大象传媒

This story relates to "A Fateful Voyage: Convoy under Attack in the Atlantic - Tale of Unexploded Bombs and Heroism" that is also on this site.

Report of Al MacFadden dated 3 June 1974:

I did not know your father very well, but I do recall the name. I was only in Timbuctoo for about 2陆 months during 1942 when we were all moved to Koulikoro. At that point the merchant seamen were placed in a separate camp. A navy chap named Stretton and myself went to a military internment camp. I recall hearing that the merchant seamen lived under deplorable conditions and we all felt very sorry for them. We had reasonable conditions under the circumstances but needless to say weren't very happy.

I will try to remember my personal experiences as accurately as possible along with the names of those I remember.

In the first quarter of 1942, most of my class at O.T.U.(Usworth) in England were shipped to Freetown in Sierra Leone on HMS ADAMANT - a new submarine depot ship. The trip was uneventful for the most part except when another chap Seth Parker (an American from North Carolina) and myself got hold of too much rum and ended up in the "brig" for the night.

At Freetown we never even got ashore long enough to look around before we were placed on a Canadian Great Lakes Steamer called the NEW NORTHLAND, bound for Takoradi. We viewed this ship with considerable concern because we couldn't figure out how it had held together over the Atlantic. We had some serious misgivings about our future as we steamed at top speed (7 or 8 knots) between the masts of sunken ships outside Freetown Harbour. I've forgotten how long it took to make Takoradi but it was several days and nights. We spent 99% of our time well above the water line - even slept on deck in the event of an attack. The crew of that ship should all have the V.C. for sailing it. Anyway we finally ended up at Takoradi and ended up at the R.A.F. base. They were assembling Hurricane fighters there, equipped with four 20mm cannons, and a 44 gallon fuel tank slung under each wing. Also they were short of extra 20mm cannons in Egypt so they strapped an extra cannon inside the fuselage. After assembly we flight-tested them, packed some of our personal belongings in wherever we could find room and were ready to fly them to Egypt in six hops via Lagos, Nigeria, and others across Africa. With all this extra weight the aircraft cruised about 40 knots below normal.

We were in Takoradi about 10 days before I left along with five other aircraft for the first leg of the trip, Takoradi to Lagos. During my stay in Takoradi I ate a lot of fruit along with other strange foods. This or something caused me to get about six or seven large boils (all on my backside) about four days before I was to leave. I never went to the M.O. because I would have been grounded.

Early on April 27 1942 six of us took off for the three or four hour hop to Lagos. We flew in a wide formation with no radio, only visual contact. We ran into a series of tropical storms along the route and we were able to go around or over them. Then we came to one we couldn't get over, under or around. Just as we were about to enter the tremendous cloud our leader signalled a 180掳 left turn. I was on the extreme right and all had disappeared into the cloud starting a left turn. I started my left turn but was afraid to make it too tight for fear of running into one of the others. This took me deep into the cloud and I was buffeted badly and could not hold altitude with the heavily overloaded plane. I finally broke out of the cloud in a violent rain storm at about 300 feet. There was the ocean on the right and land on the left. Then I saw a runway and headed towards it and proceeded to set down. Just as I was about to touch I realized the runway had obstacles on it and was really just a sand strip. It was too late to do anything, so I ducked and hung on for dear life. Bits of the craft were scattered over about half a mile but the engine fuselage and myself came to a stop in one piece upside down. I must have been in shock but otherwise unhurt. A French Sergeant and several native soldiers came and dragged me out of the wreckage and this is when I found out I was in Cotonau, Dahomey.

I was taken to hospital where the doctor checked me over and treated my boils which had all burst during the crash. I was questioned several times by French Authorities and advised I would be interned. After two or three days in hospital I was transferred to the local prison for a week or so; then began the trip to Timbuctoo.

The first stage was on a train which had one coach (open air) behind a number of freight cars. My guard consisted of a French Sergeant, a Private and six negro soldiers, making a party of nine. All of us plus many natives more filled the coach. The engine was fuelled with wood, so there were many stops for either wood or water. I don't remember how far the rail line went into the interior but I recall we were on the train for about 20 hours, and I think the town was Niamey.

We had a few hours rest and the next day we boarded a bus loaded to the hilt with natives and ourselves. Like the train it was wood fired. Somehow they had a burner that partially burned the wood and formed gas that would operate the engine - sometimes. This was worse than the train because the stops were more frequent either because of lack of wood or mechanical failure. At this point I was somewhere between 200 and 250 miles downstream from Timbuctoo on the River Niger.

After two days or so in Gao, I was taken to the river by a French Sergeant and five native soldiers and we boarded a metal barge about 25 feet long with a hut built on it for shelter. This was to be our home for the next 23 days. The crew consisted of 5 negroes, 4 to pole the barge up the river and the captain (who I believe owned the boat) who sat by the tiller to steer it and shout orders to the natives.

Off we started and after the first day we spent the night within sight of Gao. Sometimes the natives would pole the barge along and at other times, they would pull it along with a long rope while walking on the bank.

The French Sergeant was a nice fellow and did everything to make me as comfortable as possible. He brought along a French-English/English-French dictionary and we carried on long conversations. He personally was very sympathetic to the Allies but still loyal to Vichy.

For food we stopped at villages and bought fish, chicken, eggs, milk and vegetables. One of the native soldiers was a cook and did a reasonable job of it. The Frenchman and myself liked our meat reasonably fresh but the natives liked to let it age for a day or so in the sun with the flies! Some days the smell was almost unbearable.

Bird life on the river was abundant with waterfowl of all kinds. we saw many crocodiles and the villagers would catch them for their skins. There was always great excitement when they caught a crocodile. On two occasions we saw some Hippos and we steered clear of them because they had young. The natives were very wary of them because they might attack or rise out of the water under the boat and upset it.

Late one afternoon after a very hot day I suggested to the Sergeant that we go for a swim. We decided we would chance the crocodile hazard but only jump in between the barge and the bank. At that particular time the natives were pulling the boat with the rope while walking the bank. We stripped down and climbed on the bow of the barge. I dived in immediately, came up and climbed on the barge. With this activity the natives on the bank stopped walking which allowed the rope to drop in the water and come back alongside the barge as it drifted ahead. The Sergeant dived in and grazed the rope. His first thought was that it was a crocodile; he came out of the water so fast I thought he was going to walk on it. That ended our swimming in the deeper water!

About two days before we reached Timbuctoo the Sergeant and I were discussing the war and the way it had gone. I told him that I thought Petain was the worst traitor that France had ever had. He did not no the meaning of the word traitor, and when he looked it up I was sure he was going to shoot me! He didn't, but that remark ended our friendship, and from there on the captor - prisoner relationship prevailed, and everything was by the book!

I don't recall the date of arrival at Timbuctoo, but it was late afternoon somewhere around the 1st June, 1942. I was dead tired and even the lousy mats, spiders and Cous-cous for supper wasn't too bad.

The next morning early the French Commander came for inspection. We were all to line up in the corridor which I wasn't too keen on and showed it; so I spent the next day in solitary. It turned out the Commander's arm had been shot off by a stray English bullet (so he said), after the Cease Fire in 1918. Anyway, he had no love for the English, as your father probably told you.

I met most of the fellows the next few days and realized their morale was pretty low. They were sure the war was lost and wouldn't believe any of the good news I was aware of. Of course, all they were given was the Vichy news, so what else could they believe?

As you probably know the food was far from adequate and we had considerable sickness among the fellows. I was fortunate in that I liked peanuts and we all got several handfuls a day. Some of the fellows wouldn't eat them, so I always had plenty. I'm sure this is what kept me reasonably healthy.

In Timbuctoo nearly every day was the same and the morale so low it was difficult for everyone. I guess my closest friend was Stretton, the navy type, that was on one of the merchant ships when it was sunk. There wasn't much communication after a while because we talked ourselves out with nothing new coming in.

Sometime in August 1942 we were transferred to Koulikoro which I have already mentioned. We went up river in a barge towed by a paddle steamer. This was not the most pleasant trip with the crowded conditions, but at least it was a change.

On the way someone got ahold of a map of North West Africa. We soaked a piece of paper in coal oil to make it transparent and then late one night in the hold of the barge we traced the map from the original and returned it to its owner. We planned to use it to escape if we got the chance. I believe I still have the map somewhere around here.

At Koulikoro Stretton and I went to the Military Camp where we fared quite well. We were paid the equivalent of our rank by the French Army. All monies were put into a pool and we hired a cook, cleaning boys, bought our own food, etc. Sometimes we even had wine. The morale in this camp was low also, because most of them had been there since they tried to take the RICHELIEU at Dakar.

One day, I don't remember when, an Australian pilot by the name of Rhodes (Dusty) and some of his crew were brought in. They had crashed a Lockheed Hudson somewhere near the coast. He brought in good news as to how the war was progressing, which I believed, but many others didn't. About this time we were given more privileges and allowed and allowed to take group walks under escort about the country side and Koulikoro. There was a French girl in one of the houses we often passed that would drop notes, giving some of the B.B.C. news highlights she had been listening to. This is how we first learned of Monty's breakthrough at El Alamein. I believe this was late September or early October. We knew then it would not be long before we were released. The French Authorities gave us more and more freedom and about mid- November practically withdrew the guards and let us wander within certain limits. About December 15th, 1942 we left Koulikoro to Bamako where we boarded a train for the coastal area. Somewhere along the northern border of Gambia we were transferred to a British coastal ship of some kind and taken to Bathurst, thankful to be back in British hands. After interrogation, we were shown the Officers' Mess, and there I met two of my former buddies, Seth Parker and Forsyth. Needless to say, we had a great reunion! The next day we were flown to Freetown.

After a month or two in Freetown, I returned to England by boat and joined 416 Squadron for a tour of combat in Spitfires. I flew many sorties over to Holland, Belgium and France, and took part in D-Day and the landings in France. I returned to Canada in October, 1944.

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