Twenty Days in the Reich (7 page)

At long last, frozen, aching and weary, we disembarked at the small wayside station at Ohle. Adolf, whom we often admired afterwards for the speed with which he got things organised, led us into a small waiting room in nice time to make ourselves comfortable on the floor before a large
proportion of the rest of the passengers discovered that the main waiting room was ‘kaput’.

When this waiting room eventually began to fill up, we wondered how many more people would try to get in. As it was, I could never remember seeing so many men, women and children trying to secure rest in such a confined space. Setting aside any question of the smell, it was in some ways a blessing, because with the addition of the fire, we did manage to keep a semblance of warmth, which enabled us to snatch a fitful sleep.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

T
he night seemed long and uncomfortable and when we all awoke for the last time and stretched our legs, we found the fire was out, and that the morning was extremely cold and misty A brief spell outside the waiting room soon brought us back in again for what warmth it provided; after the fresh air, the aroma inside was quite indescribable. In these circumstances and with as much appetite as we could muster, we broke our fast with the usual bread and margarine, it not being our turn for cheese.

It was now Thursday 22 March and we realised that it was a full week since we had left our base, on the ill-fated expedition. We were still given to occasional reminiscing as to why it had been necessary for us to bale out and whether all the other boys had been comparatively fortunate in their experiences so far, as we had been. Jack, by this time, had reached the stage of being confident
that he had seen six other parachutes in the air besides his own, but as has been mentioned before, we were quite accustomed to applying a considerable discount to his figures.

At about 7 p.m., we left the waiting room and boarded a train that Karl said would take us two stations further down the line. It proved to be the same train as on the previous night, and we were pushed into the same draughty guard’s van, with the same boxes of ammunition to serve as seats. We reflected hopefully, that if all the ammunition intended for the defence of Berlin was proceeding on its way as rapidly as this lot, then the chances of the city making a long last stand, could not be considered too rosy.

We alighted at Plettenberg, the reason why we could proceed no further being at once obvious: the extreme devastation of the entire station and practically the whole of the nearby permanent way and rolling stock. Once again, anticipating trouble from the civilians, we clung close to Karl and Adolf as we made our way from the station and up into the centre of the town.

Our fears were not unfounded and, it was obvious that we could not spend the time at the side of the road. It was necessary to obtain a lift in the direction in which Adolf said we ought to go. However, this route appeared to lead us back in exactly the direction whence we had come. It was true, as a subsequent study of the map showed, and it became apparent afterwards that
a ride of about 15 miles was needed in order to save about 10 miles on the road.

We walked as briskly as possible out of the town and eventually joined the valley of the Lenne in almost exactly the same spot as we had made our turning off to Arnsberg on the previous Monday. We had no idea of this, of course. As a matter of fact, we were quite excited when we saw ‘Arnsberg’ on the signpost, away to our left, because it meant that we were well west of that town and therefore nearer to our own lines than we had been at any time previously. The possibility of escape was never far from the front of our minds and I could tell that the rest of the boys placed a great deal of faith in me, as navigator, to try and keep something like a mental idea of our position in relation to the situation of our own forces.

We seemed to walk a fairly long distance that morning and although we heard no sirens, there were plenty of enemy aircraft around. We gathered that we must be reaching extremely countrified districts out of earshot of all warnings. The only incident of note occurred when a bad tempered
Luftwaffe
officer indicated in no uncertain manner, that he thought we ought to be shot; I think I can class this as one of the very few incidents in which a member of the Armed Forces appeared to show any disregard for our rights and privileges as POWs.

It was once again a brilliantly fine sunny morning, making as far as we could recollect, about three weeks of fair weather over the whole of the continent. We already knew that the Allied air forces were taking full advantage of this weather. There is not the slightest doubt that had the conditions been any different, the slashing of communications would not have been carried out to the same extent, and the day of our ultimate release might have been put back for weeks, if not months.

As we plodded down the road, we saw a lot of evidence that they expected the war to be coming this way pretty soon, for French POWs were busy in many parts, digging slit trenches and air-raid shelters in the banks at the side of the wood. All these fellows looked at us as we passed, at first suspiciously and then with many evident signs of welcome as they recognised our uniforms. We, for our part, knowing that we should not fraternise with them at all, merely contented ourselves with a brief smile, if we thought our guards were not looking. I did hear one story much later on, of a French POW who had had his head completely bashed in by a Nazi guard, merely because he had smiled at an American POW.

It was well past 1 p.m. when we at length stopped for our midday meal. Our guards selected a pleasant little spot by the side of a cottage, a little way off the main road. Water was supplied in plenty, and the inhabitants of the cottage seemed
very friendly and quite anxious to show that they didn’t want the war and would be jolly glad when it was over. As was the case yesterday, we were able to indulge in a short nap after we had eaten. Later on, Jack, who had been missing with Karl for quite a time, came back and told us that he had been in the cottage and had been talking for a long time to its occupants. He said that one of their chief everyday pleasures was to listen to the news in German, broadcast from the British Isles.

Once again, nobody appeared to be in any hurry to press on. In the late afternoon, we were invited into the back garden of the cottage and told we could wash if we wished, and even have a shave. Karl very kindly lent me his shaving tackle, which enabled me to manage successfully, although I am afraid that his blade could not have been a lot of good when I had finished.

We had our tea and heard from Karl that it was proposed to spend the night in a ‘bus that had run off the road, a few hundred yards back from the cottage’. We thought that this might prove quite comfortable and even if chilly, ought at least to be reasonably clean and wholesome. Everything was proceeding peacefully and calmly until the approach of two officers of the Wehrmacht, who spoke volubly and at some length in a manner that appeared to cause a good deal of concern to our guards.

Whether it was these officers or the fact that disquietening information had come over the 6
p.m. broadcast (or possibly both) we did not know, but it was obvious that something was creating a sudden panic. I surmise now that this could only have been the news that General Patton’s Third Army had crossed the Rhine at Koblenz and were pressing on at great speed towards Frankfurt. We could not expect to be told these things of course (although it can be imagined how cheered we would have been), but it does seem to me now that the cause of all the excitement was Adolf’s sudden realisation that he was going to have to put on a very big spurt if he was to reach Frankfurt before the American troops.

At any rate, our kit was packed with every evidence of considerable hurry and we were marched away from the cottage at a brisk speed towards a railway station, which Karl said was only 3 kilometres away. Unlike those of the English-speaking guards of the days immediately preceeding our liberation, Karl’s estimates of distance usually proved to be pretty accurate. In about half an hour, we reached a station and settled ourselves in an extremely cold waiting room, knowing by this time that the train scheduled for 9 p.m. would do well if it arrived at midnight.

It was the coldest night we had had so far, with the moon practically full and shining from a cloudless sky and the frost sparkling brilliantly on the grass. We realised, of course, that we were
feeling the cold all the more keenly, not only because we never got a hot meal, but also because our clothing by day was exactly the same as by night. The temperature at night warranted the addition of at least two pullovers, a scarf, an overcoat and a pair of gloves.

It must have been about 1 a.m. in the morning before that wretched train came. Whilst we did not imagine it was possible to be any colder, when we got inside and found, as usual, all the windows smashed in, we really began to realise what intense cold meant. How we stuck that night, I do not know, especially poor old Diffy, who for all his suffering, made less complaint than any of us. We seemed to go in all directions as we could tell by the constant shifting of the moon from one side of the train to the other. There was one point when we had to stand shivering for about an hour on a wayside station, waiting for a change of trains.

There was a short period of darkness after the moon had set, until the first grey streaks of dawn poured over the mountains to the east. Had we been in a better position to appreciate it, there is no doubt that the scene was one of wondrous beauty. However, I am afraid that by this time we all had one thought only – to get some warmth into our long-suffering bodies. It was quite light when we reached the station at Kirchundem, and a signpost immediately outside indicated that it was now 39 kilometres to Siegen. It was now nearly
two days since the distance had been 100 kilometres, giving us a total distance covered of a mere 61 kilometres or 38 miles.

We had no doubt that our guards were equally as tired and in need of refreshment as we were, but nevertheless, the plan seemed to be to press on along what appeared to be the road to Siegen. It was obvious from the outset that the traffic along this road was going to be negligible. To me it seemed (and I warned the others of my conjecture) that from the lie of the land, we were in for a very long day’s march. We were proceeding right up the side of a valley. As far as the eye could see in front, there appeared to be no real gap in the hills that held promise of any way out that would not involve a climb to a height of at least 2000 feet.

On and on up the valley we marched, until at length at about 9 a.m. we stopped in a small village and Karl said that he would enquire if there was any chance of our getting some coffee to drink with our breakfast. We ourselves thought it was about time that a move was made to give us some small additions to our diet. We were quite pleased, therefore, when eventually Karl led us into the front parlour of a house and we sat down and as well as the coffee, the housewife brought us some sandwiches made with tinned meat. This made a welcome change from the cheese diet and we were able to sweeten the coffee with a little saccharine from a small packet that one of the Russians had given me back in the prison at Werl.

2. A map showing the route taken from capture to liberation by the American Third Army.

3. A photo taken of Scott’s fellow crew members some time before the events described in this book. Those relevant to this story are: Alec James, pilot and skipper, centre back row; Jack Acheson, tail gunner, right back row; Ray Birch, radio operator, left front row and the author centre, front row.

There was considerable activity during breakfast, with some Lightnings flying round and round the valley, no doubt after a particular target. We learnt a little later on that they had given a very good account of themselves, putting paid to the
bahnhof
that we had just left. Once again, fate had been with us.

Considerably refreshed, we carried on, always up hill and it was just about this time that Karl’s left foot began to give him trouble. On more than one occasion we had to wait for him to catch up, for there was no doubt that Adolf still seemed to be in a desperate hurry and the pace, considering the warmth of the morning, was faster than any up to now.

We had one short stop where we hoped we might be allowed time for a little sleep, as we had had none the night before. However, we had no such luck and were forced on again as far as the picturesque village of Heinsberg, where Karl got some bandages for his foot from one of the villagers. Adolf led us out of this place without even waiting for Karl’s treatment to be finished, leaving the old man to struggle behind as best as he could. It was a few minutes after that that Adolf had a bright idea, which (although he never knew it) was very nearly to cost him his life.