Great Escapes (28 page)

For the next three days the group enjoyed the sunshine and were encouraged to spend as much time in the sun as they could in order to acquire suntans. Dressed in the local manner of denims, black beret and rope sandals, the suntans would help them blend in with the local inhabitants. One thing that puzzled the group was that they saw no Germans in the town, but they were warned not to trust the French police, as they could be as dangerous as the Gestapo and just as unpleasant.

The group was informed that when their time came they would go by bicycle to a farmhouse at the foot of the Pyrenees, where they would be met by a Basque guide who would take them over the mountains and into Spain. They would take their suits, shirts and shoes in backpacks to change into when they reached Spain.

The following morning the group was told that they would be leaving that afternoon and to prepare everything for an arduous journey. There was unbridled excitement within the group as the smell of freedom was getting stronger. That evening bicycles were suddenly produced and the group set off at a leisurely pace, enjoying the sunshine and the scenery. They left the main road and went along some rough tracks for a few miles before stopping for something to eat and drink. The countryside around them became more barren and deserted. The group continued on until dusk when they reached a deserted farm on the edge of the tree line leading to the foothills.

The guide showed them where to leave the bicycles and told them to rest until their guide came. After a few hours the door of the farmhouse suddenly opened and in walked Dedée and a large, heavily-built man with a deep suntanned face. The man, as Bill Randle was to find out later, was the legendary Basque smuggler, Florentino. Dedée introduced him to the group saying that he was the most experienced guide there was and everybody was to follow his instructions without question. He had made more than 100 trips across the Pyrenees and had never lost anyone. She would be in charge of the group right into the safe house in Spain and would make sure that they were handed over to the right people.

Just before the party set off, Dedée explained that the only danger area, apart from the mountains, was the
Zone Interdite
(Forbidden Zone). This was an area that ran 2 miles wide on either side of the border and anyone seen or caught within that area was likely to be shot on sight. The actual border, she explained, ran alongside the river Bidasso and all the natural crossing areas were heavily guarded by Spanish Border Police. In the unlikely event of anything going wrong, they were to head into Spain and make sure they were at least 20km inside the country before making any attempt to contact anyone. This way if anyone was caught they would be held by the Spanish authorities; otherwise they would be handed over to the French, who would in turn hand them over to the Germans.

The group set off with Florentino leading, Dedée close behind, then Bill Randle, Bob Frost, Dal Mounts and, bringing up the rear, Freddy Frankowski. For the next two hours the party climbed higher and higher, the airmen struggling to keep up with the pace being set by Florentino and Dedée. Then up in front Florentino raised his hand and everyone stopped quite still, holding their breath, as they heard the gentle tingling of bells just ahead of them. Then a flock of sheep crossed the winding track in front of them and the party relaxed.

After another hour, the group stopped for a rest. Florentino however had moved on ahead and twenty minutes later came back and spoke to Dedée. She turned to the group and whispered that they were about thirty minutes or so from the border so that they had to be aware of patrols. The group started climbing again but soon the track started downwards and became easier. Suddenly Florentino froze and everyone stopped. He signalled everyone to get down as voices were heard coming towards them. Quickly Florentino ushered the group back along the path and into a small pine forest. Silently they made their way through in another direction, the pine needles beneath their feet deadening the sound their footsteps made.

At last they stepped out of the forest and saw the river. All the four men looked at each other with grins on their faces as they realised that the border was only a few yards away. Florentino ushered them back to the forest’s edge, while he went ahead to make sure that the way was clear. He had to find a safe place for them to cross, as all of the main ford crossings were well guarded. Minutes later he returned and beckoned for them to follow him. Keeping close to the tree line the group made their way along until they reached the crossing spot picked out by Florentino. They then walked down a steep embankment and stopped alongside the river.

Florentino placed a rope around his waist and then instructed everyone to do the same making sure that they were all linked together. Then a light was suddenly switched on, followed seconds later by music. They were just 50yds away from a Spanish border guardhouse. They all froze momentarily, but Florentino waded into the river and signalled everyone to follow him and take shelter under some overhanging willows. Getting waist deep in the cold water took their breath away for a few moments, as the party prepared to cross. This time it was Dedée who took the lead and steadily the group walked across to the other side. The noise from the guardhouse was a blessing in disguise, because any sounds they might have made would not have been heard.

Once across, Florentino and Dedée set off at a fast pace, determined to put as much distance between the group and the border. It was 1 a.m. and they knew that there would be no one about, enabling them to make up some miles quickly. The problem was that by setting such a fast pace the airmen were struggling to keep up, which frustrated the two guides. A couple of times Florentino sent Dedée back to urge them on as daybreak was fast approaching. She told the group that it was vital to put more distance between them and the border and there was no time to rest.

Florentino followed Dedée and after a slightly heated conversation with her started back the way they had come without looking or saying a word to anyone. Dédée looked at them wearily and led them into a small wood. She explained that they were to stay there and rest, but should leave someone on guard and she would be back later. Shamefaced the four men prepared to rest, Bill Randle taking the first watch.

About midday Bill Randle, who had been dozing, heard the sound of an engine, and peering out through some branches he saw a Renault taxi pull up alongside the wood. In the taxi sat Dedée, beckoning to them. The four men piled into the back and the taxi pulled away. One hour later they arrived in San Sebastian and were placed in a safe house.

Once they had settled in, Dedée told them that she had to leave and go back over the mountains that night, as she had another group to bring over. They all tried to find words to thank her, but they were insufficient. The gratitude and admiration they felt for the young girl were beyond words, and then she was gone.

The group was now in the hands of the British Consul, and although they were now safe from the Germans, they still had to be careful about the Spanish authorities. They spent the evening and night at the British Consul’s house and the following morning were taken to Burgos, where they stayed with a British family for the night. The next day a large Bentley arrived to take them to Madrid where they were taken to another safe house, only this time the safe house was the British Embassy.

The Ambassador, Sir Samuel Hoare, told them that it would be a few days before arrangements could be made to get them to Gibraltar. In the meantime they took the opportunity to bathe and relax in the old Roman baths that were situated underneath the Embassy.

Three days later they were told that they were to be given false identities, and in the company of a junior secretary, they were driven to the border to be handed over to the British army. The group left the Embassy in the Ambassador’s official Bentley, stopping in Seville for the night, before proceeding to Algeciras and finally Gibraltar. Fifty-five days after being shot down over occupied territory, Bill Randle stepped onto British soil.

After the war, Bill Randle took up fundraising for Service Charities. To date he has raised well in excess of £4 million, thousands of which has been donated to the RAF Escaping Society to help some of the people who had aided numerous allied airmen to escape the clutches of the Germans.

When on 1 May 1944, twenty-year-old RCAF pilot Flying Officer Stuart Leslie lifted his Halifax II bomber, ‘K’ for King, off the runway at Middleton St George, Co. Durham, his target was the railway marshalling yards at Mons, Belgium. This was part of Eisenhower’s plans to decimate the railway system in France and Belgium in preparation for the D-Day landings on 6 June. With the railway system knocked out, the Germans would be unable to rush reinforcements to the Normandy beaches to prevent the allies from landing.

Stuart Leslie’s squadron, No.428 of No.6 (RCAF) Bomber Group, had suffered some very heavy losses during the previous months and so there was an air of extreme nervousness amongst the crew. This mission required precision bombing because the targets were all close to towns and so it was hoped to minimise the civilian casualties that would be inevitable.

Because of a faulty compass, they had been delayed in reaching the dropping zone, and so when they arrived on station the others had dropped their bombs and were on their way back. This left ‘K’ for King alone over the target. As Stuart Leslie dropped his aircraft to its bombing height and began his run in, the bomb-aimer in the nose warned him of heavy flak opening up around the area. Weaving the aircraft as best he could to prevent the searchlights and anti-aircraft gunners getting an aim on them, they approached the target and prepared to drop their bombs.

The fires on the ground were raging from the pathfinder’s markers and the previous bombing attack, giving his bomb-aimer a clear view of the target. As they approached the target, there was a sudden loud bang and the aircraft rocked violently. The inside of the aircraft lit up in a bright blue flame as both starboard engines were hit by a shell and caught fire. The fuselage was peppered with red-hot shrapnel and the aircraft lurched towards the ground. After losing about 1,000ft, Stuart Leslie managed to regain some semblance of control and levelled the aircraft out.

Frantically trying to contact the members of his crew, he received no reply from the bomb-aimer, and the gunners in the rear told him that there were a number of large holes in the fuselage. Realising that he could not control the big aircraft for very much longer, Stuart Leslie ordered his crew to bale out. Then the rear gunner’s voice came over the intercom telling him that the tail was on fire. The aircraft went nose heavy and started dropping towards the ground. Leslie unbuckled his seat belt, clipped on his parachute and struggled towards the escape hatch a few feet away. The next thing he knew he was falling as the aircraft literally came apart in the air. With burning debris whirling all about him he grabbed the D-ring of his parachute and gave one almighty tug. The next thing he knew he seemed to come to a sudden halt in mid-air as his parachute opened. So violent was the abrupt halt that his flying boots were ripped off his feet. Seconds later he saw the ground rushing up to meet him and then with an almighty thump, he landed in a field, face down in the mud.

He lay there for a few seconds regaining his breath and thanking all the gods he could think of for saving his life. Seconds later he heard a roaring noise and the burning tail section of his aircraft passed just over his head and crashed into an adjoining field. His first thoughts were for his rear gunner, but the section was a blazing inferno and he thought that if the man had not got out earlier, there was no way he would get out now.

Realising that the Germans would soon be on the scene, Leslie gathered up his parachute and ran towards a clump of trees. It was then he realised that he had no boots as he trod on stones and twigs. Running towards the trees he suddenly found himself knee-deep in water as he stumbled into a ditch.

His bright yellow Mae West stood out in the dark, so he ripped it off and plunged it into the murky water, placing his parachute on top. He knew he had to put some distance between him and the Germans and so started running again, the stones and twigs cutting into his feet. Looking behind him he could see the headlights of a vehicle in the distance heading toward the crash site. After about an hour he stopped to catch his breath. Lighting a cigarette seemed to calm his nerves, but then the pain in his leg started and his head began to throb. The adrenaline that had kicked in when he had landed was now disappearing. Feeling wetness on his forehead, his fingers discovered a deep gash that was bleeding profusely.

He decided to press on and find somewhere to rest and possibly sleep. Then in the gathering gloom he saw the spire of a church and then some houses. He skirted the small town deciding that there were possibly Germans there and found a small field just on the outskirts. Digging a shallow trench with his hands, he curled up and tried to sleep. He was wet and cold and his feet felt raw and painful. He dozed fitfully until about noon and was awakened by the sound of engines overhead, he watched as an armada of B-17 bombers passed overhead on their way to their targets.

He examined his feet, which were cut and red raw. His leg was black and blue from hip to ankle and was extremely painful. His left eye was completely closed and covered with congealed blood from his head wound. He decided to move on and, although in great pain from his leg, covered about 5 miles. Finding a haystack, Leslie decided to rest up and burrowed his way in. Although feeling just as cold, it was considerably softer than the hard ground. He awoke some hours later, the warmth of the sun penetrating his chilled body. Getting up, he saw a farmhouse in the distance and decided to seek help.

Staggering across the field, he stumbled into the farmyard, giving the farmer and his wife a shock when they saw the bootless, blood-covered figure standing there. Gesturing with his hands, Stuart Leslie asked if he could wash and get something to drink. The shocked farmer’s wife led him into the kitchen and produced a bowl of hot water and some soap.