The Way Back Home — Part 3

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 3

By
Jack Davis

Having no idea as to the layout, the crew had little option but to follow the lad at a reasonable distance, and warily, in case they were led into a trap.

By a circuitous route, and after what seemed an age, the group eventually stopped and Jaques motioned with his hand towards a cave on the hillside amidst some still standing trees. "Stay there until later. One of us will return with food and directions. Meanwhile, for you to know us we must have a signal," - and he whistled.

The six-crew members were fed and watered for two days and on the third, they were wished "bon voyage" as they began the dangerous trek back towards allied lines, where ground troops battled their way forward. Meanwhile, in the village, Monsieur Lechere, the local doctor, had been arrested, having been betrayed to the German authorities by one of his own patients. How true to say that in those days no one was to be trusted, not even one's own countrymen, and many good and loyal French folk were lost by treachery.

The officer in charge of the German unit was to be recalled to Berlin as a result of derogatory reports as to his efficiency and suitability for this command post. Herr Hauptman had recently arrived to replace him and the relationship between the two men was somewhat frosty. The former was aware of the recent escape of the bomber crew and was angered, firstly, by what he considered German incompetence, and, secondly, by the infuriating exploits of the F.F.I. Now he determined, an example must be made of Monsieur Lechare for the "benefit" of all. According to later reports, the utmost pressure was exerted in an attempt to extract information from the doctor, yet he remained firm and refused to yield, as a consequence of which Herr Hauptman became so exasperated, that he ordered the man's immediate execution.

So it was that as the hour approached midnight, two crisp shots were heard, then a third, and Monsieur Lechare slumped to the ground. His lifeless body was found by two of his friends at sunrise the next morning.

The allied attack intensified and the sound of heavy gunfire, planes and bomb blasts shattered the air, both day and night. The German response was now becoming desperate and they retaliated with venom. Could they hold their ground, and how far away were the attacking ground troops? Belgium lay beyond this place, and beyond that - Germany. This was, for them, a watershed. A decision would soon have to be made as to the next move, fight on and stay to the bitter end, or retreat, a thought hostile to the German mind!

Meanwhile, the brutal murder of Doctor Lechere had only served to stiffen the resolve of the faceless F.F.I. and that, along with the relentless allied bombardment, certainly was an encouragement for-other folk, hitherto passive, even timid, to join forces with the small number of patriots who had, for so long, struggled against the odds for freedom. They harassed the Germans at all times and by any available means, and life for the aggressor in the area became somewhat precarious as the unseen resistance left its mark of disapproval. The Germans were by now decidedly fidgety, concluded discretion to be the better part of valour. Their position seemed untenable and the order was eventually given to move out. However, during the ensuing chaos of preparing men and materials for urgent evacuation, Madame Hommais was horrified to see her home being ransacked by the departing soldiers. What a shambles! Wardrobes, drawers and cupboards were ripped open and the contents scattered over the floor. Germans were scrabbling over her belongings - fur coats, jewellery, silverware - grabbing anything and everything they thought portable and of value. She shouted them to stop and was shoved aside as she tried to intervene. "You German pigs!" she screamed. "You forcefully occupy my home and now…” Words failed as her voice choked and she stood, reduced to tears, whilst the soldiers, prior to an urgent retreat towards Brussels, went on with their filthy work.

Two days later, in, the name of freedom, the allied forces swept in and reclaimed the Argennes. Now that German occupation was at an end, the occupants of the area sought to reorganise themselves, rebuild shattered lives and resume something of a normal existence under the protective canopy of the Liberator. Madame Hommais had invited Taffy and me to lunch and, as we were about to leave, the local priest called. His name was Monsieur Le Cure. He said that after Mass the following day, he and others were to place wreaths on unmarked graves, which held five unknown allied airmen. "They were brought down over there." He pointed in the general direction of the plane crash. "The Germans ordered us to leave the bodies where they lay and said that any attempt to bury them would result in reprisals. How could we obey? How could we be so inhuman? So one night, whilst some of us made a distraction, others managed to dig graves and laid the men to rest. Needless to say the Germans were furious and offered rewards for information, but to no avail.

”I now come to ask for your help. Tomorrow morning we go to honour these men and the many others who gave their lives to liberate us and we ask you, as an Englishman, to represent all the soldiers and say a few words at the graveside. Also bring your friends. It is our wish!"

I returned to my billet in an anxious state of mind and lay awake that night wondering, "Why me?" and, "What am I to say?" I felt I could not face the ordeal and wished I could withdraw. I voiced my concerns to Taffy and he quite simply said, "You must do as they ask, for remember, you are privileged to represent their families back home."

The following morning Monsieur Le Cure came. "Are you ready?" he asked. I nodded, still wondering how to face the ordeal ahead. We walked in silence to the far end of the town where a large group of people was assembled, and as we drew near, some folk saluted whilst others raised their hats in meaningful gesture. We were welcomed into the home of a family outside and inside of which wreaths, flowers and crosses were placed. This, we were told, was the home of members of the French underground movement. We were shown into a back room where, carefully placed on a small, white cloth covered table, was a soldier's "tin hat" and two large wreaths of flowers. Three candles burned brightly within brass candlesticks. The priest picked up one wreath, of red roses, and gave it to me, saying, “I remember the red rose is the national flower of England." The other wreath, of laurel and white chrysanthemums, he handed to my mate Taffy. We followed him out of doors to the waiting group of people and stood between two elderly Frenchmen. Monsieur Le Cure touched my shoulder and said, "No - you and your friend must head the procession. You are closer to the dead soldiers than we are. They are your people. I, the Burgermaster and the others will follow." We then took our place and all proceeded, back from whence we came, down leafy lanes and into the fields beyond.

The scene here was utter carnage and walking became difficult. Bomb craters and mountains of earth impeded our progress and the tools of war lay scattered everywhere. Two six inch guns, now silent, still pointed skywards amidst the remains of others which had been blown apart in the battle, service caps and helmets could be seen and here and there were bullet riddled water bottles. There were trenches and dugouts. Planes lay "up-ended", crumpled and burned out and, as we passed by, Monsieur Le Cure pointed to one particular aircraft. "That was where the airmen's charred bodies were found, by a farmer's boy."

The horror of war!

We slowly moved forward,, to where uneven ground and long grass gave way to a more pastoral scene and, a little later, the priest said, "Look to the right. There are your dead." I looked, and observed five graves, each marked with a simple wooden cross. Everyone stopped short of the graves and Taffy and I stepped forward to lay our wreaths. What a pitiful sight - five brave men in five graves, alone. But no, a solitary blackbird announced that he was keeping watch. I laid my wreath on no particular grave because all were one and as we stood, I could not but be reminded of the poem by Rupert Brooke in which he wrote, "………breathes here a man with soul so dead, who never to himself has said, there is some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England."

As I pondered, people began to file slowly past, each placing their simple tribute of flowers upon the graves. They then re-assembled, the priest gave a brief summary of relevant events and began to pray, "Ave Maria, mater et ami...” He then motioned to me and I stood, with him at my side to translate, and nervously began to speak the words that had been racing through my mind. The date was November 11, 1944 and the following is a summary of what was said at the time: "I am privileged to be with you today and am overwhelmed by your expressions of sympathy, care and concern for those of our comrades who died in the battle for freedom, and on behalf of the families and friends of these five men, I can, very inadequately, but offer our sincere and grateful thanks. The cost thus far in human life has been great; nevertheless the fight must and will continue until ultimate victory is accomplished.

”You, indeed all the people of France, have responded to the call. Under German occupation you have endured hardship and repression unknown to us in England. You have lived under the German jackboot and you have experienced its ruthless tyranny. You also know what it is to lose friend and family. We thank you for joining with us against tyranny.

”I speak for all my comrades when I also say that we have been moved by the kindness, generosity and hospitality you and your nation have shown in the face of so much adversity. Today, I have seen the impossible. We came to France as strangers and we move on as friends. Thank you for joining with us in the fight. Thank you again. And now, on behalf of King George, our Parliament, the workers and women at home I say, VIVE LA FRANCE!"

(Note: I have no reason to doubt that to this day, the people of Argennes continue to maintain the five graves as they promised.)

By this time the German forces were staggering under the allied onslaught. Slowly and painfully they backed off and gave more ground. The freedom of France, being bought at such cost of human life, peered over a distant horizon. Perhaps at this point a mention of whom I would term a second "Jeanne d'Arc" would not go amiss.

Maybe not enough has been recorded as to the service accomplished by those ordinary French folk, those brave souls, who, with no self regard, became "The Resistance" and my tale would certainly not be complete without an introduction to a young girl named Nellie Gosse, who became, and remains to this day, both "French sister" and family friend. She lived, with her widowed mother, in the sleepy little hamlet of Quittebeouf, which, having been unable to withstand German occupation now lived in abject misery. Freedom was history. Night curfew was the order and anyone, particularly women and girls were subject to insult, assault and, in some cases, brutality. Nellie, aged eighteen, having been forcefully removed from home, now lay in a filthy prison in Rouen. Her crime? Sheltering some allied airmen! Some would have given up hope, but hers was far from dead. She resolved to help in the liberation of her beloved France - but how, as yet, she knew not.

It all began when, at the close of a long and dismal day, outside Quittebeouf, Nellie heard the unmistakable cough, of damaged and dying aircraft engines. A bomber, not German she observed, struggled into view. Unable to maintain height, the pilot's only option was to put it down. The plane came to a juddering halt and the crew slid out, one by one. Good! No one had seen them - yet! Now what? Get away from the plane! Which direction? Where are the Germans? Can't be far away! Must have heard us come in! As the crew hurriedly pondered on their situation, and not without confusion, they saw a girl beckoning them.

They gingerly moved forward and, after a few whispered words of introduction, being satisfied as to the mysterious appearance of this friendly French girl, allowed themselves to be led, under as much cover as possible, to Nellie's little abode where Madame Gosse, after almost collapsing with shock at the sight, hid the men some distance away as best both she and Nellie could. Fourteen anxious days and nights followed. It was too quiet. Where ARE the Germans? They must be around SOMEWHERE. They probably started from the plane and widening the search. Can't hang around. Got to make a move!

During the penultimate night, Nellie, clad in dark cape with hood, crept out, as she had done for the past two weeks, and quietly went to where the men were hidden - in her hands, the small bag of very simple provisions, spared from a very ill-stocked kitchen. "Mama has sent food and drink,” she whispered, "be quick to eat for soon it is day and will be dangerous. Tonight you come my house for wash and hot soup and then I tell you my plan for you go away. Au revoir." And she was gone!

That final night found weary and anxious airmen at her house. After a swift wash in hot water and devouring the promised soup, food and drink, enough for six days with care, were handed to a few very grateful foreigners, along with instructions on the best way to proceed hence. Nellie and her mother then bade a final "au revoir et bon voyage" and the men slipped away into the night. How the news later came was a mystery, but Nellie and her mother joyfully heard that the English aircrew had reached British lines.

Three days after the men had left, the little household lay asleep. It was very early in the morning. Mama stirred. “What was that?” Her question was soon answered. "Open the door or we break it down." Her heart pounded. She slipped on her dressing gown and approached the door. More curses! The next thing, she was shoved to one side as two Germans barged into the house. "Are you Nellie Gosse?" "No, I am her mother." "Then get her" came the reply. The poor woman stood there horrified! How did they know? Who was the collaborator? What treacherous mind had betrayed them? "Get her you old dolt!" the words came again. "Pardon me", Madame Gosse replied, "It is not good to disturb my daughter's rest". This infuriated the intruders, and one made to go upstairs but Mama sprang to the entrance and barred the way. "One moment, my daughter's room is private." Thereupon, Madame called to her daughter, and, a few moments later, a sleepy eyed 18 year old, the colour drained from her cheeks, stood before them trembling, and shivering in her night attire. She told herself that for her mother's sake she must pull herself together. "Ave Maria," she prayed, "please help me.”

"Are you Nellie Gosse?" "Yes," she replied, "please take a chair." "No" was the reply, "soldiers of the Fuhrer never sit." The dreaded question then came. "Where are the airmen?" She laughed nervously. "Airmen? I have not seen any airmen." "Then you are telling lies, my pretty girl. We know that men came to your house. Your neighbour has given us information. Who were they? Tell us the truth now. The Fuhrer does not forget those who work for him. Speak or you will come with us." "I tell you again," Nellie replied, "I have not seen any airmen." "In that case, you WILL come with us, and we promise, you will tell us, later!"

At that, with little time to dress, and with her cape around her, she was bundled outside into the waiting vehicle and driven away. Madame Gosse, numbed in horrified silence, knew not whither.

Pr-BR

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