大象传媒

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EXTRACT FROM MY BOOK TITLED: YEARS NOT WASTED 1940-1945.

I was taken prisoner in Belgium in 1940 and spent the next five years in Poland. Being a private I was put to work. There were plenty of oportunites of escape but the chances of success were slight. I was given a chance when asked to help in the escape of two RAF personnel, using one of the escape routes reserved for those whose war- time skills gave them priority. I had heard vaguely of such escape routes , labelled enviously ' the armchair route' My role was to be that of escort Lucky me! We were provided with false papers, civilian clothes,money and on arrival in Danzig we would have some local help in boarding a Swedish ship.

Unfortunately something happened with the escape route and the planned escape was cancelled. Those in charge asked me however would I wish to take my chance on my own. I had no hesitation in saying yes. I left Fort 13 on a working party .My failure to return with the working party would not be discovered till morning roll call the following day. Sometime before we were due to finish work I slipped away to a pre-arranged hiding place up in the rafters of a shed. I remained there till just before dawn when I donned civilian clothes and walked to the railway station .I purchased a ticket and caught the early morning train to Danzig. All went well,the station was crowded with passengers and nobody took any notice of me. But when seated in the train packed shoulder to shoulder, those on either side of me began to complain about my coat. It was of a fluffy material and some it was coming off onto their clothes. I made do an apology and pretended to sleep. In Danzig I had to kill time before making contact with the Pole who was to help me. I went to a cinema, where I made a mistake of lighting up a cigarette. I was unaware that smoking in cinemas was forbidden. The usherette imediately appeared and ordered me to extinguish my cigarette. Fortunately I was able to leave and hurry away.

My meeting later that evening with my Polish contact confirmed what I had been given to expect: I would have to rely on my own devices. It was decided to take me to somebody else's house where I made my first acquaintance with a duvet. Blanket-less, sheet-less, pyjamas-less, I slept well.

My chances of boarding a ship depended on gathering some information about the docks. I began to reconnoitre and, in the course of doing so, came across some British POWS at work. I had an idea. I could solve my problem of having somewhere to eat and sleep safely if one of the men in the working party wanted to spend the night outside. We could change clothes and identities, shorthly before the working day and again in the morning. So I found myself quite unexpetedly, once again marching through the gates of a POW camp. It was a most odd sensation to be on the run and yet to be standing on parade for roll-call and to be counted by a unsuspecting German guard.

I had found an easy way of approaching the dockside where Swedish vessels were tied up, but it was not one I could use in reverse. I was taking my chance on a single throw. I might have been wiser to give myself more time to weigh up alternative ways of getting on board, and of returning, perhaps in daylight when te dock would not have been so deserted. Against that had to be weighed the possibility of some mishap, depriving me of even a single chance. I was learning how easily mishaps could occur. I had already nearly slipped up in the cinema by smoking. I had also experienced an awkward moment in a post office when sending a telegram to my contact. I had not been expecting the question, shot at me very quickly by the lady at the counter - dringendes oder einfaches? She wanted to know whether the telegram was to be sent at express or ordinary rate - fortunately a question which quite naturally required a moment's reflection. I hesitated, unsure what was meant, then, recovering my wits, answered 'einfaches' - ordinary rate. I concluded that, on balance, the sooner I attempted to get on board ship the better.

Access to the dockside was by dropping from a road bridge spanning the railway track used by trains travelling to and from the quayside. It was relatively simple to drop on to one of the wagons. But once done, there was no going back. Since it was case of now or never, I had discarded the civlilian clothes and destroyed my identity card. I had chosen night time because I had thought that would give me more cover. I made my way to the quayside and from my hiding place I could see- it was a wonderful sight- a Swedish boat, its dimly lit gangway inviting me on board. I could see no sign of a sentry, nor was anybody else in sight. Although it looked a bit too quiet, almost unreal, it seemed that here was my chance , and I took it. But, as I moved out to cross the open ground which lay between me and the gangway, from somewhere there appeared an armed guard. There was no possibility of bluff - I was after all in uniform. I thought of attempting to overpower him and of pushing him into the dock, but then the hunt would be on for me and there was no escaping it.

The next day I was interrogated. It was my first experience of the more subtle forms of questioning. I was expecting the usual storm of verbal abuse, even physical assault. I was merely asked to explain how I escaped, made my way to Danzig and entered the docks. My story, obviously, invented, was not contested.

Disclaimer:
This is Zena Roddom submitting this story for Keith Panter-Brick

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