The Long Way Home (12 page)

Finally, it was our turn and Jimmy cleverly fumbled a bit before producing his cellophane folder with his ID card in it. When I saw the uninterested look on the guard’s face, I just
couldn’t believe it. He handed the card back and held out his hand for mine – a cursory glance later, it was returned. Joe was next, but here the pattern changed. In my head I was
screaming that two out of three wasn’t bad, but it looked now as if our luck was running out. The guard looked at Joe’s card as he had looked at ours, but something about it seemed to
disturb him. To satisfy himself he removed it from its folder, opened it up and examined the inside. When he saw the eagle and swastika insignia, he replaced it in the folder and handed it back
without comment. He then moved on to the next seat. Was this the card that I hadn’t wanted to finish? What made the guard want to check this one? Did he want to check to see if I had finished
it?

The three of us sat in stunned silence, but it wasn’t over yet. When the guard had finished his compartment check, the train started to move again and he came along and sat in the free
seat next to Jimmy. We were so cocky that we had been mentally congratulating ourselves until this happened. Of course this clever little man had us spotted, and when the train stopped again we
would be placed under arrest. And I had been thinking how stupid he was not to have seen that our documents were fakes!

We suffered silent torture for about another three miles and then the train began screeching, slowed down and stopped. The guard stood up and slung his rifle strap over his shoulder. This seemed
to me to be a bit casual for an arresting officer as he should, of course, have had it at the ready in case there was any trouble. He didn’t know that we wouldn’t cause trouble. In
fact, I was all ready to stand up and follow him at a nod of his head. But he slowly made his way to the door at the end of the compartment, opened it and left us without even a farewell.

When the train moved on, we looked at each other in total disbelief. We could see the guards who had been on the checking party assembling on the platform outside. I began to wonder if parts of
this journey were real or just dreams that occurred when I dozed off. The compartment was almost empty at this time and the boys confirmed that I wasn’t having nightmares. They had also
thought that the guard had spotted us and had us under surveillance. More passengers came into our compartment at the next stop, which put an end to conversation, so we went back to our mental and
physical relaxation positions in the hope of undoing the nervous damage we had suffered.

The feeling of tension was just beginning to wear off as we pulled into a small station near the end of our journey. Suddenly, a small girl on the other side of our compartment screamed
‘Engländers!’ My hands almost involuntarily shot up in the air, but then I saw Jimmy standing up and pointing to a working party of British POWs walking along the platform outside.
As everyone was looking in the same direction, they didn’t see the shocked look on our faces. First, the little boy with the highly developed nostrils, and now a sweet little girl with a
shrill voice . . . We considered ourselves extremely lucky that the adults in Germany were not as perceptive as their children.

Our so-called express continued to inch its way slowly along and finally arrived in Stettin. The only indication we had that our destination had been reached was the fact that the train stopped
and everyone got off. When we stepped onto the platform, there was no sign of a railway station as such, just rubble, which until very recently had been the station. There was a small wooden hut on
the platform, which was obviously for the use of the railway staff, but the rest was desolation. We quickly agreed that we didn’t want to be captured in this town so soon after a devastating
bombing raid. As we walked slowly into the city centre, the damage became more apparent, but then we came upon one of the freaks of such raids. Right in the middle of the town stood a beautiful big
red building, completely untouched, like a monument in the desert. As we passed it, we discovered that the building with the charmed life was the Head Post Office.

All three of us were now on the alert for the sight or sound of some Frenchmen.

A deep feeling of despondency seemed to affect the German people now. The war news from all fronts was bad and the number of wounded returning to the Fatherland was continually
on the increase, especially from the Russian front, where the German troops were being mowed down by the thousand as they retreated. What with all this and the continual increase in the Allied
bombing raids, it was becoming more evident that there could only be one outcome to the war. The Wonder Weapon had not materialised.

The Allies can only thank God and Werner von Braun and his team that they deliberately delayed their production of the first complete atomic bomb, otherwise there would probably, nay certainly,
have been a different outcome to the war. However, with only conventional weapons, Hitler now had no hope of any kind of victory on land, sea or air. You would think that one look at a world atlas
would have shown him the futility of trying to fight on so many fronts. On the other hand, he must have felt complacent about the way his troops swept through Poland and then pushed the British out
of France (despite General Tiger Gort putting me in the front line as the final deterrent), and about the way his troops controlled the north African theatre of war for a period. Together with the
toll that the U-boats took on our shipping, this must have convinced him and Germany that he could conquer the world. The euphoria of all the early successes had long since died. Now the reality of
the mammoth task had become apparent, and the inevitable failure had to be faced – but could not be talked about, as this was forbidden. Hitler’s pledge of total war had also been a
dreadful mistake for the German people, as it left no loophole for a settlement, and could only end in unconditional surrender.

These thoughts ran through our minds as we walked through the town and absorbed the dismal mood of the people who, at the beginning of the war, would have raced from one street to another, just
to get a glimpse of either Hitler or Göring. This enthusiasm didn’t extend to Heinrich Himmler, however, as he preferred the streets empty and well guarded when he paid a visit to a
strange town.

Soon these thoughts were interrupted by a very welcome sound: voluble French. We shadowed the two Frenchmen until they reached a convenient spot for us to approach them, then tried to make them
understand who we were and what we needed. In the beginning there was the usual distrust, but then they felt our desperate need and finally agreed to take us to their camp, where their leader would
make the final decision whether to help us or not.

This leader turned out to be a very charming man, and between his broken English and our almost non-existent French, we convinced him that we were genuine. He congratulated us on having come so
far safely, and said that they would give us their wholehearted support and assistance. He pointed out that the toughest part of our journey was in front of us; he had never heard of anyone
succeeding in breaking through the security cordon surrounding the port.

We were shown where we could have a bath, given a meal, and then shown where we could bunk down and have a good sleep in perfect safety. Next day, he told us, he would send someone with us to
the dock area and we could make our first reconnaissance. From then on it would be entirely in Jimmy’s hands. He had said all along that if we could get him to a seaport, he would get us out
of it and home. So all he had to do was keep his promise.

When we saw the dock area next day, I began to have grave doubts. The actual shipping area could only be reached by crossing a bridge which, of course, was permanently manned by soldiers, and a
special pass had to be shown by anyone wanting access to the docks. The boys suggested that we could swim over the river at some point, but not being a very strong swimmer, this didn’t appeal
to me one little bit. Jimmy decided that this was not an insurmountable obstacle and that first he had to find a seaman from a Swedish ship and find out when it would sail; then we could tackle the
problem of getting into the docks.

That evening Joe and I were confined to quarters and Jimmy went off on his own. This was one of the few times during the war that we were separated, and Joe and I felt most unhappy about it, but
Jimmy insisted that he had to do this on his own as it was safer. We could only sit, worry and wait, wondering if he would ever come back.

Three hours later we got the answer. Jimmy breezed in looking as if Scotland had won the World Cup, so we guessed that his mission had been successful. Sure enough, everything had turned out
exactly as he had hoped, and as he regaled with us the details of his evening out, we realised that the final stages of our ambitious trip had become a possibility.

Jimmy explained to us that when he went into town he had to find the club, pub or brothel that the seamen on shore-leave used, so his target area would be near the docks. When
he got down near the harbour, he met what looked and sounded like a bunch of sailors having a good time. Reckoning that they must be coming from the place he was looking for, he moved on in the
direction they had come from. Sure enough, there it was, in the middle of the next block, looking just as it looked in ports all over the world.

He went in and ordered a beer, but when the pretty brunette barmaid starting asking questions, he excused himself and sat at a nearby empty table. Luck took a hand when five minutes later the
door opened and a blond bloke of about thirty came in. After ordering a beer at the bar, he looked around and saw Jimmy, who was about his age and also blond, sitting alone and perhaps of the same
nationality. He came across and indicated a wish to join him. With a nod of assent and a wave to the vacant seat next to him, Jimmy couldn’t believe his luck: if anyone was watching him, they
would see that he hadn’t made the first approach. The stranger introduced himself. He was a Swede from a ship in the harbour and spoke a fair bit of English.

Without getting involved in a lot of lies or fairy stories, Jimmy decided to go for broke and told the Swede who and what he was, tentatively asking if there was any possibility of his new
friend helping him to stowaway on his ship when it sailed. He was amazed at the reaction to this request. The man’s face broke into a happy smile and he said that he would be delighted to
take Jimmy back on board with him immediately, as his ship sailed with the tide in the early morning. He also said they would have no trouble entering the docks because if one of them had a
shore-leave pass, the guard would assume they both had passes.

Now Jimmy had to explain there were three of us. Then, of course, the deal was off. Under no circumstances would the Swede contemplate taking three men into the docks. His offer to Jimmy still
stood, but only if he came alone. After explaining that he couldn’t do this, he asked if it was possible to give him the berth number the ship was lying at. This information was given
grudgingly, but he did allow Jimmy to walk to the entrance to the docks with him, where, with a vague wave of his pass, he went through the control point. This was when Jimmy realised how we were
going to get into the dock area by ourselves.

Having told us his story, Jimmy now told us to get ready to move and to dump all our kit except the clothes we were wearing; this was the last step in our bid to get home. I felt quite
frightened by the finality of it all.

With ‘bonne chance’ ringing in our ears, we said our farewells and thank yous to our French friends, and headed for the docks. Jimmy told us to pick an unobtrusive spot from which to
observe the control point. When we saw some seamen approaching, we were to join them as they went through, keeping as far away as possible from the guard and waving folded pieces of paper of the
correct colour. It seemed a very dicey manoeuvre to me, but less unappealing than swimming the river.

About five minutes later a group of five seamen arrived, and a nod from Jimmy confirmed to us that we were to join them when they entered. It went exactly as planned and suddenly we were through
and walking towards the berth where our ship would be waiting for us. Throughout our journey, every success had been followed by a setback, and this was no exception. We had been congratulating
ourselves on our brilliant success, but when we arrived at the berth where our ship was to be waiting, it wasn’t there. Jimmy had mentioned that it had seemed awfully quiet for an area where
a ship was due to sail, and now we knew why, but not where the ship had gone. Jimmy’s years in the Merchant Navy paid off again; he remembered that ships waiting to sail with the tide were
sometimes moved to mooring berths, to leave the loading bays free for other ships. He decided this must be what had happened, so we would have to look nearer the entrance of the docks.

He led us in the direction he reckoned it would be and we began to see signs of life, making it difficult for us to move freely. We could see the masts and funnels of at least three ships ahead
of us. If Jimmy was right, one of them would be
Heros
, the one we were looking for. Joe was the first to spot the guard patrolling the quayside. Our problem was how to get near enough to
identify which was the one that we wanted – if it was there at all.

Despite strict blackout restrictions, there were lights along the dockside where the three ships were lying. The lighting wasn’t brilliant but it was still going to make
it difficult for us tonight. Railway lines ran the length of the dockside, so we retired to the shelter of some wagons near the ships. We talked over our plan of action and decided that, to save
time, we would split up and each find out the name of a ship. Jimmy would take the one on the left, Joe the one on the right, and I got the middle one, which was actually the easy one. Thankfully
it was a mild and cloudy night which meant, of course, that away from the lighting it was really dark. This would help cover our movements to a certain extent. When we were having our talk together
about the quayside lighting, it had suddenly dawned on us that if there had been no lighting, we wouldn’t have been able to identify the ships or see their names.