大象传媒

Farmers in France were desperately short of labour, and Kelly was a hard working fellow, and probably the farmer thought I wanted Kelly to come away with me. I lay all night, wet and miserable, trying to form some sort of plan. Gradually it was beginning to dawn on me that the British were away from France, and there was no chance of getting into contact with the British Authorities. During the spring I had been billeted at a small village called Cysoing on the Belgium frontier where I had made firm friends with some of the people. I decided to make for Cysoing, and find out from them exactly how matters stood. I knew the Cysoing district fairly well as we had done a good deal of marching there, and I had been stationed at an outpost ten kilometres beyond the Maginot Line. Early next morning I left the farm without having seen Kelly and cycled steadily on all day. I had only 35 francs (about 3/- (15 n.p.)) in my possession, and was worried about it. I stopped at a town called Douia where I had a glass of beer and some bread. I arrived in Cysoing in the late afternoon and went to look for the folks I knew. I met the daughter Jean and she took me to the house. The village is one of the few in that region which was not devastated and was intact. The Germans had passed through with heavy tanks, but had done no material damage at all. I had a meal with my friends, and heard about the Armistice terms. They also told me that the Death Penalty was enforced for anyone who helped or sheltered British soldiers in any way. I wanted to leave at once, but they would not hear of it, and hid me in a cellar for the night. The next day rain came down in torrents, and I lay low all the time. About five o'clock the sky cleared, and I decided to leave at once. Madam gave me 108 francs, a clean shirt, socks and overalls.
They had washed my clothes for me and gave me a parcel of food. The food and the clean clothes I packed up and strapped to the back of my bicycle. I had got a certain amount of information, and now knew it was impossible to get through to the Channel ports. It seemed as if the only thing I could do was take a farm job, and lie low for a while. I cycled back to Beauvais and through Lille keeping to the main road all the time. I crossed the Somme at Corbie and saw Germans everywhere, but was never stopped once. I was dressed as a peasant, and there were plenty of them
cycling round the countryside looking for bread. I had a vile cold and was starting to feel really done up. However, I kept on
towards Paris, and all the time my mind went round and round trying to plan an escape from France. I did not want to work on French farms until the end of the War, but I could not see a way out. One evening I passed through St. Denis on the outskirts of Paris, and had rather a bad fright there. There was a wood between St. Denis and Versailles and I turned down a lane and lay down under the trees to try to get some sleep. I had a pretty bad cough and every time I coughed a dog barked. I knew there must be people near, but I was too tired and fed- up to trouble. I dozed off and on all night, and in the early morning I came out of the wood and looked down the lane. At
the bottom there was a notice board and in German in huge lettering meaning "Prison Camp". I saw the German sentries on guard, and inside the barrier men were walking about, beating their arms and stamping their feet, to keep Warm. I did not loiter and got away as quickly as I could. Just hard necked again bid the sentry Don Matin and kept going.
I took the main road again and cycled on until noon when I stopped and bought some bread. I had now only about I/- (5p) in my possession so I knew I had to take a farm job. About fourteen kilometres from the town of Loches I went into a farm and asked for work. The farmer took me on and I worked about the farm cleaning out the byres and stables, cutting thistles and chopping wood. Both the farmer and his wife were decent folks, and were good to me. I got plenty of good food and my quarters were fairly clean and comfortable. Actually I was better fed and more comfortable than I had been for weeks, but after the first few days I began to worry again about getting out of France. I found the Demarcation Line was two kilometres from Loches and I thought it would be healthier in the unoccupied zone. Marseilles began to figure largely in my mind as I told the farmer if I could reach Marseilles I would get a ship. He did not put any obstacle in my way, and on Sunday, 21st July, I left the farm. The farmer showed me the road to Loches and I passed through the town in the early forenoon. There was a French garrison stationed in the town and a number of soldiers were hanging around looking pretty glum and miserable. The French poilu is quite a decent fellow and he never got much a chance to show his worth. France at this time was in a state of utter confusion and officials did not know where to turn. This confusion made things very easy for me and I cycled from place to place absolutely unmolested. On my way to Marseilles I passed through Chartes, Tours, Chartereus and Valence without hindrance. Sleeping under the stars, wet or fine, began to feel the lice biting by this time, no wash or change of clothes for weeks. I was following the Rhone valley and on the direct route to Marseilles. I had very little money and I tried to beg food, but the people were surly and would not give me any. On the Friday evening I was about fifty kilometres from the port and felt so tired and ill that I could go no further. I turned into a little farm and asked for permission to sleep there. The farmer was an Italian who had settled in France after the Great War. He took me into his house and gave me a meal I'll never forget. There was soup, meat and potatoes, poached egg, bread, and to finish up with the most delicious peaches. This was the only hospitality I received in the unoccupied zone. I left the Italian early on the Saturday morning on the last lap of my journey. It was a clear sunny morning, the birds were singing and the countryside was beautiful. My spirits kept on soaring and I felt as if my troubles were nearly at an end. Little did I think that the worst was still to come. I banked on being home again by the end of August.

I was about five kilometres from Marseilles when I saw two gendarmes on the roadside. They shouted to me to halt so I dismounted and then they asked me for "Papiers", which, of course, I did not have. I started to explain in my "pigeon" French that I had no "Papiers" and that I was a Czech sailor, my ship had been sunk at Boulogne, and consequently I had lost everything including "Papiers". It was no good - they asked me what I had been doing in France since the ship had sunk and I told them working on farms. They said to get back and work on farms again. I tried to argue with them saying I would get a ship at Marseilles, but it was no good. It was here a giant of a man drew his revolver and told me to get going or else. I found discretion the better part of valour. They gabbled at me in rapid French which I did not follow except I gathered they were not allowing me past without papers. I cycled back again for a kilometre and sat down by the roadside. I felt desperate - here was I within reach of the port and I could not get past the gendarmes. However, I started to look about me and the idea to cross over the fields and make a detour took shape in my mind. I crossed two large fields and then a small wood. In the wood I put on clean clothes and left the others I had on. The wood lay alongside a rough stone road and I started to cycle along it. To my great satisfaction it joined the main road about a kilometre past the gendarmes' post. My spirits soared again, and I felt quite light hearted when at half past four on the Saturday afternoon I cycled into Marseilles. The shops were open, people walking about all dressed up, cafes busy and the swimming pool was going full swing. No War here? It was almost impossible to think there had been any War. Certainly at that time it had not touched Marseilles. I made straight for the Docks looking for a British or American ship, but the few ships in the Harbour flew the French flag. I sat down on a bench feeling a bit upset as I had very little money. There was a rotten smell, maybe the rotten smell was me - the people were turning their noses up at me - I wouldn't know, and as I sat watching the people pass I though I had never seen so many evil looking faces. No one paid the slightest attention to me, and I fell fast asleep. I woke up with someone flashing a torch in my face and the dreaded word "Papiers" ringing in my ears. It was quite dark, but by the light of the torch I could see I had fallen into the hands of a "Garde Mobile". He started to question me, and although I could not understand him I
started to tell the yarn about being a Czech sailor again. He seemed puzzled as to what to do, but made me get into the side car of his motor cycle, and he fixed my bicycle at the side so that I could hold it. I was taken into a jail in the town, and shoved into a cell with some Spanish Communists and three sneak thieves. In the next cell there were between 40 and 50 prostitutes who had been rounded up by the police. They were shouting, laughing and singing. The smell, noise, heat and fleas were ghastly, the water was pouring down the walls of the cell, but I managed to fall asleep in the midst of it all and so forgot my miserable plight for a bit. In the morning I was brought before the Magistrate and charged with being a foreign subject who had entered France without Papers. There was an Interpreter in the Court, and I told him I was a British soldier who had come to France to fight with them. I was thoroughly fed-up by this time and felt like murdering the lot - glad I didn't. The Magistrate and the Interpreter had a swift gesticulating conversation to which the French are so inclined, but 1 could not follow what they said. I did hear the words "Fort St. Jean" and was conscious of that queer sinking feeling. The Magistrate turned to me, and pointing to a door at the side of the Court room, said "Allez". I went through the door and found myself in a small room. Shortly afterwards a Garde Mobile came and signalled me to go with him. We went outside into a Court yard where a motor cycle and side-car stood. I got into the side-car and we started off. I knew by this time that I was going as a prisoner to Fort St. Jean and the only thing I could remember about the Fort was that prisoners never did less than a five year stretch there. The Garde was really a decent fellow and on the road up to the Fort he stopped at a tobacco shop and bought me a 20 packet of cigarettes. Fort St. Jean is, besides being a prison, the Depot of the French Foreign Legion, and this fact was to play quite a big part in my subsequent escape. It is a big grim looking Fort, and is actually situated on an island which is connected to the mainland by means of a drawbridge. We passed over this drawbridge and through the first gate where two Senegalese sentries were posted. We turned right along a winding passage at the end of which we turned right again, and entered a dark cobbled tunnel about 40 yards long. When we got out of the tunnel we turned left for another twenty yards and up a sharp incline. At the top of the incline were two iron gates at which were posted Legion sentries. We passed through the gates, and I was a prisoner in the Fort St. Jean.

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