大象传媒

I could hear a girl's voice singing "J'ai Tendre" in French... I had never heard the song before and it sounded so beautiful and sad to my prisoner's ears. As I slowly came to my senses I began to remember where I was and why.

I was in Italy, it was 1943 and I was attempting to get back to the allied lines and the previous day the Germans had thrown me into this temporary cell, the cell being a strong, stone built lock, up garage. I was heavily guarded as the Germans thought I was dangerous. I had got into a fight with a German colonel who I was unfortunate enough to
came face to face with while I was attempting to escape and he was attempting to shoot rabbits. He managed to shoot me instead, but not before I'd inflicted him with a black eye and various other injuries.

After being interrogated and accused of being a spy and a sabotuer I was told that I would be shot. It hadn't quite sunk in yet and as I sat digging the hundreds of shot-gun pellets from my head, back, arms and shoulders I thought to myself "Well, I've already been that" I was literally peppered and I wasn't really feeling all that frivolous.

I had recieved no medical attention for my wounds. The Germans probably thought it not worthwhile to treat me if I was about to be executed

I'm not sure for how long I was imprisoned there, probably just over a week and everyday the French girl in the room above would sing her sad songs. I don't know if she was able to hear me but if she sang a song that I knew I would join in. It helped pass the time and keep my spirits up.

One day I was being escorted to the toilet by a gawky lad of about eighteen. This necessitated going through the main building, down some stone steps and out into an enclosed yard.

I led the way, covered by the sentry's Shmiesser but when we were descending the steps he must have been watching me instead of where he was putting his feet. He slipped and landed flat on his back. His gun flew from his grasp, skidded over the cobbles and came to rest at my feet. The look on the lad's face was a sight to behold. He thought his last hour on earth had come. I placed my foot deliberately on the gun and looked down into the frightened eyes of the fallen warrior.

Now if I had been John Wayne or Errol Flynn or some other movie hero I might have snatched up the gun and blasted my way to freedom taking the French girl with me to some romantic spot in the mountains. But this being the real world and me being no kind of a hero I just kicked the gun back to him with a grin.

I didn't feel like killing any one just then. For one thing I didn't know how to work the blasted Shmiesser and for another, I was busting to go to the loo.

The guard hurriedly scrambled to his feet and retrieved his gun looking rather sheepish. He didn't show any animosity towards me over this incident, in fact he seemed slightly more friendly than he was before.

I took advantage of this point of contact to ask him about the singing girl in the room above and he confirmed to me that she was indeed French and that she was soon to be shot as a spy.

From that moment I regarded her as a kindred spirit, we being both in the same boat and apparently about to suffer the same fate.
I must have spent about two weeks in my solitary cell and everyday the singing lifted my spirits. But one day it stopped and I guessed that she had been taken away. I wondered about her fate and hoped and prayed that that grim sentence hadn.t been carried out.

My solitary confinement seemed infinitely more solitary now that she was gone, the dark garage seemed even darker and my chances of suvival even more remote. Rather remarkable considering that I had never even set eyes on her.

Some days later I had a surprise visit from the colonel. He still wore a plaster on his head, his lip was bruised and swollen and he had the remains of a beautiful black eye.
Apart from the shot-gun wounds that I had sustained it looked as if he had come off second best in our recent encounter. "I've come to tell you" he said "That although most of my officers disagree with my decision,I have decided to treat you leniently. If it had been one of my men that you attacked I would have had you shot.

I felt as that young guard must have felt when he realised that I wasn't going to shoot him.
Relief isn't the right word. I was lost for the right thing to say, "Thanks", seemed a trifle inadequate and while I was still searching my mind for some suitable comment he turned abruptly on his heel and left.

The next day I was taken from here in an Army lorry guarded by a whole platoon of Germans, to Laterina camp to the North. I was a bit flattered to think they needed a whole platoon to guard me but my self esteem was rather deflated when I found out that they were being posted there anyway.

So I had avoided the death penalty, but I couldn't help wondering about the French girl and if she had also been reprieved. Even to this day, whenever I hear that song "J'ai Tendre" I am transported back to that dark prison and the lonely sound of that girl singing.

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