大象传媒

We were being marched east from camp 457 Fallingbostell, because the British troops were approaching fast from the west. One early evening, at dusk, three of us decided to make our escape from the column and had now been walking westward for some days 鈥� free!

Woken early in the morning by strange repetitive rasping sounds, Mike crept out of our small spinney to investigate. He soon returned with a smile on his face.
鈥淩uddy herd of cows on the edge of the wood,鈥� he announced, and amused and relieved we at once recognised country sounds at their face value, being ever suspicious of every unusual noise from whatever quarter.
Following a brief breakfast and a drink from the river we set off down-stream still on the lookout for a boat. In the warm sunshine our great coats were becoming a burden, but lumbered as we were with our few treasured possessions we preferred to wear them rather than carry them. The nights were still cold, and they had become part of our life.
We walked all day, crossing small streams and ditches and forcing our way through thick undergrowth where woods came down to the river bank, the only sign of life the occasional river barge.
Towards evening we came upon a huge barn set back from the river, and having reluctantly given up any hope of continuing our advance, decided to make this our base pending the arrival of our troops which we felt was imminent. The barn had two floors with a ladder up to the loft, and on the ground floor were the visible signs of over-wintered cattle with the accompanying troughs and hay-racks still in position. In one corner was a pile of old turnips which might come in useful should our stay be prolonged.
This seemed the ideal hide-out and climbing the rickety ladder we were delighted to find the loft two feet deep in hay. It was all very comfortable compared with many of our previous resting places, and we were prepared to sit it out for a week or more if necessary. We had seen nobody for days and now that the cattle had gone to the fields the barn was no longer in regular use.
We were probably more cheerful than we had been for the whole of our journey, feeling very relaxed, luxuriating on our soft bed of hay discussing the now distinct possibility of a happy end to our exertions. We fell to wondering where our fellow members on the original march had finished up and whether they were now as many miles East as we were West, and how many others had seized the opportunity of escaping from the marching column and how they had fared.
And then Buzz raised a point which caused us to rethink our position. 鈥淚 suppose you realise,鈥� he said, 鈥渢hat this barn will be one of the first landmarks that our tanks and gunners will take out!鈥�
鈥淵ou mean they might think it could be used as an observation point by the enemy,鈥� I answered.
鈥淵es,鈥� he replied, 鈥渂ecause it鈥檚 probably the only high point for miles around in this flat valley.鈥� This distinct possibility was a cause for some concern, and then Mike added, 鈥淲hatever happens, we could very well finish up in the thick of it when the time comes. They might even send in a Typhoon to take it out!鈥�
We had nearly made it, and the thought of having come so far to be wiped out by our own troops was a sobering thought. We decided to lie low and wait events and if necessary vacate the barn and return to open country where we might feet safer. We considered it unlikely that this quiet backwater would be the scene of a major operation in river crossing, and that it was more likely that the town with bridges would take the brunt of the attack.
As night fell, it became clear that we had not imagined the shimmering glow of the previous evening. From our vantage point the western horizon came suddenly to life in the gathering darkness, the distant rise and fall of flickering light boring into our eyes. Faintly, carried on the wind came the short sharp note of gunfire as distinct from the thud of bombs and we knew it would not be long.
We slept well that night on our bed of hay, and early next morning scoured the local countryside for anything faintly edible as a change from our stable diet of potatoes, but with little luck. We had now entered into a confident routine of resting from our labours, alert yet relaxed. We could do no more but just wait patiently for something to happen.
Early in the afternoon something happened which was to freeze our blood. We had been talking quietly, when as with a sixth sense all conversation suddenly ceased; in absolute silence, ears cocked, the distant sound returned to stun the brain - 鈥淛erries!鈥�

Leaping up, we rushed to the side of the barn to peer between the riven timbers. German soldiers, fuily equipped with all sorts of battle-gear were entering the field.
There was no escape. Any attempt to leave the cover of the barn would be seen and we knew that any running figure was liable to bring out the worst in the enemy. We were trapped by this least expected invasion of our privacy, but it proved to us beyond a shadow of doubt that the British 2nd Army was not far off.
There was nothing for it, and after a hurried consultation we decided to bury ourselves under the hay and hope for the best.
All that afternoon, from the depths of the hay, we listened to the clinking of tools as the Jerries dug themselves in around the curve of the river bank. We had no idea of the passage of time, or light and dark, but listening to the sounds of heavy boots on the creaking ladder, we realised that the hay loft was suddenly full of German soldiers coming off duty. The muffled -voices and heavy thuds as they flung off their webbing penetrated our dusty world, and nerves jangling we waited for the discovery that did not come.
Finally, all movement ceased and we presumed that the soldiers had settled down for the night as the weight above us was now considerable. The sudden alarm and fear we had at first experienced had long since departed, and now that we were in the hands of fate a strange composure had overtaken us, calming our shattered nerves.
Conversation was impossible, and trying desperately not to cough or sneeze we attempted to sleep, but sleep might bring on the risk of snoring, and silence was essential. We need not have bothered as those above us filled the barn with grunts and noisy expulsions of wind throughout the night. We slept little, waiting only for the long night to be over, to be relieved of the incessant weight bearing down upon us.
Anxiety returned as with loud shouts and heavy movements the throng above us gathered their kit together and descended the ladder to the floor below. After a few minutes, silence reigned, as voices trailed off into the distance and muffled sounds of activity along the river bank recommenced. 鈥淚 think they鈥檝e all gone!鈥� I whispered to Buzz who was lying next to me. 鈥淚鈥檓 going to have a look,鈥� and carefully raising my head to peer through the layers of hay, discovered that we were at last alone.
Rising silently from my hidden bed, I advanced to the top of the ladder and looked down. Below me sat a German major and two other officers seated at a small table covered with maps. Unknown to us, the barn had become headquarters for a regiment of Marines making a last stand at the river.
Beating a hasty but silent retreat, I returned to my lair under the hay and told the others what I had seen.
Shortly afterwards, a Jerry soldier returning to the loft, perhaps to retrieve something he had left behind, missed his footing and fell down in the hole between Buzz and myself, thus exposing both of us to his startled gaze. 鈥淕ott in Himmel!鈥� he exclaimed, his face visibly blanching as he hastily recoiled and recovered his balance to stand over us in a somewhat threatening manner.
We were at a disadvantage, but at our sudden appearance he was probably more shocked than we were and in an immediate attempt to treat the whole affair as a joke we started laughing as a relief from the build up of tension, which, under the circumstances was probably the best thing we could have done. With an uncertain smile, the soldier s face brightened, and smiling broadly he began to see the humour of the occasion.
Our final denouement had been no great shock to us, we had been expecting it since the evening before, and to be honest we were relieved that the tension was over, though of course still uncertain of our future.
Rising stiffly from the wisps of hay we accompanied him down the ladder to stand before the German officers proclaiming ourselves
鈥楰riegsgefangenen鈥�, so that no doubt could arise as to our status.
Introducing us, the German soldier with some amusement, explained our presence, whereupon the officers fortunately responded in similar fashion, and after considerable discussion among themselves took our word that we were British P.O.W.s.
It was lucky that the senior officer was well versed in the rights of prisoners and even more fortunate that he was a member of a Marine regiment and not an SS regiment when things might have been very different.
Having been finally accepted for what we were, we marked the occasion by handing round our few English cigarettes which were accepted with alacrity.

Discussing how lucky we were to have been recaptured by regular soldiers, we decided that the future looked reasonably bright as we were marched off with a platoon of soldiers to a farm some distance away. The only sour note was that they lumbered each of us with a large black box of machine gun ammunition which we were forced to carry with some difficulty, but that was only a reflection of the German mentality to prove that they were still the masters. Upon leaving the barn field, a quick glance round soon accounted for the sounds of activity which had earlier filtered through to our hiding place. Dispersed along the river bank, well dug in, were the guns and equipment of a well organised force. Somehow we hoped our captors would survive the battle to come.
On our arrival at the farm, which obviously contained the cook- house facilities, we were to receive our first real food since we had escaped, and we sat in the sun in the farmyard feeling moderately cheerful. Mike, holding aloft a precious sausage and extolling the virtues of our first frankfurter, shouted in sudden fury, as in the wink of an eye the prize was plucked from his outstretched hand. Like lightning, a cockerel scratching about nearby, had leapt into the air and with remarkable agility snatched the offered tidbit to race off across the farmyard at high speed, leaving Mike empty handed. The Jerries seated nearby laughed like drains at his obvious displeasure, and we realised that we ourselves had not had the occasion to laugh aloud for ages.
A little later, two Jerries, who had been detailed to commandeer a horse and wagon from the farmer, gestured to us to jump up and we climbed into the long blue high-sided cart, which as Buzz remarked with some irony, looked remarkably like a coffin.
With one Jerry leaning up against the front of the cart whipping up the horse, we set off, to where we knew not. The second Jerry was posted as 鈥榣ook-out鈥� at the rear of the wagon, though we did not immediately appreciate the significance of this precaution. In this distinctly uncomfortable vehicle we were to travel most of the day, but it was marginally better that walking.

This account has been adapted from my book, 鈥淭hat Split Eternal Second鈥� (by Anthony Partridge) ISBN 1844262243 (available from bookshops/amazon)

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