大象传媒

HOLDING HANDS WITH THE ENEMY

1940

At 16 years of age I was young enough to be an evacuee myself, but 1940 saw me enrolled as a Student Nursery Nurse receiving around 30 bewildered children from the east end of London to a 鈥榮afe鈥� stately home in Surrey. Matron was a frighteningly efficient Sister from Great Ormond Street.

I have vivid memories of night duty, alone and the only person awake, creeping around the cots and turning a tiny spot of light from a partly blacked out torch on to the sleeping faces of those desperately home-sick children, all under five years old.

April 9 1941

I was billeted in the Head Gardener鈥檚 cottage , and one night, after a hard day鈥檚 work and only a couple of hours off duty, I was woken from a deep sleep by what I thought was the whistle of a bomb. Instead of the expected explosion there was an enormous thump followed by a long silence. Then I heard a distant, faint voice calling through the stillness.

The burly figure of the Head Gardener, Dickin, appeared in my doorway. He asked me to bring the blanket from my bed and follow him. Still drugged with sleep, I staggered behind him down the garden path, clutching my blanket. We crossed the road and pushed through a hedge into the field beyond, where we were confronted with a sight I could barely comprehend.

Distinctly visible in the bright moonlight were the fuselage and tail of a German bomber embedded in the field, the broken wings hanging grotesquely in nearby trees. With enemy planes still droning overhead we stood momentarily transfixed 鈥� the Swastika and black cross stood out on their white backgrounds and made me shake with fear 鈥攂ut a figure lying half in and half out of the plane took our attention.

As we approached it became clear that although obviously badly injured he was still alive. With as much care as possible we got the young man out, laid him on the damp grass and put the blanket
over him.

Warning me to look out for other crew members, Dickin set off back to the house to telephone the ARP. Left alone, I sat there holding the boy鈥檚 hand for what seemed an eternity. I comforted him as best I could, but I knew he couldn鈥檛 understand me. He was very weak but now and again he uttered a few words, unintelligible to me. However, when I tried to move away, as instructed, to see if there were any other crew, he held my hand more tightly, crying pitifully but in distinct English 鈥� Missy, Missy.鈥�

Eventually Dickin returned, and walking round the wreckage discovered the pilot dead in the cockpit, which was partly submerged in a grassy swamp. I continued to hold the boy鈥檚 hand and talk to him for another seemingly endless wait until at last the Army arrived. Guards were put on the plane, and I watched as the young man, still wrapped in my blanket, was put in an ambulance and driven away.

Summer 1996

Over the years I had often thought about 鈥榤y鈥� survivor, as I liked to think of him, wondering whether or not he had pulled through. Fifty-five years on, and now living in neighbouring
Sussex, I felt a strong urge to revisit the scene.

I found the field easily and it was an extraordinary sensation to be there again, especially as the grassy swamp I remembered was still there. I decided to see if the local museum had any record of the crash, but disappointingly there was none.The curator was not there that day, but afterwards I wrote to the museum asking them to contact me should anything come to light.

To my amazement, within a week I received a letter from the present owner of the field who had been contacted by the museum curator. It was a letter bubbling over with excitement. This lady had spent the previous two years investigating the tragedy that had happened on her land all those years ago, and with information gleaned from locals, from War Office records and other sources in the UK and in Germany had virtually completed her project.

The details were all there 鈥� of the RAF fighter and its crew that shot down the plane 鈥� of the bomber itself ( a Heinkel 111) and鈥�.. details of the four German crew. It is difficult to describe my feelings at the moment when I learned that 鈥榤y鈥� survivor was Heinrich Berg, the wireless operator of the plane, who was still alive and living near Munster.

He had sent the landowner a wartime photograph of himself in uniform. When she showed it to me the years rolled away, and I was back in the field looking down at that handsome young face.

Even harder to express is how I felt on receipt, a few weeks later, of a most beautiful
bouquet of flowers bearing the simple message 鈥楧anke Schon!鈥� from the German airman.

April 9 1997

The land owner鈥檚 painstaking research had been for a specific purpose 鈥� she planned to erect a memorial on the very spot where the Heinkel had crashed 鈥� a bronze statue of an 鈥榰nknown鈥� airman, dedicated to the three boys who had perished there, but also in honour of all young lives lost to war.

The unveiling took place at a private ceremony on a beautiful spring morning exactly 56 years on. It was an incredibly moving occasion and I felt privileged to be there. Sadly Heinrich was unable to attend 鈥� he had never fully recovered from his injuries and could not make the journey to England鈥�.

April 9 1998

鈥�.But, my daughter insisted, I could make the journey to Germany! And so it was that I was finally reunited with鈥榤y鈥� survivor, on the 57th anniversary of our encounter on a moonlit night in a field in Surrey.

On the journey out with my daughter I suddenly felt apprehensive. Whatever was I thinking of?
I didn鈥檛 know this man at all 鈥� I feared we would have nothing in common, that we would have nothing to say to each other, that even if we did, the language barrier would be too great.

I needn鈥檛 have worried. Heinrich, his daughter,son-in-law and two teenage grandsons welcomed me with open arms. Heinrich was charming, softly spoken and yes 鈥� still handsome! 鈥� with a twinkle in his eye and a ready smile despite being more or less confined to a wheelchair. We talked and talked, his grandsons interpreting enthusiastically, and all the while we held hands as we had done all those years ago.

It was a very emotional meeting, made more poignant by the words of Heinrich鈥檚 son-in-law as we were leaving. 鈥淵ou realize, don鈥檛 you, that that if you had not come to his rescue my father-in-law would almost certainly have died that night, and I would not be here now with my lovely wife and sons.鈥�
鈥︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌�.

Post Script October 2005

Since that day 8 years ago Heinrich and I have been corresponding regularly. We write about
everyday ordinary things 鈥� our families, our gardens, the inevitable aches and pains that go with getting old. But we also have a lively dialogue about world events, and we write about our mutual despair at the futility of war, and of our shared hope for a more tolerant and peaceful world for our
grandchildrens鈥� generation and beyond.

It is a very special relationship, and I am forever indebted to the lovely lady landowner in Surrey who made it possible.

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