Bit of an anti-climax that! Perhaps it'll be better next time. Wonder if its worth the trouble. But now to the questions.
Sitting close together Jon and the girl started to communicate. Darkness made it more difficult, but again with the girls smattering of English and his own German, he built up a few precious facts, and the girl promised to bring a friend on the next evening. Jon left her, sad that they had both used each other purely for the sexual act like an animal, but grateful for her trust and proffered help. With plenty of time to spare, he squeezed back down the tunnel and reported back to the leader. He knew the look-out would tidy the mouth of the tunnel when the last man had returned, so that the earth would not look disturbed. Quite a feat in the dark, and doing it from the inside. With the excitement still running through his blood sleep evaded him for hours, and it was with a start he woke the next morning when Chalky pulled him out of bed.
"O.K, was it?" he asked.
"O.K," replied Jon. But shush. More to come."
The next night Jon squeezed himself out of the tunnel and slipped quietly into the thicket of the night befores rendezvous where he found two girls, the white bloused partner of the previous meeting and an older woman. Embarrassed he did not know how to play his sexual cards. The white blouse was motionless and gave no signs of anticipation. Jon decided to follow her lead.
"I'm Lisa," said the other girl, in fluent but accented English. "This is Anna. She told me to come."
"Thats great. Thank Anna for me will you? Is it safe to talk?" Jon approached the situation warily.
"Safe!," Lisa almost spat the word. "Safe! Nothings safe these days. Annas fine. Both our men are away. Been gone two years. We hate them." Jon felt Anna raise her arm in the Nazi salute. "HATE them. Do anything to make it difficult. Take everything, they do. Tried to take me, but I bit. Took my chickens and cow instead."
"Its like that is it," Jon said quietly. He could feel the anger held by these two women, anger that the German invaders had taken their livelihoods and nearly their dignity.
"What is it you want?" Lisa asked. Anna looked from face to face, watching.
"Well, its like this. Glad you can talk English. Have had a terrible time with gestures when I was out before."
"You've escaped before?" queried Lisa. "Didnt they hurt you?"
Jon disregarded the last question. "Its like this," he repeated. "Firstly, tonight I've to be back in three hours. Not four. Secondly, I'm trying for another escape, several of us are. They sent me to find out about the country round about. I can speak German so it helps. Dont know any Polish. We need help."
"Its goot. We can help." Lisa drew closer to listen. Her closeness and femininity nearly distracted Jon from his task in hand, but he took hold of himself.
"We need maps, and clothes. Anything thatll make us look ordinary. We need passports. But take care there. Dont want reprisals. We need local money. Train timetables. All that kind of thing. And," he added as an afterthought, "news of the war. Over three years weve had now dumped in that damned hole. Sorry, girls, bad language. But fed up we all are."
"Think we can..."
"Well pay somehow." Jon interrupted. "Seems I've asked an awful lot."
"Pay? How can you pay?" Lisa asked surprised.
"With cigarettes. With corned beef. With a little money, forged maybe, but its difficult to tell." Jon, anxious that he had overstepped the bounds of demands, was worried. "Its dangerous. Terribly dangerous. You might get caught. Reprisals."
Lisa laid her hand on his arm. He shivered with the contact. Anna turned away. "Told you. Wed do anything against THEM. Give me two weeks. Must be careful. Plenty of informers around. Come back here, you tell Anna. I go now. Annas ready for you. Shes lovely girl."
Lisa squeezed Jons arm and slipped into the dark night. Surprised at himself for putting himself so completely in the hands of a stranger, and surprised at the turn of events, he turned to look at Anna. Even in the dark of the night he could see that her eyes were troubled. Jon put his arms round her shoulders and found she was shivering. Tenderness overcame him, so he cradled her gently. Soon she relaxed, and tilted her lips towards his. He felt her nipples harden. Desire over came fear and anxiety. The urgent need of relief of two young people flowed gently yet surely in the darkness, a very different act from the speed of the night before.
Wish I could know more about you? Your family? What you're like in the daylight. Perhaps a bit like Miranda, gentle and... No good dwelling either on the past or on an unattainable present. Aloud he said, "Must go now, Anna. Tomorrow moon too big. I come again two weeks. Thank you, Anna, thank you. Take care." Her puzzled eyes showed that she had not understood much, but she took Jons two grubby hands in hers and lifted them to her lips. Then she turned away and disappeared.
Exhausted with the emotion and the excitement Jon squiggled back down the tunnel, and reported then and there all the factual details of the night, he omitted to mention the tenderness of his feelings to the two Polish girls.
It took a few weeks to assemble all the necessary items for the Escape Committee. Jon saved for himself a pair of overalls, a jacket and a cap. He also had a little local money. He knew he would escape when he wanted to, and not on the orders of the Committee. Anna and Lisa were trusty friends. The possibility of pregnancy was never mentioned. What will happen to the girl, thought Jon, if she gets pregnant when all the men are away. THEY are bound to jump to conclusions. Still, I can't stop now. She asks for it so I supply it. can't say I dont enjoy it. I do.
Soon Jon saw his chance for escape. The camp was shrouded in a dense fog. It hung like wet gauze and crept into crevasses and hung around the soggy leaves. Fortunately for him, the army issue overcoat that he was allotted was sizes too big, the authorities did not care what the prisoners looked like. Secretly he put the overalls and jacket on under the great coat, the cap he stuffed into his pocket. The money and extra cigarettes and bars of chocolate he tucked into the double lined pockets he had made in his shirt. The work at that time was sawing wood for pit props. Gangs were ordered to form up to collect the double headed saw, two to a saw. Chalky was in his gang. It was still dark.
"Get a phoney squabble going, Chalky. Outside the saw storage shed. Going to make a break for it. O.K?" Jon talked out of the side of his mouth.
"O.K, Ging. Good luck." Chalky turned away and moved on, not wanting to be seen near an escapee.
A wonderful organised squabble broke out amongst the thirty men queueing to collect their saws. Jon saw his chance, slipped behind the hut, and quickly removed his coat. Donning his cap, he moved swiftly into the surrounding darkness and was gone. The small station half a mile away was his target. He knew the way from his previous journey. He could hear the shouts of the angry guards as they charged wildly about in the fog and dark trying to find out where he was. He put it out of his mind, trusting his friends to be firm in their cover-up. Calmly he walked up to the booking office on the station and booked himself a ticket to a destination sixty miles down the line. In his fear of detection he forgot to pick up the change. When the honest booking clerk reminded him about it, he indicated that he was tired. Fortunately the incident passed off.
Whew, that was a close one. Think the clerk must have been a genuine local, not a collaborator. Damn, my red hair. It shows however low I pull the cap down. Its no good dying it in case I get caught in the rain.
He went on to the platform and waited. Cor, wish the bloody train would arrive. Guards could come any moment. Seems like eternity, waiting here. Must keep calm. can't even smoke. Cigarettes arent the local ones. Ah. I hear the beauty. Good show. No ones after me yet. Still dark, they can't know which way I've gone. A smudged light slowly nudged its way through the dark and fog. With a clanking, sighing and puffing the welcome monster drew to a halt. Only a few passengers alighted. Slowly, and with great discipline, Jon walked along the carriages and found one empty.
Someones looking after me. He smiled to himself. Now just get going before the guards arrive. He relaxed into a corner, eyes closed, but with every watching instinct active. The train started off, slowly, jerkily. Dawn broke, though the thick fog remained. After a while, the train stopped and started, stopped and started. Then he heard the familiar sound of the crump of bombs. He looked out of the window and saw rows and rows of rail track.
Must be nearing a town, he surmised. Maybe well be the target if this fog goes. Dont feel very safe here. Think I'll nip off.
Quietly he opened the carriage door, stood on the outside step, and shut the door again, noiselessly. He slid down to the flints, then quickly nipped over the raised embankment and hid behind some trees. He waited, motionless till the train moved on. Then he explored the tracks. Eerie and wraithlike in the fog, his footsteps reveberated loudly. Soon he came to the tail of a goods train, also stationary. There was a cardboard notice on the side of the wagon. It said WARSZAWA.
Dont know if thats north, south, east or west. But it suits me. Fogs a mixed blessing. Hides my whereabouts, but stops me knowing which way everything is. No time to look for food. Tummys rattling around already.
Looking up and down the line Jon saw no signs of life. He climbed up on to the open wagon, and slid down under the tarpaulin which covered some sacks. There was a large puddle of water held in the tarpaulin. Thankfully Jon leaned forward and cupping his hands again and again drank his fill. Thats a bonus. And now for off. Come on, train. Bombings stopped.
Tired and warm under the tarpaulin Jon fell into a deep sleep. He woke to find they were chugging along, but very slowly. Getting a bit hungry, I am. And what about a pee! Over the edge, I suppose. Though it was still daylight the fog hung damply to everything it enfolded. It appeared they chugged through country side. Jon knelt upright and relieved himself, back to the wind. He stood taller to look to the front of the train, and fell back immediately. Wow, thats a narrow shave. The train had passed under a low bridge, with just enough room for a funnel. Taken my topknot off if Id not acted quickly. Dear me, danger on all sides. I'll have a bit of chocolate to calm me down." Jon ate a precious bit of chocolate and had another drink of water.
For three days and nights Jon bumped along on top of the wagon, hidden by the tarpaulin. Not much good escaping, if this is all it leads to, he thought. Wonder what itd be like not to have to look over my shoulder. Just to sit and stare and walk about, head in air. Marvellous! Free with time to think, with time to reason. can't really picture it. Still, must be putting space between me and the camp, never mind its slow. But I'm getting weaker all the time. Its not as if I were strong before I started. Couldnt hit the old punch bag these days. Must get off soon. Hope the fog lifts.
That night the train dawdled into the biggest infrastructure of rail track that Jon had ever seen. Bleedin Clapham Junction, seems like. Thisll sure get the raids. And this fog. can't see more than a yard. Spose this is Warsaw. Now what? God, were starting to shunt.
He crept to the end of the carriage, and proposed to use a buffer to help him down quietly. He put his toe on the circular retractable part, then felt it shake. Quickly he withdrew his foot. The train had shunted, shortening the length of his foothold. One second more and his foot would have been mangled. Whew. Another narrow shave! AND I'm trying to take care. He slid sideways to the ground. Now which way? Hell, I can't see if the trains are stationary or are moving. Got to cross umpteen lines, but to where? Damn this fog. My. I'm hungry. Always feel dizzy when I'm this hungry. Hope I can keep my wits about me.
Slowly he walked and stumbled the length of a track. It ended in the station platform. God in Heaven. What next? He froze on the spot. Dogs started to bark. Running footsteps came nearer. Jon hid below the level of the platform. The running footsteps went passed him. What a relief, Jon stayed motionless. Seconds later he heard a pattering of canine feet, and then heard the excited whine of a dog on scent. The footsteps returned. Jons days of freedom were ended. He surrendered without fuss. The escorted train journey back to camp was dreary in the extreme, but the guards were sympathetic enough to allow him a little food and water.
The fog cleared, and Jon looked out of the window as they chugged along. His blood froze, and heart missed a beat. He saw a huge poster headed by a large skull and cross bones. In three languages it stated that the Supreme Chief of Secret Police would shoot as spies any prisoners of war caught in the war-zones in civilian clothes. The guard saw Jon's reaction to the poster. He shook his head, and smiled. "This British soldier go camp. No want shoot British soldier. Maybe me prisoner. Me try escape too." Jon felt like shaking his hand, but instead raised it slightly in recognition of his humanity.
Another maximum spell in solitary, but not in the dungeon cells. He was taken to the a new wing of the camp called the Remand Compound. Here all the hardened trouble makers were assembled, all in solitary to start with, and then kept in huts with even stricter discipline and fewer privileges than the Main Camp for the rest of their sentence. The detachment from reality, the extra hardships, the aloneness were all part of the cost of an escape. Jon ground through the time till at last the day came for his change over to the Main Camp. What a change, from very hard bordering on bestial conditions, to just plain hard. But he was delighted to be with Chalky and Sefton once again.
More weeks passed, the monotony and boredom unbroken. Food was minimal, but regular. The exercise of the work on the rail track and the sawing of the pit props built up softening muscles The only excitement to break up an evergrowing sense of helplessness were the moments when gear for escaping was assembled, plans were made. Jon still dug in the tunnels in order to enable him to stay on the escape list, but he had secretly made other plans for himself, unbeknown to the committee. One night when wriggling backwards near the entrance to the tunnel he heard a commotion.
When a tunnel was in the process of being dug two lookouts were placed so they could watch all the movements of the enemy which entered the Main gate. By agreed methods of tick tacking the lookouts signalled the degree of danger. On that day in question the covered daily ration wagon was taken for granted as it passed through the Main Gates. Suspicions were raised when it motored passed its usual destination, the ration store. It was too late to take evasive action to warm those working in and around the tunnel. With a screech of brakes armed guards leapt out from under the tarpaulin. With spades and shovels, stamps and shouts they rushed into the hut, and caught red-handed those dealing with the excavated soil and of course Jon who popped up at the excact moment of excitement.
"Wonder whose split on us muttered Jon, as they were marched towards the Commandants hut. Bet its Griffin. Hes been getting fatter and more pleased with himself."
"Saw him talking to the guards, smoking together they were," a fellow tunnel digger whispered back.
"Silence," roared the guard.
Standing before the German Commandant Jon made a personal decision. Not going to trust anyone. Someone squealed on us. Going by myself when I decide, not a moment before and not a moment after. Wonder if I'll ever be able to trust again? What if I have a wife? Will I trust her? Complications, complications.
His wandering thoughts were abruptly ended when the Commandant, whose English was fluent but gutteral, called the motley gang to attention. "All tunnels now found. Your tunnel last one. No more tunnelling. You all go now Remand Compound three weeks. Half rations. Right about and dismiss."
"Thats not too bad," said Jon. "Thought we might have isolation again. Used to half rations, I am. The old boy gave me the feeling that he thought it was a soldiers duty to escape."
"Nonsense, and shut up," an irritated reply came from a dishevelled middle-aged man, whom Jon had not seen before. The three weeks was freezingly boring, no work, no fatigues, little smoking and grumpy and frustrated fellow detainees.
Back in the camp Jon pestered the Escape Committee for the news they could hear from their secret wireless. Facts filtered through that the war was hotting up on all sides, and a wave of terrorism in the German ranks was being waged to purge some thousands of top German personnel involved in a bomb plot on Hitler. Jon, desperate to return to Britain before the war ended disregarded all advice for caution. He had acquired a false passport from Anna and Lisa, and disregrading the fact that the photographs did not look like him he memorised all the necessary particulars. He exhorted Lisa to tell the real owner of the passport to report its loss to the police. He thought that would prevent recriminations. He had a small suitcase and in it he packed a change of underwear, a few fresh collars, shaving gear, soap, towel and most important of all food and cigarettes and local currency. He had acquired enough of the last three items so there was no need to commit crimes during the first days of freedom, concentration on escape was the main requirement. He twisted the arm of a marine commando who was game for adventure to cut the wires of the camp with wirecutters provided by the girls. A dangerous and foolhardy job which had to be timed to the second before the roving searchlights lighted the area. Just before midnight, in a hut at the other side of a camp, Jon had persuaded bribed and cajoled the head of the hut to hold a party, and by mistake but on purpose to let it get out of hand drawing the attention of the guards on duty to the noise and disturbance. So many details, so many people indirectly involved, but just the marine commando and his few close comrades in his hut knew the exact details. Jon was worried about Griffin, the man with an eagle eye, and a challenge of fisticuffs still not resolved. He felt Griffin might wheedle out the facts either by bribery or threats.
If Griffin finds out, I'm sure hell shop me. Up to no good he is. Jon made a bold decision. On the night just before he left and when all final plans were made he went public and spoke to those assembled in his hut.
"Its eleven oclock now. And I'm off at twelve. One hour to go. Not telling you how or where. But I feel Griffin knows. I trust all you lot, but if I'm caught immediately, or shot, you will know who has grassed. It will have been Griffin. Then it will be up to you."
"Ging, you're crazy," interjected Chalky. "But good luck anyway. Give my love to Blighty."
"Got my home address, havent you," Sefton anxiously asked. "Youre crazy, but have a good..." The end of his sentence was muffled by the handshakes and mumbles of the assembled men. There was tension in the air. The hut was unusually quiet. No one spoke to Jon for fear of being accused of conniving. Thankful for moments in which to clear his mind Jon checked and rechecked his belongings.
Midnight struck, and Jon clad in dark clothes, his face blackened met the Marine as arranged. They moved carefully to the corner furthest away from the roving searchlight.
"Thanks for these cutters," whispered the Marine. "Do anything to get my hands on these. Often come in useful."
"Thanks in advance for everything. But now sshhh ..." Jon replied. One professional soldier, calm and efficient, and one makebelieve soldier who shook with nervous anticipation, waited for the beam of light. Every fifty seconds it swept round. The marine had first to cut three strands, wait face down on the brown soil till the beam passed, then bend the strands back. Another beam to pass, both lying flat, and Jon crept through and tucked himself behind the wall. Yet another beam and the marine straightened the wire, and hoped the hole would be less dectectable. No words were spoken. Jon waited for minutes. It seemed hours. There was no sound from the other side of the wire. Now he was on his own again. There was no going back. He was a fugitive, caution the watchword. The first train from the familiar station was not until six oclock. Roll call was 6.30. Maybe maybe...
First he removed the outer dark covering, and took the black off his face. Then nonchantly at 5.30, he walked to the familiar station and booked a ticket to Pila.
"Change at Bydgoszez," the guard muttered. Quick thinking helped Jon to understand what the ticket collector meant, so he nodded as if familiar to the route.
Ill try for the centre of the train, he thought. Should there be any working parties at this hour they always go to the back. Damn nuisance about the change. Hope it isnt a change of stations as well.
The train steamed in protesting slightly. Jon followed his self-made plan and aimed for an empty compartment in the centre of the train. He heaved his small suitcase on to the luggage rack, and looked sideways out of the window to the disembarking passengers. His heart thumped even harder for he came briefly in eye contact with one of the supervisors of the track repair squad. Jon thought he saw a seconds recognition flash in the mans eyes, then a look of doubt. The supervisor half turned to look again, and with a slight shake of his head he moved on. The wheels of the train started to turn. Jon felt uneasy.
Wonder if that bastard really recognised me? Must look a bit different in these clothes. Still I'll be safe till I have to change. Wait and see, thats the answer. Jon had the carriage to himself, and when it slowed down at Bydgoszez he looked out of the window. Nothing unusual, no extra soldiers. Streams of people left the train and headed for a stationary train, already with steam up. He followed the crowds, and saw to his delight that this train was headed for Pila.
So far, so good. No ticket collector. Lady Luck is with me at the moment. can't eat my food yet. Dressed as I am it wouldnt be proper to eat out of paper. Jon was dressed in a brown suit, collar and tie. He had light weight brown shoes and a widebrimmed hat, similar to a Homburg. Jon managed to find one seat, and with a sigh of relief he squeezed himself into a small space left by a bulging pasteur.
He felt secure and relatively safe in the crowded carriage, crowded with men of all walks of life each speaking their own dialect. He even added a few hollow laughs to those of the other passengers at the staid ecclesiastical jokes that the pasteur told.
The train drew in to Pila. Thats two hundred miles done. Now There's about 800 more to go to Stettin. Hope to get a boat there, and then Blighty ... .Here I come. The train emptied, and Jon saw from the board that he had another two hours to wait.
His euphoria evaporated quickly. can't stay at a main station. Easiest place to get caught. Hope the ticket collecter isnt too sharp. Everything is forged, but its all damned good. Clever people in the Escape Committee, but too organised for me. Helped me though, in spite of me being a bit bolshie. Hope they dont cop it when its found I'm gone. Funny feeling being on my own. Got no one to ask. Ah, but.. I've no one to let down or look after.
The ticket collector, busily picking his teeth, barely glanced at the ticket. Jon sauntered down the broad clean streets. The domes, with their eastern appearance shone in the sun. They were a legacy of Polands invasion from the east in earlier times. The Polish natives were identifiable both by their shabby clothing, shabby compared with the strutting paunchy interlopers, and by a two coloured badge that they were compelled to wear on their lapels.
Jon followed a middle-aged man, sporting such a badge, into a winebar. He made small talk with the man, who in turn was suspicious, but did not reject his advances. Jon offered him a cigarette, a risk he had to take as it was of a western make. Instinct, you faithful ally, at most times, Jon inwardly chuckled. When I let instinct flow I'm usually alright. Its when I start to reason why I get in a mess.
The Pole snatched the cigarette, lit it, and breathed the unfamiliar aroma into his lungs. He sighed with approval. "Wonderful, wonderful," he kept on repeating.
Leaning on the small table, hands cupped round the cigarette, Jon said in German in a small voice, "I am an escaping British Officer. I need your help." It was a small lie, but in the suit the part of an officer was more appropriate than a mere pioneer. The Pole blanched, and puffed heavily on the cigarette. Then in hesitant German he replied, "I understand cigarettes now. Dangerous here, very dangerous. You come with me. No, not together. You walk ten behind me. We go different part of town. Better part. Poorer part." The ø-(: - Pole got up and ambled to the door, and Jon followed at a discreet distance.
It took a big mental leap on both mens parts to trust, but a desperate plight needed desperate measures. Separately they walked to the slums, ruins to the left and ruins to the right. The Pole than led him into a large building. People, people, people everywhere in conditions typical for those who were prisoners in their own land held by an occupying force.
Jon was led into a small room where two more Poles were drinking. They shared what they had with Jon, no questions asked. Soon, he was happily drunk, but still had a grasp of what was going on. The Pole advised him to lie down and have a sleep. Jon realised that the excitement of the day had crept on him and trustingly left his suitcase in their care, having first doled out a ration of cigarettes from his abundant store.
He slept and slept, through the night, and half way through the next day. The Poles watched over him. Oblivious, he missed the train that he had planned to catch, the fast through train to Stettin.
His friend returned in the afternoon with a list of local trains. "You no go on fast train. Secret Police on fast trains, catch many people without passes. You take four slow trains. Look! I have here all times."
"Thank you, thank you," Jon cried overwhelmed by the kindness and attention. "But I must go soon."
"You go to-morrow. Have one more nights sleep. Go early morning."
The next morning the Pole openly took Jon to the station and put him on the right train. Both men were cheerful. "We are friends," said Jon quietly in German as the Pole shook his hand. "Soon our mutual enemy will be defeated." Jon saw the Pole had understood. "Thank you, all of you."
"Good journey," replied the Pole, and turned away. It was never safe to show emotion. Jon continued on his way, alone again.
Soon three stages of the journey through the Polish countryside using the small local trains were safely completed. About two hundred miles to go. Stettin, here I come! Must keep watchful. No one seems to stare at me. Too good to be true, it is, xept I'm hungry as usual. Dont like to use public places for grub. Keeping my own bits for later.
Jons thoughts roamed as he waited for the train to do the final leg of his journey to the sea-port. He brimmed over with confidence. The train duly arrived and jerked to a halt. Jon opened the door of a carriage with only one figure in it, a figure who sat on the far side in a dim light. His self-confidence shattered, spirits fell. The badges of rank and the insignia on the breast pocket of the uniform, the black boots and heavily peaked hat all shouted out that the other occupant of the carriage was a distinguished member of the Gestapo.