Gordon Bourner's War Chapter 3

ESCAPE

The following morning the whole camp was marched westward; but my two friends and I were not with them. The previous evening we had cut a hole in the perimeter fence in the darkness between the probing searchlights. Once through, we made for the Belgian civilian camp hospital and, much to our relief, we were given shelter. We were given broom handles to be used for protection if necessary because German soldiers, including retreating young storm troopers, were looking for any escapees. We were posted to keep an eye out on the wood as break-ins had been reported. Soldiers continued to search the camp hospital, keen ones searching the beds. On one occasion, driven by hunger, I went to the cook house for some food. . As I entered the open doorway I saw a storm trooper, with his back to me, demanding food at gunpoint. I vanished, silently, before I was spotted or I would have been shot without question.

It was the winter of 1944. The Russians were only twenty miles away now. Their artillery was lighting the sky a vivid orange as far as the eye could see. It was terrifying never knowing if one of their shells might fall on our area. Three days after the artillery fire the advance tanks arrived accompanied by foot soldiers searching for "Folk Deutsh", that is Poles who had assisted the Germans; they wore brown German uniforms with distinctive markings. I saw one such unfortunate man being questioned in the street; he was shot before he could answer!

We were hidden away in the hospital for about ten days, after which we moved towards the advancing Russian army. When we crossed the Russian front line we were soon arrested and taken to a commanding officer. Our identities were confirmed by the prisoner-of-war discs around our necks. We were then freed and allowed to stay in an empty house. We were given no food but we did find some bottled fruit and other preserves; we took all that we could carry. The following day we were told to make for a particular village and with the aid of a map and directions from some civilians, we set off. This was the start of our lengthy journey through Russian occupied country and Russia itself, a journey throughout which we discovered the Russian soldiers had little interest in our welfare.

At each town we stopped at night we were constantly harassed at the point of a sub-machine gun. On one occasion two soldiers forced their way into a house in which we were sheltering just as we were going to sleep. They searched us and took what they wanted including my wristwatch. I had managed to hang on to the watch, which had been a present from my mother, during my capture, so I was particularly aggrieved at its loss now. I protested, but the soldier simply raised his machine gun, silently.

Snow was now making life particularly difficult. An early start each day was very important as the distance between each village was considerable. The ground was flat and, as far as the eye could see, was covered in snow. In the villages were drifts of snow, up to twelve feet high; paths through them had been cut in order that life could continue. On arrival at one of these villages, we would seek shelter until dawn. The villagers were frightened of the Russian troops and refused to accommodate us, so we had to find a barn or similar shelter from the worsening snowstorms. Once, a young couple did offer us shelter as night was approaching and they were concerned that the soldiers would shoot anything that moved after dark. There home was a humble, two roomed bungalow, and we slept on the floor alongside the three-generation family living there. We were given some home-baked bread to eat and allowed to strip wash. At the next village, however, we had to be content with a barn. The farmer, who owned it, discovered us at dawn just as we were preparing to leave. As he was armed with a pitchfork, we had to work hard to convince him who we were. Fortunately, he was sympathetic and he sent us on our way with some food, but only after he had left separately as he did not want to run the risk of being discovered with us.

During our long trek the weather had increased to blizzard proportions. Four hours away from our destination we came across German prisoners being herded towards the west. They were facing the blizzard and, despite five years of their ill treatment, I felt sorry for them. During these last ten miles of our journey we also passed a battle area. Bodies of German soldiers had either just been left where they fell or stacked, like timber, by the road side; some had been put in a copse of trees. Dead horses lay everywhere frozen solid like everything else that did not move; eventually, the horseflesh would be eaten.

And so we reached the village, considerably larger than the others we had passed through, where we were to find the promised house for escaped prisoners of war. Once accepted, we were not allowed out, but had to stay in this large bare house with no amenities at all - not even chairs! Our diet was meagre and I was feeling particularly weak following our long trek. In addition, we had no contact with the outside world. (One officer did try to get through, but was caught at the border.) Overall, moral was low and I was beginning to question whether my decision to escape had been the correct one. I could only hope for, not expect, good news.

One sunny day we were disturbed by a particular shindig. Apparently an American pilot was searching for spare parts from his compatriots’ planes that had been shot down. He wanted somewhere to stay for the night. We saw him walking up the main street followed by the local population. He was 6ft. 2ins. tall, clothed in a brown, leather flying suit and, to us, he looked magnificent; our hopes instantly improved. He promised to alert the consul of our plight and clearly kept his word because after about a week, rumours were circulating about our proposed transportation to the Black Sea port of Odessa. The day before we left we received a bonus of a pig for our rations; this was only the second time in four and a half years that I had tasted meat.

The next morning we were told to prepare to leave. At noon four lorries arrived and we were loaded on to them, that is pushed in like cattle! While we were waiting to move off one chap attempted to barter with a Russian guard, using his watch for his side of the proposed bargain. Unfortunately, the guard could not hear the watch ticking so he kept tapping it against the lorries mudguard until it fell to pieces. The Russian guard turned out to be our driver. He disappeared, and returned holding some raw pig fat. Next, he lifted the lorry’s bonnet and drew off some of the petrol into a bottle, which he proceeded to swig between sucking on the pig’s fat as he jumped into the driving seat. We were on the move again after some three weeks stay at the "refuge".

We set off, but after a few hours travelling on frozen, snow-covered roads our driver was incapable of driving straight. We careered over fields and through hedges before, eventually, catching up with the convoy. However, now the leading driver had lost his way and stopped, confused at a fork in the road. Our own officer sorted out the problem so that we were able to continue the journey, reaching our destination where a train was to take us on the final leg of our journey to Odessa.

The train moved off the following day, although by midday it had stopped. (This was to be the pattern of our progress over the next ten days.) Ahead we could see hundreds of German prisoners of war laying and repairing the railway lines. One day we stopped at a point that overlooked a river. Opposite us a huge bridge was being re-built by this prisoner labour. Hundreds of German soldiers were working waste-deep in the water. The Russian guards were sitting on the bank shouting abuse; if one prisoner appeared to be slacking these guards would take pot shots at him: yet another particular vivid memory. "When we had travelled for about four days into the Ukraine we made our usual stop, and were permitted to disembark and stretch our legs. About half a mile to our right was a village, from which came its occupants, running across the fields to greet us. Bartering began in earnest. I spoke to one lady who had thought that English people were black! Actually, this is not as surprising as it seems, for these villagers were born and died in their villages, never being allowed to travel; indeed, the Germans and we British were the only foreign people they had ever seen. She gave me a pint of milk and wished me good luck.

We eventually reached Odessa. We were stripped of every item of clothing we had, which was then fumigated and de-loused, a process that took about one and half hours. We were also given some soup to eat, for which we were given spoons made of balsa wood that had been hand painted - I still have mine. I also have another souvenir obtained during the several hours wait we had for the ship that was to take us to England. I traded two ounces of tobacco for one of the guard's cap badges. The badge is shaped as a brass star; its centre is of red enamel and contains a brass hammer and sickle.

We had to wait' at the dock gates for some Russian prisoners of war to disembark, and for their ship to be fumigated. In fact, our men had to force these Russian prisoners of war to leave as they were reluctant to do so. We found out why. The Russians seemed to have no time for their returning soldier prisoners, and once they had been given some clothes, including a new great coat, they had no one to greet them. Indeed, once through the dock gates they were actually set upon by the local people; one poor man who did not manage to escape this attack was stripped of everything!

We boarded our shop at teatime aware that we had a naval escort to accompany us. It is difficult to express the depth of elation I felt at being free for the first time in five years. Once aboard we were each given a place setting and a small white loaf of bread (a meal was to follow in fifteen minutes). We each sat and looked at our loaves before tearing into them. The sailors were particularly amused to see loaves of bread being eaten dry.

Once underway, our route took us to Constantinople, which we reached at night following some particularly colourful scenery on the way. The passage past Constantinople was very narrow and the lights on either shore were vital aids. From there we headed for the African port of Alexandra, and the Suez Canal.

On one day at this point we were allowed to go ashore for about four hours, having first received advice on where and what to avoid. I visited some shops, but I had very little money (an advance on wages was the term given to the amount we had been allocated). The local shopkeepers were intent on tricking our money and possessions from us. We all retuned safely to the ship on time except for one sailor who was eventually delivered in the early hours of the morning. He had been stripped of everything except his underpants; even his false teeth were missing, a loss that upset him more than everything else.

We left Alexandra for the Mediterranean and home - a magic word for me. On this last leg we were expected to carry out some of the 'watch' duties in order to give the sailors a break. These watches involved perching on high for two hours looking for anything suspicious, ranging from submarines to aircraft. Powerful binoculars made the job easier; waves between twenty and thirty feet high made it more difficult. We passed Malta and Gibraltar and about two hours out into the Bay of Biscay, notorious for its bad weather, sirens warned us that depth charges were being dropped by our escorting ships. It seemed that enemy submarines were after us. Some ten charges were dropped in all, each one shaking our ship.

We reached the English Channel. The ship kept close to the shore to give us a good view of life there. As we neared the harbour we could see cars on the roads, and people waving to greet us home. The greenery of the fields and trees was beautiful, forming a scene I had dreamed about so often.

Additional material:

Click here to view map1 - prisoner of war route^{About links}

Click here to view map2 - entire wartime route^{About links}

OFFICIAL ROUTE OF B.E.F. PRISONERS — OBTAINED FROM WAR OFFICE

Route taken by B.E.F. prisoners of war who were captured during May, June, July and August of 1940.

AMIENS.

B.E.F. prisoners were marched from Amiens to Trier in Germany. From Trier they were taken by cattle truck to the main camp.

Route of March from Amiens to Trier.

Amiens - St Quentin - Vervins - Mezieres - Sedan - Longwy (French /Luxemburg border). - Esch - Luxemburg - Echternach (on Luxemburg/German Border)-Trier.

Route in Cattle Trucks from Trier to main camps.

Trier * Koblen * Marburg * Munden * Gottingen * Hildershiem * Magdeburg * Stendal * Witternburg * Szczecin * S_argard * Choszozno.

Prisoners going to the Polish P.O.W camps went on from choszozno to Thorn via Pila.

Prisoners to Marrianeburg and Poznan went via Choszozno.

Postbox

40 years ago

Sir, On September 3rd, 1939, the 7th Battalion The Royal Sussex Regiment was established in Brighton. From there the officers, NCOs and men worked and got organised until April 1940 when they were sent to France. The battalion was only partly trained and ill-armed.

On May 18th 1940 the battalion was bombed in its train just short of Amiens causing about 100 casualties. This occurred in the French sector and there were no British troops in the area-nor any French front-line ones either.

Two days later General Rommel with 100 tanks bumped into the battalion and halted for 18 hours. The Regiment was awarded a battle honour — Amiens 1940 . No other regiment was awarded this honour. The battalion was virtually obliterated — killed, wounded and prisoners-of-war (five years)

Would Sussex be as serene and peaceful today had not these men (and others) stood their ground? To quote from a War Office letter to the commanding officer of the battalion “…the deduction is that the stand of your battalion at Amiens in 1940 had a material bearing on the fortunes of the campaign.”

It is proposed to organise a party of surviving members of the 7th battalion to visit Amiens towards the end of May 1980 (40years after). Would anyone interested please contact Denis Glover, Rozel, 56 Upper Brighton Road, Worthing.

Lieut-Colonel H.Gethen. Lewes.

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