John Houseman's Diary - Mission EUCALYPTUS (part 5 of 7)

3rd August:

We were anxious to leave, and the day passed slowly. The Germans burned the farm next to ours which caused a little alarm. At 9.15pm punctually we crept out of our hiding place and went down to the farm to meet the others. Supper was served by the farmer's wife - hot soup, potatoes and a piece of pork on the hay wagon in the farm yard. By 10pm we were ready to move.

Spirits were high and so was the temperature - the need for silence paramount.

There were thirteen in the party, and I remember so well my impressions as I saw it from my usual position near the rear (a habit I had acquired for reasons of fatigue rather than strategy).

Most of the men were dressed in the dark blue which the 'regular' Maquis wear. In single file, with rucksacks or a bundle of clothes on their backs, they wound their way quickly and silently across the fields, through the trees and orchards, down towards the river. Memories of my conceptions, when a child, of smugglers on the coast of Cornwall came back to me in all their realism. As quickly and silently as we passed through the orchards and meadows, we crossed a track, into a small village and down the winding street. A door opened and the light that shone inside seemed to mean welcome and assistance as we approached. We went inside. It was the house of our 'contact' for the river crossing. He passed round a bottle of wine, we drank and left again as quietly as we had arrived.

Our guide led the way - an easy route through the meadows and more orchards, then a long track leading to the river. There was an obstacle, however - a main road in open country known to be guarded. When fifty yards or so away, we were told to wait and squat while our guide went forward to look. Soon a soft whistle indicated all was clear. We crossed, and disappeared into the grass on the other side - (we had, in actual fact, passed between two German posts twenty yards on either side of us). Soon we arrived at the boatman's house.

The guide came back, and from the discussion which started immediately, it was clear something was wrong - and there was. The boatman would not play. The Germans, he had told our guide, were patrolling the river at frequent intervals and had machine gun posts all along the bank. It is unnecessary to describe our feelings.
The journey, until yesterday evening, had been so irksome, so tiring and so monotonous, and the necessity of incessant watchfulness had become such a strain. Now, with the river less than a stone's throw away, a boat and a new land on the farther bank which offered hope, security and prospects ultimately of contact with London, this was more than we could bear. Desmond went to reason with the old man.

I was very surprised when he returned after no more than five minutes saying it was fixed. Ten thousand francs had done the trick.

The boatman appeared and made off towards his boat, muttering audibly. As we went the muttering became louder, until it was nothing less than a long series of oaths and curses made in an ever increasing voice. Whether he was abusing us, the Germans or himself I never knew, nor did I care - all I knew was my agony at this stream of vocal fury. However, there was no stopping him.

We found the boat after a little difficulty (the old man had forgotten where he had left it, and I thought for a moment it had been stolen). At last, we thought, we were going to cross. But no! the boat was half full of water! The old man produced a peculiar tool consisting of a pole on the end of which hung a half bucket, and he started to bail. And the noise! Scoop, bang, splash (as he emptied it over the side) - again and again, until I would willingly have added to the din with a hysterical yell. All this time the burble of curses and disagreement continued without pause. Finally this pre-historic barc was emptied sufficiently at least, and we scrambled in, three per journey. I think I might add, at this point, that we were told after we had embarked and before we reached the far bank that there were two more German posts on the river bank only a matter of yards away from us. Not particularity pacifying, when this bedlam of confusion was in progress.

Having pushed and heaved, for we were stuck fast on the mud and seemed likely to have disembarked again, we drifted out into the stream at last. The boatman, Desmond, a Maquis and I - occasional machine-gun bursts reminded us that not all the Germans were asleep.

As we approached mid-stream I was a little alarmed to find that the river was well in spate and flowing out at least six miles per hour. I wondered how we were going to secure ourselves to the boulders and rocks on the other bank. The old man pulled at the oars, and the river pulled at the boat - we sat and listened to the background music of oaths. The river, without any question, had the better of the oarsman, and I defied the greatest naval authority to determine our course across that river. All I know is that the opposite bank suddenly began to approach with alarming speed and definition. We grabbed the rocks, and grappled at poles - we bounced from rock to rock. Each time we struck the voice of the boatman became louder until he was almost roaring. (It was, I tried to forget, a silent, moonlit night). Finally, and with a horrible rending sound, the barc came to rest against a protruding crag, and we were on dry land like antelopes - and off into some trees at the farther end of these menacing boulders which, even then, we had to cross. We all sighed deep sighs of relief as the boatman's booming voice dwindled to a burble on his way back again to fetch the second party.

It was not long before the remainder of the party arrived. All but two were going in another direction, so we wished each other luck and parted. Our companions (and guides) were two members of the Maquis who, fortunately for us, knew this part of the country pretty well.

We walked for an hour or so until we came to a farm house, the owner of which was a friend of one of our fellows. It was 2 am and he knocked at the door, and the farmer's wife came down, quite willing to prepare us a meal even at that hour of the night. We went in and were given soup, fried eggs, bread, cheese and wine - our first meal in this new and interesting land.

Desmond must have been glad to hand over his responsibilities as guide. Poor fellow, he'd lead the way without break from Rencurel, even before that, practically from the cave when Bois began to falter. I took my hat off to him for his accuracy and superb efficiency. I regretted not being able to help in this respect, but the combination of night blindness and complete absence of sense of direction ruled this out from the start. I could be little more than a compass pedestal. However, nobody could have done better than he did - a truly magnificent achievement.

6th August:

After half an hour or so we set off again, intending to walk straight through to Izean, about six hours march (so they said). The pace was fast and the night hot, and we soon found ourselves at the foot of the mountain which stood in front of us. We kept to the road. One of the men offered to exchange his bundle for my pack, an offer I did not refuse. We walked steadily with only brief stops, nor did the pace slacken as the gradient increased. We made excellent time. About 4.30 am we struck a hamlet near the crest of the first series of hills. We knocked at the door of a farm. A small place near The Fortress. The farmer and his wife got up, and peered out of their bedroom window. In any other country I would have expected a bucket of water to be thrown. One of the men explained that we were escaping, that we had been walking all night, and could we have some hot milk and bread. Without any fuss or bother they came down and let us in. How I enjoyed that breakfast. We had a tin of coffee which was brewed for our milk - we ate and drank ravenously. Before leaving, the farmer insisted upon our drinking some of his special liqueur. It was the first time in my life that I had done so at 5.30 am but it was excellent and warming.

As we said good-bye and thanked them, I noticed dawn had come - it was already light.

The climb became steeper for a while until we crossed the summit and started to descend towards Izean. At 9 am we rested for a few minutes and one of the men disappeared. He came back after a few minutes, and, as if by magic, produced a loaf of bread and some cheese. It was extraordinary how often food now seemed to appear, but never too often.

The route became easier and by 11 am we were approaching a village of pretty neat looking houses. A farmer was working in a field along side the road. We crossed to talk to him. As it happened he was known to one of the men and immediately his house was open to us all. Wine, bread, cheese, and plenty of it, were put before us. We ate and drank and laughed - the farmer, a charming fellow, was delighted. I felt quite tight - a feeling I had quite forgotten.

The hospitality of the French people continued and increased - they couldn't do enough for us, neither did they know how to express their gratitude to us for coming to them.

We were told there were no Bosch in this district, so walked on to Izean by road. There we stopped at a cafe.

We sat down in the ordinary salon, but were soon transferred to the kitchen, as there were known to be Militier in the town. We had a large lunch and started to work out the fastest route to Switzerland. One of our party contacted his brother-in-law who had a car and was prepared to drive us there - but on hearing that we had neither civilian clothes nor papers, declined. After much talking and more thinking, we sent for a representative of the local Maquis. He came. We explained our position, and immediately, he promised to arrange for us to be collected by the F.F.I. tomorrow morning at 5 am. We slept for the afternoon. Later water was brought, I shaved and had a bath in my basin - my first since leaving the battle.

Evening came and so did another large meal and we slept like dead men until 5 am.

7th August:

The cafe was on its feet to bid us 'bon voyage' and breakfast was ready when we came down. The F.F.I. was late. We drank more coffee and, after a little difficulty, forced the proprietor to take money for our meals and the night. At 7 am every door in the cafe burst open. The room was immediately filled with men varying in age from 25 to 40 - but they had the unmistakable air of ruthless business. Armed to the teeth with everything from a grenade to a Bren gun, a force of eight Maquis men had come for 'the two British officers'. Coffee was served again, and the leader of the party beckoned us to a waiting car. I shall never forget that journey.

The party, it was interesting to hear, had just returned from a raid on a German convoy which, we gathered, had been highly successful. In our car were the leader, driving, and beside him a machine gunner with his Bren stuck through the windscreen. Desmond and I sat in the back with another fellow, pointing his sten through the window beside us. The car that followed, as 'escort', was even more heavily armed. Both cars were petrol driven.

It was clear from the beginning that the mode of travel with these people was horn, accelerator and machine gun. They were not in a mood to be stopped.

I have never yet been driven by a Frenchman at what I consider a rational speed - never at a safe one - but this was nothing compared with a couple of fast, armed Maquis cars. We had scarcely said 'aurevoir' to the people who kept the cafe before we were lost in a cloud of dust.

We had to pass one or two dangerous areas and this was partly the reason for the speed.

We shot through the village, and several more as well, occasionally stopping to enquire about enemy movements. Information on this point was always readily forthcoming - the Germans could not move an inch without the very comprehensive intelligence service knowing everything. We sped across the Grand Route and other roads as well. On one occasion, when a lorry in front of us failed to hear our horn, our driver took out his pistol, and fired through his window to attract the lorry driver's attention. By 10 am we arrived at the St. Pierre P C.

It had been a wonderful drive - the firm resolution which these men possessed was a tonic to see - the finger that slid round the trigger as we approached a main road, or a blind turning, was exciting too. They handed us over to the F.F.I. and did not even wait to be thanked.

We met the OC, I forget his name, and after a delightful petit dejeuner of coffee, bread, rich butter and honey, discussed the stores he needed for his men, and our onward journey. We talked a lot to the French major who had recently escaped after three years imprisonment. After lunch we slept until late afternoon.

About 6.30pm George appeared. George was a character like no other. An American who spoke not a word of English having lived in France all his life, but possessing all the most energetic of American mannerisms, the 'go-getter' in person and the friend of everybody he liked. He practically embraced us, and it was clear from that moment onwards, that we were to be 'his buddies'. He took us in his car.

I have been scared in my life, and, without undue conceit, I can say that I've done unusual things calculated to frighten most people, but never have I been driven as I was by George. Was I glad that we had only a couple of miles of mountain road to cover! We arrived at his abode - a pleasant little pension overlooking a pretty yard and garden. Simone, the waitress, greeted us. A room had been arranged for us.

Over dinner we explained our position to George who, it appeared, had a pretty fair idea of it already. According to him, it was practically arranged already, no trouble at all, and, if I used only a small stretch of imagination, I could almost believe that I was looking over the Swiss barrier instead of the dinner table. Nevertheless, George had already got going - a man was leaving that evening for L to contact someone else who knew the possibilities, and before long I was astonished, and my sense of security somewhat shaken, to find how many people knew of and were assisting in our movements. Our party grew - we smoked and drank until bed time.

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