Great Escapes (31 page)

The following day, D-Day plus one, was the day that he was to ‘fly spare’. He had already completed three missions that day and as the squadron got airborne, he heard one of the pilots call to the flight leader to say that he was having trouble lifting his flaps. As he circled the airfield, Eric Noakes suddenly had that feeling that this was not going to be his day. Seconds later the flight leader confirmed that he was going to have to take the place of the other aircraft.

As they swept over the crowded, smoke-covered beaches of Normandy and into the French countryside, the squadron was on the lookout for retreating convoys of Germans. Then they spotted a large convoy of German trucks crawling up a hill going away from Normandy. The squadron leader, a former Spitfire pilot, led the attack and one by one the Typhoons streaked down and launched their rockets into the convoy, blowing lorry after lorry off the road. Eric Noakes saw his rockets strike home as he peeled away and climbed back into the sky. Suddenly he saw the flight leader line up again for another pass, something that was not normally done. Once the element of surprise had gone, the men on the ground usually started to fire back and this time was no different.

As Eric lined up his aircraft for another pass and approached the burning convoy at a speed of 400mph, he saw the Germans ripping off camouflaged tarpaulins from some of the lorries and revealing four-barrelled, 20mm cannons on single mountings called a
‘vierling flak’.
This cannon, Eric knew, was capable of hurling a curtain of steel in front of an aircraft and decimating it. As he closed in on the convoy he saw twinkling coming from the muzzles of the cannons and then orange-coloured balls zipping towards him. Firing off his remaining rockets he started to climb away at over 400mph, but then there was a loud bang, the aircraft shuddered violently and the engine stopped.

He was now too low to bale out, so was left with the alternative of crash-landing the aircraft. Trying to control the aircraft he realised that the hydraulics had been shot away so, manually pumping the flaps partially down, he lined himself up on a field. Pulling the nose of the aircraft up as best he could, he steadied the aircraft for a wheels-up landing. He knew he had to get the nose up, because beneath the Typhoon was a large air scoop, and if that hit the ground first, then the aircraft would cartwheel all over the place and shatter itself – and him – into a thousand pieces.

Keeping the nose up he watched as the field got larger and larger, then the tail touched the ground first, followed moments later by the fuselage, the air scoop digging a large furrow in the field. The aircraft bounced along at 150mph before finally tipping up on its nose and then settling back down.

For a few seconds Eric Noakes sat in the cockpit of his Typhoon stunned, and then he quickly pulled back the canopy and clambered out. He looked at the aircraft and was surprised to see that there was only a small amount of damage to the aircraft itself. Overhead he heard the sound of one of the other Typhoons and seconds later saw it streaking towards him. He realised that his aircraft was about to be shot up and destroyed to prevent it falling into enemy hands, so he ran for a clump of trees on the edge of the field. Seconds later he heard the sound of cannon fire and then a loud ‘crump’ as the fuel tanks on his aircraft exploded, turning his Typhoon into a fireball.

He watched as the other Typhoon roared up into the sky, waggling its wings as it climbed and headed back towards the coast. He realised that the Germans would now be looking for the aircraft and its pilot, and the column of black smoke now emanating from the wreckage would soon lead them to it. He was not that far from the convoy that minutes earlier he had shot up and he did not want survivors from that to catch him, as there would not be much chance of them treating him with kid gloves if they did.

Heading on through the wood, he was determined to put as much distance between him and the wreckage of his aircraft as he could. After covering about 5 miles he stopped and took stock of his situation. As the escape officer for the squadron, it was his responsibility to ensure that every pilot was equipped with an escape kit, and as luck would have it he had four of the kits in his possession. This meant that he had four compasses and four amounts of French francs. He was also wearing the latest flying boots, which could be converted into shoes by cutting away the top parts that covered the calf. After cutting these off, he proceeded to remove all the insignia from his battledress, his wings and sergeant’s stripes.

He now had a choice; he could head back towards the beaches of Normandy, he could try and find help from the French Resistance or he could find a nice comfy place to hide and wait until the allied troops reached him. He chose the second of the options. He could speak French quite well and had a good working knowledge of German; before the war started he had been working part-time as translator in both those languages. As darkness fell he came upon a farmhouse and taking a chance he knocked on the door. For a moment there was no sound, but then the door slowly opened and the young, frightened face of a teenage boy peered at him. The door then opened fully and behind the boy was an elderly couple, looking equally frightened.

Eric quickly explained to them that he was an RAF pilot who had been shot down and showed them his dog tags to prove it to them. Their attitude changed immediately and broad smiles appeared across all their faces, accompanied by tears in the eyes of the elderly couple. They ushered him in quickly and sat him down. Bottles of wine suddenly appeared together with some bread and cheese, all of which was quickly devoured. After celebrating with the family, Eric Noakes broached the subject of shelter and the family led him into a room in which there was a bed. Within minutes of lying down he was fast asleep.

The following morning, after a simple breakfast, the family gave him some old ill-fitting civilian clothes. Accompanied by the young teenager, Eric Noakes set off to the nearby village of Bonnemaison. During escape and evasion lectures, crews were always told to find the local priest or schoolteacher, as they were usually the community leaders and would probably know how to contact the Resistance. On the outskirts of the village Eric Noakes hid himself in a barn whilst the young lad went in search of the local priest and schoolteacher. After about an hour, the lad returned with about fifteen villagers, among them the schoolteacher. He was greeted with some trepidation and when introduced to some of the men, was received with nothing more than grunts. The schoolteacher, on being introduced, immediately stated that he must be handed over to the Germans or they would all risked being shot if he were to be discovered.

It was then that Eric Noakes discovered that there was a German Red Cross supplies depot in the village. There was an underlying air of hostility towards him, rapidly being fuelled by the schoolmaster’s almost hysterical outbursts. All the escape and evasion lectures he had attended seemed irrelevant now, but fortunately for him, a large, swarthy-looking man forced his way to the front and glared at the schoolteacher with contempt. He told the man in no uncertain manner that they did not hand their friends over to the Nazis. Turning to Eric, he introduced himself as Jules Rogues and told him to follow him to his farm where he would shelter him. Glaring at the remaining villagers, in particular the schoolmaster, he told them in a way that left no room for doubt or argument that the Germans would
not
be told of Eric’s existence. It was quite obvious then that this man was the head community leader of the village and was not to be argued with.

Following his newfound friend, Eric Noakes walked to Jules’ farm where he met the rest of the Rogues family. His ability to speak French was a tremendous asset, and after he had been told that there was no Resistance organisation in the district and the chance of finding one was very remote, he decided to stay put for a while. Eric knew that the allies were advancing, and so became a farmhand to help pay back some of the hospitality shown by the farmer and his family. For the next few days Eric Noakes worked on the farm, watching German lorries trundle by loaded with troops going away from the advancing allied armies.

Then one day the farmer was throwing the residue of butter into the pig’s trough, when Noakes grabbed a pitcher and poured some of the residue into it. He swigged down the ‘buttermilk’ to the astonishment of the farmer and started to take some with him whenever he went into the field to work.

A couple of days later, whilst Eric was sitting on the side of the road, a German lorry stopped and an officer got out. When the officer saw what he was drinking he asked if he could have some too. So started a thriving little business for the farmer and a stall was quickly set up outside the farm entrance selling ‘buttermilk’ for francs or cigarettes. It was whilst doing this that Eric Noakes spotted a German Red Cross ambulance going through carrying ammunition to the Front.

He also noticed the correct way in which the
Wehrmacht
soldiers conducted themselves when in contact with the local citizens. That was until an SS (
Schutzstaffel
) column entered the village and took over the local café, eating and drinking everything they could lay their hands on without paying. Then as quickly as they came, they left, leaving behind a diminished village. The only good thing was that they were going away from the Front and back towards Germany.

The increasing number of Germans now coming through the village and the surrounding countryside, made Eric Noakes realise the danger he was bringing to the farmer and his family who would be shot immediately for harbouring him if he was discovered. He decided that it was time to go and try and make it back to the allied lines. A young man from a neighbouring farm, who wanted to join the Free French Forces, offered to guide him, and after a fond farewell to the Rogues family, the pair set off on a horse and cart in the direction of Caens.

Their progress was slow because of the increasing amount of refugees fleeing from the fighting. They were then stopped by a German patrol and told that they and their cart had been commandeered to carry supplies to the Front. Eric Noakes now found himself in the incongruous situation of being employed by the
Wehrmacht.
Their wagon was loaded with supplies and placed in a column consisting of a mixed jumble of old lorries and horse-drawn carts travelling towards Caen. The slow-moving convoy was suddenly ‘bounced’ by a flight of Typhoons who started sending rockets into the line of lorries and carts.

Eric Noakes saw the aircraft sweeping into attack and knew firsthand the kind of devastation they would create. He grabbed his companion and dived off the cart into a ditch on the side of the road. After the attack, Noakes realised that the Germans were more interested in themselves than anyone else, and so leaving his companion with the horse and cart, headed off towards a clump of trees. Realising it was pointless going on, he headed back across the fields towards Bonnemaison. The devastation that greeted him in the surrounding fields was staggering. The once lush green fields were pockmarked with huge craters where B-17 bombers had dropped their huge bomb loads in an effort to destroy German gun emplacements that had been camouflaged in the area. Small villages that had been in the path of the bombing run were almost non-existent, just crumbling ruins.

Entering Bonnemaison he was staggered to see that the entire village had been taken over by the German Army, and the residents were emptying their homes onto carts and leaving. Making his way back to the Rogues farm he saw that they too were loading their possessions onto a cart. When asked why they were leaving, Eric Noakes was told that the Germans were ordering all civilians out as they were intending to make a stand in the area. Jules Rogues was in tears but defiant, determined that ‘no German was going to make him leave his home and his animals’. Eric Noakes and the rest of the family finally persuaded a tearful Jules that there was no option and after loading the cart they joined the rest of the residents on the crowded roads.

The Rogues family, together with Eric Noakes, headed for the farm of a distant relative just outside Belfonds. After travelling for two days they reached the farm of Marcel Loublier, who immediately made them all welcome. He was grateful for the additional help they would be able to give him on his farm, realising that he too could be moved out if the Germans kept retreating. The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Information kept coming through that the German army was being steadily forced back into Germany and that allied bombing raids on Germany were having a devastating effect on the German people. Then news came through that Field Marshal Rommel had been badly injured in an attack and it soon became obvious that the German Front was crumbling rapidly. General Patton’s armoured corps was making lightning strikes into the area close to Belfonds, and the roads were jammed with fleeing Germans, whose army was now in total disarray.

Then a German column suddenly arrived at the farm. A dust-covered officer in a stained uniform demanded to know who owned the farm. Marcel Loublier stepped forward. The officer told him that they were requisitioning the farm and that the family and workers would all have to leave immediately. Loublier said that no German was going to take his farm and took a pace forward towards the officer. Immediately guns were levelled at the family, but the farmer did not flinch. Eric Noakes then stepped forward to support his host, realising that they were now in a desperate situation. For a few minutes nothing was said but then a motorcycle roared up and the officer was handed a message. He then turned to his men, barked an order and they all clambered back aboard their vehicles and roared off in a cloud of dust.

Ten minutes later another rumble of tracked vehicles filled the air, only this time they were Sherman tanks belonging to the Americans. The celebrations that followed left the village almost dry of wine and spirits. The next morning the Americans were gone, pushing on towards Germany. With the Germans gone, Eric Noakes decided to make his way back towards the coast hoping to pick up with a British outfit. After saying his goodbyes to the Rouges and Loublier families he set off. After travelling for twenty-four hours, he came across a Free French reconnaissance battalion. When he introduced himself, the French were very suspicious because he was wearing civilian clothes. He produced his RAF dog tags but even then they still needed some convincing that he was
‘Anglais’.
After a couple of hours of questioning he finally convinced them and was greeted with smiles and hugs. He was told that the British had set up a headquarters at Le Mans, so with the good wishes of the French soldiers ringing in his ears and a bottle of wine in his pocket, Eric Noakes set off.