Now I looked around.
I was in farm country either in France or Belgium. According to my navigation I had figured we
were about on this border when we were attacked.
People appeared, a small group, and went over to the hops
field and pulled my chute from the wires.
I started to walk toward them from where I stood, but they waved me away
and hurried off away from me. They were
silent and scared. I turned and ran
along a small stream, and as I ran I threw away my boots, which I wore over my
shoes, my helmet and gloves. As I ran I
thought about my army boots. I had
intended to get them resoled or get new boots as I had a worn spot on one sole. Would they last, I thought, but I had other
problems now and quickly forgot about my shoes.
Following is an account of what happened from this young man
in his own words:
“In memory of days of “auld lang syne” during the last world war. “December
1st 1943. - A day on which farming people do not work in Belgium. A light frost and a bright sun that makes one
already think of the coming spring. It
was the first day I did not go to my office in the town-hall of Poperinge as
there had been many arrests so I had to take precautions against unforeseen
raids by Gestapo and Feldgendarmery. I
spent the noon hours with my sister in town when all of a sudden we heard
strafing. We popped out our heads just
in time to see a big bomber pass overhead with a German fighter attacking. The bomber went slow and even from the ground
we saw sparks of fire. The fighter
attacked now from this then from another side favoured by its swiftness. The bomber went in the direction of the
French border, descending steadily but all the time answering fire. All at once ack-ack joined in which of course
meant the end. For a goods train with an
anti aircraft gun on a platform had pulled up near the “Leene” on the track
Poperinge-Hazebrouck (marked A on map).
They fired away and squarely hit the bomber. Some minutes later we saw parachutes in
several directions: all was over.
“Immediately the Germans in the town claimed all bicycles they met on the road to patrol the country. When all danger was past my fiance arrived by chance and I proposed to cycle to Boeschepe to see some friends of mine. (I thought of course the plane was to be found in that direction.) We soon crossed the border and saw everywhere people deep in talk. A few hasty words and a couple of pointing fingers and we found the plane a couple of kilometres farther lying against the border of the road. But the Germans were near and looked everywhere to find the crew.
“We called on our friends (photo A).
My fiance went indoors with the country woman to look at a baby when I
asked the farmer point-blank if he did not know anything about the crew. He did not say a word but nodded. I then pressed the point and asked him to
lead the way. We - Mr. Michael Verdonck
and me - went without telling anybody anything in the direction of the plane as
far as Mr. Maurice Joy’s farm, about half a kilometre away from the plane. Michael told how a parachutist had dropped in
the midst of a field of hops (photo 1) coming from over his house. He was almost unconscious but after his
parachute had been cut loose he had run to the hedge, then to a hay-stack where
he must be now. It must be said that the
plane was lying high and that the farm lay rather deep in the rolling fields so
as to be easy visible from far away. The
road is rather nearby and civilians as well as Germans kept passing by on their
way to the bomber.
“We had not reached the farm.
Michael remained on the road and I stole in the meadow in the direction
of the hay stack. There in an undertone
I called in English as best I could while I kicked against the stack: “Where are you, dear friend, you must not be
afraid.” Nobody answered. I understood presently nobody could hide
under it as the hay was too compact owing to the long time it had stood
there. I then begged Michael to go to
Mr. Joye and ask him where the man was while I myself crept nearer the
farm. Mr. Joye arrived and said he
thought somebody hid under the wood stacked near the well (photo III). Both the farmers remained on the road as if
to shoo away the hens from the wheat field.
I crept near calling all the time.
All of a sudden I saw something move.
My heart was in my mouth, but something must be done. A stout tall man wearing a flying uniform
appeared. A mixture of French and
English together with some signs made him follow me crouching. There was a lot of mud around the well but we
managed both to reach the cow shed (photo IV).
No farmers were to be seen any longer.
“He shivered with cold, undressed and put on plain clothes; (photo v)
an old pair of trousers and coat and a tweed cap on his curly hair. We had a glass of “pinar” (French wine) then
scheduled with Mr. Joye how to beat a hasty retreat (photo VI). The foreigner was to carry an old spade and
to follow Maurice Joye at about a hundred metre. Thus he would arrive on the farm of Mr.
Matthys where I should find a way out. I
wrapped the flying jacket in a “Grand Echo du Nort” and went all by myself to
Mr. Verdonck. It was then about four
o’clock when I had to throw the packet in a hedge because I saw civilians
drawing near - one never knew then what might happen - and then found my fiance
looking for me. I went for the packet
and put it under the straps of her bicycle carrier, wrapped the white scarf round
my neck and entered Michael’s farm to tell him the headlines, wrap some
gingerbread up and put it with the jacket.
I had my own bicycle and we cycled back home along winding roads, now up
then down, when all of a sudden we met a patrol of three Germans. We could not fly, so I told my fiance she
should not be afraid and that I accepted full reponsibility. But the fact that she wore her nurse-uniform
surely helped us out of trouble for they did not stop us and we went past with
our hearts in our mouths.
“Everywhere we saw small groups a-talking even French customhouse
people. We were already waiting on the
Matthys farm when Mr. Joye arrived all alone.
I thought of course things had gone wrong but he said he durst not come
as far as the farm and had left the aviator some five hundred metre behind in a
cart-shed (photo VII). I for one could
not go there as the civilians knew me and the whole affair would
transpire. We had a tense moment but
something had to be done though, so I asked Mr. Matthys who had just arrived on
the scene to go down there with Mr. Joye as if he was to have a look at foal
that ran in the meadow. He should thus
be able to tell our man he had to do the way by himself. This is how we shortly after saw him go up to
civilians near a cross and speak to them (photo 8). I beckoned to him and cycled towards him,
while my fiance led the way to scout.
Shortly afterwards we dashed down hill together as fast as we
could. It was too dangerous to follow
the main road so we turned on a side track (photo 9). Cycling became more difficult on account of
the ruts. We even had to walk when a bit
farther an old man stood at his gate and started talking about the weather. He was a good-natured fellow but liked long
conversations, so I answered while passing.
We crossed the French border and were on Belgian soil. It was getting late and we must find
lodgment. I asked Mrs. Madeleine Vitse
(photo X) whether she could put him up for a few hours while I went to fix
things which was agreed already in advance.
I then cycled to my brother-in-law’s, Mr. Marcel Wicke, where I found my
fiance who had gone down there by the common way and had thus preceded me. They were scared at first but after some
hesitation they agreed to put him up, but the doors must be bolted and it must
be pitch dark especially so when a neighbour of theirs said the Germans
searched all the farms. My
brother-in-law Hubert cycled along with me in the dark, back to the house of
Mrs. Vitse. The aviator we found sitting
in the dark on a bed in a small room.
What had happened?
“In our absence one of the sons
had returned with a friend of his. So to
avoid all possible trouble they had not dared let the stranger see to anyone
not even to the son himself. The son
Valere however asked his mother why the bolts had been shot something which
never happened neither by day nor by night.
“Well,” the mother said, “with all those airmen that dropped down, one
never knows! If any popped in his head I
would be frightened,” which of course quieted him. When they were gone Joseph the parachutist
was taken back to the common room and we made ready to go. He asked his debt - of course there was none!
- then kissed the hand of the good lady and bowed himself off. Hubert led the way on bicycle, we
followed. We soon arrived at Mr. Wicke’s
farm and entered by the back door (photo XI).
We had to remain in an adjacent room till the people that work on the
farm had taken their leave, then entered the kitchen. Everybody stared. The doors were bolted and a good fire burned
while we talked French and English. They
fetched water so that the lad might have a good wash. Everybody sat himself down round the fire and
had chewing gum.
“The story of the jump I for one shall never
forget. The word “terrible” still rings
in my ears. Thus it went. There had been a raid on Germany and on the
way back lots of German fighters attacked.
The bomber fell out of formation with two engines out of use. As the danger grew the crew had to bail
out. Joseph opened the door at a height
of 21,000 feet. Quite impossible yet to
jump. The plane came down to 7,000
feet. One hand to the left, one to the
right; head between the knees and one had to let himself go hoping to be lucky. The same night we often heard: “c’est terrible!” We all went to bed and lay awake. I did not go home, but mother knew nothing of
it all as I never slept at home not to be taken
by the Germans. A terrible night it was
with frightening noises and imagination of German raiders. Three times I got up and went to listen at
the doors. My comrade started praying in
English, so I talked to him about religion, about being either a catholic or a
protestant, but can no longer remember the answer now. Then he told about his mother and fiance, and
said he had lost his watch. - I have it
now in front of me on the table. He
could not forget about it. I think it
must have been a souvenir. I promised to
do my utmost to find it back. Thus the
night went by and life started afresh on the farm. We had not slept and I had been thinking all
the time of how hiding further could work and how to enable him to reach
England. It was then a very unlucky
moment: a great raid in our group had
broken our contact with one another and Poperinge where there were so many
underground people was absolutely cut off.
Dawn did not bring any change.
While we talked things over in bed, my sister hurried in our room out of
her breath, and told all in tears that the gendarms had come. The farm had probably been surrounded she
said and many more such things she added.
I told Joseph about it and he wanted to run for it on his bare
feet. It was drizzling. I shall never forget that moment; my heart
burst with regret and compassion. I went
back in the room with Joseph and told him to fight it out if anybody tried to
come in. In the meantime the gendarms
had entered the farm and sat
themselves down. My sister
trembled with fear and Joseph who had now taken in the whole situation made up
his mind to leave. Nothing could make
him change his mind so we looked at the map, and I showed him the way to Lille
(France) telling him he must all the time keep the church steeple in
sight. He sucked an egg, he could not
suck another so we gave him food to take with and made him drink milk. Joseph felt our regret and showed us a tin
with vitamins that would do for ten days.
Thus he went, through the meadow with a cane and muffled in an old
suit. I wished I had been able to go
with him but I had sworn never to leave the country and not to go away from our
group.
“That is how and why Joseph went for a ramble (photo 11-12) once more
over the border of France and through the meadows in the direction of
Boeschepe. My sister saw him cross the
border and came to tell it with tears in her eyes.
“Hard days of occupation it were, full of woe and trouble and we had to
sit mum, for the people sometimes talked too freely though the enemy was on the
watch for any opportunity of revenge and blood.
“Soon after the Germans arrested
several people in Boeschepe and fined the town a half million francs. They also took all radio sets off them. People started telling all kinds of stories
even things they had better not. We were
terribly annoyed especially when they said that several aviators were in
Belgium which was right. The night of
the parachuting somebody visited my mother who knew nothing of my underground
work, and there asked three faked passports for airmen that hid in
Poperinge. The good lady did not
understand one word at first but soon she was told everything by the incautious
fellow. I think I ought not to tell what
happened on my arrival home. Somebody
else too told on a farm in my very presence how two Belgians had brought a
parachutist away on a bicycle. It was
Joseph’s story he told to be sure for the man had been among the people that
had been near the cross (photo 8) and they had noticed me beckoning to him but
luckily enough they had not identified me.
To stop the man’s gossip I told him how dangerous it might be to tell
such stories, for if the Germans ever knew he would be arrested and should have
had to tell things he would rather keep for himself. He saw the point and kept his silence.
“Up to now I had never told this story.
It may be of interest to know more about it. Well, the three other airmen stayed in
Poperinge for twenty-three days and then were sent off to Brussels, which of
course is a story on its own.
“Of course I often met Mr. Joye in later days but we never spoke of the
past. On the farm of Mr. Wicke however
we talked things over often and there was a lot of lamenting. As to the watch, well I found a clue and
followed it up as far as possible, always on the outlook. As I never slept at home I spent the night
mostly with the Carron household. His
brother worked on the farm of Mr. Joye.
On a December night he said that his brother Maurice had a beautiful
watch from an airman. It must be
Joseph’s. I let him ask whether he would
not sell it, but he answered he would keep it for his son. Well so far so good it would not go astray,
and the war must take an end once.
Indeed, it did take an end. When
ten months later, September 6th 1944, Polish tanks entered Poperinge: we were free again! The underground group under my command, that
had been waiting on a farm since several days, left its hiding place in answer
to a message of B.B.C. London. A lot of
people we found on the square at our arrival there and among them was Mr.
Maurice Carron. I told him all about the
watch so he was struck dumb, and promised he would bring it the following day,
which he did and wherefore I gave him a receipt.
“The watch was back now, but Joseph gone. I asked all war correspondents about him, but
none could give me an answer. When I was
already at my wit’s end, some English officers who had seen the pictures on the
underground movement - which had been made in the very hiding place of the
group - invited me to give further explanation.
I also told them of my regret.
Major Slessor promised to do his utmost and was able to give valuable
information some months afterwards. This
I already told you. I still have the
watch, a small compass, a whistle, a coat, and a white scarf which my wife
wears.
Jules MOREL-ORBIE. Poperinge.”
I got up and followed this man in a very detached state as
if I could stand off and watch. My new
friend said he would not tell me his name nor ask mine so that if either of us
were questioned later, we would be unable to identify the other if caught by
the enemy.
He took me into the barn where there was a woman who looked
older than he did; she looked frightened but pleasant. She and my new friend asked me to take off my
pants and pull on dark civilian pants with a suit jacket of the same
color. I hesitated because if I were
caught with this change to civilian clothes, I could be considered a spy. But I had my shirt, my dog tags, and my army
boots so right in front of this woman I took off my pants and pulled the dark
pants on over my heavy winter underwear.
I hadn’t counted on the shoe dye they brought out next. I sat down as they both kneeled down and
changed my brown boots to black boots.
The suit was old and worn. I
hoped I looked like a farm laborer.
Now I was beginning to think again and plan a little. I could maybe in this outfit get to
Spain. I’d heard of guys who had done it
and been repatriated back to home base in England. The only baggage I had was a small plastic
case in which I had money, French and Belgium francs and German marks, silk
maps of the continent and of each country and a compass. And I had a pair of socks in my jacket. Somehow I had always taken an extra pair of
socks on each mission. I transferred
these two things into my change of clothes.
I needed everything I had brought.
Although I didn’t have a coat, my heavy winter underwear kept me warm
now and it had kept me warm on the missions.
It would keep me warm for some time now; it was all I had.
