Each day as I went out with the working party I watched the roads to enable me to make an escape. I managed to find a civilian coat and trousers which I put on under my uniform.
In October 1940, myself, five other British soldiers and a Nazi guard were sent to a railway siding to unload trucks. Here was my opportunity. Failure might mean even more hellish conditions. I moved away from the others and as the guard turned away I jumped on the line, under some empty trucks, and down into a hedge. Two bullets narrowly missed me, and then a shout of alarm. I ran faster than I had ever moved before, ripping off my tunic with a knife and diving into a hedge, I worked my way along to the open road. Haunted by the fear of recapture I made for the town, which was infested with German soldiers. I had no papers but no one stopped me. Keeping to the woods, sleeping at night and walking by day, begging at farmhouses for food I eventually reached the demarkation line. I must not relate how I crossed that well guarded line. I was in the land of Free France! Making my way down to Marseilles, penniless and cigaretteless I imagined it would be easy to get a boat back to England. But the port was well guarded. With no other choice I walked across France, into and through Spain where my experiences were more bitter than I ever imagined possible. Eventually I reached Gibralter and the safety of the British flag, and then by boat to arrive on 23rd February in dear old England.
During nearly five months of continuous walking I covered many hundreds of miles and suffered great hardships. But I would rather have died making my escape than suffer the brutality of another day in a ruthless Nazi prison camp. Today I am back as a Staff Sergeant with my Unit somewhere in England. I have another opportunity to do my part towards exterminating the barbarous monster which threatens to control the destiny of the decent people of the world.”
The above article was published in wartime. I imagine much of the text was edited out and a lot of the geographical detail is missing for obvious reasons. My Grandfather was in his late 30’s and therefore too old to join up when the war started so he lied about his age in order to get in.
He was helped by The French Resistance to cross the Pyrenees into Spain and whilst in the mountains suffered from snow blindness. At some point he was held in a Spanish prison somewhere south of Sevilla before making his way to Gibralter.
I wish I had known him as an adult but he died when I was in my teens - I might have been able to learn more of his fascinating story. I remember him not liking to talk much about his experiences but I do remember him telling me a story of when, after having escaped, he was having breakfast in a small café somewhere in France and the place filled with German soldiers who also wanted breakfast. He had no papers! He calmly finished eating and walked out!
This is his POW tag:
