Not Flag or Fail Page 15

  We picked up our weapons and left the boathouse, it was raining quite heavily now, but we didn’t mind, figuring that we had less chance of being seen or heard. We set of at a trot along the side of the river.

  Despite the rain, we kept up a good pace, it was not cold and the rain was refreshing, washing away some of the strain of the last few hours. The area was crisscrossed with paths that led along many parts of the route but even so, in places it was necessary for us to leave the riverbank and make our way through the fields, some of which had crops growing in them, whilst others were just grass, cattle parted, without protest, to let us through. After about half an hour we stopped to take a rest and also to drink from a small stream that fed into the river. The rain was beginning to ease now and the night was very still and dark in all directions. “I reckon we’ve done about three miles, if we can keep this up we may make Cassel before daylight.” I said.

  Ronny nodded “unless we see somewhere to hold up before we get there.” We decided against a smoke and set off again, taking advantage of the darkness while we could. By now we had found a pace that suited us both, there were now fewer diversions through the fields and we ran along next to each other for most of the time mainly along the path staying silent, each of us with our own thoughts. We must have been about ready for another rest when Ronny put out an arm to stop me “Look at that.” he whispered pointing across the river. It was now less than half an hour till dawn and was darker than it had been all night but looking out over the river which was much wider now that it neared the sea I could see what he meant .

  In silhouette I could make out a small island “I think it’s the perfect place to lie up don’t you?”

  “Except for two or three reasons you may be right.”

  I answered.

  “Tell me what’s wrong with it then?” Ronny said, perhaps a little petulantly.

  I explained to him that first of all, our only way of reaching it would be to swim for it, which would give us two problems, one, we would be wet when we got there and have no way to dry our clothes and this close to the sea if we did swim, there could be currents that would wash us away. Secondly I told him, that once there options for escape would be nil, and we did not know anything about the place. It could be used for something by the locals, or even the Germans or worse still maybe people lived there?

  Ronny listened nodding his head, finally agreeing that I was probably right but we both knew we had to find somewhere to hide pretty soon. We set of at a trot again, keeping an eye open for any opportunities that arose.

  Somewhere over to the north of us a cock started to crow.

  We ran for about another ten minutes, when a glance behind showed the first thin fingers of pink starting to claw their way upwards through the blackness of the cloud.

  Over to the right I could see the silhouettes of buildings starting to form on the horizon. “Looks like a farm with outbuildings, lets get closer and take a look” said Ronny and veered off in that direction, I followed right behind him.

  It was still too dark to make out any great detail but we guessed it was occupied, as a glimmer of light spilled from one of the house windows. We huddled behind the wall of a big barn trying to get a better look at the house which was still about fifty yards away “What about in here?” I whispered.

  We moved very carefully around the outside of the barn until we found the entrance, there were no doors just a big opening, we went inside. It was difficult to make out any detail but one thing was obvious, it was big, just inside close to the entrance several tractors and other sorts of equipment were parked up. Quietly we moved deeper inside, away from the entrance, my finger close to the trigger of the machine gun.

  Looking up I could see daylight starting to come in through a hole in the roof. The barn was high and as we moved along we saw a ladder that led up to a hay loft.

  “Keep your eyes open, I’ll go up and take a look.”

  I said to Ronny as I slung the gun over my shoulder and started up the ladder. The ladder was obviously homemade but quite substantial which was good because in the dim light I hadn’t realised just how far it was to the top.

  Eventually at least twenty feet above the ground I stepped off the ladder into the hay loft. It was not a perfect hiding place, there being only one way in and one way out, which was the ladder, but in its favour it was isolated, it was dry and we would have advance warning of anyone coming up to join us. There was even a window hole at the end with no doubt, once it got properly light, a pretty good field of vision.

  I gave a soft whistle to attract Ronny and cocked the machine pistol so that I could cover him whilst he made his ascent. “You do realise this will be the first place the Germans’ will look don’t you?” He said, as he got off the ladder.

  “Look, if you’ve got a better idea tell me.” I replied quietly.

  “Sorry, I think I’m a bit tired and I know we’ll have to risk it, talking of risking it, let’s have a fag eh?” He said with a hint of his old smile back on his face.

  We moved towards the window, I lit two cigarettes and passed one to Ronny, it tasted wonderful, I sat with my back to the wall watching the smoke drift gently away. In whispered tones we discussed sleeping arrangements and agreed on the previous method of short first sleeps, followed by longer ones, once we had both overcome the worst of the tiredness. Ronny looked all in so I suggested he went first.

  After an hour during which nothing had happened, I had woken Ronny and took my turn for a short sleep. After an hour Ronny told me that someone had been in and taken away a tractor, other than that nothing of interest had happened. He got his head down and I told him that I would wake him up in another two hours.

  For just over an hour I felt fine, spending most of my time looking out through the window-hole out across the French countryside. There was a road about a quarter of a mile away and I watched as locals walked up and down, going about their daily business. Half an hour later tiredness began to descend over me; I was struggling to keep my eyes open.

  I drank some water from my water bottle that I’d filled at the stream and smoked a cigarette in three goes, so as not to generate too much smoke or smell in the barn. Both of these distractions helped and I was able to keep my eyes open for two hours, I was not a minute over the two hours when I shook Ronny awake. We had a brief chat about what was going on and then I took my place in the hay and was quickly out.

  Later when Ronny woke me I felt much better, through bleary eyes I looked at my watch, it said twelve thirty.

  “Have you let me have extra?” I asked.

  “You owe me an hour, you looked so peaceful I hadn’t the heart to wake you, besides for some reason I feel fine now.”

  I got up and walked over to the window-hole, it was a fine sunny day. Down below in the farm yard, two men were harnessing an enormous horse to an equally big cart. I asked Ronny if anything had happened whilst I had been asleep but as he stood beside me looking out he informed me that other than the normal comings and goings of life on the farm nothing of interest had taken place.

  We watched as both men got up onto the cart, one of them took up the reins and the other released a brake lever, the horse without any other encouragement plodded out of the farm yard. We watched quietly as the cart faded into the near distance and then we heard the sound of an engine.

  We moved further back into the shadows and watched as a BMW motorcycle and sidecar pulled to a stop directly below us, the driver and passenger stepping off.

  “I’m not being taken prisoner again.” said Ronny as he cocked his MP40.

  “Wait a min,” I whispered, “let’s just see how they’re going to play this.”

  We watched as one of the soldiers took off his steel helmet and put it inside the sidecar; he said something to his companion, who then walked off towards the farmhouse and out of our vision.

  “Cover the ladder.” I said “I’ll stay here.”

  Ronny moved away from me and I looked down bel
ow as the German took cigarettes from his tunic pocket, pulled one from the packet and lit it. I didn’t know why they were here but one thing was for sure, they weren’t after us. After a short while his companion returned, accompanied by a blonde-haired girl in her mid teens, they were attempting conversation but it was obviously difficult, after a while both of the soldiers got back onto the bike. The driver started up the machine and the girl passed down a bag that may have been eggs to the soldier in the sidecar, she stood watching and waving as they drove off, out of the farm.

  No sooner were they out of sight than the girl was joined by a stout elderly woman, dressed in a long white skirt and a blouse the same colour has her grey hair. She spoke rapidly to the girl and was using both hands in typical Gallic style to express herself. By now Ronny had come back to join me and he whispered a translation, as an argument ensued. It seemed the older lady was not happy about the girl’s behaviour towards “le Bosche”. The younger woman merely shrugged and laughed which was too much for the older one, who slapped her very hard. Holding her cheek the girl ran off out of our view and the elderly lady walked away chuntering to herself. Quietness returned to the loft.

  What we had seen convinced us that we couldn’t risk throwing ourselves on the mercy of the locals for food or support. It was obvious to both of us that, although some were obviously anti-German, some were very happy to have them here, the problem being, we didn’t know which was which.

  We sat with our backs to the barn wall, eating the last of our tins of food, then we allowed ourselves some squares of chocolate, we were both on our last bar now. We talked in hushed tones about what we would pay for a nice cup of tea and then rambled on about favourite food and what we would order when we got back to England. Eventually conversation petered out and I suggested to Ronny that he snatched a couple of hours while things were quiet; he got down in the hay and was soon breathing heavily, signalling to me that he was again asleep.

  I watched life ebb and flow in the farmyard below; there was no further cause for alarm, no more Germans, no more domestic disputes. I didn’t have to wake Ronny; he woke up himself after about an hour and a half. “Your turn” He said as he came over to join me. I explained that I wasn’t tired but might try and get an hour later before we set off again for the coast.

  We had another whispered conversation while Ronny explained to me that he didn’t believe anyone was looking for us. He didn’t think anyone would have found the bodies of the SS men yet, he theorised that they were such out and out bastards that people who knew them would think that they were up to something. I said something like I hoped he was right but guessed we would never really know. Sometime later as the shadows were beginning to lengthen we watched as the two farm men we had seen earlier, drove the horse and cart back into the yard. The cart was now piled high with what looked to be turnips. The younger of the two jumped down and between them the men backed the cart into a corner of the yard. As soon as the manoeuvre was completed they unhitched the horse and one of them led him over to a water trough where he drank greedily. They then both climbed up onto a wall and visibly relaxing their posture, took out their smoking equipment, the younger man lighting a cigarette and the older filling a pipe. The older woman we had seen earlier appeared, carrying two big mugs and handed one to each of them.

  “I bet that’s home made cider.” Ronny said; as we watched them both take a deep draught and each wipe their mouths with the back of their arms.

  From where we were we couldn’t see it or smell it but we sure as heck could taste it.

  “I’m having some of that when I get home.” I said enviously, watching as the old lady returned with a jug to refill their mugs.

  As we watched them chatting away, the days work obviously done, the blonde girl appeared and led the big horse away; she exchanged words and laughed at something the older woman said, their earlier dispute obviously forgotten.

  It was seven o’clock, another couple of hours and we could be on our way towards the coast. I was thinking we had been lucky after all, spending the day undisturbed in the hay loft, when I heard a sound from below. Ronny must have heard it too for he made his way over to the top of the ladder. I picked up my MP40 but didn’t cock it, knowing the sound would carry in the stillness of the evening. He turned towards me and mimed the actions, to indicate that someone was coming up the ladder and then moved away from the ladder over to the side of the loft. There was still plenty of hay left up here, despite the time of the year; the problem was it was no longer piled up high enough for us to hide behind. Whoever came up was going to see us, maybe not instantly but they would not be here long before we were discovered.

  We saw the ladder shake a little and then watched as a blonde head appear over the top followed by a trim figure as the girl jumped off the ladder and into the loft. As I expected she did not see us at once but as she walked over to the side opposite to Ronny to pick up a pitch fork, she saw me from the corner of her eye. She stood frozen to the spot, only her eyes moving from my face to the gun I had levelled at her and back again. She opened her mouth to scream but Ronny was behind her, one hand over her mouth the other holding her very firmly, as he spoke quietly in French into her ear. She nodded and relaxed as Ronny released his grip on her, he put up his hand up to stop her from talking and then spoke to her again rapidly in French. She started to reply but Ronny cut her off very firmly and pointed to the window. She walked across and shouted down into the yard.

  “I’ve asked her to call her father over.” Ronny explained, from the shadows and I watched, as the younger of the two men walked over towards us.

  We heard him climb the ladder and then watched as the shock of seeing us registered on his face. I pointed my gun towards him and Ronny instructed him to continue his ascent. He stepped off the ladder and walked over towards us raising his hands as he did so, Ronny pointed over to a pile of hay and spoke to them, both father and daughter sat down anxiously looking at us.

  Ronny sat down opposite them whilst I stayed standing, pointing the gun. A conversation between the French man and Ronny started, interrupted occasionally by the girl, who neither the father or Ronny seemed too happy to include in the conversation, I think her father must have told her to be quiet on a couple of occasions before eventually raising his voice causing her to fall into a sulky silence.

  It turned out that the family were no lovers of le Bosche and the man’s father, who we had seen down below, had fought against them in the last war. He warned us the farm was a popular spot for the local garrison and they often came, as we’d witnessed earlier to buy eggs, butter or milk.

  Ronny told him to stop and translated all of what he’d been told to me and asked what I thought we should do?

  We tossed the problem about for a while, with Ronny questioning the man about details from time to time. Eventually we decided that for our remaining time we would have to relocate to the farmhouse, where for the time remaining we could keep our eye on all of them.

  Ronny slung his gun over his shoulder and made his way down the ladder, when he got to the bottom he unslung the weapon, I motioned for the man to go down next, keeping the girl at the top until her father was off the ladder. Once she was half way down I went over to the window and had a look out.

  No one else had arrived and the old man still sat on the wall with the old lady leaning next to him in companionable silence, I made my way down the ladder.

  Ronny, the father and daughter stepped outside into the late evening sun and I stayed within the shadows of the barn watching their progress. It was soon very obvious that the older couple were delighted to see a British soldier and I watched as the delight wore off to be replaced by caution as they looked around suddenly realising the danger they would be in if they were seen harbouring the British.

  The old man sprang down off the wall with surprising agility for his age, he and his wife, followed by the girl, ushered Ronny towards the house.

  The younger man came back into the barn
. “Mesieur, vite vite!

  He called gesturing for me to follow him. We all of us entered the farm kitchen Ronny and I still cautiously looking around our guns cocked ready to fire.

  We passed through a large kitchen into a dining room with a large scrubbed pine table there were a dozen chairs spaced around it yet still enough room for another six. A big open fireplace stood to one end with a log fire set in the grate. The older man gestured for us to sit but I don’t think either Ronny or I felt safe enough to do so and looked questioningly at each other. As we were doing this, the old lady who was probably actually only about sixty years old, returned from where she had been, closing a pair of heavy curtains across the room’s one window. She put her hand gently on my face and spoke to me in heavily accented English.

  “Monsieur, my English is very bad but I tell you, in the other war my brother he die, my first born son he die also.

  In this house no one loves le boshe, you are safe here,

  Marcel and I, we are too old to fight now but we are not too old to help you, so please let us help you eh?

  Tears welled in her eyes as I looked down at her and smiled.

  “Thank you Madame, it will be an honour to be your guest.”

  They bade us sit down and the woman and the girl went back to the kitchen, the girl returning almost immediately with two more mugs of cider, this time for me and Ronny.

  Ronny and the old man spoke for a long time, Ronny enjoying the chance to again show off his language skills. For my part I sat and enjoyed my mug of cider and the French cigarette that the younger man had given me to try. About twenty minutes later the woman and girl returned, each carrying a tray, they placed before us big bowls of thick steaming vegetable soup and chunks of rough bread. In the middle of the table they placed plates piled with butter and cheese.

  “Bonne appetite messieurs,” said the woman in French and then turned to me and in English said “enjoy please.”