The Long Way Home (14 page)

Two hours later, that is exactly what happened. Two well-dressed civilians came on board as soon as the ship was tied up and the one in charge advised us to say nothing until after we had
accompanied them to their office in town. The captain didn’t show up to wave goodbye to us, though we would have liked to thank him for his hospitality and our safe delivery to Sweden.

The two CID men were most charming, producing cups of tea for us when we arrived at their office. Then the most amazing interview took place; we were told that we must think very carefully
before answering any of the questions we were about to be asked, as our fate for the rest of the war would depend on our answers. They explained that if we declared ourselves to be members of the
armed forces, the authorities would have to place us in an internment camp in Sweden until the cessation of hostilities. If, and if was a very big if, on the other hand we were to declare ourselves
as civilians, then we would be handed over to the British Consul in Malmö and the Swedish authorities would wash their hands of us.

Here was an interesting choice: to see out the rest of the war in a neutral country, nice and safe, or get back home and risk the possibility of getting killed or maimed properly this time. Were
we going to trade one camp for another, or complete the task we had set out to achieve and get home? It might take some people a day, a week, maybe longer to weigh up the pros and cons, but it took
the three of us about thirty seconds. Jimmy looked at us and said ‘Mister’ and Joe and I nodded in agreement. We were registered as civilians, and gave our names and addresses,
whereupon the British Consul was immediately notified and we were picked up within the hour.

The three of us gleefully hugged each other and found it hard to believe that it was finally over. All the future planning was out of our hands and had become someone else’s problem. Our
part of the escape was now successfully completed.

The consul was a young-old man, very civil service, who gave us the impression that we had interrupted him, and that he would deal with us only because it was his duty. Our
first stop was at his office, where he did a very intensive report on our personal details and then a less thorough summary of our escape. When this was completed, he arranged for a light snack to
be delivered to the office. After this we were told that we were going shopping. The car drove us to a gents’ outfitters which looked very genteel and upmarket. Only when we got inside did we
realise just how posh it really was.

The next hour was a fairytale come true and a dream I would love to relive. We were told to choose a whole new wardrobe without giving any thought to expense and that the costs of our three
outfits would be borne by the King of Sweden, God bless him.

We must have made a ludicrous sight, still dressed in our filthy old clothes. We started by picking our suits. I chose a brownish two-piece sports suit, then a smart pair of brown shoes to go
with it. Coats and hats followed, then two shirts each to match our individual outfits, two pairs of socks, a tie and a belt, then two sets of underwear and two sets of pyjamas. Then we had to
choose a suitcase to put everything in. Slightly breathless, we reckoned that nothing had been forgotten but we were reminded that we had to choose a full toilet set with nothing left out. This
done, we were told there was still something missing and were taken to another department to choose a wristwatch and a pair of cufflinks each. I hope His Majesty received our ‘thank
you’ cards – the consul assured us that he would.

Next stop was a quiet hotel overlooking the water. I couldn’t believe they would let us in looking as we did, but they were waiting for us and we were shown to our rooms and informed that
our baths were already drawn. All we had to do was soak in them. After what we had been through in the last few weeks, not to mention the last few years, it was sheer, unadulterated luxury. It also
felt extremely strange: for the first time in almost five years (not counting my walks to and from Traudl’s hotel) I was completely alone.

I took full advantage of it now by bathing, shaving and dressing slowly and alone. Finally I went through to Jimmy’s room just as Joe was also arriving. We all looked at each other in
amazement – three strangers in civilian clothes – then we all howled with laughter and the spell was broken. We had opted for a quiet dinner in the hotel by ourselves. Next day we were
going north to Stockholm by train. There we would be taken to the home of the British Military Attaché, where we would stay until further notice – whatever that meant. Dinner was a
gastronomic dream and we actually managed to eat three of the five courses, though we insisted on very small portions. After a cup of tea in the lounge, we chatted a bit, but the
comfortable-looking beds upstairs were acting like big magnets, so we decided on an early night – which turned out to be a mistake.

Next morning when we met for breakfast, we found that not one of us had had the pleasure of a good night’s sleep. Like myself, Jimmy and Joe had tossed and turned all night, going over the
last stages of our journey and trying to figure out where the German system had gone wrong and why we had succeeded against the odds. Why were we not picked up in Sagan station? Why didn’t
the little guard spot our phoney documents on the train? How could we have entered a guarded dock area and then boarded a guarded ship without being caught? Round and round it went, then a
desperate effort to shut it all out, then a few seconds later round and round it would go again – and so it went on through the restless night.

We all felt much better and cheerier after a sumptuous breakfast, and shortly afterwards we were told that a car was waiting to take us to the station. Our cases had already been brought down
so, having been given pocket money, we tipped the porter and joined the consul in the car. He was very sympathetic about our sleepless night but agreed that this phase would surely pass. Our minds
just needed to adjust to our new lifestyle. He gave us our tickets for the journey and some more money, which he said we would need for the buffet car on the train. We thought this was very
thoughtful of him. He told us that we would be picked up on arrival at Stockholm. After an uneventful train journey a driver came forward and checked we were the correct trio before driving us
through this remarkably clean and beautiful city to the attaché’s house, where we were greeted by three lovely ladies and the man himself.

Mr Wright was a middle-aged, handsome man’s man. I’m sure if he hadn’t been in the job he was in, he would have fitted into the Diplomatic Corps nicely. A few minutes after
meeting him you felt that he would be able to solve any problems that you had and that you could confide in him safely. His wife complemented him beautifully. Over the period that we stayed with
them she was charming, motherly and quite flawless. The two daughters, one brunette and one blonde, were in their early twenties and both quite capable of turning any man’s head. Considering
the number of years we had been deprived of any type of female company (apart from my forays to Traudl), this was indeed an excess of feminine beauty to place before us, but what with Jimmy and Joe
being happily married and faithful husbands and me being more or less spoken for, we just tried to regard the ladies as ordinary people, which was very difficult.

After we were shown to our rooms in this large but comfortable old house, our host called us to his office where, for the next couple of hours, we underwent a most thorough interrogation,
firstly about our home lives, then our army careers, and the time we had spent in prison camp, culminating finally in our escape. It all seemed excessive, but then slowly I realised that he was
trying to establish whether we were who we claimed to be. In short, it was possible we were plants.

Suddenly, I almost went off the nice gentleman. He asked if we still had the identity cards that I had made, and when we produced them he gave them a cursory glance and said that we were
fortunate not to have had them examined as they were pretty poor copies. When we told him that they had been checked by a control on the train, he laughed and said that we must be joking. When we
insisted that it was true, he was astounded. I felt awful at his ridicule, after all the work I had done on the damn things, but on second thoughts I felt better, because without them we
wouldn’t have been there.

When Jimmy told his story of his visit to the pub in Stettin, our host broke out in hilarious laughter. He then explained that the barmaid who had tried to chat him up was a British agent called
Mary, and that if he had given her a chance she would have taken over and arranged our passage to Sweden the easy way.

He then went on to say that we had coincidentally taken an official route for our escape and, though we were Civil Service personnel and therefore covered by the Official Secrets Act, under no
circumstances could we disclose the route we had taken to anyone without government permission. It could jeopardise lives if it became common knowledge.

The next piece of news that he gave us was quite shocking and meant that our sleepless nights might go on for some time yet. Unconfirmed news had come through to him that fifty of the airmen who
had escaped from Sagan had been caught and, unbelievably, they had all been shot on direct orders from Hitler passed through Heinrich Himmler. He told us that the total number of men involved in
the escape had been in excess of sixty. My first thought was, what kind of so-called Escape Committee sends so many men out into a hostile environment with very little hope of success? To my mind
it was a wanton and completely irresponsible action and one that had no hope of achieving anything. Jimmy and Joe never agreed with me on this.

After the bad news came the good. We would be issued next day with covering letters of identity, which we could produce on request, and we could write to our next-of-kin informing them that we
had arrived safely in Sweden and, with any luck, would be home in the near future. We couldn’t tell them exactly where we were in Sweden. Joe then sent a postcard to Danny back in the
Jägerndorf camp to say that we were safely through. Incidentally, apparently the guards never found out how we managed to get out of that barrack-room, and a special squad was sent in to
investigate – but they had no success either, so it remained a mystery. Danny did such a good job on those bars that he should have got a medal too. I sent a postcard to one of our friends in
Lamsdorf asking him to thank the Escape Committee in Stalag VIIIB for their non-cooperation. I never found out if they received the message.

We were told we would eventually be airlifted back to the UK and must be on standby, ready to move out at any moment. During the course of our stay the family was visited by two RAF officers
wearing BOAC uniforms. Apparently they flew in and out of Stockholm to collect the diplomatic mail. Their aircraft were unmarked Mosquito bombers, unarmed so that they didn’t break the Geneva
Convention rules. Not to be outdone, the Germans used the same system but they used Messerschmitts, which were also unmarked and unarmed to fly between Stockholm and Berlin. All very nice and
proper, but both sides had a little game of guessing when these particular aircraft would be in the air, and real fighter planes would stooge around and try to shoot them down, with a fair rate of
success on both sides.

The next few weeks were spent on a social round of invitations to both British and Swedish homes. We had often heard of the higher standard of living in Sweden but it had to be seen to be
believed. Time flew pleasantly by and we slowly recuperated and became fairly normal people again, though we all still had difficulty in sleeping properly. Time was the only cure for this.

One beautiful summer morning John Wright told us that the Invasion had begun and this was the news the whole world was waiting for. We were now on Red Alert to fly home, so we had to be packed
and ready to go at any moment. Twenty-four hours later Joe was the first to be taken to the airport and sent home. Jimmy and I were to go on the following day but in separate aircraft. When our
turn came I was highly excited as we dressed up in flying suits and then donned a parachute harness. Jimmy and I then parted to go on our separate bombers. I was given quick instructions on how to
plug in the oxygen mask and transmitter and told not to talk over the intercom as the pilot and navigator wanted no interference on this channel while flying. There was a wire mesh cage fitted in
the bomb-bay and this could be raised and lowered to carry the mail. Now came the crunch. I was told not to put my parachute pack on to the harness, as I wouldn’t be able to get into the
bomb-bay if I was wearing it. There wasn’t enough space. I was to push my pack in first and then climb in.

After I was in and had located my plug-in point, the horrible truth dawned on me – I didn’t need a parachute because there was no way I could possibly wear it if anything happened.
This actually wasn’t quite true; I could wear it as long as I stayed in the plane. The bomb-bay doors closed and the pilot came on the intercom to check that I was OK and reminded me that I
was on radio silence until we arrived home.

In the dark I thought over our sudden parting from the Wright family and how hospitable and friendly they had been. We had become extremely fond of them and would miss them. These thoughts were
soon interrupted by the roar of twin engines warming up. A few minutes later we were airborne. Listening to what was going on between the pilot and the navigator was a revelation. Everything was
being done at top speed. The idea was to get up as high as possible in the shortest time, and when this point was reached, it was a high-speed dive straight down to Scotland. The intercom was alive
with staccato bursts of talk – was that something? How about over there? Above? Something caught my eye … no, not there, over to the left. All the time I was hoping that the Luftwaffe
would be too busy on the new front to worry about us.

It didn’t seem to be very long before the pitch of the engines changed to a less menacing tone and, as if in harmony with this, the voices of the crew became less tense.
Subconsciously, it also had an effect on me, as I was now able to stop my fingernails biting into the palms of my hands, though I had been completely unaware of this until I relaxed.