The Way Back Home — Part 4

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Jack Davis and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

The Way Back Home — Part 4

By
Jack Davis

ROUEN. Swastika flags drooped from the large building. This was Gestapo headquarters. The German vehicle, drew up and Nellie was ushered forward, her two man escort on either side. A brief word with the guards, nazi salutes and the little party passed through the gate. They proceeded, with repeated, "Heil Hitlers," under close scrutiny by more guards, until they reached a door marked "Der grosse Herr Kommandant", where the men hesitated, for a moment. They knocked on the door and went in, with Nellie before them.

"Heil Hitler!” The escort clicked heels as they raised arms and voices in nazi salute.
The Kommandant glared at the intrusion from behind his desk. "Heil Hitler," came the staccato response. Words were exchanged. He then raised himself, moved towards Nellie and stood before her. Into her face he barked again. "Heil Hitler!" No response! He became agitated. "YOU” (She winced as he jabbed her with his stick) “why do you not salute our beloved leader? Her reply was swift and sure. "I respect the name of all good men except that of him who calls himself the Fuhrer." "You insolent woman! Be careful what you say. Before you leave this room you will bless the name of our great leader." "Never will it be said of me" she cried. At this Herr Kommandant motioned her escort to stand aside. "In that case perhaps a little chastisement may be necessary?" He questioned the prisoner as to her name, her family, her home, her associates and her activities of the past few weeks.

Her "crime", now being a "German subject" was to help the enemy of the Third Reich.
"If you tell us where the English are hiding, you will be of assistance to the Fatherland, and you may go, but if not…!" The unfinished sentence bore the strong hint of unpleasantness.
At this, Nellie's young heart swelled with emotion. "I am free French! YOU invaded and now occupy MY country. The German nation is nothing to me - the German people of no consequence, and I refuse to acknowledge the Austrian, this self styled Fuhrer of yours. Vive le Generale de Gaulle! Vive La France!"

She remembered no more for a brutal hand rendered her unconscious. At dawn the following day, a weight of depression and deep foreboding lay on the prisoner. Her eyes were blackened her lips swollen and her tired and bruised body found no comfort on the stone floor of the place into which she was flung after the "interview" the previous day.
How long she lay unattended she neither knew nor cared when suddenly, the sound of boots, a key grated in the lock of the door and in came a guard bearing not a large jug of cold water. "That is for washing and drinking today." Expecting some hint of remorse or pity from this man she asked, "Will I be allowed to go home? My Mama is alone and I am all she has." "I do not care to question the orders of my superiors," was the contemptuous reply, "and it is forbidden to speak to political prisoners."

Poor girl. She sank to her knees and wept in despair. Someone speaking awakened her. "You go to see, the Kommandant." She smoothed her hair, arranged her clothing and replied, "I am ready." She was ushered before the Kommandant, who, to Nellie's great surprise, appeared to be most civil. "Good morning," he said, "please sit. I am sorry that regulations do not permit me to give you a bed, but if you are a good girl, you soon may be sleeping in your own room. Come now, let us go over the talk we had yesterday. We must both be patient. Let us speak to each other as friends. Now then, where were we?

”I remember. I asked you to tell me where the airmen were hiding and you refused. Is that right?" "No" she replied, "I did not have the opportunity to answer. You or one of your men hit me. I will, however, answer now. You will not find the English. They escaped and reached their lines a few days ago."

"Come, come now! Think of your mother! We know you are hiding them somewhere. Tell me the truth and I will allow you to return home." "I AM telling the truth," she replied.
The half- smile slipped from the Kommandant's face and his eyes narrowed. "Who helped you?" "No-one". "Do you mean to say that you alone are responsible for this action? What about your mother? Surely SHE was involved?" "I do not share my confidences. My mother knows nothing." "You must have friends in the F.F.I." "No, I am alone" "Where are their headquarters? Who are their members? Tell me!" "I know nothing."

The Kommandant spoke in low; but menacing tones. "My patience is fast running out, and I will not tolerate your, insolence. I repeat my questions. SPEAK!" "I am French. You invade MY country and expect me to HELP you? I owe no allegiance to Germany and I refuse to say anything more." "Madamoiselle Gosse, you will be GLAD to answer the questions I ask before you leave here. Rouen will bear bitter memories for you, be assured. Let me see you in more co-operative mood when next we meet." With that statement, the Kommandant dismissed Nellie and her guard. "Heil Hitler!"

For days Nellie remained in solitary confinement, her only visitor being the guard who brought food. Rats scurried across the floor and ran over her tired and bruised body as she lay asleep, and when she HAD a little respite, her thoughts turned to Normandy, home and mother. Mama! How IS she? Where is she NOW? Does she know where I am? Is she asking to see me? The thoughts tumbled through her troubled mind and as the days wore on, there was still no word. If only she could possess herself in patience. Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Herr Kommandant who, on asking more questions received the same answers! Nellie asked if her mother had been to the prison. The Kommandant said not. "If she had been you would have been informed, because our wish really is to be kind to you."

Days dragged by and Nellie, in utter despair, still lay shivering - alone and friendless.

Twenty miles away was another scene. In the little house in Quittebeoef, a woman of forty-two years of age swayed back and forth in a rocking chair - Madame Gosse! Hands cover her drawn and anguished face and she sobs, "Why this torment? What have I done to deserve this? My only daughter taken by the Germans and I am not even allowed to see her - turned away from the prison door. Where are those who would help us? Why don't they come?"

Meanwhile, Nellie Gosse had been imprisoned for a number of weeks and the "interviews" she had dreaded ceased to worry her. The last beating drained all hope from her tortured mind and the feelings so acute in so young a girl were now dead. She had again been summoned to the questioner and, as before, had been "encouraged to change her story" after which she was bidden to return to her cell. The two warders saluted "Heil Hitler" and she tossed her head in defiance as she turned to go.

"Come back you French swine. You still refuse to acknowledge the Fuhrer!" "Why should I? I tell you again, I am French and owe no allegiance to Germany." "Salute your Fuhrer,” he ordered. "I will NOT!" The Kommandant was enraged and he signalled the guard. The next thing - oblivion! The butt of a rifle had hit Nellie in the head.

Unconsciousness took possession for some fifteen hours and when she eventually regained her senses, she prayed God to take her life. She was sickened and so alone. No friend had been to see her and even her mother had deserted her. Thirty-six hours elapsed and, at the dawning of another miserable day, her body ached and her mind was reeling; she drifted, she dreamed, voices, noise, a distant thud. Aircraft engines? Nearer? Louder?

Nellie woke with a start. WAS it a dream? She DID hear voices - loud and clear. Men were running around and vehicles, both lorries and tanks, were on the move. She DID hear aircraft engines, and the distant thud became sharper and nearer. Bombs began to fall and the unmistakable sound of gunfire could clearly be heard. Inside - pandemonium! Outside - the sound of battle. "Santa Maria. C'est 1'anglais?" She prayed.

Bombs continued to fall and Nellie, to no avail banged on her door in the vain hope that prisoners would be released. An almighty blast - the building shook! Nellie was terrified. "Must I now perish by the hands of those who would liberate France? And yet again she prayed for help - "Spare my life." Another explosion, and another, how long this went on she did not know - but a miracle happened. English and American voices, inside the building, looking, for the enemy and searching for the imprisoned.

"Anybody there?" She screamed her presence, "They must hear me. surely." They did - oxy-acetylene equipment burned its way through the metal door and Nellie fell into the arms of her liberator - into freedom. She reached the street in a daze and it was mayhem! Above, aircraft - fighter planes and bombers, on the ground, men, women, and children seeking some form of shelter. Hand to hand fighting - German forces against the Allies. What to do and where to go, she did not know. She turned, and took a last look at that grey, sombre building that had been her prison for so long. Suddenly, an ear splitting sound, as a stick of bombs flattened the place.

(Note: It was at-this time that Nellie and I first met. Transport homeward was arranged and a bicycle was "commandeered." Before we parted company we exchanged addresses and have maintained contact to this day. Her sad story was given on the strict understanding that, "never again was I to speak to her of the war."

Despite her experience, Nellie Gosse tirelessly continued her work against the German occupation. She later met and married an American serviceman, but sadly a German sniper, shot him. When hostilities ceased, she received the "Croix de Guerre" from the hand of President De Gaulle. She later married Maurice Weber, who himself had served his country and knew imprisonment at the hand of the German army.

Now that France was free, the Allies were able to concentrate fully on where the German jackboot still strutted across Belgium. Churchill had said, "The beast must be bearded in his own den," and the priority now was to drive him from whence he came, crush any and all resistance and completely destroy the tyranny that was Nazi Germany.

Areas of Belgium, with the-vital support of that country's Resistance (L'armee Blanc) had been liberated and our attacking forces swarmed inland towards Brussels in preparation for the ultimate assault upon the enemy, and for a time, our unit was stationed at a place called Frasnez Lez Bussinal where, as in France, we were privileged to be acquainted with and receive the hospitality of the local people. They, too, had shown great courage in the face of adversity and had experienced tremendous hardship under forced occupation.

One day I and a fellow soldier went for a stroll whilst off duty, became somewhat confused as to our route and, in "pigeon" French asked a lady and her husband, who were passing by, for the direction to our intended destination. We were surprised when we were answered in English and invited for coffee at their home before returning to barracks. Conversation was not difficult. Monsieur & Madame Titant enquired about England and our families and we, in turn, came to know, something of them. We also asked how they had coped under occupation (we could only imagine) and whilst they did not elaborate an answer, they nevertheless "volunteered" the following incident.

The Allies, in co-operation with the Belgian resistance movement had parachuted agents into the country for the purpose of gathering "ground" information. The Resistance was then to shepherd the men back towards allied lines. All went as planned, until, under increasing pressure, the Germans sought to strengthen an already weakened position and two men found it necessary to "sit tight" for a while. They sought help from L'armee Blanc and were sheltered by M et Mdme Titant in an unused loft within their home. The Germans meanwhile, and as always, were on the look out for enemy agents, and information, reached the Titant's and house-to-house searches were being made.

A swift decision was called for and the men upstairs were consulted. Twenty minutes later, two "women" came out of the back door and walked down the street with a peculiar gait. We found it difficult not to smile!' As for Brussels, the day of liberation did come - the allied forces descended and there was fierce fighting in the streets, German resistance crumbled and the flags of victory finally draped the buildings of Brussels. But at what cost!

Berlin radio ceaselessly spat out threats of reprisal and "assured" the listener that whilst a battle had been won, the war was far from over. "German forces, having re-grouped would yet strike a fatal blow against the enemies of the Third Reich." Popaganda as to German successes and allied failures poured from the lips of "Lord Haw Haw."

The operations of L'Armee Blanc were restricted by day except in local factory sabotage, however during the hours of darkness, there were endless acts of defiance. Encouraged by radio broadcasts from London and armed with the knowledge that Brussels had fallen and the Allies were fast approaching Antwerp, the Resistance consistently harried and hindered the enemy as never before, with home-made bomb, kidnap, and assassination by strangulation, knife and bullet. For their part, German morale was low and opposition to the advancing forces became increasingly desperate. The allies knew that whilst Germany appeared to have no option but to back off to a defensive position, "the snake remained venomous" and must be utterly destroyed if Europe was again to taste the fruits of peace and freedom.

The next objective was Antwerp and men, machines and supplies were funnelled forward for the assault. This port bastion was so vital to the enemy and to lose that would be fatal to his cause, for the gateways north into Holland and west into Germany itself would be wide open. Slowly and painfully, fields, villages and towns were wrenched from German grip and land and buildings were laid waste as the battle burned its way towards Antwerp. How many more were to be made widows and orphans in this miserable war was impossible to say, how many more must die or be crippled before Belgium and Holland were freed and the German war machine obliterated, only time would tell. Nevertheless, the allied forces continued to grind remorselessly forward and Antwerp, at long last, rejoined the free world. Holland, too, urgently called for full membership of that August body.

Pr-BR

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