A Glider Pilot's Story - continued (5/6)

CHAPTER 5

The following morning we began to lay the foundations for a long-term survival routine of which the two main components would be concealment and a supply of food. We would scavenge the empty houses for food, resolving that whenever we broke into a dwelling we would take care not to leave traces of a forced entry which might attract the attention of either friend or foe. Our main housebreaking tools were the jack-knife and the bayonet with which we were not only able to open the catch of a sash window but also to close it behind us when we left. Having adopted this policy, we kept to it, even though there were occasions when we failed to obtain access to likely looking properties because of our reluctance to use undue force. Apart from the necessity for concealment, I think we also respected the property of the local inhabitants who had been forced to abandon their homes. With one exception we took only those things which were necessary for our survival. (The one exception was when we took a couple of glazed clay pipes which had a picture of Nieuwerkerk on the bowl. We thought they would make splendid souvenirs but we also used them to smoke fag ends two or three times removed.)

Most days we started with a 'brew' and then set out on an expedition, wearing plimsolls for stealth. Systematically we entered and searched many of the houses in the streets surrounding the middle of the village. Our roomy airborne smocks, belted around the waist, usually provided sufficient space to carry our 'shopping'. Beside removing foodstuffs we also took clean underwear of assorted shape size and colour. This meant that whenever we had made a visit to Jan, we would have something to change into when we returned. Then even if our uniforms were still damp, we could still be dry underneath.

One morning we were in what had been a corner shop. There we discovered a large churn with a capacity of about four or five gallons. On investigation it proved to be a receptacle for treacle or syrup. The remaining contents covered the bottom to a depth of about two inches. My arm was just the right length to reach the bottom of the churn. The top inch was still liquid and the bottom inch had become crystallised. Treasure trove indeed! While we were considering ways of extracting and removing the contents in a suitable utensil, we were startled to hear heavy footsteps outside. There, striding past the window, were three tall, uniformed men. They wore wading boots, long black leather overcoats with belts, holsters with pistols, and dark peak caps with blue roundel badges. Cowering behind the shop counter, we observed their passing and held a whispered conversation as to who they were and what we should do next. My first thought was that here was a U-boat captain and two of his officers.

We decided to give them time to clear the top of the street, then quietly slip back and lie low until later in the day. Out we went closing the window behind us and then back home, slinking along the streets. We reached our house without further incident and quietly twiddled our thumbs. Hours went by with sporadic outbursts of speculative whispering and ears pricked for sounds of activity outside. At one stage we did hear voices coming from the direction of the baker's shop which was a little way along the street. We peered through the little side window which looked out in that direction but could see nothing.

The time went by very slowly and as the afternoon wore on we felt that they must surely have gone by now, whoever they were. Another half hour went by and we prepared ourselves to go and collect the treacle. Off we set, this time with a small round tin, such as would hold a pound of sweets. With careful progress we reached the shop. I opened the window and slipped inside while Phil remained outside to keep watch from the doorway. It took ages to pour the liquid part into the tin. Just as I was coming to the conclusion that I would not be able to transfer much more, there was a shout from the street followed by the soft pitter-patter of Phil's plimsolled feet disappearing into the distance. Not knowing quite what was happening, I lowered the churn carefully to the floor and ducked behind the counter.

No sooner had I done this when I heard Phil return .... "Psst! Blackie - come on!" ...... By now the treacle had assumed a totally disproportionate value and I was reluctant to abandon it again. Taking my revolver in one hand and clutching the tin of treacle with the other, I made for the open window. "Where are they ?" I whispered. "Top of the street," came the reply, "get a move on." Hurriedly, I cocked one leg straddling the sill, wriggled awkwardly until my foot reached the ground, which was considerably lower than the floor of the shop. This left me considerably stretched with one leg left on the window sill and both hands full. With a backward hop that was more like a stagger, I freed the airborne leg, only to bring down the window sash with a crash that broke the pane. "Damn!" I thought, "there goes our rule of leaving no trace." "Never mind that now" said Phil, "come on." "Which way ?" I asked. "Round the corner and back up the other street" he replied. Cautiously we made our way. As I paused to peer round the next corner, Phil kept a wary eye to the rear. "OK, Phil," I said, "it's all clear." Then, just at the very moment when I stepped into the street, a dark uniformed figure started across at the other end. I hesitated and Phil bumped into me.

Seeing me, the figure hesitated and was about to go into reverse. "He's spotted me" I said, stepping forward and waving my revolver threateningly. At this, Phil hopped across the street and we advanced towards him, one on each side. He came down the middle towards us with his hands raised above his head. We met halfway and with hands still raised he said "Marechaussee." We exchanged puzzled glances, thinking to ourselves, "What the heck does that mean ?" "Politie, Nederlands Politie," he explained lowering his hands, "you are English ?" He then surprisingly indicated that we move off the street on to a path which separated two of the houses. With signs and strange words, he told us that he had two colleagues with him, that his boss, the Luitenant, was N.S.B. (another swastika traced on the side of the house). He offered us a cigarette which we gratefully accepted and while we were smoking, we heard shouts and a whistle being blown - it was time for him to leave. Handshakes all round among new friends, then off he went in the direction we had come from and after a brief pause we went home the other way. We wondered whether we would ever see him again.

The pattern of survival continued. The following morning we secured the last of the treacle from the churn. We also tidied up the broken window which we had so hurriedly left and disposed of the broken fragments of glass. Our encounter did not perturb us - we probably felt less alone, having made a new friend, a policeman with red hair. (His name, though we did not know it then, was Jan de Waarde.) We wondered if he might turn out to be useful in the future. We didn't know how long we would have to wait on Schouwen. Our early hopes for relief had been dashed after the failure of Market-Garden and now the liberation of Holland would prove to be long and costly in terms of misery and famine for the Dutch people.

CHAPTER 6

Besides the regular foraging expeditions, we were dependent on our regular visits to Ouwerkerk. The first of these took place about five days after we told Jan that there were just the two of us. We were invited in and we met Jan's mother and Adriaan de Valk who worked on the farm. As had been foreshadowed, the survivors of our division had withdrawn from Arnhem. Jan also gave us news of our immediate comrades.

Apparently, on the night we had split up, three British soldiers had gone into Ouwerkerk and asked a householder to inform the Germans that they wanted to give up. (Several weeks later we heard from Herman that when he and the lad from the South Staffs left the barn, they found the other two waiting down the road. At first he tried to persuade them not to give in and then he tried to persuade his companion not to join the other two. It was to no avail, and he retired some distance away and watched them call at a house. Then he disappeared on his own.) The news of their surrender was not really unexpected. By splitting up the group, I had given them the opportunity to do something which was already in their minds. Had I known with certainty what the outcome would be, I might have grouped us differently. However it had been my intention to give every one of us a better chance of survival and not handicap anyone. At the time that Jan gave us this news, he was unable to tell us what had happened to Herman. Before we left on this occasion, Jan had given us some more bread and also some tobacco and cigarette papers.

Two or three days after our encounter with the policeman Jan de Waarde, we again revisited the Grote Hoofstede where we were now always welcome. The nights were now rather cold for the soaking which was our lot whenever we waded along the road from Nieuwerkerk to Ouwerkerk. On arrival we would remove our boots by the door and dry out by the fire in the living room or by the Aga type cooking range in the kitchen. On each occasion we passed an evening in cosy companionship, made possible by Jan's English and hospitality, not least by his mother's concern for our welfare.

We talked and exchanged knowledge of Dutch and English customs. Sometimes we four men would sit at the kitchen table and play cards, mostly a form of whist or trumps in which Phil and I would occasionally have difficulties with the strangeness of some of the court cards. Jan patiently smiled away our problems, Adriaan mostly grinned from ear to ear making remarks and attempts at conversation in what I would now be able to distinguish as Zeeuwse dialect but was to us, then, only Double Dutch. The explanations would come from Jan 20 and when understanding dawned, we would agree or reply if it had been a question. Meanwhile, Mevrouw Romeijn would be sitting in the corner, watching all whilst sewing, usually smiling benignly. She was now more relaxed in our presence, her earlier fears dissipated by her obvious pleasure in providing for us what comfort she could.

Perhaps her anxiety for us was matched by our worry that we were placing these people in danger. We could not help but admire them for their unselfish courage and their humanity.

On these visits prompted by the need for bread, we were also hungry for news and Jan would give us what information he could - usually not very much. There seemed to be very little movement on the mainland in our direction.

Sometimes there was no electricity, and I remember very clearly Jan's quaint apology as he greeted us by the light of an oil lamp. "I am sorry," he said "but tonight the stream is off."

At the end of such evenings, when the time came for us to depart, we would be given a couple of loaves and some apples to sustain us until our next visit. In addition we often received a little butter and usually Jan contrived to provide tobacco and cigarette papers. After saying goodbye and trying to express our thanks, we would reluctantly set out for Nieuwerkerk again. One night we changed our routine. Phil and I had discussed this previously. We decided that after drying out we could avoid a second wetting in the same evening by spending the night in the barn at the v.d. Stolpe farm.

This proved to be a suitably successful ploy for a number of visits except one. On this occasion, the night was pitch black as we set out to cross the field. In order to cross the ditches it was necessary to go diagonally from corner to corner. It was so dark that I arrived at the ditch a few yards short of the crossing point, slid in, and was soaked all over again. Phil, a few yards behind me, realising that I had disappeared, whispered loudly, "Blackie, where the hell are you ?" The strange thing was that now I was standing in water up to my chest, my head was close to the level of the field and I could make out the shadowy figure of Phil close to the edge of the ditch. Wishing to spare him the ignominious discomfort which had befallen me, I told him to stand still. Instead, however, he edged forward with the idea of pulling me out but was soon in the ditch alongside me. Covered with mud, we crawled out like a couple of drowned rats and continued miserably on our way.

It wasn't far but we were very annoyed with ourselves. The mishap had cancelled out any advantage in spending the night at the v.d. Stolpe farm. Once in the barn we undressed and spread out our wet clothes; dried ourselves as well as we could and changed into the drier underwear we carried in our rucsacs. Then, shivering and cursing ourselves and each other, we burrowed into the hay with the resolve to be more careful in the future. Apart from this minor disaster, these visits to the Grote Hoofstede were more than welcome breaks from the monotony of bare existence.

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