternoon we saw a dog fight going on overhead, resulting in a ME109 being shot down. It came spinning down to earth out of control, hit the deck and burst into a sheet of flame with an explosion. Reni, Norman and I stood and watched, gave a little silent clap and said good show, one less Hun left in the sky. On reaching the van we met Reni's wife who came out for the ride, her nickname was La Fleur, she  was a very tiny, pretty, very brave and was a charming  woman.

We got in the back of the little van and set out for Frevent. We arrived at three p.m. Just as we were entering Reni's house the B.B.C.news was announcing the capitulation of the Bagdolio government in Italy and the surrender to the Allies. This was exciting news and they looked forward to an invasion from the south in the near future. The French, who were forbidden to listen to Allied radio broadcasts, did so every day and within ten minutes the news was all over the town. The people were giving vent to their emotions, being excitable at any time, they are tremendous when something really happens.

The first act on entering a house was a toast or in fact several toasts, to the Allies, to France, and the most popular one, to "AL'Invasion". This same ritual took place on entering Reni Gitaud's house as had in all previously entered. We had a good meal and a visit by the parents of Reni who was a local boy and had a very good reputation in the little town. A cousin, Pierre, and young Malo also paid us a visit. This time Malo brought his mother and sister.

Reni arranged to get us identity cards that evening, these were quite a bit more detailed than the British counterpart, and were much like a service identity card. It had a photograph, age, build, height, colour of eyes, trade, place of birth and address. We had an enjoyable time filling in these particulars. I remember I was Maurice Dubois, a school teacher by  profession, born in Dunkirk in 1916, and normally lived in Lille. The rest was easy, but our signature had to be witnessed by the Commissioner of Police and stamped with his official stamp of office. When I was given my card and became  "Maurice" my card was perfectly legal in all respects. How it was done I had no idea nor did I ask as it was best not to know too much.

We spent that night in Reni 's house, and the following morning four of us played cards for a couple hours as we watched convoys of troops on their way to the Western wall. This was the first good leisurely look that we had at German troops. They were a dejected looking bunch and had old and battered equipment. Their trucks were in need of repair and paint. Their uniforms were shabby, and old. The men appeared fed up and had not the usual sprightly appearance which we had been led to believe was characteristic of the Wehrmacht. During the inevitable delays that all convoys encounter the troops stood around seemingly very disinterested with the whole affair. None made the usual whistles or cat-calls as the local mademoiselles passed by, so characteristic of troops all  the world over.

During the afternoon Reni told us we would be billeted in the town, Norman would stay with Reni 's parents who kept a cafe. I would stay with a man and wife who kept a hardware store. Their only son was in Germany doing forced labour for the Germans. I arrived at my new abode at 3:30 on Thursday, September 9, with Reni, who introduced Monsieur and Madame Guyot and then left. He stated he would  be back later with some old English books and some pre war magazines.

The Guyots made me very comfortable, and we became very good friends. They were introduced as Monsieur and Madame Ancet and I always knew them by that name until a year after when I revisited them and they told me their real name was Guyot, not Ancet. I lived in the room off the kitchen during the day and had a radio there so I listened to the B.B.C. all day. It was always tuned very softly, but at least was a good pastime. I slept in their son's bedroom and had the use of his bicycle which I made use of on a few occasions, once I was accustomed to rubbing shoulders with German troops. Once confidence is acquired there is nothing to it. I was given a black Basque beret which all French men wore, more especially all patriotic Frenchmen, as to them it was a symbol of Free France. I also got a pair of trousers, a much better fit than any I had so far. With a blue jacket I passed very easily as a Frenchman.

I went out one afternoon for a walk with young Malo. Then another day I took the bicycle out to Fillievres where I spent a very enjoyable afternoon with the Gerrault family. On a few occasions Monsieur Guyot took me for a walk, usually in the company of another young Frenchman or two. We had a few drinks in the local cafes, places where the licensee was known to be a "Bonne Patriot". On one occasion I took part in a card game called "Monieul", which I had learned from Reni Gitaud. You play with a partner and I played with Monsieur Guyot. The licensee of the cafe did not know that I was not a Frenchman until informed by Guyot.  Then out came the wines, and special drinks. I remember it was on Sunday and after locking the door we all sat there and drank most of the afternoon . Old Norman was living in a tavern; I was just visiting one!

 ne evening the American who I referred to earlier was brought along to visit me at the Guyots store. We had a good natter, and the next day in the morning, I went to visit him. He was staying at Malo's house. The two Malo boys, this Yank and myself  all went  for a walk  into the country and we called in for a glass of white wine in a little establishment during our walk. This American could not speak one word of French and yet it was amazing how he used to get along with the family at Malo's. He was a very  nice chap and I regret that I never got his name and address.

Reni Gerrault came in a couple of times from Fillievres to visit and would take us out for a beer.  We were in a cafe one evening  when a barmaid  got a bit inquisitive as to why I was not talking as much as Reni. He replied that I was a Belgian and was not too good with French. She said, "Oh, I'm a Belgian too, where did you come from?" After informing her it was Ostend, she started a conversation in Flemish and wanted to know where I worked. As the situation was getting very awkward we decided that we should leave. Outside, I breathed a sigh of relief. She was probably dating a German Stormtrooper.

Another evening on my way out to Fillievres with Maurice Malo, we met Reni coming into Frevent, so we stopped at the nearest establishment and had our usual  "Vien Blanc".  As we were  peaceably having one, in came a German N.C.O. who recognized Reni and wanted to buy him and his friends a drink.  Reni came in contact with many Germans, and they treated him with the greatest respect; because of this special patrol work which he did. After ordering three more "Vien Blancs" and a beer for himself, he sat down to an amiable chat over the drinks. After toasting him with "Bonne Sante" we drank ours down quicker than it takes one to say Jackie Robinson. Reni apologized as how we could not stay and partake of his hospitality as we were just leaving when he came in and were in a great hurry, if he onJy knew how great a hurry . Once again we withdrew from a very awkward and embarrassing situation completely unscathed.

While we were at Frevent we were told many times that wewould be leaving by an aircraft. It would land at night in a field close to the village of Coughy, about three miles away from Freveot. I was taken to this field one afternoon and shown where the aircraft would land at the appropriate time. Reni and his associates awaited a message being broadcast by the French programme of the B.B.C. As the days went by the message never came. Rumours increased in number and variety as to the method of our departure from France. Should the airlift not be considered safe then perhaps we would go by boat or even via the Pyrenees. On foot if all else failed. All these methods had been used on previous occasions, but like all good things it could very easily be abused and might become a trap which would prove tragic to all concerned.

While we were in Frevent awaiting what destiny had in store for us, Jim Allison was having much the same experience. He was in Frevent up to the day before we arrived. For some reason he was taken out to a village close by, as it was considered safer that he not stay in the same place too long.  We did  not know  that  Allison was so close to us until many  weeks  later.

On Wednesday, September 15, we were told that we would now definitely be returning by the Paris-Pyrenees-Spain route and that any day we would leave for Paris.  A woman  came to collect us on the following day, but as Reni Gitaud was away in Arras and this lady was a complete stranger, Reni 's wife would not allow us to leave until Reni could give his approval. We waited in Prevent until Saturday the 18th, when we finally left on a most frightening train journey.

CHAPTER SIX: BAPUME

Reni and his cousin Pierre were to act as our guides on the trip form Frevent to Arras. It was a short distance but because of the state of the railways and the ceaseless air attacks this journey could take a long time under these conditions. Consequently all the preparations for any emergency had to be considered and very carefully planned in advance. This trip necessitated a changing of trains at St. Pol, the town which received such a terrible bombing only eleven days previously. We were told to stand together or close to our guides but to try and mingle with the natives and act as French as possible.  There would be several members of the Gestapo on and around the station, both in uniform and in plain clothes. The element of risk was quite great on this particular journey. Pierre was wanted  already because he had failed to return to Germany after getting some compassionate leave to bury his father, who incidentally was still in very good health. Should he get caught now it would mean certain death for him, especially if they could charge him for assisting airmen to escape. A practice the Germans wanted to discourage by all means in their power. By making examples of any such "Traitors"  whom they could catch was at least a deterrent to others. Pierre had several different identities and never visited bis home which was in the country somewhere, but remained around the Frevent district. As we waited on the station for the train,  the suspense was terrible, we had a half hour wait and everyone seemed to be staring, or so it appeared to us who were very self conscious. We pretended to read the time tables and wander around as casually as possible, but to act like a native was impossible. They never stopped talking and  all  had  a basket or little sack under their arm.  The natives who were waiting  for the train were all small and elderly people.Not many young men, aged twenty five and over six feet tall were to be seen in France in those days. It wasn't any wonder that we received the attention of one Gestapo fellow who had me under observation for ten minutes prior to the train arriving. He was very suspicious and was making his way toward me when the train came in, I climbed aboard with him still watching me. He did not come aboard,but I definitely believe that I was saved by less than a minute. On the train I breathed a sigh of relief, as luck was still with us.

We arrived at St. Pol about an hour later and changed  trains. We had to wait quite awhile for our connection to Arras, and we got first hand information of the results of the Marauder attack. After the eleven days the Gerries bad only one track open and this entailed great periods of marshalling and long delays. While waiting on the platform in St. Pol we had quite a thrill, one of our best while in France.  The weather was  poor with a low cloud  base of about 500 feet, a wonderful day for a low level as the visibility under was very good, and the protection of cloud cover was immediately available. There were about 300 passengers waiting on the station and about 50 German troops and railway workers trying to repair the tracks.  There was also the special repair squads there which the Germans rushed all over the place on such jobs.  All these Krauts appeared very glum and unhappy with their lot in life, scowling and looking depressed as Germans generally did as far as we were concerned. The French  however despite the terrific damage to their town did not seem at all upset and went about quite cheerfully. Accepting the whole thing as part of the price for liberation one day, which was to them just a matter of time. Suddenly the air raid sirens sounded and immediately a formation of Mustangs flew at rooftop height over the town. Germans scattered in all directions while the natives just stood there, many of them cheered and threw their hands in the air in their accustomed excitable manner. We had to at least smile but I was not at all enthused by the bravery of the French . I wished  that everyone had  made a rush for the nearest shelter, as I was not too happy about being the victim of an air raid attack by our own aircraft. I was not too sure they did not intend doing just that but instead rocked their wings in salutation as they passed after spotting the crowd on the station platform. I am certain that the incident shortened several persons lives and I am sure that mine was included.

Our guides had big smiles on their faces and thought the whole thing wonderful. They explained later that a beat up does more for the morale of the French than anything else, possibly because it is something tangible, and they are human like everyone else. The enemy now appeared more disgruntled than ever, and I fancied any moment they would organize a roll call and find out who cheered and who did not, with suitable rewards such as an Iron Cross or a bullet hole through your head depending on how you rated in the examination. The train to Arras arrived and such imaginations as trifling as trials was at once put out of my mind to allow for the more urgent trial of getting aboard and safely arriving at Arras.

We entered the train and ensured that we got in the same carriage as  our guides who had provided us with First Class tickets. We had an uneventful journey for the next hour. Reaching our destination we followed the guides out of the station and down one street, up another and around and around in what appeared like going round the same block only by  various routes. Eventually we entered a house just a few doors from the entrance to the station. This, we learned later, was to shake off anyone who might be following us. The house which we had passed three times in our seemingly meaningless meandering was occupied by a Madam Payen, her son Albert, aged 24, who worked on the railroad, and her daughter Leone a startling beauty of seventeen. There was also an English speaking lady visiting them so as we could freely converse with them all. They were expecting us and had dinner waiting our arrival.  While at the house only a few hours we met a most remarkable old lady  of 64 years  who played a very important part in this most mysterious organization. She had several identities, numerous disguises and had friends in every town in the Pas­ de-Calais and Du Nord . She had an absolutely white head of hair and  was known as Madame Blanche. Being introduced as such we were slightly amused, but her "name" was at least appropriate. She had one failing as far as we were concerned in that she just never stopped talking and at such a speed it was impossible to follow her, except for the mostly fluent speakers of their language.

When we left Frevent we understood that at Arras we were to pick up a new guide and go directly to Paris. But those plans were changed and instead we were to go to a town twenty kilometers away called Bapume. Around two o'clock Reni and Pierre left us and returned by road to their home, we now were in the care of the Payen family. Our trip to Bapume was to be made in the mayor's automobile. Somehow the arrangement broke and we were to go by train to Achiet, and change onto a local train bound for Bapume. We left Arras at 6: 15 pm with Madame Blanche and Leone as guides on this short journey. The purchase of tickets was always done by the guides and we were given the tickets before leaving our last abode as usually this would be the last contact with the guide. Out in the open we were completely on our own. If arrested we must tell the authorities we were travelling on our own entirely. At Achiet the local "freight" was waiting so there was no delay.This local train was made up of mostly freight cars used as passenger cars. The train was badly overcrowded, fortunately the trip was only five kilometers. During this journey a woman handed Madame Blanche a small parcel without saying a word. This handing over of a parcel of some kind or other before speaking or shaking hands was a sign or token  of the resistant  movement. The parcel was butter. Afterwards we saw this lady and her brother, a veterinarian in Bapume, on many occasions. Although they never actually engaged in the movement of escapees, they always contributed food to the host or hostess of such exciting guests as Allied airmen.

Madame Blanche had a very  large suitcase and was carrying it herself.  I offered to carry it and got a very definite rebuff. I could not  see why she would not let me carry this case for her, as it was much too great a burden for her. I offered a second time, actually catching hold of it only to upset her very much. I thought she was completely crazy. This time we did not retrace our steps as in Arras but just made a straight line for a doorway quite close to the station entrance. When we were inside the old lady informed me there was a food inspector at the station gate who could and sometimes did search people carrying parcels which he thought may be Black Market food. Had I been carrying the case I would most likely have been stopped. This was the reason for her being so indignant at my offers of assistance. Passing as natives was becoming more and more difficult every day. Daily we ran into some kind of trouble but so far had been able to avert  any catastrophe.

The woman in the house was a Belgian, Madame Duclercq, known as Madeline. Madeline had her father living with her. Although she was an uneducated woman she could speak four languages fluently, and had lived outside Brighton on the South coast of England for four years.  She had  married a "Tommy" in the first conflict. Her husband made a living by working for the Imperial War Graves Commission in the intervening years. Bapume had a large graveyard, and that was where he had been employed . Now he was in a Concentration Camp in Germany having been arrested in 1940.  Her only  son was in hiding somewhere in Normandy  trying to evade having to go to work in Germany under their forced Jabour programme. Their methods of obtaining Jabour were so diverse and unconventional, it was most alarming. One of their favourite plans was to back up some large vehicles to where a large number of people had gathered, a theatre for example. Then they would go inside, stop the performance, and take all able bodied men in the audience. One never knew in those times when you left home if you were going to spend the next day in your own environment or on your way to some factory or construction project in the Fatherland.

I am unable to remember all the details of our sojourn in Bapume, but while there we met many people in the town and district. In fact, during our eighteen days we met everyone worth knowing in the local Resistance "Who is Who". Twice we dined with the mayor in his home, which was like a palace. All resistance members contributed to our keep with a continual supply of eggs, butter, cakes, steaks, grapes, wines, and beer, (with apologies to Churchill) never in so short a time was so much eaten by so few. We both agreed that we had not either dined or drank so much in any eighteen day period either before or since our visit to Bapume in September 1943.

The Mayor was a most colourful individual. He had received the D.C.M., the second highest decoration an N.C.0. can obtain from the British. Monsieur Guidet was immensely and justifiably proud of this and he wore the ribbon of the decoration in his lapel  at all times. Even when dealing with the Germans in his official capacity as mayor of the city. His part in the organization and administration of the local resistance, and escape organization, would in itself make a very interesting story if it will ever be told. Eventually he was arrested and made do very hard labour in civilian labour camps, in Silesia. During the winter of 1944, where he, through torture and exposure, in winter conditions without any extra clothing, finally succumbed to the enemy. There is a beautiful memorial in his name in the market square in his beloved city of Bapume. A tribute to a man who did more to keep the spirit of France alive in those dark days than anyone else in that countryside. And like so many, payed the supreme sacrifice. Theirs was as gallant a fight as any carried out by anyone who wore the protection of a uniform, and it is men like Monsieur Guidet who have given France such a wonderful history in the past. While men like him exist there, France will always be a free country irrespective of peculiar and puzzling political make up.

During our first dinner with the mayor in his home, we met about fifteen of the local active resistance members. Among them was a young man of about twenty-four years who was as typically French as one could imagine anyone being. This fellow introduced himself as a member of the British Army on full pay and allowances, belonging to a famous Infantry Regiment. His home was a small town in Norfolkshire called Wisbech. This soldier was semi French and had a perfectly  dual education having spent every alternate year in a French school in the city of Lille.  He was employed in organizing the Maquis or Free French Army who  later played a very important part in the liberation of their country. He bad been in the retreat  from  Dunkirk  and  shortly afterwards  was asked if he would like to transfer to the Intelligence Corps for a special job. He was told he would go back to France and work underground. He accepted immediately, and after some special training came back in  the Spring of 1941. His work was highly secret and no one, not even his parents, were to know where he was. To do this successfully for four years would seem a very difficult task, but the Army foresaw all possibilities and made the necessary arrangements. They posted a very good friend of this Lieutenant's to an outfit in the North of Scotland, this fellow remained at the same unit for the period his friend was to remain in France. Lieutenant "X", I never learned his name, informed his parents that he was stationed in Scotland.  Up until late 1943 his mother was never any wiser.  He got his normal leaves which he spent at home in Norfolk being picked up by aircraft in a field in France. When his leave expired he was dropped from an aircraft again at night. When we met him he had spent seven leaves this way and bad completed ten night jumps without injury. Supplies were dropped whenever required, including a suitcase of English cigarettes, and several complete civilian outfits, whatever the best dressed Maquis happened to be wearing that particular season.  Every time he was on leave he wrote several letters which were mailed at suitable intervals by his colleague in Scotland. Whenever anything in particular was required by his mother such as some particular answer which was not covered in any of the standard letters, then his friend would type the reply and  forge  "X "'s signature.

Quite a satisfactory means to overcome any unforeseen difficulty. In the summer of 1943 on a normal fourteen day leave at his home, his father had a friendly talk with him as fathers occasionally do. During this conversation, his father informed him that his mother was still completely unawares, but that he himself bad realized for sometime, that his son was not in Scotland. He did not ask many questions, but stated that he thought perhaps his son might be working in France or on some very secret similar project? The Lieutenant replied that this was possible, and the subject was dropped. This Lieutenant  escaped  capture until a week before the area around Bapume was liberated in September 1944. He with several others was arrested and without a trial was put against a wall before a firing squad of German troops and shot.

During our stay in Bapume, which had been badly damaged during the first war, but so far had been spared attack this time, there were frequent visits by Madame Blanche. It appeared she was the courier between Paris and these small cities in the North. She would bring us the information regarding our next move, how long it would take, and when and how we could expect to leave. Eventually she escorted us to the big city.

CHAPTER SEVEN:    PARIS

On our last night in Bapume we had dinner with the mayor and his family. The next day Madame Blanche, Fairfax and I made an official visit to his office. Every time we would set out on a trip we would get a very thorough briefing beforehand. We were told what we could expect to happen, when we would be passed on to the next guide, and above all, in the event of capture, what action to take. This time we got our briefing in the mayor's office and were informed that on reaching Paris, we were to follow Madame Blanche at a safe distance. Norman would lead me some dozen paces behind the old  lady, I would remain a similar distance behind Norman. Madame Blanche would lead us into a church and would kneel in a pew on the right hand side of the main aisle. We were to enter a pew on the left some few pews behind, here we were  to pray together. When a man entered and knelt down beside Madame Blanche, he would be the man we were to follow out of the church again at a safe distance. Although it was believed the Germans never prayed, it was just  possible one of them might have followed us into the church and decided he needed confessing too. So bearing all this in mind we said our thanks and farewells to old Madame Blanche while we were still in the comparative safety of the Mayor's office in Bapume. The mayor drove us in his car to Achiet. He bought two first class tickets to Paris and gave them to us while we were waiting at the small railroad station.  When the train came in we climbed on making sure we were in the same carriage as Madame Blanche. Having previously been told that sleeping on a journey was the safest method of avoiding conversations, we "slept" the three hour journey.

Reaching the metropolis however, things did not turn out as planned, at least not quite as planned. On arriving, "The man" was waiting on the platform. We were handed over right there and then and we followed him. He took us to the church after devious meandering, but in stead of praying in a pew as instructed, he went right to the front of the building,up to the alter,blessed himself,we did likewise, goodness knows we needed it badly. He then went to the side of the alter and out into a vestry. There was a very attractive blonde who was busy praying and blessing herself. He stood and in due reverence did likewise. We followed suit and while there, accepted two tickets for the Paris subway from the blonde who then hastily left the Church, Norman in pursuit at the required ten paces and I after him at a similar distance. Keeping this blonde in sight during the next half hour was quite a task. She crossed and recrossed her path many times only to suddenly disappear into an entrance to the subway. Should we have lost her I don't know what would have happened to us. Many times I lost her in the crowd, but I managed to keep sight of Norman at all times.

We entered the subway at about six p.m. and it was packed. It was rush hour, and Blondie pushed her way on, and here Norman and I used our weight to good advantage. We just made it before the door was closed, it was necessary that we get on the same compartment as she did, so any manners we had were suddenly forgotten. We caught her looking our way from the other side of the tube and she seemed to be saying all was well, we reassured each other with the odd nod or wink. On reaching Champerrai, we got out and hurried up on the street, walking a couple of blocks before entering an apartment block. We climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, before being admitted hurriedly by the blonde into a very modem and well furnished apartment. She then shook hands and spoke for the first time, saying in perfect English, "How are you?" This blonde lady was known as Madame Charmaine or Bajpai, and was a sister-in-law to some British diplomat in India by the name of Bajpai. I never got the identity quite straight, but she was of French origin and had been educated  in  England. She had one bad habit in that she kept a diary and on being arrested by the Gestapo in late November of that year, her diary had many names and addresses of those who were helping in this great work. All were arrested, tortured, and at least spent the rest of the war in concentration camps. Blondie paid with her life in the now famous Buchenwald. Another gallant French woman made her sacrifice, all in the cause of escaping  Allied airmen.

She introduced us to the occupier of the apartment, Madame Hochepied, a wealthy woman who owned a chateau in the country as well as having this flat in Paris. Blondie was just a courier or agent. Norman and I were the first airmen that had the honour of meeting Madame Hochepied. She showed great courage and was proud to do her bit in the now famous Patriotic movement, which was growing in strength daily towards the day of final liberation.

This lady had only one son, Robert, who was married and lived elsewhere in Paris under an assumed name. He had  been  in the army at the  time of the capitulation, but eventually escaped from a prison camp. He now was employed as a chef in one of the large cafes in the city where he and his wife frequently visited his mother, and brought her food. During our week stay in Paris Robert, his wife and mother took us to a show one evening. The seats were all in little boxes with two to a box. As it turned out, I had to share a box with a German soldier, a fact which rather distracted from the enjoyment somewhat. I was scared that he might ask me for a light, or start a conversation on the merits of the picture we saw.   However, he never spoke and neither did I. 

The show consisted of two films, one a very interesting travelogue of Southern France. The other was a German propaganda film depicting French people who were helping the Germans and by so doing were furthering the bond of friendship, and cementing the ties between the two countries. The newsreel was very amusing. It was about the gallant German withdrawal in Italy, showing how everything was destroyed in the face of the advancing Allies. A scorched earth policy was in effect and the Allies would never be able to reestablish communications against such terrible destructive accomplishments by the Germans. All very interesting, but it was at least a night out.

While we were in Paris we ate very well. On the Sunday we were there they took us to an establishment where we had 15 year old champagne.  One evening they had a dinner in our honour and had fourteen guests. This dinner started at three in the afternoon and continued until seven in the evening, food and drinks were in abundance. They had managed to get a goose  somewhere on the Black Market, and we also had a delicacy called escargots, Frog legs. Very delicious too, if you don't know what they are at the time. After the final course was over, the entertainment began, several songs, many of which were communal efforts, but one girl rendered several fine solos. Some musical selections brought a very fine evening to a close. We had learned the secret why Frenchmen never seem to get intoxicated, no matter how much they consume they keep eating all the time they are drinking.

We had the odd visitor during the week. A Belgian Count spent an hour or so with us. Blondie visited twice and played a couple of games of cards. She gave us a chance to talk freely in our native tongue, and anything that might be worrying  us could be straightened out as far as was in their power to do so.

On Monday, October ll,1943 after having spent a week in the city under the very noses of the Germans, we were now to leave on a long train journey to the South and the Pyrenees. We left the apartment in Champerrai at six pm to catch a train only a mile away at ten pm. The idea was to avoid any holdup on this most important journey. Air raids were very frequent, they had to be taken in to consideration when making the final plans for moving. We last saw Blondie on a park bench where she handed us over to our next guide, a little,dark,Belgian girl. While we were sitting on the wooden seats in the park with our old and new guides, a very amusing incident happened. All of a sudden and for no apparent reason, they both threw their arms around Norman and I and to our amazement commenced to passionately-yes violently-make love to us. On regaining consciousness we learned that a known Gestapo agent was approaching only a few paces away. However, this novel disguise either convinced him that we were just average young Frenchmen out with our girlfriends, or else he had no intention of questioning us anyway. He peacefully passed by on his seemingly aimless walk through the park. This  was  a recognized disguise and apparently successful pose to adopt in very awkward moments. The incident reminded us of a lecture we had heard back in England on this Escape business when some humorous flier had entitled his talk "He kissed his way to Freedom".

Our new guide took us to a cafe for a meal about half past eight. As we came out of the restaurant at nine o'clock we saw two fellows on the far sidewalk who looked anything but French, as we probably did ourselves. The next day we met those two men, an American Sergeant Engineer off a Flying Fortress and a Sergeant Peter Smith, a navigator on a Lancaster which had been shot down over Belgium in the first week in August. The American was Sergeant John Buice and he met his waterloo over Paris on July 14, Bastille Day. 

Norman, the guide, and I entered the railway station and got a good seat in an empty carriage to Bordeaux. We now felt relieved for some reason, equipped with a collection of the latest magazines, mainly of the German sponsored type. One in particular called "Le Signal" was always a help with the Gestapo in any interviews. Spending an uneventful night we  arrived in Bordeaux half asleep at seven am. We were passed over to a man without a single word being spoken. We bad no opportunity to thank our charming little brunette guide. However, Norman has met this girl since, on several occasions, their paths often crossing as they are both employed in civilian flying. I have no doubt that he has amply thanked her for her effort in the long chain of events which ultimately lead to our return to the R.A.F.

At this stage we were now in the very capable hands of Monsieur Francois, of whom much has been written since the war.  He guided us to another train which was waiting to leave for Dax. This train was again of the cattle box variety. It was very overcrowded, much like the London Underground during the rush hours, only on a much smaller scale. We climbed aboard and got two seats directly opposite the other two flyers who had also travelled overnight on the same train but with another guide. They had been passed over in the same manner as we had been, only to Madame Francois . The people of this organized resistance took many risks and wherever possible they kept operations in the family.

On reaching Dax about nine-thirty we were shepherded out of the station onto the main roadway while Monsieur Francois produced from the baggage car, six bicycles! Poor Norman could not ride a bicycle! This possibility had not even been considered as it was taken for granted in France that you could ride a bicycle as soon as you could walk. However, he made a wonderful effort and with a little holding up he soon became an accomplished cyclist. We eventually rode fifty-five kilometres that day, in warm Southern France. The six of us mounted our bikes and rode out of the city limits. We put Norman in the middle of the party, the remainder just boxing him in. After surviving ten kms with no serious injury in spite of several falls it was decided that we have a rest and some food. Turning down a lane and into a field, selected for its obscurity from the highway, we sat down and engaged in a very enjoyable picnic. Shortly after we sat down in this little clearing two girls arrived on bikes, dressed in gaily coloured summer dresses. These two new  girls brought baskets of food, including beer, sandwiches, fruit and of course wine, hence a good meal was provided.

One of the newcomers spoke English fluently, and though I never got her name, she won the Lady's German Open Golf Tournament in 1939 and was awarded a silver swastika, engraved to commemorate the occasion. It was presented by the old man himself, De Fuhrer. I believe this lady was also Flemish and had for safety sake disappeared to this area.  She was engaged in a most dangerous hobby, but apparently enjoyed doing anything she could to further the cause. She always carried this swastika,  which on being produced, gained her admittance or else satisfied any curious Gestapo member who might happen to be inquisitive as to her particular activity at the time.

After a good rest we again set course on our cycles, now a party of  eight. It was decided we would travel in pairs, three of us riding with the three females, and one with Franco. To all intents and purposes just a happy cycling party out enjoying this beautiful morning air in the foothills of the Pyrenees, what a ride. One has to take this journey from Dax to Bayonne on a bicycle to realize the distance and seemingly endless hills to climb to appreciate that the ride is anything but a pleasure. However, I had the greatest admiration for Norman here. How he stuck it out all day up and down those hills I will never know. I, who considered myself an experienced cyclist, was very glad when the ride was over. I was just about all in when we eventually came to rest at the Cafe Pierre. The exact location was a mystery to me but it was  some considerable distance from Bayonne along the highway towards the Frontier. We arrived around ten in the evening having ridden since ten in the morning without any breaks, except the odd few minutes when we could take in the scenery safely. Franco kept urging everyone on and would retrace his steps many times to hustle on any stragglers, and there were plenty . Everyone felt sore from cycling by the time we came to the destination for that day. At this new cafe we had a meal which consisted of very small birds which I believe to this day were sparrows, some bread, grapes, and of course wine. We had a complete rest for twenty four hours, and had to be extra careful not to make any noise whatsoever as this cafe was occupied by the owner and his wife only. It was frequented during the day by numerous people who had to be kept completely unaware of the extra activity of the Cafe de Pierre. It was a matter of life and death for them, for us, just a prison camp for the rest of the time the conflict continued.

Having arrived at this cafe on October 12 we slept, or at least rested for a full day. We were aroused at five pm when a good meal was brought to the bedroom. We all had a good rest and now were prepared to carry on. At eight pm Franco and his cycling friends reappeared to once more escort us on our way, this the last lap of the French part of the journey. Our particular bunch of four escapees on signing the little record book for Pierre in his cafe earlier that afternoon completed the round figure of 200 escapees who had gone through his hands. Quite a dangerous hobby for such a respectable inn-keeper.

Just before dusk we left the Cafe Pierre in the same arrangement which proved so successful on the previous day. After riding about ten kms we turned off the main highway and into a lane. About a hundred yards along the lane we got off the bicycles and walked a little distance when suddenly we saw two tough looking characters lurking in the shadow of a tree. These were our new guides, members of the Basque Maquis, and this was the meeting place.

Franco introduced us to our new guides and all ten of us sat down inn the field and had another meal of the picnic type. There was no immediate danger so this handover was quite different from all others. It gave us an opportunity to thank these people for what they were doing and to say farewell in the appropriate manner.

Now that our last meal in France while escaping was over and all evidence destroyed, nothing remained but to press on with the overall intent, that of returning to our unit as soon as possible. Having completed that last sincere handshake, we accepted and gave best wishes for success and health. Above all else the greatest wish of these courageous people was for eventual liberation of their country by means of an Allied invasion. So at all times among patriotic Frenchmen the first toast was "A L'invasion ". After our goodbyes we then turned  and faced those mountains.

CHAPTER EIGHT:    SPAIN

 We bad been passed into the hands of professional  smugglers at about  8 pm the evening of Wednesday, October 13, 1943. The handover point ran close to the base of the mountains, overlooking the famous resort of Biarritz.

The actual transition was much like all previous work of this nature undertaken by this very courageous and well organized Escape Line. Our new guides were to see us safely across the Frontier into Spain. They collected the cold hard cash from Franco before accepting us. This was the most dangerous part of the whole trip. We walked in pairs, at some distance apart. We were all wanted men and the smugglers policy was, in the event of interception by German patrols, simply to shoot it out. These smugglers had nothing to lose by such a doctrine as undoubtedly if captured it meant certain death. This was explained to us at the time of being placed in their hands. It sounds  very thrilling some ten years afterwards,  but at the time it sounded not very healthy  to us. However, we had no choice in the matter if we wanted  their assistance,  we obeyed  their orders.

Some five hours later, after climbing several thousand feet, we stopped and admired Biarritz as it lay below us, beautiful in the autumn moonlight. On approaching the frontier, one of the advance guards thought he saw a patrol and excitement and fear ran high for a few minutes, if we had been seen a gun battle was imminent. Fortunately the alarm proved to be false. This particular part of the area was frequently patrolled by German troops with police dogs. After half an hour we moved on, frequently on our hands and knees to prevent being silhouetted on the skyline. By two am we were across the border and stood in Spain, a free country, or at least a neutral country. Was it a neutral country? We were soon to find out.

Our party of four at this stage consisted of John Buice, an American engineer on a Flying Fortress who was shot down on Bastille Day near Paris. Peter Smith, a sergeant navigator off a Lancaster who was shot down over Belgium, then Norman Fairfax, our Wireless Operator/Air Gunner and myself. After successfully making the border we were taken to a farmhouse some few hundred yards inside Spain, where we got some food, had a rest, and spent the balance of the night in the cow shed on some hay.

About ten am we decided we had enough rest and would press on with our plans.  After a glass of wine and a potato-cake  each we were shown a trail in the mountains which would lead to the highway. We reached  this road at 12:25 pm on Thursday, October 14 and found ourselves 72 kms north of Pamplona in the province of Navarra, some 10 kms south of the International border. A sentry was on duty where the trail joined the highway but he seemed more concerned in carving his name into a tree than in questioning anyone passing by. A little later on we passed a work party of about 100  troops breaking off for their lunch. They also ignored us  and we were grateful. Our feet were beginning to get sore now and we frequently rested for a few minutes to wash them in a stream which ran along  the roadside.

On reaching Elizondo we were promptly arrested and thrown into jail at 4:25 pm on the above date. All four of us in one stinking room of about 12 X12 which contained a wash basin, a toilet  and some terrible smelling blankets. That night we all curled up on the floor in our clothes as we were. The only food we got was a plate of beans and a potato. Fortunately we were not destined to remain here too long as the next afternoon we left for Pamplona seated on top of a bus. We got a wonderful view of scenery but also a very severe chilling, quite a novel mode of travel.

At our destination we were interrogated, photographed, fingerprinted and given temporary identity cards, and told to give the Franco salute now that we were in Spain. Pamplona was a modem city built since the civil war and had a population of about 30,000 people. By 3:30 pm we were given our cards and taken under armed guard from the Permit and Passport office to a police wagon.This wagon took us to a village called Lecumberri, up in the mountains but still in Navarra. On arrival we were put in an institution called a camp. It was, in fact, a commandeered hotel called the Hotel Ayestaran and was a fair size.

This place was used to accommodate refugees who were from the Low Countries and were arriving daily. As we were now aliens we found ourselves among some 30 others, mostly  French. Here we bad a room with four single beds to ourselves and though only two meals a day they were very good consisting always of plenty of fruit, mostly grapes, and a bottle of red wine to every table of four.

The first week in Lecumberri was not very exciting. We managed a brief talk with the Uruguayan Consul who happened to visit the camp on the night of October 16th. His wife took our names and numbers and was supposed to notify the British Consul of our being there and eventually our next-of-kin. John Buice received 300 Pesetas by wire from the U.S. Consul and we got 35 each as a weekly allowance from the Spanish. We also received 100 from some Mackintosh fund which arrived on the 23rd of the month. One night Norman Fairfax, who could speak Spanish quite fluently, bribed a guard to let him out to a telephone booth and in due course he contacted the British Air Attache in Madrid. They assured him that we would not be there very long, but would go to Madrid soon, and would spend a total of about three weeks in Spain before we would get home to Britain.

I wrote a letter to May on the 21st and gave it to a French Red Cross representative who informed me it would get priority via their mail channels from Portugal. It arrived two months later. We also got 20 pesetas from them the first week. During this week the internees increased by some 100 and represented ten countries with the majority being French, closely followed by Dutch and Belgians and rumoured one or two Gestapo for the Fatherland.

My notes of those day state that life was not too bad, dull, but could have been worse. We had no liberty whatsoever and were confined to the grounds with armed Carabiner watching every move you made.  Extras, such as butter, or an extra piece of bread, could be bought at a terrific price from the guards. Our time was spent playing cards or sleeping with an occasional game of table tennis, and on Sundays a brief walk in the grounds.

After a week at Lecumberri rumours were rampant that some representative of the U.S. or British Consul had arranged to visit all camps on the 15th and 25th of each month so as to make arrangements to release any Allied Escapees who may have drifted in during the past two weeks. Saturday saw the departure of the four Belgians and a little party was given by the Dutch that evening, consisting of cards with some wine they had managed to get a hold of somehow.

Sunday morning after breakfast Peter Smith and I decided to have a walk in the grounds at the rear of the hotel, a feat we had accomplished successfully a day or so previously without any trouble. However, this morning  a very scared guard saw us and accused us of trying to escape and was going to report us. Fortunately, we got out of that scrape by being completely dumb regarding the whole affair. That same morning all internees were allowed a special treat, we were allowed to visit the village, under armed guard of course. We bought some soft drinks, cookies and bananas, the first we had tasted for several years. I bought a kilo,  twelve and ate them all in five minutes.  After our walk we rested in our rooms. About 6:30pm we had a very pleasant surprise when a Czech submarine commander and a young Dutchman of about twenty, came rushing into our room breathless and bubbling over with excitement. They informed us that we were about to leave Lecumberri! During the next half hour pandemonium reigned as all and sundry were congratulating  us and trying to pack our few things as by now we had collected odd articles of clothing from various societies and organizations. In the middle of all this excitement a phone call had been put through by one of the fellows who was staying in a hotel in Pamplona. This character known as Bill Furnace-Roe was inquiring if we had any news of departing.

The train was due to leave Lecumberri at 7:06pm but did not  do so until 9:50 owing to some breakdown. We arrived at our old abode, Pamplona, at 11:15pm and were taken to the old familiar Passport and Permit Office and later to a filthy boarding house where we remained the night. This place was run by one of the Carabiner characters, and all expenses were now charged to the British Consul as hotel expenses, when in fact we were billeted in a common doss-house,  operated  by  the local "Police".

The following morning we were taken to the railway station by taxi and here met the two fellows who had been staying in Pamplona,  Bill Furnace-Roe, a Spitfire pilot and an Australian  called Roderick Mackenzie who belonged to a Mustang Squadron. Both these fellows had been in Spain six weeks, ten days in prison, the rest in this hotel. They both had received prison haircuts, which fortunately, we had avoided. We left Pamplona by train and arrived in Zaragosa at 4:20pm.  We were now with a Spanish Air Force type as a guide or rather a guard. This fellow was to all intents a very good fellow and very much an air force type in comparison to the Carabinere  guards which we previously had.

On reaching our destination we went in a horse drawn cab affair to the Spanish Air Ministry. This short trip reminded me of a similar ride I had in an Irish Jaunting car many moons ago. At the Air Ministry we were given a drink or two and the atmosphere and whole procedure was entirely different now. We were again among airmen who were, if anything, sympathetic to our cause. Our guard bore the marks of the civil war in his own country, he had lost one eye  and had  badly burnt hands.

On leaving Zaragosa we were driven by car to Alhama where after several setbacks such as lights fusing, a couple flat tires, we arrived at 11:20pm. While in Zaragosa we met the British Consul who was a Spanish American. He bought us our first square meal in days, and it cost him twenty five shillings each or about six dollars a meal for seven of us.  A disgusting  price but such was Spain in the year 1943.

In Alhama  some arrangement had been made with the owner of one of the hotels there to take care of all allied escapees for the British and Americans, and was known as the "Aircrew Hotel". It had this reputation back in Britain, consequently, we half expected to see numerous airmen all over the place on our arrival. All we found awaiting us were a mere five airmen, four RAF, and an American who had stayed with my pilot only a few weeks previously.  We figured Allison might still be in Spain too, but somewhere along the way. The RAF Air Attache was expected the following day from Madrid. Hope ran high that we would not be long here either. These new colleagues were Flight Sergeant Dowling, another Australian who had been shot down in a Wimpy while doing a trip from his Operational Training Unit. He had never got to a squadron, this was tough luck, however, he lived to tell the tale. Number two was Sergeant Cowell, a second pilot on a Halifax, shot down very early in his tour. Number three and four Sergeants Bailey and Falous were navigators on a Wimpy and Halifax respectively. The Yank was a Sergeant Beverly Guar who had been a gunner on a Fortress.

At 7:00 pm on Tuesday the 26th a fellow from the British Embassy came to visit us. He informed us we would be going in the morning on a four hour trip to Madrid. While in Alhama Sergeant Cowell who was a bit loud at the best of times made the biggest faux pas I have ever witnessed. Among the many civilians staying at the same hotel was honeymoon couple. A real peach of a babe but what an insipid looking drip she was married to. Anyway, Cowell assuming no one could speak any English made some very, to say the least complimentary remarks about the bride, and actually fancied his chances with the other sex. When the groom was out of the lounge, Cowell spoke to the bride and received a reply in perfect English, she having heard and fully understood all the remarks made about her earlier.

Three more air crew were waiting for us in Madrid, a Squadron Leader Butterfield, DFC who was a Pathfinder pilot on a Halifax Squadron. Another Canadian, a Warrant Officer called Roderick Scott, also off Halifaxes. He had been doing a very secret type of job, not the usual bombing jobs. Sergeant Hay, another navigator on a Lancaster who was a Ramsgate policeman in civilian life completed the three new acquaintances. We stayed the night at the Embassy and left the following morning at 9am. We were all fixed up with some half decent fits of used clothing while at the embassy. I came away with an overcoat which had belonged to Sir Samuel Hoare the Ambassador in Madrid at the time. It proved  a very good fit and was retained long after.

Our party now consisted of twelve all told and our mode of conveyance became a truck at this stage instead of the old cars which we had been transported in previously. The next leg of the  trip home was to Seville some 540 kms away. We stopped en route for lunch at Ecija. We arrived at Seville at midnight and were put up in the Hotel Inglaterra.  We were very tired after the long journey in an army version of a truck.

Up early we left Seville at 9:30 am on October 29th, this time for Gibraltar. Some 340 kms to go again in this hard truck. Before leaving we collected another airman, this time a Flying Officer Grant who, on his way to Gibraltar, had crashed in  Spain and awaited bailing out.

En route from Seville to Gibraltar, we passed through a place called Jerez, a small town but one which is famous for that well known sherry, Humbert and Williams sherries. Their most famous of which is called  "Dry Sack". This is an English  firm who felt it their duty as well as good publicity to take service men around their vintner and show them their merchandise. Williams was married to a Spaniard and they had three daughters all grown up, who were educated in England, and quite pleasing to the eye as they revealed their Spanish ancestry yet in a fully British style and accent. The most exciting wine we tasted was some they claimed was eighty years old, it tasted very sweet and sickly, and was very dark in colour.

The manager and his three daughters escorted the large party of fifteen, including Embassy representatives, around the vintner, in groups of about three or four. Bill Furnace-Roe and myself later engaged in a little contest to find out whether pilots or navigators could hold the most sherry. I remember distinctly sampling fourteen wines in various stages of age, including the old eighty year old Grand daddy. The manager gave each of us a half-pint bottle of the Dry Sack as a souvenir. By that time Bill and I had each obtained two extra bottles from the daughters, who seemed to enjoy the whole trip, as well as our little private contest.

All the other characters seemed too scared to indulge in our competition, and afterwards we wished we had not done so either. By this time, everyone was beginning to feel the effects, and even the Squadron Leader was letting his hair down. As for Bill and myself we were on the verge of collapse. Around 4pm our Embassy official decided it would be a good idea to eat, so off to a cafe we went. For some unexplainable reason we had fish  for supper, that was enough for Bill and on the sight of fish he just bowled over and passed out cold. Here it was agreed that pilots had had their day. I was still on my feet but not too aware of what was going on. For  example, some  character came into the cafe peddling something. His equipment gave me the impression he was a shoe shine boy. A shoeshine was just what I needed, after all, they had not been shined for many weeks. I gave him my shoes only to later  find he soled  and heeled them, this was the last thing I wanted, for one thing I had no money to pay for them. Secondly in a few hours we would  be in Gibraltar and would get a new issue. However, there we were, all sitting down to our supper which I could not eat, with Bill Furnace-Roe beside me passed out cold, and some stupid fellow goes and repairs my shoes. After appealing to all and sundry I collected five pesetas. After a lengthy argument he talking away in Spanish and me by then in rather blurred pigeon-English, I got my shoes back. The scene must have been amusing to anyone sober enough to appreciate what it was all about. While all this argument was going on Squadron Leader Butterfield learned that Bill and I each had three bottles of Dry Sack to everyone  else's single. He Immediately tried to steal one from Bill and in doing so dropped it and it broke on the floor.

We eventually set course for Gibraltar around 6:00 pm and arrived at 8:00 pm we went through customs and passed into British Territory once again exactly nine weeks and a couple hours since we set out from Hartford Bridge in England on that fateful Low Level.

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Postscript  - by Roddie MacLeod 

Writing this story ten years after it all happened from notes made at the time, and immediately after; it is now possible to fill in some of the blanks, and include a little footnote on some of the people mentioned in this drama.

Our fourth crew member "Skeets Kelly" was arrested and spent the remainder of the war in a prison camp. He and Allison after three days together and several bad frights, decided it would be safer if they broke up and each tried it on his own, that way they would stand two chances. Allison got back to England safely the week before we did. Nornan and I had other views on this solitude angle and figured we had a better chance if we stayed together. I still believe was the best method of travel, for many reasons, principally for morale purposes and secondly every idea or plan was vetted by two minds instead of just one. Frequently one would have an idea, which when hashed over would appear ridiculous in the light of criticism, and of course the opposite also applied. Boredom and loneliness was a big factor, and here I would advocate company every time, even though I still owe Norman several million Francs from gambling  debts incurred  during our  captivity.

Reni Gerrault is still in Fillievres and all his family survived the occupation safely, Yvette his sister, is married and lives close by.

Rene Gitaud and family all survived in Frevent, although the town was badly bombed by Fortresses in early 1944, when the V-Bomb sites were attacked daily by everything the Allies had. We had seen the construction work in progress the previous summer, but the target was a long distance from the town and very little excuse could be accepted for such erratic sighting, or rather indiscriminate  bombing.

Madame Payen and family from Arras escaped in one piece, although Leone was arrested in September 1944, when the Germans made what appeared a large round up of suspected and known members of  the  Maquis. When arrested and kept in prison some six weeks, she was raped many times by German troops. The prison was captured by the British in 1944 and she eventually was released.

The Mayor of Bapume, Monsieur Guidet was arrested and died in Silesia that winter of  43-44.

Here I will repeat a statement for what it is worth, I have never been able to confirm or deny this rumour. The German military governor of Arras during the occupation was in fact a British Major in the Intelligence Corps, and who held the rank of a full Colonel in the German Army. I was told this story threes times, once in 43 while escaping, and twice in 44, when Norman and myself visited all those people in that district around Arras and Bapume County.

Monsieur and Madame Ancet or Guyot with whom I stayed in Prevent were well and their son also.

Madeline in Bapume survived and her husband returned from five long years in a concentration camp, weak, but none the less in good spirits. Her son also escaped captivity, all returning to their homes as soon as France was liberated.

Madame Blanche was never suspected or arrested, neither was the Count in Paris. Blondie and Madame Hochepied both were, the former died, while the latter lost all her property, which was captured and plundered by the Germans. She was almost ruined in health by her captivity, and spent long stretches in hospitals since. Today she is almost destitute, and in her own words relies on her friends almost entirely for support. Her health failing she has been described by an airman who has visited her recently in Paris as "A sorry sight".

The little brunette guide survived,  also Franco and his entourage  in the South. Numerous British decorations and awards, were meted out to these people, and some American awards also, but as one of them so aptly said, "You cannot eat the Order of the British Empire". Many lost all property and any assets they may have had, and if captured also their health, if not their life.

These people were all civilians and most were connected solely with the now famous Escape Line, referred to as the Comet line. Many of them died solely because they assisted Allied Airmen escape. They were not under any obligation in particular to risk their lives for us, not many airmen returned anyway, only about a thousand or so. When I think that these people could be alive today if they had not aided us Allies in our endeavour, it makes me realize that I at least owe the fact that I did not have to spend two years in a Prisoner of War Camp, and if not my actual life, to these gallant people who lost theirs in the process. This fact I shall never forget, nor many other airmen either. We went back the next year and completed our second tour of operational flying from their countryside. I feel that I am speaking for all Escaped Fliers, when I say that should that great country ever again be in need of any assistance that we might be able to render in our small way, well then "WE SHALL BE  THERE".

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Postscript  by Valerie May Lange

Roddie returned to active duty until the end of the war, flying bombing missions again as if nothing had happened. He then returned to the Oxford City Police force, but by 1946 was again looking for a career change. This time he and May bought a boarding house in the seaside resort of Rhyl in Wales. By now the family had grown to include Kathleen Mabel Patricia (Mabel) born September 13th,1943, Doreen Christina, July 8th,1945 and Melvyn Roderick, January 25th, 1947.

Roddie decided to return to Canada, even though he could not remember what the country was like. Correspondence with the Watchorn cousins had assured him a job on one of their farms if be made it as far as Saskatchewan. He set out in the spring of 1947, promising to send for May and the children once he had settled. His visit to Saskatchewan convinced him that they could not live there, so he went on to some more cousins in Carmangay, Alberta.

Roddy reached Carmangay and met up with his cousin Fergie MacTavish. He did not have enough money to buy farm land so instead bought the Meat Market and Locker Plant in the neighboring town of Champion. Home freezers weren't readily available yet so every farmer rented a locker in the local meat market. It was a large walk-in freezer with what looked like stacked cages. These individual cages were rented annually to the local farmers. The farmers brought their cow or pig into town and the local butcher, in this case, Roddie,would slaughter it, cut and wrap the meat and place it in their lockers. I remember there was sawdust on the floor and the store was open every day but Sunday.

In November, 1947, May and four children landed in Halifax. May had no idea of the size of the country she had to cross to join her husband. Roddie had planned to meet them in Halifax but in the end caught up to them in Ottawa. They traveled by train to Winnipeg, where they visited with Ernie Stanley, a cousin from Ireland who was with the  R.C.M.P.  After a few days, they continued their train journey and arrived in Champion. Roddie bought a house on the edge of town in what was known as the Subdivision. The house was typical of the time complete with outhouse in the backyard and no running water.

September, 1948, saw the arrival of another son, Alan Barry. A third son, Ian Brent, was born in February 1950. He died of infant influenza in February, 1951. Ian is buried in the Champion graveyard.

Home freezers were beginning to make their appearance on farms and Roddie found lifting half carcasses of beef not at all easy on his back. He therefore enlisted in the R.C.A.F., who gave him credit for his wartime R.A.F. experience. He became an air traffic controller and his first posting  was to Rivers, Manitoba. He rented the meat market to a young Irishman by  the name of Micheal Kelly who had been helping in the store for a year. May and the children had planned to join Roddie in Rivers in the summer of 1951 but  the polio epidemic of that year halted all travel until the fall, when the scare  was over. On the day they left Champion, water and sewer were hooked up in the house they left.

Their years in Rivers saw the completion of their family with the birth of Colin Neil,  August 3rd, 1953, and Kevin Andrew , January 11th,1957.

In 1957, Roddie was transferred to Mynarski Park at Penhold , Alberta, and then in 1962, back to Portage La Prairie in Manitoba. In 1964  Paul  Hellyer, the Minister of Defence, initiated a plan to reduce the number of Armed Services. As a result of this plan Roddy was given early retirement. He, May and four boys moved to Calgary. Both Valerie and Mabel were married, and Doreen was working in Winnipeg . Roddie went to work with North American Life selling life insurance.

After a year, he applied to C.I.D.A. (Canadian International Development Association) to teach air traffic control in developing countries. He was sent to Nairobi, Africa in the spring of 1965. May and the boys waited for school to finish and the arrival of the first grandchild, Wayne, born to Mabel and Marvin  Reeves in July,1965.

Their tour in Africa ended in 1972, and they returned to Calgary. Roddie joined the Alberta Liquor Control Board as a clerk. He worked with them until his untimely death in January,1977.

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Postscript by Colin MacLeod

In addition to the links I have put in the story, while digitizing this I have found a number of additional resources,:

A map of the routes used by the underground:

                              *From the Book of J.Cl. Galerne "The Forest of Fréteval - The Heart of Comet Network", 2014

One of several web sites dedicated to this Trail.

A list of the members of the Underground captured and executed by the Germans.

A directory of the names of the Allied Military that escaped through this network. My father's was passage # 62 on the 14 October 1943.

A detailed description of the route, farmhouses and buildings used through the Pyrenees. 

Details on a Commemorative Hike of this line, completed every year.

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