1
25
502
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1531/46039/BLaydonMKeatingRv1.1.pdf
f9f390c57d7c0c060abc35a647d2d985
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Keating, Raymond
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-08-22
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Keating, R
Description
An account of the resource
10 items. The collection concerns Flight Sergeant Raymond Keating (1338063 Royal Air Force) and contains documents and photographs He flew operations as a bomb aimer with 156 Squadron and was killed 22 May 1944. <br /><br />The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Marie Laydon and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on Raymond Keating is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/215249/">IBCC Losses Database</a>.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
They Didn't Come Back
Description
An account of the resource
A memoir by Raymond's sister.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Marie Laydon
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-05-22
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Dordrecht
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Netherlands--Biesbosch
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Format
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16 printed sheets
Identifier
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BLaydonMKeatingRv1
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
final resting place
killed in action
Lancaster
Pathfinders
prisoner of war
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2563/44399/MParryWE1172401-220531-05.2.pdf
9c27676d60f8395688b050b0f63a7ddd
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Parry, William Edward
Parry, W E
Description
An account of the resource
34 items. The collection concerns Pilot Officer William Edward Parry DFC (1912 - 1996, 1177401 Royal Air Force) and contains his decorations, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 9 Squadron.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Frances Lee and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2022-05-31
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Parry, WE
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] "HOLTEN IN OORLOGSTJD (1984)
HOLTEN IN WARTIME [/underlined]
[underlined] LANCASTER CRASHED IN HOLTERBROEK. [/underlined]
In the evening of Saturday Septenber [sic] 23rd 1944 244 Lancasters, nine Mosquitos and one Lightning of a number of squadrons of No. 5 Group of the British Royal Air Force took off from their basis [sic] in central England. In the surroundings of the town of Lincoln. Only a short time before their take off the flyers had come to know which for that night would be the objects of attack and details about the routes to fly and aims were given. Like with other attack flights, also this time not all planes should be able to execute their missions successfully and return safely to their bases. At the end of the attack it appeared that fifteen planes of No. 5 Group were missing. One of those Lancasters crashed that night near Holten. We'll trace the flight of this machine.
After they had occupied themselves with things like briefing, distribution of the flyers' outfits, the filling up the planes with some 5900 litres of fuel, the loading with bombs and ammunition and finally the tests and checks of the engines, at last the signal 'take off' was given that evening. One after another twelve Lancasters of No. 9 Squadron R.A.F. which were employed that night, flashed along the runway on Bardney base. At 19-02hrs exactly (British time) the Lancaster LL901 WS-V for Vic' took off. Snorting the engine went up with it's heavy load of bombs and joined the planes, which in the evening light formed a formation. For the crew of seven members it was to be the 26th operational flight they flew together. They flew for the seventeenth time in this old but reliable and safe 'box', which had already 368 flying hours. A very large number, which were flown during about 50 operational and many test flights. Among the members of the crew who knew each other already since the training, a great friendship had grown the course of months. In June 1944 they had been placed in this squadron and almost immediately used in the bomb attacks on the continent of Europe. In the night of 12 to 13 June 1944 they executed their first operational flight at the French town of Portierd. The following attacks were for the greater part also aimed at French territory to support of the marching allied forces and further at some German towns, while one time the Dutch airfield Gilze-Rijen was bombed. Their last flight was a remarkable one. They had taken part in the operation 'Paravane' at which the famous German man-of-war Tirpitz was attacked. The ship was lying heavily defended in the Norwegian Altenfjord, just beyond the radius of action of the Lancasters. A cute plan, however, was executed. In the evening of September 11th 1944 they had taken off from their base and after a stop in Scotland, where the fuel tanks were refilled, they flew non-stop to an airbase in north Russia near the town of Archangelsk. From that place the Lancasters of No. 9 and 617 Squadron R.A.F. with full tanks performed attacks on the 45,000 ton war-ship. Though at these attacks the Tirpitz was heavily damaged, they did not succeed in sinking the ship and the aircraft flew back to their bases in England.
For this night the attack was aimd [sic] at Dortmund-Ems canal, near the town of münster. The intention was to destroy hereby the enemy supply lines between the German industrial areas upon the Ruhr and the front near Arnhem where some days before large allied airborne units were dropped. The aircraft were equipped with 12 ton bomb with time ignition, a so-called 'Tall boy', which had to be dropped on the market target. In the beginning the flight went quietly. Flying eastward in fact they flew up to the darkness and when they passed the Belgian coast at a height of about five kilometers [sic] it had already grown completely dark. From this height the heavy battle near Arnhem was clearly to observe. Glowing bullets and grenades drew bowlines though [sic] the sky and there were fiercely burning fires. When they reached the German frontier shellfire on the formation was opened. The aircraft, however could manage to reach the target area undamaged. They flew in onto the target from about 7500 metres and the bomb was aimed at the place, which was indicated with red burning markers. After that they immediately left the area. Because of the time ignition of 30 minutes it was not visible for the crew of the WS-V whether their bomb had hit the target or not.
(1)
[page break]
F/Lt Charles Scott from Glasgow flew the Lancaster back home. The German flak was still very bad, but as soon as they had reached Holland, it soon diminished. Though it was quiet now, they kept on the alert. The gunners were behind their machine guns and peered into the dark night. Suddenly there was a loud crack. It was clear that the plane was hit, but nobody had seen or heard anything. Because they did not see any flak, the crew was convinced that it had been a German night-fighter, which had attacked them. The right inside engine proved to be hit and soon licking flames came out of it. Very quick the man came to action and tried to put out the flames, unfortunately without any result. Shortly after the second engine caught fire too at the starboard side. F/Lt Scott realised that now nothing could be done about it anymore. The plane could hardly be controlled and a quick decision had to be taken. He suggested to try to make a forced landing in the liberated area, soth [sic] of Arnhem. Suddenly the Lancaster lost much height and was not under control anymore, where upon Scott ordered the crew via the intercom to bail out. Probably at that moment the right wing burned through, whereafter the bomber swung round and tumbled down. The crew found their way to the escaping hatches. Only F/Sgt Leslie Langley succeeded in opening the hatch, leaving the plane and reaching the ground safely, he, however, sprained his ankle. "It was as if it took me two hours before i [sic] managed to open the hatch, which was underneath me, after which i [sic] jumped immediately", Mr. Langley told, when we visited him summer 1979 at his home in one of the suburs [sic] of London. He went on: "That i opened it at the very last moment, is clear from the fact that i came down in the meadow next to where the plane crashed. The parachute must have opened very shortly before i touched the ground. Of the jump i don't recall anything. Immediately i put off my parachute, hid it in a small trench and on my knees i drank some draughts of water from a ditch, to come to myself again. Fof [sic] a short time i looked around if i saw anyone of my comrades. Because of the extreme heat of the burning plane, I could not approach to it very close. I was aware of it that the Germans would appear and that i had to take my heels very soon. Limping i ran off, on course of my compass, in a southern direction.
As a matter of fact all this had not gone totally unnoted [sic] by the Holten population. The heavy sound of the formation flying over had enticed a few people to go outside even though time during which people had to stay in had already begun at 8-00p.m. It always was fascinating view. The eastern sky was lighted red, caused by fires in the Ruhrgebiet; searchlights scanned the sky for planes, while Very lights and flares, flakshells and tracer bullets flickered up against the nightly darkness. Not seldom planes crashed and this night too several of them were seen coming down in the surroundings. In the meantime it was around 23-30 hrs. when from the east a plane became visible which burned heavily and approached the village dangerously. The sound of the roaring engines pierced everybody to the very marrow, as if it were the last cry of a dying animal. Some people went into a panic. Sleeping children were waken up. A few people ran up to the falling plane, according to the advices of the Civil Defence. Fortunately the plane flew over the village, but crashed at the Populierendijk in Holterbroek. Far in the neighbourhood the shock could be felt and the surroundings were lighted up by the glow of the fire, so that see the cows in the pastures, while the trees cast their shadows on the sinister lighted land, that was frightened up so sudden in this autumn night.
Immediately after the group commander of the constabulary, Hallink, charged a number of his men with the garding [sic] of the plane. Mr. H.J. Holterman, deputy commander of the CD came to the spot personally and stated that a more [sic] engined English plane had crashed and was fully splintered and that several flyers were killed in the crash. An airman was lying at the way in to a meadow. (This was top-turret gunner F.A. Saunders.) Both apparently had bailed out too late and smacked the earth before their parachutes could open. Later one more dead airman was mentioned, found at the Evertjesweg. In the afternoon the latter was transported to the mortuary at the old cemetery by the nearest farmer, Aanstoot 'De Grieze', with his cart.
(2)
[page break]
On Tuesday morning September 26th the dead bodies in the burned out plane were collected and coffined by municipal workers. Then it became clear that in and under the wreckage were the mortal remains of four young men who were badly mutilated by the fire. So six victims were recovered in total.
The very morning at 11-20hrs they were buried on [sic] the cemetery.
Bomb aimer F/Sgt Leslie Langley had walked on in a wearisome way, in spite of his sprained ankle. When he arrived at the Schipbeek, he followed it in a western direction. Only when it was nearly morning he knocked at a house and presented himself with the words: "Ik bin English", one of the phrases which were on an information leaflet all allied flyers had, to make surviving and escaping in occupied area more easily. The people, however, didn't dare to let him come in and Langley continued on his way. Near Deventer, where the Schipbeek flows together with the Ijssel, he followed the Ijssel in a southern direction, in the supposition that somewhere in the neighbourhood of Zutphen he would meet the british army which would march on from Arnhem. He didn't know that the situation in Arnhem was very bad for the English at that moment. Leslie had walked on for three nights, sleeping in the daytime, when one early morning he knocked at the door of the family Gradus Visser in Gorssel. Only a few words were needed to make clear what had happened and what his plans were. They let him in and explained to him the bad situation of the English at Arnhem. There was no use going on. He however, could not stay at the Visser family. Too many Germans were arround [sic] Father Visser nevertheless arranged contacts with the underground movement and a safe shelter was found for Langley at the Koeslag family in Laren, a family extremely active in helping allied flyers. From Koeslag, Langley was conveyed by 'Kees' of the Holten underground group to the farm 'Buisweerd', from where he was taken by some persons in hiding there to Reterink in Zuidloo. This was about three weeks after the crash. Langley stayed here for nearly seven months, together with John Miller who, the same night, was shot down in the enviroment [sic] of Zelhem. The latter still wore his uniform and had his pistol with him. He wanted to defend himself and refer to the convention of Geneva in case he would be taken prisoner. After New Year they were joined by the Norwegian flyer Kare Herfjord of No. 332 Squadron R.A.F., who had made a forced landing on January 4th, 1945, in the Rijssenseveen behind the farm of the family Lindenberg. In an ingenious way shelters were made for the persons in hiding in a strawstack. In the daytime they mostly were in the farmhouse. Sometimes there were very dangerous situation when two German friendly policemen from Bathmen came to the farm's kitchen for coffee, while the flyers were playing Monopoly in another room. A game in which Langley clearly gave proof of his past as a bank employee when it came to counting money. That Monopoly game helped them through the long months they had to await the liberation.
When on April 6th 1945 an armoured car of the Canadian 8th Reconnaissance Regiment came near the farm, the three airman [sic] jumped in and were brought – without having time to say good-bye- behind the lines. For interrogation they went on to Breda. After their identity had been checked, they were flown to England and on April 10th Langley arrived already at his parents and fiancee in London. You can easily guess what a joy it was for everybody. The Langleys in London had lived in anxious suspence [sic] during all those months. Via the Red Cross organization they knew there was only one survivor. Who he was could not be determined, because not all victims could be identified.
After the war Leslie Langley, now working at an insurance firm in London more than once visited the Reterink family and also the spot where his plane crashed.
(3)
[page break]
In 1947 he was back for the first time and visited the family J. van Schooten, living about 200 metres from the place of crash.
Just at that moment a house painter worked there. Painter and ex-airman stood together and recognized each other without knowing at first who exactly the other war. Soon it became clear. Leslie Langley stood face to face with Arend Schipper, during the war commander of the resistance movement in Holten and it was him who had conveyed Langley from Koeslag in Laren to Buisweerd. Later on Langley was taken to the farm of H. Reterink in Zuidloo, where he was liberated at last.
[underlined] A flyer is missing. [/underlined]
A short time after the liberation there were some problems with regard to the identification of the fallen airmen. There has been some talk on the missing of the British F/O C.E.M. Graham, navigator of the Lancaster NF 923 of No. 617 Squadron R.A.F. (known as the Dambuster squadron which had the destroying of the German barrages to their credit) The plane had also taken part in the attack on the Dortmund-Ems canal near Münster, was, however, attacked by a German nightfighter and lost it's course and had flown high over Holten. It appeared that this airman was severely wounded in an airfight over Twento and had got a shock. Because the plane was heavily damaged and could not effect a normal landing anymore, Graham probably was thrown out of the plane on his parachute by his comrades to save his life. The other members of the crew could manage to leave the plane with the exception of the pilot F/Lt G.S. ('Geoff') Stout. He lost his life when the plane crashed at the Vordensebinnenweg in the municipality of Lochem.
An enquiry after the location of the F/O Graham's grave had no result. In Holten nobody knew about a flyer with this name and an extensive investigation by the municipality of Holten in which many places in the neighbourhood were summoned, didn't help to make this case clear. It was suspected that the flyer in question should be among those airmen buried in Holten of whom some had not yet been identified. It was most evident that it concerned the victim found at the Evertjesweg. The mortal remains were disinterred on November 6th 1945 and interred on [sic] the military cemetery at Oosterbeek in square IV, row C, grave 13; later a tombstone was placed with the indication C.E.M. Graham, Flying Officer, 159937.
In the opinion of a member of the Holten CD at that time, there was still no proof that it reaily [sic] concerned the flyer mentioned above. It reaily [sic] concerned the flyer mentioned above. It seemed as if they had passed off the matter to satisfy the victim's father, Major-General Sir M.W.A.P. Graham, KBE, CB, MC, – a high officer in the staff of Field-Marshal Montgomery – to appoint the exact place of his son's grave. It was the more peculiar, because now in Holten in fact they missed a dead man from the plane which had crashed the same night in Holterbroek. After it was accepted that the mortal remains of two different, severely mutilated flyers should be buried in one grave. They then thought that it concerned the flyers Hayward and Harding, resting in a joint grave, as to be seen to this day at the cemetery regarding the little space between the two tombstones.
Yet it is to accept that the identification was correct and that it really concerned the flyer who came down at the Evertjesweg. After inquiries in the surroundings we had a talk with Mr. H.J. Bosschers. He remembered having seen that night a plane approaching from eastern direction. Over Holten the plane, however, had turned to the south. Mr. Bosschers also rememberd [sic] that at some distance behind his house 'something' came down with a thud. Only the next morning he learned that it should have been an R.A.F. man who had fallen down at the Evertjesweg. It appeared to be dark, slightly built person with small hands.
(4)
[page break]
Mr. G.J. Huisman, inhabitant of Holten, at that time hidden for the Germans at the family Jansen 'Menum', also living in this area, also remembered the dead flyer who was found in the mornining: [sic]
"Evidently he had come down hard, because we could see an imprint of the body in the soil. On his collar he had a badge in yellow and red with sickle and hammer, while there was a ring on one of his hands with a picture of a red Indian's head. Blood ran from his mouth. I could see that i was not the first person on the spot, for the parachute had been cut off and was hidden under some brushes [sic] by the road side. I took it home with me. Later i saw that the parachute cloth had been shot through in different places. In my opinion that was the cause of the flyer's death."
At attempts to trace how it all came to pass why F/O Graham had come down in Holten and was found dead, we succeeded in contacting the, at that time F/O R.H. ('Reg') Petch, who belonged to the same crew and took part in the flight as tailgunner. In spite of that his information gave no useful clues. Because of his position in the tailpart, Mr. Petch said not to be well informed of what was going on in the cockpit. Probably F/O Petch bailed out first, when his gun-turret had been eliminated and the plane burned. He came down in the municipality of Hellendoorn and kept covered for two days, observing sharply the bustle around a farm. When nothing suspicious happened he went up to the farm. The farmer warned the resistance movement; they helped him with addresses where he could hide for the coming period.
F/O Petch was liberated on April 10th 1945 in Nijverdal.
Flight-engineer P/O A.W. Benting landed severely wounded in the municipality of Markelo, a few metres behind the farmhouse of the family Tempelman of the Borkeldweg, near the municipal frontier with Holten. With the firing of pistol-shots he drew the attention of the family. He, however, had a shot wound through his head and through his calf of a leg; they could not help him in the right way. They took him a short time afterwards to a hospital in Enschede, but there he died a few days later.
F/O Graham had also taken part in the attack on the Tirpitz and probably had gotten this badge in Russia.
The other members of the crew were more fortunate. F/Sgt F.L. ('Peter') Whittaker, top turret gunner, came down not far from P/O Benting behind the farmhouse of J.W. Ebbekink 'Peurtje' – very active in the resistance movement where he was helped further.
Bomb aimer F/O W.A. ('Bill') Rupert, a canadian, landed safely on the Markeloseberg, hurried away from there and also came in touch with the underground. Together with his fellow crewmember Peter Whittaker he too was an enthousiastic [sic] co-worker at the droppings of arms, etc. For the resistance. In chapter 9 about the resistance movement more will be told about.
About the wireless operator F/O R.J. Allen nothing is known, except that he survived the war. Just like Petch, Rupert and Whittaker he probably was liberated at last at a hiding address in Eastern Holland.
Many thanks to the author Martin Hols for the translation from Dutch to English from the book HOLTEN IN OORLOGSTJD (1984) from the Saunders family.
(5)
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Holten in Oorlogstjd (1984) - Holten in Wartime
Lancaster Crashed in Holterbroek.
Description
An account of the resource
A detailed account of the night's events leading to the shooting down of a Lancaster over the Netherlands.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Netherlands--Holten
Great Britain
England--Lincoln
France
Netherlands--Tilburg Metropolitan Area
Norway
Russia (Federation)
Russia (Federation)--Arkhangelʹskai︠a︡ oblastʹ
Germany
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Netherlands--Arnhem
Scotland--Glasgow
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Five typewritten sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MParryWE1172401-220531-05
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1984
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-09-23
1944-09-24
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
5 Group
617 Squadron
9 Squadron
air gunner
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
bomb aimer
bombing
crash
evading
final resting place
killed in action
Lancaster
Mosquito
navigator
P-38
RAF Bardney
Resistance
Tallboy
target indicator
Tirpitz
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1564/43465/MCurtisA1579599-161130-02.1.pdf
6ade64adf230bddeecdea07af9f1c55d
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Curtis, A
Curtis, Len
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-11-30
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Curtis, A
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. The collection concerns "Len" Curtis (1579599 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, documents and a manuscript. He flew operations as a bomb aimer with 106, 630 and 617 Squadrons.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Cary Curtis and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
LANCASTER J B 139
[drawing]
DARK VICTOR
[Page break]
[Photograph]
Don Cheney’s crew (photograph taken in London circa December 1943).
Back row (L-R): R. Pool, J. Rosher, W. N. Wait, McRostie. Front row (L-R): R. Welch, D. Cheney, A Curtis
L’équipage de Don cheney [sic] (photo prise à Londres vers décembre 1943).
Debout, de gauche à droite: R. Pool, J. Rosher, W. N. Wait, McRostie.
Assis, de gauche à droite: R. Welch, D. Cheney, A Curtis.
[Page break]
617 Squadron’s campaign against the V-Sites in the Pas de Calais had concluded with the final assault on the V-1 site at Siracourt on 1st August, 1944. The Pas de Calais had been over-run by various units of the Allied Armies, positively breaking out from the consolidated beach-head area, and sending the German forces into headlong retreat along the whole front, save for the various French coastal redoubts, which the Allies initially by-passed without making any strong effort to subdue them.
617 Squadron, in company with other squadrons of Bomber Command, had pulverised the enemy’s E-Boat flotillas in the French harbours of Le Havre and Boulogne, forcing the remnants to retreat to the comparatively safer harbours of Holland, notably Ijmuiden. These units now had a much longer voyage to oppose the invasion support convoys and this, together with the short summer nights, had rendered their efforts against these convoys almost innocuous and very costly in the casualties inflicted by the convoy escorts.
With the underlying threat of the V-Sites firmly removed, 617’s efforts were re-directed against the French Biscay ports of Brest, Lorient and La Pallice. The aim was to deny these ports and their facilities to the ocean-going U-Boats and to drive them to other, and more northerly lairs. There was an additional purpose in the matter of Brest. Strong American forces had broken out of their bridgehead area and were deploying rapidly and with great purpose through the “bocage” country of Normandy and Brittany. American units had isolated the German garrison in Cherbourg, one of the planned redoubts, whilst other motorised and armoured columns were making all speed towards Brest. The Allies needed to capture a large established
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deep-water port as soon as possible. Thus, the German garrison in Brest, with their numbers greatly increased by the many other German units which had sought refuge from the American advance, needed to have demonstrated to them just exactly what the total Allied air supremacy would bring to them during any period they might resolve to hold out. “Drive out the U-Boats and intimidate the garrison” . . . these were the deadly purposes of the assaults about to be launched from the air on Brest.
Flying Officer Don Cheney eased Lancaster “KC – V“ (JB 139) into the air at 0949 hours on Saturday, 5th August, 1944, from RAF Woodhall Spa. The squadron effort was sixteen Lancasters, each armed with a Tallboy bomb, and “V – Victor” was the ninth aircraft to get airborne. Beside the pilot, Flight Sergeant Jim Rosher prepared to ease back the throttles and later set the “revs and boost” his captain would request for the climb to height, once the full take-off procedure had been fulfilled. Flight Sergeant Len Curtis prepared to take his Bomb Aimer’s position in the nose from his perch on the step immediately below the flight engineer’s position. At the navigation table Pilot Officer Roy Welch was busy “setting out his stall” . . as was the wireless operator Flight Sergeant Reg Pool at the W/T set. In the mid-upper turret Warrant Officer Ken Porter settled himself comfortably, whilst Pilot Officer William Noel Wait did likewise in the rear turret. Both gunners prepared to unlock and test their turrets when the engines were throttled back and it was safe to do so.
The aircraft circled the airfield until the navigator warned that it was almost time to set course. Don brought the Lancaster round on to the
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required heading over the airfield and commenced the long, unhurried climb to the operational height of 18,000 feet.
It was a beautiful summer’s day . . . very warm with almost cloudless skies affording continuous sunshine. The mighty Merlins lifted the heavily-laden aircraft effortlessly and without one discordant note. Don checked with each member of the crew that all systems were operational and that there were no snags. He actioned the occasional slight course correction offered by the industrious navigator. When the aircraft had reached the operational height, Don called for the necessary cruising “revs and boost” to be set on the dials, checking the readings when he had Jim Rosher’s assertion that this had been carried out.
Don felt quite elated that another operational phase was beginning for the squadron against the U-Boat pens, with formidable Brest as the first target. He had found the tasks on 617 much more self-satisfying than those long, and very demanding, hauls in the enemy darkness, to bomb Target Indicators laid by other unknown crews. In the daylight raids of 617, captains were required to identify their aiming-points visually and to aim their bombs at this point . . often able to observe the success of the squadron’s effort before the confirming reconnaissance photos were available. Even on the 617 night operations, the Lancaster crews knew that the target had been identified and marked with meticulous accuracy by the squadron’s Mosquito marking force, so that the red spot fires could be bombed with the certain knowledge that they were on the aiming point. Don’s mind slipped back to the attack on the Watten V2 site in the Pas de Calais on July 25th, when the very accurate flak defences had knocked out one engine of his aircraft and so severely damaged the hydraulic system that all turrets became inoperable: the bomb doors hung limply open and the
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availability of the undercarriage became a matter of conjecture and prayer. The fuselage was awash with hydraulic oil and filled with the acrid smell of cordite. Miraculously, the intercomm was working and Don had raised all the crew, save the mid-upper gunner, the Aussie “Mac” McRostie. Don instructed the wireless operator to investigate the silence, in case the gunner was in need of assistance. A shaken Reg Pool appeared beside him some moments later, puled Don’s right earpiece aside and yelled “Mac’s gone!”. Don banked the aircraft, to bring it round course back to the UK, at the same time surveying the area below. His eye picked up the white silk of a parachute against the background of green countryside. It was about four thousand feet below the Lancaster and drifting gently inland. Mac’s prisoner-of-war status had been reported to Allied sources within a few days by the Resistance network. Don had taken stock of the damage to the aircraft during the return flight, and was greatly relieved to discover that no fires had started and that no member of the crew was injured. Some desultory heavy flak was aimed at them as they neared the French coast, but it was inaccurate and did no damage. Jim Rosher called Don’s attention to something overhead and there, sitting some thirty feet above the Lancaster, and sliding gently across and back again, was a Spitfire. The Spit then perched just off the starboard wing, with he pilot giving “Thumbs Up”, until the English coast was reached and then, with a salute of farewell, it peeled off to starboard and was gone. There was a temptation to “drop in“ at one of the many ‘dromes en route, but dogged persistence drove them on to Woodhall Spa. Fortuitously, the emergency air bottles “blew down” and locked the undercarriage and “T for Tare” flopped in without ceremony or waste of time, on clearance from the Control Tower.
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It was this series of events that had introduced Ken Porter into the crew. Ken had finished his first tour with 619 Squadron at Coningsby and had immediately opted to join 617. By coincidence, Don Cheney had been the pilot of the Lancaster which had flown the short distance from Woodhall Spa to Coningsby to pick him up and effect his transfer to his new squadron. Don was very pleased to have a fellow Canadian in his crew, for all the other members were from the United Kingdom and . . . Len Curtis’ voice broke in on his musings. “English coast coming up, navigator . . . we look to be OK on track and I’ll give you “crossing coast” when we’re overhead”. Roy Welch duly acknowledged the message and Don alerted himself for the passage across the Channel and into enemy territory. Once over the sea, both gunners performed the ritual test of the turret guns and reported all guns serviceable. ”V – Victor” crossed the enemy coast without any opposition manifesting itself, with the promised Spitfire escort ranged above and around the assembling 617, as they marshalled at the rendezvous point. Don took his allocated position in the “gaggle”, which proceeded on its stately and irrevocable purpose. The bomb-sight data passed between the navigator and the bomb-aimer, to be re-checked once it had been fed to the bomb-sight and before the aircraft was committed to the bombing run. Then the formation swung sharply to starboard, denying confirmation to the defenders of Brest that the port was really the objective of the operation until the last possible moment., The campaign against the U-Boat bases had begun in deadly earnest.
The run-up to the target was some twenty miles in length. As always, the Stabilised Automatic Bomb-Sight demanded the closest tolerances of height, course and airspeed from the pilot and Don Cheney’s total concentration was
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on these three factors. He knew from Len Curtis’s calm voice and quiet, unhurried directions that the bomb-aimer had the target well and truly lined up in his bomb-sight. Sweat trickled into Don’s eyes and down the side of his face, soaking into the collar of his shirt . . . not much longer now, and the Tallboy would be on its lethal way and he would have the luxury of drying himself with his handkerchief . . . not much longer for that blessed relief . . . not much longer. Suddenly, the voice of the rear gunner broke into the intercomm. “Looks as if some quite heavy barrage fire is coming up, skip!”. Don did not answer, his whole being concentrated on the final crucial moments of the bombing run. Ken Porter swung his turret to check the rear gunner’s observation. A second string of black bursts appeared above the black cotton-wool of the initial salvo and his experienced eye could see that the salvos were creeping higher and nearer. Don heard the dulled explosions . . . under the nose and to each side, he surmised, but the bomb-aimer’s directions held him in thrall. Then came the memory-stirring clangs and thumps as direct hits struck the aircraft with giant hammer-blows. A gasping cry came over the intercomm but still the bomb-aimer continued his relentless commentary. The cockpit filled with cordite fumes and again fiery red bursts erupted around the aircraft. Another involuntary cry came over the intercomm, almost drowned by the triumphant cry of “Bomb Gone!” from the bomb-aimer. With the main duty now performed, Don began the task of extricating the crew from the serious situation in which they obviously were. He banked and dived the Lancaster to port to elude further predicted bursts. Jim Rosher folded his seat and moved towards the navigation table. Don was still holding the dive from the danger zone when Jim came on the intercom. “Roy and Reg are both hurt, Don” he reported. “I’m attending to Roy . . . Ken and Noel have come forward
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and are attending to Reg”. “Any idea of the damage, Jim?” asked Don. “All the gauges on the Engineer’s panel are wrecked, Don” replied Jim. Ken Porter came on the intercom. “I got down from my turret after the first strike, Don, to see what the score was . . and then the second shell struck home, just aft of the main spar, I figure. I almost choked on the fumes from the explosion of that shell! The damage seems to be confined to the starboard side of the kite, in the wing-root area”. “There’s a large hole in the nav table” interjected Jim “and the radio compartment is pretty badly smashed!”. “Thanks both” replied Don. “Could Roy give me a course for Base when he’s ready?”. Jim Rosher realised that Don did not quite know the extent of the navigatgor’s [sic] wounds. Shrapnel had struck him in the face, tearing away the oxygen mask and removing his upper teeth and gums. Jim had just applied a field dressing to the area . . . despite the pain he was suffering, Ron had managed to smile crookedly when the pad was put in place. When Don’s request came over the intercomm, and to Jim’s utter amazement, Roy sat up in his chair, pored over his log and wrote some figures on a clip-board pad. He then stood up with a great effort. Aware of movement on his right, Don turned quickly. Roy was standing by the pilot’s seat, one hand grasping the high, armour-plated back and the other carrying the clip-board. His face was covered from nose to chin with a large antiseptic pad. There were large spots of blood on his shirt collar and on the side of his head. He was unable to speak but relinquished his grip on the seat-back, to hold the clip-board where Don could read it, indicating with his pencil the message he had written. “Heading 060”. . Don gave him a grateful nod and set the course on his compass repeater. Roy tottered back to his seat for Jim Rosher to continue to minister to his wounds. Len
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Curtis had switched off the SABS and all the bombing gear and brought the First Aid kit to assist the two wounded members.
Don continued the descending turn to port, aiming to bring the Lancaster on to the course so gallantly proffered by the navigator. He had noted that Ron was not on oxygen and assumed that Reg was in the same predicament, so he had increased the rate of descent in order to get down below oxygen height as quickly as possible. The compass needle was nearing a southerly heading in the continuing turn, when he felt a poke in the side. He looked to his right and saw Jim Rosher pointing to the starboard wing. Don looked along the raised wing and was appalled to see a large jagged hole between the two engines. It looked large enough for a man to crawl through! Beyond this chasm, was a number of smaller holes, from which were emerging small light blue flames and wisps of smoke. He continued the diving turn to port, to keep the possible fire hazard away from the fuselage. He mentally summed up the prospects and gave the order “Prepare to abandon aircraft! Prepare to abandon aircraft!”.
Jim Rosher checked that his ‘chute was readily to hand. He saw that Len Curtis was still busily engaged, ministering gently to the badly-wounded Wireless Operator, who had sustained wounds in the chest and legs from large jagged pieces of shrapnel. Jim lowered himself into the bombing well to prepare the escape hatch for abandonment, a duty which normally Len would have performed. He was lifting the hatch from its location when he noticed that Len Curtis’s ‘chute was lying loose on the floor. Fearing that the slipstream might suck it from the aircraft when the hatch was jettisoned, Jim let go of the hatch, which by this time was half-way out of the aircraft. The impact of the slipstream jammed the hatch across the
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escape exit. Jim crawled carefully around the partially-blocked exit and secured the rogue ‘chute in its proper stowage. He then endeavoured to deal with the recalcitrant hatch cover. He managed to budge it a few inches but that was all. He gave up and returned to his post beside the pilot.
On receipt of the captain’s order, Ken Porter and Noel Wait immediately went back to their ‘chute stowages to clamp their parachutes on their chests, leaving Len Curtis still ministering to the wireless operator. Noel Wait was having some trouble with his ‘chute pack and Ken Porter went to help him. Noel must have thought that Ken was on his way to the rear door, for he called urgently “Wait for me!” . . . which Don heard on the intercom and he sought to reassure the rear gunner that the order was only preparatory at that time. Suddenly the starboard inner engine failed and began to belch flames and black smoke. Jim Rosher quickly feathered the engine and threw the appropriate graviner switch to quell the flames in that engine. This seemed to deal effectively with the situation. “Both wings are holed, Don” reported Jim “and the fuselage is badly holed and torn in many places!”. Don could see a blue flame burning ominously in the No 2 fuel tank. It seemed to be growing even as he watched. He could feel heat building up from the starboard side of the cockpit. There was not a moment to Lose! . . “ABANDON AIRCRAFT! ABANDON AIRCRAFT!” he ordered.
At the rear of the aircraft, Noel Wait had plugged into the intercomm socket whilst Ken Porter had secured the rear door open. Ken saw that flames were streaming back from the starboard wing, almost the length of the fuselage. The flames and smoke dispersed suddenly, but hard on the heels of this Ken received a visual signal from Noel that the order to
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abandon aircraft had been given. He signed for Noel to go first, but Noel indicated for Ken to lead the way. Ken sat on the door sill with his legs dangling in the slip-stream. He leaned back and then tried to roll himself forward, as had been so easy in the practice drills. But due to the aircraft’s “starboard wing up” attitude, the roll forward took a great deal of effort and Ken found himself leaving the aircraft much closer to the fuselage than he might have expected. However, that seemed to ensure he was well clear of the tail assembly. He had no doubt that Noel would quickly follow him.
Jim Rosher slid forward into the bombing well and tried desperately to free the jammed hatch. Suddenly he was aware that Roy Welch was beside him, ‘chute clipped on and a large dressing still strapped across his face. In spite of his injuries, Roy assisted Jim to such effect that, although their efforts failed to free the hatch cover, it was moved sufficiently to allow a somewhat cramped escape route. Roy waved his hand in farewell to Jim and, with some difficulty, launched himself from the aircraft. Jim turned to see that Len Curtis was now in the bombing well. He put his mouth close to Len’s ear and said “How’s Reg?” “He’s right behind me!” replied Len “You leave now and I’ll follow you!” Immediately Jim manoeuvred himself through the restricted escape exit and was gone. Len edged his way around to his ‘chute stowage, clamped the ‘chute on to his harness and returned to the jammed hatch cover. He could see that he was not going to be able to negotiate the exit as he constituted at the moment, being, in his own words, “somewhat portly”. He tried without success to budge the jammed cover. Reg Pool was sitting dazedly on the fuselage floor, above the step leading into the bombing well. Len signalled Reg to retreat a bit, to give Len more
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room, but it was obvious that Reg just did not understand what Len was indicating. Len released the ‘chute straps from his main harness, whilst keeping the ‘chute secured in the clamps. He used both hands to raise the pack above his head and sat down at the escape exit with his feet through the narrowed opening. Gripping the pack above his head as tightly as his fingers would allow, he uttered a silent prayer and thrust himself into space. His stratagem worked and he cleared the aircraft without difficulty.
Don Cheney had ceased turning the aircraft to port on issuing the order to abandon and held it at height on a southerly course whilst his crew got out. He could see that the aircraft was just out to sea and felt that his crew would have a better chance of escaping capture in the area south of Brest, if the surge of the German retreat had been pell-mell northwards towards Brest once Wehrmacht units had been appraised of the American “break-out in great strength” some days previously. One of Jim Rosher’s last acts before leaving the aircraft had been to lay a ‘chute pack under Don’s seat, to expedite Don’s own departure from the Lancaster. Don had been fully informed of the situation with the jammed hatch cover. He was aware of the departure of the navigator, flight engineer and then his bomb-aimer. He knew that the two gunners had left by the rear door and appreciated that the badly-wounded wireless operator and himself were the sole remaining aircrew. He climbed down from his seat and, holding the aircraft as steady as possible by keeping his left hand on the control column, he strove with his right arm to help Reg to his feet. Slowly he managed to raise Reg and used both hands to steady the weakened aircrew. As soon as he had taken his hand from the control column, the aircraft began to wallow ominously from side to
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side. Don was forced to regain his seat and settle the aircraft again. Reg clung precariously to the side of the seat whilst this was happening. When he was satisfied that the aircraft was on even keel again, Don left his seat and clipped his wireless operator’s ‘chute on to Reg’s harness. Reg had been holding the pack, but was obviously too weak to do this task for himself. The Lancaster insisted on nosing into a steep dive each time Don took his hand from the controls and repeatedly Don had to regain his seat to bring the aircraft out of the dive. Eventually, Reg had been prepared for abandoning the aircraft. In one of the Lancaster’s “behaviour lulls”, Don was able to lead him down to the escape exit. Reg dangled his feet through the escape exit and, with Don’s help and guidance, was able to grasp the silver D-ring. Again, Don had to leave him to “recover” the aircraft from a dive. As soon as he could, he returned to Reg’s side. Don had some misgivings about Reg’s capacity to act correctly once he had left the aircraft and sought to reassure himself, although there really was no alternative to what had to happen. Don removed Reg’s helmet and, putting his mouth close to Reg’s ear, he said urgently “You will be OK, Reg, won’t you? . . . once you’ve left the aircraft?” The injured man nodded a couple of times. Somewhat reassured, Don continued “Keep hold of the ring, Reg and don’t pull it until you are well clear . . . understand?” Again he was answered with nods of the head. Don put his hands under Reg’s armpits, lifted him and eased him gently through the exit. Suddenly, Reg was gone without any further hurt or hindrance. Don peered through the exit but failed to pick up any sign of a parachute. He became aware that the aircraft was diving again and hurried back to regain control and to prepare for his own departure.
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Don had scarcely retrieved the situation when there was a surge of heat from the starboard side of the fuselage. Instinctively he turned to the engineer’s panel and was aghast to see bubbles appearing in the yellow paint of the panel. He climbed down from his seat and stooped to retrieve his ‘chute pack and clipped it to his chest. He had to remove his hand from the controls to effect this and immediately the Lancaster went into a steep dive. A noise like a roaring tornado developed as the slipstream tore in through the escape hatch and ravaged through the battered fuselage to escape at the open rear door. The engine noise was rising to a crescendo! . . . he fought his way back into his seat and with a superhuman effort, brought the nose up . . up . . up . . and then pushed the column forward until a semblance of “straight and level” flight was assumed. His mind had been racing ahead . . . no way was he going to be able to get down into the bombing-well and launch himself into space before the stricken Lancaster went into its final death-dive . . . no way could he reach the rear door exit, either! No, it HAD to be through the ditching hatch above his head! He turned in his seat, so that he was able to kneel on the seat cushion and jam his rump against the control column. He gave the release handle a firm twist and the hatch cover windmilled off into the slip-stream. The wind-noise increased ten-fold! Don removed his helmet and sun-glasses and tossed them towards the floor, but they were immediately whisked off down the fuselage. With his feet now on the seat, he forced his head and shoulders through the hatch opening but found he was unable to clear it. Urgently, he sought to get first one foot and then the other on the seat armrests . . . and then was shattered to find that the ‘chute pack prevented him from getting through the hatch! He crouched back again inside the cockpit. The
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aircraft was in a steep dive and his best efforts could only bring the nose up slightly. He knew he HAD to get out NOW! He resumed his attempt to get through the dinghy hatch, but this time was able to flip the pack upwards and clear of the hatch before beginning to wrestle the rest of his body through the opening. He stood on the armrests again and managed to get his right knee on the edge of the hatch. His left foot groped frantically for additional purchase below. Miraculously, he made contact with the back of the seat . . . felt his way upwards until his foot was at the top of his seat which provided a promise of firm leverage. He paused to gather all his reserves of strength and then gave a tremendous push on his left foot. He bulleted out into a roaring cacophony of sound. The blurred hump of the mid-upper turret flashed past and, with that peculiar human sense that allows one to observe the innocuous in moments of great personal stress, he gave mental thanks that Ken had remembered to depress the turret guns. The two large tail fins loomed and went safely by and with them the W/T aerials that could have cut through him like a wire through cheese . . . and then he was tumbling in space, with his knees drawn up to his chest. In his gyrations he saw blue sky and white clouds framed between his flying boots . . . then water . . . then land . . . then the sky and clouds again to complete the cycle. His consciousness was no longer dominated by the roar of the aircraft. Instead, there was a rushing of air past his ears. He felt around the pack for the release handle and seized it thankfully. He waited a further five seconds and gave it a very firm pull. It gave with incredible ease and he was conscious of holding the D-ring in his hand, with a two-feet length of wire attached to it and not the slightest slackening of his speed of fall! “Hell!” he thought “I’ve pulled it too
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hard and the “chute just isn’t going to work! What an ending after all I’ve escaped!”. A definite “whumpf” halted these thoughts in their tracks . . . his headlong fall was arrested . . . he assumed an upright position . . . no more rushing air in his ears. He was floating gently aloft, with only the gentle flapping of the beautiful white canopy above him to break the silence of that lovely summer afternoon. He heard the drone of an aircraft and looked around to see “V for Victor” in its death throes. It had reared from its downward plunge, with its nose rising until the Lancaster toppled over. For one frightening moment Don felt that there was a distinct possibility of the aircraft banking round and perhaps striking him, but then it went into a gentle spin towards the sea. An eternity seemed to pass before it finally struck the surface with one final roar. A great burst of red flames and thick black smoke was followed by a boiling circle of churning sea. The Don saw a series of smaller splashes as lesser debris hit the water, but finally nothing remained to mark the grave of “V for Victor” but a column of spiralling smoke which the sea breeze quickly dispersed.
A dull, muted droning of aircraft engines became faintly audible. Peering into the distance, Don could make out the specks of other 617 aircraft which, having delivered their bomb-loads, were now haring back to Woodhall Spa. Soon they were gone and an unbroken silence descended. Don could see no other ‘chutes in the sky around him. To all intents and purposes he was completely alone.
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Len Curtis was greatly relieved when the billowing silk canopy of his parachute arrested his headlong fall through space. He became aware that, whilst he had been wrestling his way through the narrowed escape hatch, the racing slip-stream had torn off his right flying boot, and for a few moments he was non-plussed . . . why hadn’t his left flying boots joined its companion? But he was swiftly dragged back to reality when he saw the Lancaster turning towards him in a shallow dive. For a few agonising moments, he was sure that it would hit him, but suddenly it resumed straight and level flight and the danger passed, but too close for real comfort. Len examined the area around and below him but failed to pick up the ‘chutes of Roy Welch and Jim Rosher. He began to assess his own situation and estimated that he would enter the waters of the bay some two miles from land. The sensation of rapid descent increased as he neared the water. He prepared himself for the plunge by unlocking the quick-release unit of the ‘chute. When he judged himself to be about fifteen feet above the surface of the sea, he struck the unit with his clenched fist, at the same time operating the automatic inflation lever on his Mae West. He fell out of his ‘chute and harness, which drifted away, clear of the spot where Len eventually hit the water. He went down only a few feet before rising buoyantly to the surface. He surveyed the geography of the bay and found himself in the broad base of its sweep. Undaunted, he commenced to swim towards the shore, deflating his Mae West slightly to allow himself to assume a comfortable swimming posture. He was glad to find that the water was quite warm and felt that, under less intimidating circumstances, it would have been quite a pleasant way to spend a summer afternoon. He glanced at his watch . . it had stopped at 1220 pm.
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He made steady progress towards an outcrop of rock and estimated that he had been in the sea for about two hours, when a burst of automatic fire split the silence. He heard the hiss of the bullets as they passed overhead and he turned to face the direction from which they had come. He made out a knot of German troops on the beach. About half-dozen had their weapons trained threateningly on him, whilst one beckoned him imperiously to change his direction towards them, making it plain what would happen if he refused. Cursing his luck, Len swam towards them and soon he was standing on the beach, dripping wet, surrounded by Germans. They expertly removed all his valuables and possessions, which they pocketed with great satisfaction, but the reception was generally cordial. Obviously, they remarked between themselves on his missing boot. Len discarded his Mae West, and it was immediately examined by the interested troops. Len was disgusted to find that they were armed with Sten guns . . . the guns that the supply squadrons regularly dropped to the Resistance! His captors were obviously a platoon under the command of a Corporal, but quite soon a car appeared from which emerged a Wehrmacht officer. He strode across to Len, who stood to attention, as military etiquette demanded. The German studies Len for a few moments. “Ah, Feldwebel” he said and motioned Len into the car. With Len flanked in the rear by two “Sten-armed” soldiers, and the officer in the front passenger seat, the car moved off. It sped through a town which Len was to learn later was Douarnenez and on for some way until it reached a small military camp. Len was escorted to a cell and a meal of German field rations and hot black erzatz coffee was provided, again with the same cordiality that had reigned on the beach. He rested for an hour or so, when the door was unlocked and a Feldwebel beckoned him out. He was taken to an office block and escorted into a room where a different
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Wehrmacht officer sat at a table. Len saluted as he entered and the officer indicated the chair which faced him across the table. Len sat down and prepared himself for the interrogation. “Number . . . rank and name” he was asked, in quite reasonable English and Len provided this information, which was entered on the form in front of his interrogator. “Unit?”, came the next question. Len shook his head “I am afraid I cannot give you that, sir” he replied. The officer looked at him quizzically and after a few moments, pushed himself back from the table and left the room through a door behind his desk . . . Len heard a muffled conversation between perhaps three or four voices and then the officer returned. “Sergeant, you will be taken to Quimper airport tomorrow and handed over to the Luftwaffe. The information you have given us will be forwarded, as required, but we have more important things to do at this moment than to interrogate RAF prisoners.” He called for the Feldwebel and soon Len found himself back in his cell. Relief allowed him to sleep quite soundly that night.
In the morning he was given a meal and transported under guard to Quimper airfield. Before he left the camp, he was handed a pair of German Army issue boots. Len took a grip on the leg and boot of his flying boot with a few swift jerks, separated them by breaking the stitching, as provided by their design. He tore out the silk linings of the legging, folded them into small packs, and put them in the back pockets of his battle-dress trousers. He managed to have some conversation with his guards on the drive to Quimper and discovered that the majority of the troops holding this part of France were Austrian and Czech formations. There was an awareness of the American break-out from the invasion beaches and Len was left with the distinct impression that his guards wanted nothing more
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than to be captured in one piece and get out of this war! This cheered him no end, and went a long way in explaining the cordiality with which he had been received.
At Quimper airfield, he was placed in the custody of a Luftwaffe corporal, who seemed to be the only Luftwaffe representative left. His Wehrmacht guards and driver insisted on shaking hands with him before they left, and Len was becoming more and more at ease with his situation. The Luftwaffe corporal turned out to be a conscripted Czech who had a few similar Czech troopers under his command. He was quite amenable and spoke some English. Len gathered that the corporal was hourly expecting orders to evacuate the airfield and this would mean moving a band of about two hundred French Algerian prisoners-of-war . . and Len! He spent a not unpleasant day at Quimper and could see that morale amongst the German “mercenaries” was plunging.
The following day, Monday 7th August, the Luftwaffe corporal informed Len that orders had come through to evacuate the airfield and move all prisoners into the Crozon Peninsular. It was estimated that a march of some 45 kilometres lay ahead, which Len interpolated as around 28 miles. The corporal added that the march would be accomplished at night, since the Allied Air Forces had made the roads in Brittany very dangerous for the movement of large formations in daylight hours. Len rested most of the day in preparation for what lay ahead. At about 1700 hrs, the corporal and his troop began the thankless task of assembling their French-Algerian prisoners, many of whom had so many large packages draped about them that they looked like pack-mules! Just before 1800 hrs the party, in some fifty
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files of four abreast, trudged out of the camp, en route for the Crozon Peninsular, with the corporal pushing his beloved bike. It was a warm clear evening, with the guards anxiously scanning the skies and straining their ears for the first possible warning of an air attack. Fortune favoured the column in this respect and dusk fell with no interference from marauding Allied fighters. Dusk turned to night, with bright moonlight effectively lighting the road. The party, which had had a degree of compactness at the outset, was now strung out over a distance of some four hundred yards. Consequently, the escort became ever more thinly spread along the length of the column. They passed through what appeared to be sleeping French villages, although Len was certain that curtains were raised in darkened upstairs windows to observe their progress. He wondered if “underground” radios were passing the information on to Maquis squads and fervently hoped that no clandestine ambush would be laid against the party before its identity had been checked.
Occasionally a halt was called for a short break, generally in the area of a village pump, or public water supply. The dispersal of the marchers had one advantage, in that it made for less crowding around the drinking area. It also allowed the mass to coagulate somewhat, although the more lightly-weighted elements were soon ahead of the “beasts of burden” once the march was resumed. Len’s feet became blistered, and so he sat down on a grassy bank, removed his German field boots and put his feet in the cool water of the brook that ran past. He soaked some of the linings from his flying-boot and carefully bound up his blistered feet, revelling in the relief that the silk pads immediately afforded. He became aware that many of the Algerians now passing him were limping badly. Ignoring the guards, Len called to them, indicating for them to sit on the bank and bathe their feet as he had
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done. They did this gratefully. Len set to work to minister to as many as he could until his lining stock was exhausted, but he still signalled to others to bathe their feet. The guards shrugged their shoulders . . . some even joined their charges in their ministrations.
Still the trek dragged on its weary way. Fruit trees and occasional root crops gave sustenance to the prisoners, for no ration provision had been made for them when the march was ordered. Len quite understood when he saw them stuffing items into their baggage after each “windfall” . . . they were providing against what might lie beyond their next camp.
Len was padding along beside the bike-pushing corporal, who was becoming quite concerned about the spread of the column, now that their destination was about two hours walk ahead. The corporal called a halt for the prisoners at the head of his party and indicated to Len that he would be going back to “chivvy along” the stragglers. He left his bike in Len’s charge and strode back down the road. When he was out of sight, Len mounted the cycle and pedalled off towards the squad of prisoners ahead. Some of the Algerians thought he was escaping and gave him encouraging cheers, but Len felt his best bet in the obvious chaotic battle situation was to accept his present captivity until a genuine opportunity presented itself to make contact with Allied troops. In the meantime, using the corporal’s bike would take the weight off his blistered feet! When he was almost upon the leading batch, he dismounted and rested by the roadside. When the first file of the laggards hove into hearing and view, he remounted the bike and caught up with the leaders once more. He continued this routine of “riding and resting” for an hour or so before actually riding through the ranks of the pace-setters and finally making the guards understand that their batch should wait for the remainder of the prisoners
[Page break]
to catch up, so that the party could arrive as a whole unit at their destination, which could not be all that far ahead. The prospect of a break appealed to the guards and the prisoners and they were quite content to rest for the hour it took the whole of the rear party to catch up. The corporal was pleased with Len’s arrangements but took the precaution of reclaiming his bike, so that Len finished the trek on his own two well-rested feet.
It was just after 1100 hours on Tuesday, 8th August that the whole party arrived at their destination in the Crozon Peninsular, some eighteen hours after leaving Quimper airfield. The Algerians were marched on to a makeshift camp, but Len was taken by the Czech corporal to a house that had been commandeered by the Wehrmacht. Len was accommodated in a bedroom converted into a cell and was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the rough pillow.
[Page break]
Len was kept in this location for two days, with very little restriction on his movements. His corporal “friend” accompanied him on exercise walks in the immediate areas and Len was “on the ration strength” of the guard-room staff, eating the same food as they did. Len observed that the Wehrmacht were just as opportunist at supplementing rations as any other army in the field and included him in the share of the “extras”.
On the evening of the third day, a small Wehrmacht lorry stopped outside the guard-room. The driver produced orders for Len’s transfer to Brest and Len was duly handed over, after hand-shakes all round, much to the amazement of the lorry driver who proved to be a genuine ”German” German! Two Wehrmacht soldiers with fixed bayonets watched over him in the body of the truck, but they also showed great concern about the almost-continuous aircraft engine noise that accompanied that nocturnal journey to what proved to be Brest, but, to the great relief of all, they made the journey without incident. Len was initially kept in a small school, barricaded with barbed wire, along with mainly American Army prisoners, although he did come across two more RAF aircrew during his stay.
Yet again the Germans decided to move him and he was transplanted within the Brest boundaries to a castle which housed some one hundred and fifty American soldiers. He was occasionally included in the fatigue parties that were roughly assembled and marched down into the dock area to help clear the rubble-strewn streets, the legacy of the many bombing raids that the port was enduring. Low-flying and dive-bombing American fighter-bombers strafed and bombed the port’s defences continually throughout the daylight hours, with great effect. Len was crossing a street when he heard a bomb coming down that he knew was going to be very close. He dived into the
[Page break]
gutter, with his face turned in towards the kerb and his hands clasped behind his neck. He sensed more than heard the explosion but felt the blast on his hands. He leapt to his feet and headed for a shelter like a scalded cat. He literally dived into the shelter which was mainly filled with German personnel but they made room for him and no-one objected to his presence.
On another occasion in the dock area he took shelter when the Air Raid sirens screamed their warning and an ominous silence descended on the port for a few minutes, until the heavy flak began to spit in anger. Instinct told Len this was a “heavies job” but he didn’t stand in the open to decide whether it was the RAF or the Eighth Army Air Force. A few minutes later the walls of the shelter trembled as salvos of bombs plummeted into the harbour area, although Len was pretty sure they were not Tallboys!
The Germans decided to move the prisoners from Brest. The military situation was becoming extreme for them and they could no longer spare the considerable number of front-line personnel needed to maintain the prisoner-of-war organisation. These guards were now needed as replacements for the defenders killed by the Allied Air Forces. The column of prisoners was moved out at night and marched, via the town of Le Fret, to the small seaside resort of Rostellec, in the Crozon Peninsular.
The days passed, with the food stocks dwindling. All French civilians had long been cleared out of Rostellec and Len and his immediate companions began to scavenge for food to supplement their meagre fare. It was a great find to discover onions in the overgrown wilderness of what had once been a lovingly tended vegetable garden of one of the village houses. The military population of the Crozon Peninsular grew each day, as the German troops
[Page break]
retreated before the American mobile forces. Rostellec provided Len and the other Allied prisoners with a grand-stand view of the bombing of Brest by RAF and American aircraft. Soon the concentrations on the Peninsular were bombed heavily and regularly by light bombers and fighters, inevitably causing casualties among the American prisoners and some of the members of the French Resistance confined with them. Over fifty were wiped out in one raid alone.
Eventually, on Monday, 18th September, six weeks after he had been shot down, liberating forces of the American Army rolled into the Crozon Peninsular. The bottled-up Germans had had enough and the surrender was swift and unanimous. With magnificent perception, among the early arrivals with the US Army were large lorries liberally laden with “PX supplies” and soon field-kitchens were providing almost “peace-time” meals for the hungry hordes of prisoners. Len ate and drank his fill before slipping off to find a comfortable billet for the night. He found himself in a house that had been an impromptu Mess for Wehrmacht officers. The beds were clean and comfortable. He lowered himself thankfully into the depths of the most inviting of them and was soon sleeping that sound and deeply refreshing sleep which was known in the Air Force as “a short course of Death”.
The sun was well up when he surfaced again. He lay luxuriating in the bed, gathering his thoughts and making plans for the day. He would have to make contact with some US officer who could arrange transport . . or offer help . . to get him back to England and Woodhall Spa. Eventually he sat up and began to dress, when suddenly he became curious to know what might be contained in the furniture with which the room was furnished. The chest of drawers
[Page break]
revealed nothing of interest but the wardrobe yielded a pair of German officer’s field boots! The leather was beautifully soft and shiny. Len drew them on, scarcely daring to breathe, and he almost shouted with delight at their perfect fit. He drew his battledress trouser-legs down over them which served to make it appear that he was wearing normal shoes. He finished dressing and made his way to the nearest field-kitchen where he was supplied with food by the American cooks without demur. When he was finished, he approached a huge sergeant-cook and asked where he could find a US officer. The sergeant stared at him for a moment “A god-dammed Limey!” he said “Jeez, they had one of everything in this place!” “Officers? Boy, they’re as thick as flies around here” he continued “Just walk around and you’re sure to find one!”. Len took his advice and soon saw a jeep with an American officer and two sergeants aboard. He approached the jeep, threw up a smart salute and said “Excuse me, sir!”. The dust-covered American looked quite startled but Len pressed on. “I am a bomb-aimer in the RAF. I was shot down six weeks ago and am anxious to get back to my unit in England. Can you help me?”. “Not personally, sergeant” replied the officer. “You see, there’s this war on and we’ve got to gather in all the Kraut prisoners and ship out all our own captured personnel for assessment and re-allocation . . and that’s quite a job in any man’s army!” He paused for a moment and then went on “Just down there, on the right, they’ve established an MT compound and Mess. Your best bet is to speak to one of the quartermasters. The lorries are running supplies from the dump at Rennes and the boys from up in the wild blue yonder have a makeshift airfield at Rennes . . chances are you can thumb an aerial lift there”. “Thank you, sir . . very helpful” replied Len, saluted and turned away. He heard one
[Page break]
of the sergeants say “These Limeys! Always correct and military, even when they’ve been six weeks adrift!”.
Len found the compound and watch [sic] the activity for a while. He saw that the drivers of lorries arriving with stores vacated their seats to the Camp personnel and hurried off to the large marquee which was obviously a temporary Mess. German prisoners-of-wat supplemented the American Army personnel in the unloading of the vehicles. Once a vehicle was unloaded, it was driven off the site and parked in a lager where it was refuelled and checked. After some ten minutes or so, drivers came to reclaim their vehicles which were driven off westwards at a fair rate of knots. Len wandered over to where the top-sergeant was standing and occasionally bawling. “Excuse me, sergeant . . . how can I get a lift to Rennes?” The sergeant wheeled at the sound of Len’s voice and in a voice heavy with amazement said “A god-damn Limey! I heard you were all still stuck on the beaches!” “No, I’ve been here six weeks, sergeant” replied Len innocently. “Six weeks, eh?” rejoined the sergeant “Guess you want to get back to Limeyland real quick. Best you can do is go over to the chow tent and ask around . . . most of the trucks are running from Rennes”. Len thanked him and turned towards the marquee. “Limey” called the sergeant “Make sure you take some of the hard-tack for the journey. There are no roadside cafes along that road now!”.
Len sauntered into the marquee and marvelled at the quality of the food that was being offered to the drivers. He approached one driver who seemed to be almost finished eating. “Excuse me . . any chance of a lift back to Rennes?”. The American surveyed him for a few moments and said “Who are you?”. “RAF aircrew, shot down over Brest six weeks ago. I want to get back
[Page break]
to England and an officer out there said the best way was to hitch a lift back to Rennes, with a chance of getting an air trip from the airfield there”. “Your luck’s in, fellah” smiled the American “My orders take me to Rennes airfield, to load up and return to this Base. I’ll be glad of the company!”. Len waited until the driver had finished his coffee and followed him out of the marquee. From a table close to the entrance, the American grabbed two bags and tossed one to Len. “Hard tack for the journey” he explained, at the same time lifting a large Thermos flask from the side of the table. The lorry was quickly located and soon they were heading westwards, on the 150 miles journey to Rennes. The driver was most anxious to hear about Len’s previous six weeks in France and that conversation, together with the “chow break”, made the five hours journey pass reasonably quickly. It was getting quite dark when they pulled into Rennes airfield. “No night-flying from this field, Limey” said the American. “Best plan is to find yourself somewhere to sleep for the night and try your luck in the morning”. Len thanked his for his help and descended from the truck near a group of airfield buildings. He found a camp bed and a blanket in one of the rooms and settled down for the night.
Len awoke around 7 am on what promised to be another fine day. There was no sound of flying activity from the airfield as he dressed. He found a stand-pipe tap between the buildings and had a refreshing cold-water wash which revived him no end. He looked across the airfield and saw what appeared to be Dakota aircraft on the farther side and began to walk around the grass perimeter towards this dispersal. Suddenly a wonderful small of cooking assailed his nostrils and reminded him that he was quite hungry. He followed his nose, somewhat like the kids in the “Bisto” advert, and came
[Page break]
upon an underground air-raid shelter from which the aroma was issuing. He called down “Anyone there?” which immediately struck his as trite, since obviously some-one had to be cooking the food! His call brought the head and shoulders of an American sergeant into view. He looked questioningly at Len, without saying a word. “Any chance of some grub, sarge?” queried Len hopefully. “What’s a Limey doing here at this time of the morning?” countered the American. Len gave him a rapid potted history of the past six weeks, which seemed to satisfy the soldier. “Anything to trade?” queried the sergeant. Len offered him the choice of the few German badges and insignia he had gathered during his sojourn in France and the satisfied sergeant withdrew into the shelter. He appeared some minutes later with a huge sandwich, which Len found to contain a large portion of beautifully cooked Texas longhorn steak, topped with two eggs, to be washed down with as much coffee as he wished. Len did not rush this meal . . . such a feast needed to be savoured and appreciated to the last crumb! Finally he took his leave of his benefactor and made his way to the dispersals, which were now a hive of activity.
A study of the area revealed to Len what appeared to be the Administrative centre. He made his way over to this hut and explained his position to the top-sergeant seated in a smaller office inside. “Yeah” said the sergeant “Plenty of flights to England! Where are you heading?”. Len explained that he needed to get to London. “Fine!” came the rejoinder “Got one flight for London due to leave in about thirty minutes! Come with me, Limey”. He escorted Len across the tarmac and introduced him to two fur-jacketed American officers. “One returning Limey prisoner-of-war to be added to your manifest, sir” said the sergeant to one of the officers and sauntered off. Len found himself outlining the last six weeks to the two very interested
[Page break]
Americans. Before long, the Dakota was taxying to the take-off point with Len comfortably settled in the fuselage.
The flight took a little over three hours and the aircraft landed at what is now Heath Row [sic]. Len thanked his hosts for the lift and made his way to a cluster of huts, to locate some RAF authority to report to and from whom to obtain instructions. He explained his circumstances to a sergeant who said “Follow me, Chiefie! There’s been quite a trickle of aircrew through here this past fortnight. I’ll take you to the officer who has the “drill” off pat now!”. Soon Len was on his way to the Central Hotel in London, where returning former P.O.W. aircrew were required to report for debriefing. He arrives at the nearest station to this Central Hotel and was walking the final stage when he heard behind him “Excuse me, Flight Sergeant”. He turned round, to find himself confronted by two Service MPs, beautifully turned out and burnished. He had time to note that one was of Warrant Officer rank, while the other, a flight sergeant, began to berate him for his appearance and threatening a charge for being improperly dressed. Mentally, Len could only agree with him, for his wardrobe consisted simply of his battledress blouse and trousers, the legs of the trousers still covering the German officer field boots . . . no socks, shirt, tie, pants or vest. However, his resentment welled up within him and he explained forcefully, with many epithets thrown in, just how he had come to this pass, and advised the SPs to allow him to continue on his journey to report his return to Higher Authority. Speechless, and suitably chastened, the SPs stood mute as Len turned his back on them and arrived at his destination.
[Page break]
Once his identity had been checked and proved, Len was allowed to have a bath and provided with a shaving kit to make himself presentable for the programme which followed. First, he was given the full stringent aircrew medical, which he passed without any trouble. He was then given the items of clothing he needed to assume a “smart, airmanlike appearance”, although he retained the field boots as a souvenir of his exploits. He was given a meal and then subjected to a thorough debriefing, covering the period from the moment the Lancaster was hit until his arrival at “Heath Row”. He was required to stretch and search his mind for any detail that he had observed that might prove of value to Intelligence sources. Special interest was shown in his report that the Czech and Austrian elements he had encountered appeared to be looking for the opportunity to surrender and get out of the war whole. Eventually, when he had run the full course of the Central Hotel, he was again fed, given six weeks leave, with free warrant home and the appropriate ration cards, and two pounds in cash for subsistence on the journey home . . . most of which disappeared “down the hatch” by the time his train left London.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Lancaster JB139 Dark Victor
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Le Havre
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Netherlands
Netherlands--Ijmuiden
France--Brest
France--Lorient
France--La Pallice
France--Brittany
France--Normandy
France--Cherbourg
France--Watten
France--Douarnenez
France--Quimper
France--Crozon Peninsula
France--Rennes
Great Britain
Heathrow Airport (London, England)
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
United States Army Air Force
Wehrmacht
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
33 printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MCurtisA1579599-161130-02
Description
An account of the resource
A memoir of an operation involving Len Curtis and his crew members. During the operation his aircraft was shot down and Len was captured. However, he was liberated by American soldiers and returned to London six weeks later.
This item was sent to the IBCC Digital Archive already in digital form. No better quality copies are available.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1944-08-05
1945
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Anne-Marie Watson
617 Squadron
619 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
bomb aimer
bombing of the Boulogne E-boats (15/16 June 1944)
bombing of the Le Havre E-boat pens (14/15 June 1944)
C-47
flight engineer
Lancaster
mess
Mosquito
navigator
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Coningsby
RAF Woodhall Spa
Resistance
Spitfire
Tallboy
target indicator
target photograph
V-1
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1963/41315/BLazenbyHJLazenbyHJv1.2.pdf
35022f62bb4527b9a7da34bd424ec42f
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Lazenby, Harold Jack
H J Lazenby
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-10-10
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Lazenby, HJ
Description
An account of the resource
11 items. The collection concerns Warrant Officer Harold Jack Lazenby DFC (b. 1917, 652033 Royal Air Force) and contains his memoir, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 57, 97 and 7 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Daniel, H Jack Lazenby and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
H Jack Lazenby DFC
Description
An account of the resource
Harold Jack Lazenby's autobiography.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Warrington
England--Wolverhampton
England--Shifnal (Shropshire)
England--London
England--Bampton (Oxfordshire)
England--Witney
England--Oxford
England--Cambridge
France--Paris
England--Portsmouth
England--Oxfordshire
England--Southrop (Oxfordshire)
England--Cirencester
England--Skegness
England--Worcestershire
England--Birmingham
England--Kidderminster
England--Gosport
England--Fareham
England--Southsea
Wales--Margam
Wales--Port Talbot
Wales--Bridgend
Wales--Porthcawl
England--Urmston
England--Stockport
Wales--Cardiff
Wales--Barry
United States
New York (State)--Long Island
Illinois--Chicago
England--Gloucester
Scotland--Kilmarnock
England--Surrey
England--Liverpool
England--Lincolnshire
England--Lincoln
Denmark--Anholt
Poland--Gdańsk
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Essen
Germany--Kiel
Europe--Mont Blanc
Denmark
England--Hull
Czech Republic--Plzeň
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Mablethorpe
Germany--Cologne
Italy--Turin
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
England--Land's End Peninsula
Italy--San Polo d'Enza
Italy--Genoa
Italy--Milan
Algeria
Algeria--Blida
Algeria--Atlas de Blida Mountains
England--Cambridge
England--Surrey
England--Ramsey (Cambridgeshire)
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Munich
France--Montluçon
Germany--Darmstadt
Scotland--Elgin
England--York
Scotland--Aberdeen
England--Grimsby
Germany--Saarbrücken
Germany--Zeitz
Germany--Ludwigshafen am Rhein
Germany--Wanne-Eickel
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Chemnitz
Germany--Heide (Schleswig-Holstein)
Germany--Wuppertal
Germany--Homberg (Kassel)
Netherlands--Westerschelde
Germany--Rheine
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Helgoland
Germany--Bremen
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Belgium
England--Southend-on-Sea
England--Morecambe
England--Kineton
England--Worcester
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Mülheim an der Ruhr
England--London
Italy--La Spezia
France--Dunkerque
Poland--Szczecin
Poland
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Recklinghausen (Münster)
Netherlands
England--Sheringham
England--Redbridge
France--Saint-Nazaire
Atlantic Ocean--Kattegat (Baltic Sea)
Germany
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
United States Army Air Force
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
99 printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BLazenbyHJLazenbyHJv1
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Lazenby, Harold Jack
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
1654 HCU
20 OTU
207 Squadron
4 Group
5 Group
57 Squadron
617 Squadron
7 Squadron
97 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
Bennett, Donald Clifford Tyndall (1910-1986)
bomb aimer
bombing
bombing of Helgoland (18 April 1945)
briefing
Catalina
Chamberlain, Neville (1869-1940)
crewing up
debriefing
demobilisation
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
Distinguished Service Order
Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation (16–17 May 1943)
entertainment
flight engineer
flight mechanic
Flying Training School
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
ground crew
ground personnel
H2S
Halifax
Hampden
hangar
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hudson
Hurricane
Ju 88
killed in action
Lancaster
love and romance
Manchester
Master Bomber
Me 110
Me 262
mechanics engine
mess
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Mosquito
navigator
Navy, Army and Air Force Institute
Nissen hut
Oboe
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
pilot
radar
RAF Barkstone Heath
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Benson
RAF Bourn
RAF Brize Norton
RAF Colerne
RAF Cosford
RAF Cranwell
RAF Dunkeswell
RAF East Kirkby
RAF Elvington
RAF Fairford
RAF Halton
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Melton Mowbray
RAF Mepal
RAF Oakington
RAF Padgate
RAF Pershore
RAF Scampton
RAF Silverstone
RAF St Athan
RAF Stormy Down
RAF Swinderby
RAF Talbenny
RAF Tangmere
RAF Upper Heyford
RAF Upwood
RAF Uxbridge
RAF Valley
RAF Warboys
RAF Wigsley
RAF Wing
recruitment
Resistance
Spitfire
sport
Stirling
target indicator
training
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Victoria Cross
Wellington
Whitley
Window
wireless operator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1913/41125/MHoldenJ1521290-170725-17.2.jpg
f96f205c672cdbc5973d1ade36cec027
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Holden, John
J Holden
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Holden, J
Description
An account of the resource
30 items. The collection concerns Sergeant John Holden (1521290 Royal Air Force) and contains photographs, documents and correspondence. he flew operations as a wireless operator with 49 Squadron and was killed 10 June 1944.<br /> <br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Andrew Whitehouse and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on John Holden is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/110983/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Hemmens Story
Description
An account of the resource
A complicated story of how Hemmens was mixed with four aircrew who survived a Halifax crash. They were all arrested on their way to Paris. They were sent to Fresnes prison then Buchenwald where Hemmens died due to medical neglect.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France--Eure
France--Paris
France--Lyons-la-Forêt
France--Fresnes (Val-de-Marne)
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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One printed sheet
Identifier
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MHoldenJ1521290-170725-17
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
102 Squadron
aircrew
crash
Halifax
Lancaster
Resistance
shot down
Stalag Luft 3
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1913/41110/MHoldenJ1521290-170725-080001.1.jpg
36228c8fdfebaafac8bd7c5b6e3ca647
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c67158832da2237a9776d2218d33ca2b
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Holden, John
J Holden
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-25
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Holden, J
Description
An account of the resource
30 items. The collection concerns Sergeant John Holden (1521290 Royal Air Force) and contains photographs, documents and correspondence. he flew operations as a wireless operator with 49 Squadron and was killed 10 June 1944.<br /> <br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Andrew Whitehouse and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on John Holden is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/110983/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Pierre Madry raises his Hat to the Crew of a British Bomber
Description
An account of the resource
An account of the crash of Lancaster ND533 written by Pierre Madry. It is followed by an address given by Air Commodore Eustace at a ceremony for the crew of the Lancaster.
Finally there is an address by Abbe Plante, parish priest of Lyons-la-Foret, in English and French.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-06-09
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France--Normandy
France--Lyons-la-Forêt
France--Fresnes (Val-de-Marne)
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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Four printed sheets
Identifier
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MHoldenJ1521290-170725-080001, MHoldenJ1521290-170725-080002, MHoldenJ1521290-170725-080003, MHoldenJ1521290-170725-080004
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
49 Squadron
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
bomb aimer
bombing
crash
escaping
evading
Lancaster
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
prisoner of war
RAF Fiskerton
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1913/41102/CHoldenJ-170725-020001.1.jpg
9176da87e16c8d86ff4a9636e520bfbe
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b6eb7e9fbe55a60357c2592018d33962
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1913/41102/CHoldenJ-170725-020003.1.jpg
089222489e64bb910c895cfc7e31d753
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1913/41102/CHoldenJ-170725-020004.1.jpg
d51b6a713cbd075b8e56be4b4e9b3376
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Holden, John
J Holden
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-25
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Holden, J
Description
An account of the resource
30 items. The collection concerns Sergeant John Holden (1521290 Royal Air Force) and contains photographs, documents and correspondence. he flew operations as a wireless operator with 49 Squadron and was killed 10 June 1944.<br /> <br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Andrew Whitehouse and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on John Holden is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/110983/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Testimony of resistance fighters
Description
An account of the resource
First witness statement from a Resistance fighter
They had been warned by an English airman that the SS were going to carry out shootings and found refuge on 25th August. They were liberated on 29th August. The SS shot eight Resistance fighters and arrested three (out of 18-20). They had two airmen with them when they attacked the Sainte Catherine road. They had been ordered only to attack isolated Germans to avoid civilian reprisals. The American officer’s machine gun jammed and they were told to leave. They volunteered the following day and although the German command car was at the head of the convoy, they could not do anything.
Second witness statement from a Resistance fighter
The SS managed to shoot down their own aircraft instead of the British aircraft. The pilot bailed out.
Third witness statement (Pierre Madry)
Pierre describes former buildings including where George M. Mikels was imprisoned, the German Staff Headquarters and the prisoner camp. M. Le Monnier testified that the English were shot after being forced to dig their own graves. Against German wishes, the priest, Abbé Vard, came to bless them before burial. Five prisoners were shot. Gordon Brian Lafayette was not in the cemetery. Some bodies had allegedly been repatriated. Five soldiers remained.
Fourth witness statement (Pierre Madry)
An officer from the Wehrmacht was billeted at Pierre’s house and told him he was lucky to be alive after an encounter with some inebriated SS soldiers. The regular German army generally treated people well. They had given concerts and he had played darts with young German soldiers who were afraid of the SS. The camp held around 100 prisoners and George Mikels hid from the SS behind the dairy door.
A copy of a map showing where the Lancaster ND 533 crashed and the cemetery where the pilots were buried.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1944
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-08
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
France--Lyons-la-Forêt
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht
Language
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eng
fra
Type
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Text
Format
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Four printed sheets
Identifier
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CHoldenJ-170725-020001, CHoldenJ-170725-020002, CHoldenJ-170725-020003, CHoldenJ-170725-020004
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Sally Coulter
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
final resting place
Lancaster
lynching
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2252/40882/YPittwoodJ1291454v1.2.pdf
3f170efcd52f96845cc8a03fba6f7559
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Pittwood, John
Pittwood, Jack
Pitwood, J
Description
An account of the resource
Ten items. The collection concerns Flight Sergeant John Pittwood (b. 1923, 1291454 Royal Air Force) and contains his diary, documents and correspondence. He flew operations as a navigator with 207 Squadron. He was shot down during the operation to Mailly-le-Camp on 3/4 May 1944 and managed to evade and return to the UK.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by John Pittwood and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2022-08-27
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Pittwood, J
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] THE DIARY OF AN AIRMAN [/underlined].
This is the diary of an airman who was reported missing after a raid on Mailly-le-camp, France on May 3 & 4th. 1944.
His name is Flight Sgt. John Pittwood who was the Navigator of a Lancaster Bomber.
The pilot Leslie Lizetts (Liz) who was a New Zealander and the rear gunner, Ron Ellis were still in the aircraft when it crashed and both were killed.
The mid gunner Ron Emeny (Curly) was burned very badly about the face attempting to rescue the rear gunner who was trapped in his gun turret.
He dropped in the same field as Jack and he arrived back in England a few weeks after him.
The wirless [sic] operator and the Engineer got back to England after the liberation of France but unfortunately the Engineer has since died.
It has since been learned that the bomb aimer was taken P.O.W. but he is now back in England. (8th May 1945).
[inserted] Warrant Officer J. Pittwood [/inserted]
[page break]
[missing word] 3rd 1944.
Left base at 10-30pm. For attack on Camp Mailly, crossed English coast at Beechy Head at 11-05pm. expecting to cross back home two hours later. Crossed enemy coast at 11-15pm. arrived over base at exactly midnight. An aircraft goes up in front of us on bombing range, flack starts to come close just as Wes closes the bomb doors and Liz puts aircraft into weave. At 12-10am. the port outer engine is set on fire by flack, the order to feather is given but at first the fire refused to douse so Liz gave orders to put on chutes. Later Nick managed to put out fire and we set off for home. Just as we turned onto course fighters came in on us so we abandoned plane at 12-40am.
May 4th.
I landed lightly in a ploughed field surrounded on three sides by woods and by a road on the fourth. I had not seen any other chutes on the way down and was surprized to see Curly come over to me, he asked me what his face looked like and what I intended to do. I told him to get rid of his chute harness and may west as we were going to make a run for it. We made for the woods and someone called to us, wether [sic] he was French or German we dont know and we didnt stop to ask. Gerry must have known that we were arround [sic] as serchlights [sic] were being played across the ground. Once in the woods we decided to move south and get as far away from the aircraft as possible, so guided by the stars we started our first trek towards freedom. The woods were thick and we got covered with scratches but they gave us a first class cover and they lasted for several miles. We eventually came to a clearing and found ourselves along side a railway, it was as light as day and I kept praying that clouds would cover the moon but no such luck. A train was in sight heading north so we lay low at the edge of the forest, our hearts beating like thunder, and every snap of a twig sounded like an explosion. As soon as the train had passed we crossed the rails, we
[page break]
[missing words] Cont.
were on a swamp plain and our only way for the next few miles was along the main road so we disguised our uniform as much as possible, burying Curlys outer suit in a well and once again started walking. It was now three o’clock and we were begining [sic] to feel a little more settled and away from the first hue and cry and jerry wouldnt start a proper serch [sic] until morning, so we decided to get as far as possible before five and then find a hiding place for the day. We walked on through a small village, every dog was barking and scaring us to death. Then we approached a town and from the notices on the toll we found out that it was Ferriers. We skirted the town, later to find out that it was a German garrison town, so it was lucky for us that we did not go through. Five o’clock us by a river on the S.E. of the town, so we purified some water and ate a little chocolate and some horlicks tablets, we then lay under the edge to sleep remaining there all day. We were going to carry on walking the following evening but as Curly was in pain we didnt get very far.
May 5th.
I decided to try a farm to get help for Curly, at first the farmer did not like the idea but after a short while he decided to let us stay in the barn as long as we didnt stay more than one day. He gave us some wine and some bread and what was most welcome something to bath Curlys face. we stayed in the barn that night and the following day but I got little sleep as one of us had to be on watch and Curly was to [sic] ill and was best asleep.
May 6th.
We decided to move just after midnight as it was obvius [sic] that Curlys face wanted treating by a doctor. We went back to the main road towards Ferriers and called at a big house on the outskirts of the town. They gave us more wine and bread and jam, by this time we were begining [sic] to feel hungry as our last
[page break]
[missing words] Cont.
meal had been supper on the on the [sic] 3rd. exept [sic] for a few odds and ends. The old lady informed us that Ferriers was a garrison town and that the doctor would probably hand us over, but 17 Kilometers [sic] down the road was La Selle de Bain where the doctor would help us, so off we set for La Selle. We had to travel along the road and it was begining to get light and were still in uniform, we passed several French men going to work but no one stopped us. On approaching La Selle we met a wood man who gave us a drink of cognac and told us to go on a little further and call at another house. After being passed through several houses at each of which we had either wine or cognac. We were eventually taken into the village and by this time all the inhabitants knew we were here and we became the object of a crowd of sightseers. The doctor told us to wait in the cemetry [sic] where a school teacher, the first English speaking person we had met asked us a few questions and then took us to a barn. The doctor dressed Curlys face and after our identity discs told us that we should be taken to the Marquis that evening. The villagers brought us plenty of food and drink and we really ended our hunger. At about 10pm. that night the school teacher and another French man returned and gave us a revolver and a cloak and then took us to the school house where we had our first French coffee (our first warm drink). They explained to us that we had about 12 Kilometers [sic] to go and were taken to a farm. They took us into a back room where there was already a French boy who was on the run from the Gestapo, we were given a good meal and for the first time in four days we were able to get proper sleep.
May 7th.
After a French breakfast of coffee and rolls we were given civilian clothes and our uniforms etc. were buried and another farmer who was presumably the local boss came to see us and
[page break]
[missing words] cont.
Dr. Salmon came to see Curly.
[missing number]th. & 9th.
The doctor decided that his daily visits to see Curly would arouse suspicion so they decided to take him to the doctors house. Sebastion who later became my guide and Georges two students both able to speak English came to interrogate me and told me I should be leaving in two days time for Paris and that I should have to be ready to leave on the Friday.
May 10th.
Uneventful.
May 11th. Thurs.
Georges came for me on a motor bike and told me that we were not going direct to Paris as the train was controlled, i.e. passengers checked, but were going by bus to Sens from Montargy and going to Paris the following day. We went by motor bike to a house in Montargy where I was given an identity card and ration cards. After dinner we went to the bus station and it was here that I came into contact with German troops for the first time and I can not say that I felt happy because they were waiting for the same bus as we were. You can imagine how relieved I was to get off that bus at Sens, of all my experiences I think that ride was the worst. As we walked through Sens I seemed to think that every German soldier must recognize me and it was not for quite a few days that I began to cease being afraid. We stayed the night in Sens at a school teachers house.
May 12th. (Ritas Birthday)
We went by train to Paris Garde L’Est by tube to Garre de Lion, the tube is always full of German soldiers and here I made my first boob, I knocked down a German rifle and picking it up I said “Sorry” but luckily he didnt catch on. We then went by train to Lagny, where I was to stay untill [sic] May 26th. Sebastion took me to a house where I met the local resistance chief another school teacher and was then taken
[page break]
[missing word] 12th. cont.
to the next village where I met Sgt. John Pearce a rear gunner also shot down at Mailly. It was grand to talk to an Englishman. Later I was taken to 13 Rue de la Paix, Lagny, Seine et Marne, where I met Marguerite and Bert Cane, Mdme [sic] Rheti and the two girls M and Mdme Boutte were also there. We had a good talk with Bert doing all the translating. I was given some new clothes and was able to have a bath, I was shown my bedroom which was next to the nursery and had a big French window looking onto the woods and my instructions were that in any emergency I was to go into the woods.
May 13th.
Had my first visit to Paris where I met Georges, saw Notre Dame, Les Invalides and saw for the first time German horse drawn traffic which reminded me of the films of the Civil War. The Americans bombed Orly. Sebastion told me that Curlys face was healing quickly and he was returning to the farm at La Choppilles.
May 14th.
Went to Bamper to see Sgt. Pearce spent the morning on the Marne and chopping wood for the bakery, this exercise was very welcome. We went for a drink with John and the Captain, the bar was full of Luftwaffe personel [sic] but captain didnt seem to worry.
May 15th.
Went to the Cinema with Marguerite and Mdme Rheti.
May 16th.
S/Ldr. Sparks controller at Mailly came to Dampar. We went for a drink together. Hank shot down from Thunderbolt, stays in Lagny. Cafe Yoche is becoming quite allied. John, Sparks and Mdme Boutte came to No. 13. Later a French man who had been in prison with came to stop with us. Chief came to see me and he introduced me to the Gardener who was a member of the
[page break]
[missing words]th cont.
underground, this was the first time that he knew we were in the house, neither did he know what Cane was.
May 17th.
Attended a conference of the local F.F.I. at the school house. I was informed that at a minutes notice an army of 10,000 men all armed could be raised in the Paris, Leine et Marne area. This little party was a credit to any country The Chief, his wife, Bert, Sebastion, two more boy students and two girl students discussed supply, dropping what arms and ammo were needed, distribution of weapons and technical points of new weapons. The girls spoke like experienced armourers. These were the first indications that final preparations were being made for the invasion.
May 18th-22nd.
Remained at No. 13, and saw John each night.
May 23rd.
Rosie came to see us and gave us the Gen about the second front. She also told us that they were trying to arrange for an A/C or boat to pick us up.
May 24th.
Agent disappears after landing by air from London so plans are altered and we are to go into Spain.
May 25th.
John Sparks and I go to Paris and wait for Rosie in the park near to Garre de L’Est. We were then taken to Georges where we did another sight seeing tour, we were introduced to an officer of the Paris Gendarmerie, the men who led the barricades battles.
May 26th.
We met at Petaine school where 7 Yanks and 6 English men were given new identity cards and Railway travel permits. We were to catch the 9-30 train from Paris to Toulouse and from there by local train to Pau where we are to wait on some open ground near the station untill [sic] we are picked up. (this was to be the worst journey I have ever had) We split up into twos
[page break]
[missing words]th. cont.
and made our way to the station. Luckily by this time we had begun to disregard the Germans. When we arrived at the station we found that our train was in and it was fairly crowded and once again we began to feel uncomfortable. We were expecting to be on the train anything from twenty four to fourty [sic] eight hours and on the train were thirteen people who couldnt talk French so we would just have to hope that no one would try to make conversation with us. We stayed in the corridors and although we kept in twos and threes I felt that it must be obvious that we were a party and the way we whispered to one another must have seemed suspicious. There were many German Soldiers, Sailors and Luftwaffe on the platform. The rear of our train was a troop train and the train opposite was going to the west coast and was mainly loaded with troops. They would walk up and down the platform yelling at porters and pushing aside any Frenchman who happened to be in the way and the Frenchmen after looking around would spit at them after they had passed. Eventually at about 8p.m. we left Paris and about an hour later we reached Juvessy which a month ago had been attacked by the R.A.F. and boy you would have to see it to believe it, I had seen Villeneuve St. George, La Chappelle, where twenty out of twenty three bridges had been knocked down and also Neusy La Lec which had been badly knocked about, but Juvessy beat the lot, it wasn’t crators or broken tracks and smashed trains, it was one great tumult just like a garden after it had been dug over. It was four hours later before we left Juvessy. We were moved part way by electric train part way by steam and in the middle they borrowed the engine to shunt some goods waggons across. The French people seemed used to this they just got out of the train and strolled around untill the controller told them that we were moving. We took the opportunity of eating something. Evenually [sic] we started to move again so John and I lay in the corridor to get some sleep. It was just after we woke up that I had one of my greatest
[page break]
[missing words]hcon.
heartbeats, a Gendarme came over to me and asked me something in French all I caught was the end bit “La on La” and luckily I knew this meant there or there so I just pointed and said La and luckily I was right. We arrived at Toulouse at 7pm. on Saturday night and we had to change trains to reach our final destination which was Pau. On Toulouse station we had what I think was our last greatest real scare, we followed our Guide on to the electric trains and just as it was about to go out he found that it was the wrong train so we all got out and tore up the platform and for about a quater [sic] of an hour we ran about trying to find our train. When we did get on the right train we found out that it was only going as far as Yarbes and at Yarbes a porter asked us for our tickets and started talking to us but luckily he was a friendly and he locked us in a room untill our right train did come in. In the morning from Yarbes we could see the Pyrennies [ sic] clearly and they looked rather high to climb. We arrived at Pau and waited for our contacts as instructed and for the first time the whole thirteen, lucky thirteen for us, were together. We must have looked a sight we had eaten a boiled egg and two sandwiches in the last fourty [sic] eight hours, we were unshaven and hadnt had a wash, we were in old clothes and we were all very tired. After waiting for over two hours no contact had turned up so the Guides went out to see what had happened and it was another three hours before they came back so we all split up and I went into a nearby hotel with a fellow called Rosie.
May 27th.
We all met again and went to a farm about four miles out of town and stayed in a disused house. It was here that we got to know about each other, Sparks Johny Ginger and myself were all from the Mailly raid, Rhodesia a Typhoon pilot who had crash landed only a few days ago, Junior, Canack and Bill had bailed out about the same time as I had, this was all the R.A.F. boys. Hank Dillingger had been in France about 15 months and twice
[page break]
[missing words] cont.
ran out by the Gestapo, he was called Dillinger because of his hunted look, Rebel a southener [sic] who was knocked down in his first flight from a Mustang, Lucky and Harry were from Fortresses and Slim was from a Liberator. Although it had been planned that there should be no waiting in Pau I think that these few days together did us a lot of good, it gave us some much needed rest and enabled us to get to know each other. We were here four days and spent the time telling experiences playing cards and preparing as well as possible for our climb, we washed our clothes and several changed shoes to get the best fit. Our food was brought up from the farm and although it was very rough we ate well. We cleared the house out and lay on straw and apart from complaints of mice running around we all slept very well. There were plenty of cherries to be picked and we also drank our first mountain water. Rosie and a Frenchman came to see us and brought us some Lucky Strike cigarettes, Cognac and some cube sugar.
May 31st.
We left the Farm in small parties for Pau where we were to catch a bus to Lasserex where taxis would take us to the point where we were to start our climb, when they said taxis we thought they had gone mad even in Paris a taxis was a museum piece, but somehow they had one waiting for us. We boarded the bus at Pau, I have never seen a bus so crowded, in this country conductors complain when there are five or six people standing, but this was a thirty two seater single decker bus inside there were about fourty five people and there were in between twenty and thirty people on top and behind there was a pig cart which some passengers had hitched on, there were even people riding on that. The bus was driven by coke and every time it hit a bump we left red hot coke lying on the road. The conductor knew who we were and he was to open the rear door when we arrived at a given place, by the time we were to leave I think everyone knew who we were
[page break]
[missing words]. Cont.
and they were saying “bonne Chane” and “bonne Voyage” as we left the bus. Six of us got into the taxis and we went about fifteen miles to the foot of the Pyrenees and then it went back for the others. We had food for two days two boiled eggs each about a pound of bread each and a pound of chocolate between us, we also had a little meat and cheese. We ate a boiled egg between two and a little bread and we all had a drink of Cognac. It was now ten o’clock and we were to move as soon as it got dark at about midnight and the first night should take us past the German first frontier posts and our danger would then be patrols of dogs and men. Our party consisted of one guide one Frenchman, Charles who had been told to go over with us as his time was up in Paris, seven English men and six Yanks. We left at midnight and for about six miles followed the road and then we took to the the [sic] fields, we had to cover twenty miles the first night but it wasnt bad going and we reached our shelter at about five o’clock in the morning, it was an old cowshed. We were just past the frontier posts but the shed was in full view of them and we were not allowed outside at all. If everything had gone well we should have had ten hours the followin [sic] night and then there would be four hours the evening after, but the mountains which had for weeks been clear became cloud covered and it started to pour with rain. When darkness came we all cut ourselves sticks and started again, and to make things worse we had our first range before us, the tracks had become marl and instead of doing five or six miles an hour we were doing from 200 to 400 yards. We were soon covered in mud and we were drenched to the skin. The top of the ridge brought us no respite as the desent [sic] was even worse, we slipped time and time again but by keeping together we prevented anyone one [sic] from slipping down the hill. At three o’clock we came to a hut and as we had no chance of reaching the next shelter we decided to pack in and and [sic] stay there form the day. I doubt if we could have gone much
[page break]
farther anyhow and I was glad of the rest, and Dille who in his fifteen monthe [sic] of captivity had had very little exercize [sic] was in a very weak state. We had very little food and the guide went to see if he could get any. He was unsuccessful at first but later he managed to get a can of soup which was warm and was very welcome, we ate a little bread with it and this left us with two eggs and some sugar and cognac and luckily we decided to keep this as long as we could. We were very uncomfortable here so as soon as it began to get dusk we started to move on again. Charles who had done a lot of mountaineering helped Dille along, the rain had stopped but we were still in the misty wet bottam [sic] of the clouds and the climbing got stiffer but we knew that once we were over this lot we should not be long before getting back to Blighty. We came to an almost vertical bank of clay which seemed impossible to climb but the guide got up and tied a rope to a tree and we were soon moving ahead again. We found a few cherries and there was plenty of water to drink. We rested the next day at a goatsmans hut and the following night we reached what should have been our shelter the second night. Several times we heard dogs barking but never saw anything of a patrol. The fifth night was fairly level going but owing to the mist we were very slow and we moved in crocodile fashion. We stumbled quite a few times and each time I managed to put my hand on nettles, we also crossed several streams but now we were so wet that we just waded through them, then we came to a river with two or three farm houses alongside and from the bushes the guide swung a kind of bridge across it was rather flimsy but it got us across. Later we reached a hut and stayed there, we now had one more ridge to cross. We chopped up the last egg and had this to eat with some meat paste.
6th June.
We started out just after midnight but the going wasnt rough it was grass, fairly steep and slippery and perhaps because it
[page break]
[missing words]. cont.
was the last lap it seemed to go on for ever. We crossed the first boundry [sic] at 4-15am. we were now in no mans land and at 6-10am. we crossed into Spain. We were now decending [sic] but the mist was freezing on our clothes and although it was June snow was falling. We found a little hut, lit a fire and dried our clothes a little and then pushed off towards the nearest village. Hank Junior Lucky and I went on ahead and were going fine even the sun was begining [sic] to shine. From behind the hedges there came two soldiers with guns we thought they were jerries but they turned out to be Spaniards, they lit us a fire and we waited for the rest. We were then taken to ISABA where we were taken to jail and they promised us a meal and about two hours later they came in with a great bowl of potatoes and a spoon each, but it was very welcome.
June 7th.
We were taken by bus to Pamplona where we were handed over to the consul and then to the Spanish Air Force. Afterwards we were sent to the British Embassy in Madrid, I shall never forget that journey on account of the beggars asking for food or money. I have never seen so many poor people, that is fascism for you, everything for the few. We were given some money and we stayed at an hotel. The food was awful everything was floating in olive oil, we showed the cheff [sic] how to make cherry pie. Later we went to a Bull fight and nearly caused a riot because we would not give the Fascist salute. The Spaniards were not very friendly to us. After a time we were sent to Gibralter [sic] and eventually we got a plane home.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Diary of an Airman
Description
An account of the resource
Jack's record of events after his aircraft was shot down over France.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Jack Pittwood
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-05-03
1944-05-04
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France--Mailly-le-Camp
England--Beachy Head
France--Paris
France--Sens-sur-Yonne
France--Montargis
France--Lagny
France--Toulouse
France--Pau
France--Tarbes
Spain--Pamplona
Spain--Madrid
Gibraltar
France
Great Britain
Spain
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
13 typewritten sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
YPittwoodJ1291454v1
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Steve Baldwin
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
bale out
bomb aimer
Bombing of Mailly-le-Camp (3/4 May 1944)
crash
evading
flight engineer
killed in action
Lancaster
missing in action
navigator
P-47
P-51
pilot
prisoner of war
Resistance
shot down
Typhoon
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2252/40877/MPittwoodJ1291454-220827-030001.2.jpg
a03a7a8c1a36f8e9a1911b302e0e9b70
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2252/40877/MPittwoodJ1291454-220827-030002.2.jpg
5737b36fe41eebac8855c74004ad4f13
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Pittwood, John
Pittwood, Jack
Pitwood, J
Description
An account of the resource
Ten items. The collection concerns Flight Sergeant John Pittwood (b. 1923, 1291454 Royal Air Force) and contains his diary, documents and correspondence. He flew operations as a navigator with 207 Squadron. He was shot down during the operation to Mailly-le-Camp on 3/4 May 1944 and managed to evade and return to the UK.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by John Pittwood and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2022-08-27
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Pittwood, J
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Letter to Jack Pittwood from Air Ministry
Description
An account of the resource
The letter advises that they are setting up the RAF Escaping Society.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1945-11-17
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Correspondence
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One double sided typewritten sheet
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MPittwoodJ1291454-220827-030001, MPittwoodJ1291454-220827-030002
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945-11-17
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Air Ministry
aircrew
escaping
evading
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2247/40846/PRossB19010033.2.jpg
1d9cfda3d63b065d8865754862d2352d
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2247/40846/PRossB19010034.2.jpg
0cd442a8fcb8ba087e76d8c1973811f1
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Ross, Bernard
Description
An account of the resource
37 items. This collection concerns Warrant Officer Bernard Ross (1610215, Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, photographs and service record. Ross flew as an air gunner in Royal Air Force Transport Command, towing gliders, dropping supplies to resistance groups and carrying paratroops. He also took part in some bombing operations to Germany.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Paul Ross and Amanda Burnham, and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-07-25
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Ross, B
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Mountain view
Description
An account of the resource
An oblique aerial view of some mountains, with a scattering of snow, taken from an aircraft. The two starboard engines of the aircraft are at the right edge of the photograph. An area of water is visible below the inboard propeller. On the reverse: 'ON WAY BACK FROM A DROP IN NORWAY TO THE RESISTANCE'.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Norway
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One b/w photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PRossB19010033, PRossB19010034
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
aerial photograph
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2198/40324/EMartinESBatchelderHE20170502.1.pdf
12787de5ef5c24fdf5bc8711e1a6a0c7
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Royal Air Force ex-Prisoner of War Association
Description
An account of the resource
97 items. The collection concerns Royal Air Force ex-Prisoner of War Association and contains items including drawings by the artist Ley Kenyon.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Robert Ankerson and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-01-29
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
RAF ex POW As Collection
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
John Martin's memoir
A Raid Over Berlin
Description
An account of the resource
The story of John Martin's last operation, how he was shot down, escaped the aircraft and was captured. He was interrogated at Dulag Luft in Frankfurt then transferred to various Stalg Luft camps. His story covers in his life until he was repatriated in 1945.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
John Martin
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--London
England--Lincoln
England--Huntingdonshire
England--Gloucestershire
Germany--Berlin
France--Caen
France--Normandy
Poland--Świnoujście
Germany--Dresden
Poland
Poland--Vistula River
Poland--Toruń
Italy
Europe--East Prussia (Poland and Russia)
England--Grimsby
France
Belgium
France--Ardennes
Netherlands--Arnhem
Belgium--Brussels
England--Dover
England--Wolverhampton
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hannover
Europe--Elbe River
England--Newark (Nottinghamshire)
Netherlands
Germany
England--Sleaford (Lincolnshire)
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal Canadian Air Force
Royal Indian Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
South African Air Force
Wehrmacht. Kriegsmarine
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
71 printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
EMartinESBatchelderHE20170502
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945
166 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-29
bale out
bomb aimer
C-47
demobilisation
Do 217
Dulag Luft
evading
flight engineer
ground personnel
Halifax
Hitler, Adolf (1889-1945)
Lancaster
Lancastrian
mine laying
navigator
Operational Training Unit
pilot
prisoner of war
radar
RAF Cosford
RAF Cranwell
RAF Kirmington
RAF Wing
Red Cross
Resistance
sport
Stalag Luft 4
Stalag Luft 6
the long march
training
Typhoon
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
wireless operator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1915/39130/E[Author]GTOwenHW570116.pdf
007b8ebcef45418979073bbd9216f1c6
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Gorfunkle, Norman
N Gorfunckle
N Gorfunkle
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-01
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Gorfunckle, N
Description
An account of the resource
14 items. The collection concerns Sergeant Norman Gorfunkle (1920 - 1942, 1260360 Royal Air Force) and contains photographs and documents. He flew operations as an observer with 76 Squadron and was killed 7/8 November 1942. <br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Lester, Russell Gellman and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on Norman Gorfunkleis available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/210756/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Letter to HW Owen from George Thom
Description
An account of the resource
A letter referring to the night of the crash and George's subsequent escape via Switzerland. He was caught while trying to get to Spain and sent to Paris. After the war he worked for the post office in Calgary.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
George Thom
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1957-01-16
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France--Chaumont (Haute-Marne)
Switzerland
Switzerland--Vevey
Switzerland--Bern
France--Pyrénées-Orientales
France--Perpignan
Spain
France--Paris
Great Britain
England--Bournemouth
England--Darlington
Alberta--Calgary
Alberta--Banff
Alberta--Lake Louise
Ontario--Hamilton
France
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Seven printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
E[Author]GTOwenHW570116
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-11-07
76 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bale out
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
crash
Dulag Luft
escaping
evading
pilot
prisoner of war
Resistance
Stalag 8B
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1915/39124/MGorfunckleN1260360-170801-030001.2.jpg
77c24617482ecdf134658c69a5c36a9b
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1915/39124/MGorfunckleN1260360-170801-030002.2.jpg
33dc67e4c16e97cd45f328dacb8f7510
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1915/39124/MGorfunckleN1260360-170801-030003.2.jpg
bb8c02d0c37f8797ef5567b086753f65
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Gorfunkle, Norman
N Gorfunckle
N Gorfunkle
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-01
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Gorfunckle, N
Description
An account of the resource
14 items. The collection concerns Sergeant Norman Gorfunkle (1920 - 1942, 1260360 Royal Air Force) and contains photographs and documents. He flew operations as an observer with 76 Squadron and was killed 7/8 November 1942. <br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Lester, Russell Gellman and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on Norman Gorfunkleis available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/210756/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
1st Allied Airplane Crashed in Haute-Marne, Bomber Halifax Mk II DT515
Description
An account of the resource
An account of the crash written by the pilot, George Thom. The report includes part of a police report.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
George Thom
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy--Genoa
Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
France--Dunkerque
Belgium--Ostend
France--Reims
France--Chaumont (Haute-Marne)
France--Aube
Switzerland
France--Perpignan
France--Paris
France--Vosges Mountains
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht
Royal Canadian Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Three printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MGorfunckleN1260360-170801-030001,
MGorfunckleN1260360-170801-030002,
MGorfunckleN1260360-170801-030003
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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1942-11-07
207 Squadron
4 Group
76 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bomb aimer
bombing
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
crash
escaping
evading
final resting place
flight engineer
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Lancaster
navigator
pilot
RAF Linton on Ouse
Resistance
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2221/38716/MB CR 3 A.2.mp3
b5d5e98c56e5db38764983ef9287ddd6
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ISRPt. Survivors of the 1943-1944 Pistoia bombings
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12 interviste a testimoni dei bombardamenti alleati di Pistoia, realizzate da Claudio Rosati tra il 1983 e il 1984 con l'intento di comprendere e studiare gli effetti che le incursioni aeree hanno avuto sulla popolazione civile tra il 1943 e il 1944. Gli esiti della ricerca furono esposti al convegno internazionale di studi “Linea Gotica. Eserciti, popolazioni, partigiani” svoltosi a Pesaro il 27/28/29 settembre 1984 e pubblicati nella rivista Farestoria n. 1/1985, edita dall'Istituto storico della Resistenza di Pistoia. L’istituto, dove le cassette sono state in seguito depositate, ha gentilemente concesso all’IBCC di digitalizzarle e di pubblicarle in licenza. Le interviste conservano la struttura originale, che può essere diversa dal modo in cui le interviste dell’IBCC Digital Archive sono di solito realizzate. La digitalizzazione rispecchia fedelmente le caratteristiche delle registrazioni originali, con minimi interventi. In base agli accordi con il licenziatario, i sunti delle interviste sono dati in italiano ed inglese.
12 oral history interviews with survivors of the Pistoia bombings, originally taped by Claudio Rosati between 1983 and 1984 with the aim to understand the fallout of the 1943-1944 operations on civilians. The findings were presented at the international symposium “Linea Gotica. Eserciti, popolazioni, partigiani” (Pesaro, 27/28/29 September 1984) and then published on 'Farestoria' n. 1/1985, published by the Istituto storico della Resistenza di Pistoia. The Istituto, where the tapes were later deposited, has kindly granted permission to the IBCC Digital Archive to digitise and publish them. Interviews published here retain their original format, which may differ from the way IBCC Digital Archive ones are normally conducted. The digitisation captures faithfully the characteristics of the original recordings with minimal editing only. According to the stipulations with the licensor, summaries are provided in Italian and English.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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CR: Bombardamento di Pistoia.
CD: Primo bombardamento di Pistoia, dev’esse’ stato di ottobre, forse il 26 –
CR: La notte tra il 20 e il 21 ottobre –
CD: Io me la ricordo bene, perché io e la mi’ mamma s’era state a Certaldo dove ci s’aveva un parente fattore e ci dava il grano. Pensa cosa si faceva: si partiva da Pistoia, i treni non funzionavano, si partiva da Pistoia, s’andava a Certaldo, che pe’ arrivarci ci volea le binde –
CR: Già da ora, anche ora andare a Certaldo –
CD: E pensa che cos’era in quel periodo. Si tornava – noi ci s’era fatti fare – ci s’aveva dei necessari da viaggio piccolini così, dove ci stava preciso una stagna d’olio che era una diecina di litri, questo nostro amic – fattore parente ci dava l’olio non al mercato nero, cioè aveva ordine – era un fattore degli Arrigoni degli Oddi e aveva l’ordine di dare tutto quello che c’era soprappiù a prezzo di calmiere, quindi ci dava questa valigina, era piccolina così, pesava, a me m’era allungato per fin le braccia e ci dava grano e questo – io ero tornata, s’era tornati stanchi morti [enfasi] verso le nove la sera, io m’ero buttata a letto, improvvisamente si sentì due suoni di sirena, ma purtroppo era capitato che queste sirene nelle notti precedenti sonassero quasi sempre e sempre a voto e noi si prendeva anche due volte per notte io e la mi’ mamma – il mio babbo no, perché lui non avea paura, ma io e la mi’ mamma s’era – la mi’ mamma era tanto paurosa, si prendeva la bicicletta e s’andava anche di notte dal Civinini per esempio e sempre a voto. Questa volta noi s’era talmente stanchi che non s’ebbe la forza di prendere la bicicletta e di scappare, tanto si disse ‘Sarà una stupidaggine anche quella’. Improvvisamente si sentì questo colpo di sirena, ci s’alzo però, perché la paura era tanta, io mi ricordo l’impressione d’aver aperto l’uscio, perché ci s’aveva una specie di rifugio che era lì in via Franchini –
AG: Perché dove stavi?
CD: Qui vicino, io stavo in via Gemignani. In via Franchini avean fatto un rifugio dove ora c’hanno fatto – c’è un palazzo, c’è un terreno abbandonato, c’hanno fatto un rifugio che era – sarà stato profondo quanto? Du’ metri e sopra c’era un po’ di terra, s’entrava da una parte e dall’altra e c’era delle panche, un c’andava mai nessuno perché tutti diceano ‘Si fa la morte del topo’. Questa volta [enfasi] io mi ricordo il babbo, che non aveva mai paura, deve aver aperto la finestra, perché a un certo punto ha detto ‘Maria, preparatevi e andiamo nel rifugio’ [enfasi] e poi mi son resa conto del perché, perché aprendo l’uscio i bengala – è stata una cosa folle, Pistoia – io, veder calare – che poi un si sapea, perché noi – se eran bombe, che roba era [enfasi], quindi, veder questo, insomma – noi alla meglio s’è avuto la forza d’arrivare a questo rifugio. La mi’ nonna, poera donna, che correa meno di noi, la prima bomba gli sbattè la porta e rimase in casa, noi ci si ritrovò nel rifugio e questa povera donna si trovò a casa e intanto avean cominciato perché furono due ondate, a me mi sembrò che durassero due o tre ore l’una, probabilmente saranno durate pochi minuti, ma mi ricordo una cosa, che erano talmente forti, si sentiva – che mi’ padre non era un acceso religioso, a un certo momento disse – s’era diverse persone, gli disse ‘E ora recitiamo l’atto di dolore, perché’ gli disse ‘questa è la fine della nostra vita’. Quindi andaron via, poi si tirò il fiato, mentre si tirava il fiato brumm ritornò con la seconda ondata.
CR: Ma fisicamente cosa si prova?
CD: Fisicamente una di quelle paure, ma talmente tremenda [enfasi] perché insomma si capisce che tu mori ecco, io ero convintissima di non sortirci viva di lì.
CR: E tutta la gente aveva questo atteggiamento?
CD: Tutta la gente perché non– e stranamente nessuno urlava.
CR: Non c’erano scene d’isteria [?] –
CD: La paura – dov’ero io s’era almeno una quindicina, ci si ammutolì tutti, questo pover’uomo disse ‘diciamo l’atto di dolore’ e io mi ricordo si disse l’atto di dolore.
AG: Tutti zitti.
CD: E tutti zitti, a tenere il fiato perché parea che tenendo il fiato si tenesse anche le bombe, quindi fu – ma poi effettivamente cascarono molto vicine perché – l’hai presente dunque Via G – dunque Via Mazzini è qui dietro –
AG: Via Gemignani è dove sta la Paola.
CD: E cascarono qui vicino, cascarono dal Morandi e poi un’altra cosa che mi ricordo io uscendo dal rifugio il puzzo delle vernici bruciate, perché era bruciato tutto il Morandi e poi tutto ‘sto fumo, tutto questo –
CR: Ma non ve l’aspettavate che Pistoia sarebbe stata bombardata?
CD: No, perché non ci s’aspettò [?].
CR: Non ci credeva [parlano contemporaneamente]
CD: Non ci si credeva perché – e poi ti dirò un’altra cosa, che nessuno di noi aveva idea del che fosse veramente un bombardamento, perché una cosa è senti’ dire ‘Hanno bombardato’, una cosa è averle sul capo, tant’è vero che io rimasi talmente terrorizzata che poi anche tutti gli altri bombardamenti – che poi ce ne furon diversi, io poi ebbi anche la bellezza la sventura di sfollare a Gello vicino a Piteccio e quello di Piteccio mi ricordo d’aver visto saltare il ponte e d’aver visto cascare le bombe, io mi ricordo – ho l’immagine visiva di questi grappoli continui a quattro – ecco, ma non erano a grappolo, erano a quadrato, così, mi ricordo di averle viste e saltare il ponte di Piteccio, noi si stette a Gello e non lo buttavan mai giù, noi a pregare che buttassero giù questi ponti e non riuscivano a buttarli giù in punti modi perché – poi i mitragliamenti s’è avuto anche, perché lì nella zona di Gello ci mitragliarono.
CR: Ma cosa si pensava? Cioè, che bombardassero per terrorizzare la popolazione civile o che volevano prendere – ecco, cosa pensavate?
CD: Secondo noi – guarda, ti dirò anche che a un certo momento sì, ci facevano una paura da morire, ma insomma s’era talmente stufi della guerra che al limite s’accettava anche che bombardassero per veder se finiva questo martirio.
CR: Anche questa è un’altra tattica
CD: Io un lo so, certe sensazioni forse gli adulti li potranno aver avute, io avevo altro che sen – io [incomprensibile] mi padre che era un tipo stranissimo, a parte che lui era un uomo che – era conosciutissimo antifascista, perché lui aveva perso l’impiego, tutto e tipo non aveva paura di niente, però lui era sempre stato di quelli che quando la gente andò a dire ‘La guerra, viva la guerra’, lui disse ‘Ricordatevi che questa guerra dura – dura da farci morir tutti, vero’, lui aveva visto bene veramente, quindi io ho le sensazioni di ragazzina e veramente – prendi un’altra sensazione terribile [enfasi], io mi ricordo, fu una volta che s’era a Gello e sempre lì si cominciò – allora non si sentiva gli allarmi perché non c’era, non esisteva, però cominciarono a passar gli aeroplani, io mi ricordo per du’ ore – e mi domando ancora dove andassero, cominciarono a passare squadriglie, io forse il tempo [incomprensibile], però per una buona mezz’ora passarono fortezze volanti e andavano giù al sud, doe l’avranno buttate tutte le bombe? Saranno state centinaia, io ora mi viene in mente forse era lo sbarco a Anzio, non lo so, il terrore di queste fortezze volanti che ti casc – giravan sulla testa, tu dicevi ‘Sì, e se se ne stacca l’ultima squadriglia?’ come facevan quasi sempre, perché la prima volta fu un terribile bombardamento così. Le altre volte, i bombardamenti di Pistoia – noi si videro bene da Gello – furono a tappetto invece, perché qui loro cercavano proprio gli obiettivi, perché cercavan la San Giorgio e picchiaron tutto for che lì, però l’altre volte invece li facevano proprio a tappetto, cioè passava – si vedeva queste – in genere erano dodici aeroplani o ventiquattro trrrrrr passavano, brumm, mentre passavano scaricavano le bombe così a tappetto e riandavan via. In un certo senso era più – meno pauroso quello perché – qui insomma io mi ricordo che durò tanto il primo bombardamento di Pistoia, fu una –
CR: E nonostante tutto l’odio verso chi bombardava non c’era?
CD: Non c’era perché s’aspettavano e si seguiva e ci pareva che camminassero troppo piano perché si seguiva – tant’è vero che quando arrivarono furono accolti come liberatori, io me lo ricordo l’arrivo dei sudafricani per esempio a Vinacciano, arrivarono i sudafrican – la mi nonna [ride] che aveva i piedi piatti un l’aveva avvistati, era vecchia e grassa, arrivò nell’aia di quest’contadino dove s’er – ‘Arriva l’inglesi’ [enfasi] facea, correa poera donna e arrivò questo branco di sudafricani con tutti il che aveano. I mezzi [enfasi] era una cosa incre – io non ho mai visto uno spreco – ecco perché ti dio che gli uomini li rispettavano, perché loro buttavano il materiale, specialmente gli amer – gli inglesi no, avean miseria [ride], ma gli americani aveano il materiale, il mi’ babbo la chiamava [?] l’acqua del corallo [?] –
CR: Questa guerra l’aveva rovinati, cioè gli americani entraron molto dopo e poi [incomprensibile] –
CD: Sì, sì e poi non aveano la potenzialità [parlano contemporaneamente] economica degli americani, ma insomma [incomprensibile] un soldato ameriano avea dieci divise da cambiarsi, vero, cose incredibili. Se loro non aveano tutte le loro comodità, i bagni, la disinfezione venerea – perché poi voi non avete un’idea del che era Pistoia, vero, doe c’era – ogni tanto c’era il famoso venerean disisian [?] e doe andavano a disinfetta’, ma cose incredibili, certo, chi non ha vissuto il periodo del dopoguerra – era poi il senso della liberazione della paura e del fatto che non venia i bombardamenti, questa gioia di vivere che noi giovani s’aveva e che voi forse non avete mai provato –
CR: Sì, sì, no, è vero –
CD: Ecco, perché è stata una reazione talmente forte allo spavento alla paura – però io ti dirò, anche che io c’ho almeno – di tutti i miei amici ce n’è almeno dieci o quindici che son morti d’infarto dopo quarant’anni, vero, quindi vuol dir che –
AG: La paura –
CD: Vol di’ che qualcosa –
CR: La metti in relazione a –
CD: Ma io la metto si in relazione [enfasi] perché guarda ogni tanto li conto e dico ‘Ma come, è tutta gente che è morta appena passato quarant’anni’, perché insomma –
CR: È una cosa che rimane questa del ricordo dei bombardamenti? Segna?
CD: Io, no come – no no –
[parlano contemporaneamente]
CR: È tra i ricordi più vivi, o no?
CD: Per me è uno dei simboli della paura ecco.
CR: È ancora un simbolo della paura?
CD: Sì, perché tante volte – vedi, a me per esempio anche rivedere film quando vedo questi bombardamenti mi fa impressione, perché ora quando li vedo so quel che sono, prima quando si sentiva che bombardavan Genova, Londra, sì ‘Poerini, poerini’ ma insomma un tu hai mia un’idea del che vuol dire sentirti venir giù roba – e queste esplosioni spaventose, perché poi una bomba fa un rumore incredibile, vero, gli spostamenti d’aria e poi insomma tutti tu sai – tu lo sai doe cascano [enfasi], dici ‘Chi – perché non deve casca’ proprio sulla testa a me?’, è una specie di roulotte russa, vero, di roulotte russa capito, il che –
CR: La gente distingueva se erano americani o inglesi? [incomprensibile]
CD: No, inglesi non –
CR: C’era un po’ di esperienza sui bombardamenti?
CD: Dai tedeschi agli ameriani si riconoscevano e poi si riconosceva per esempio quelli da caccia e poi c’era il famoso Pippo, il famoso aeroplano, il nostro [incomprensibile] –
CR: Ecco, questo –
[parlano contemporaneamente]
CD: Tutti lo sanno, dunque questo era un aeroplano – dunque, noi si sfollò – quando cominciarono a bombardar Piteccio che non gli riuscia pigliarlo, noi non se ne potea più dalla paura perché s’era proprio dietro, mi’ madre che faceva la maestra, era stata Vinacciano, andò io e lei si ria– si andò a cerca’, perché un tu trovavi posto, andò dai suoi scolari, ci dettero una cameruccia e si riprese il ciuo, che lui da mi’ padre un si volea movere, gli si fermò sul ponte di Pontelungo, gli toccò aiutarlo i tedeschi perché c’avea un carro – c’aveano un carro armato dietro e questo ciuo non si moveva, sicché si sfollò a Vinacciano, ecco, moltissime sere passava questo aeroplano, probabilmente era un ricognitore, ma che ricognizione facea di notte? Si sentiva questo aeroplano solitario che passava proprio probabilmente su tutta Pistoia, perché l’hanno sentito tutti.
CR: E come venne fuori questo discorso di Pippo?
CD: Lo chiamavan Pippo, tutti si chiamava Pippo, l’origine non si sa –
[parlano contemporaneamente]
CR: La gente cosa pensava di questo aeroplano?
CD: Si pensava che il giorno dopo veniano a bombardare, perché questa era la paura, che il giorno dopo bombardavan da qualche parte. Perché per esempio, quando noi s’era a Vinacciano, successe anche un altro episodio strano: un aeroplano io penso fosse in avaria, perché proprio dietro al bosco dove si stava noi – intanto parea che le bombe ci rincorressero dietro – sganciò una bomba in un bosco dove non c’era nulla, probabilmente lui la sganciò proprio in un bosco perché sapeva di non far danno e fece un di que’ bui che dalla paura si disse ‘Oh qui che bombardano?’ perché un tu sapevi più doe andare, perché praticamente bombardavano un po’ a casaccio, vero –
AG: Tutti erano andati via da Pistoia.
CD: Pistoia era un – un cimitero, guarda, io un’impressione – ecco, un’altra delle impressioni più drammatiche che io ho della guerra è la sera del – c’era stato il bombardamento, nel giorno dopo tutti andarono a cercare un buco dove andare, la sera noi s’era sulla strada di Capostrada, verso la Forretta, noi s’era a Gello – si stava andando a Gello e s’aspettava il mi’ babbo che venisse per farli vedere do’ era sta casa, vedere l’esodo della gente [enfasi], la fila interminabile di sciaurati col carretto e la materassa con la pentola, chi c’avea il ciuo bon per lui [enfasi], perché allora non esistea la bicicletta –
AG: A piedi.
CD: Sulla – a piedi, perché sulla bicicletta i carichi di roba – i bambini, le famiglie, una fila interminabile di sfollati. Pistoia, la notte dopo il bombardamento, si vuotò completamente e mi ricordo un altro episodio, quando io e la mi’ mamma s’era la mattina a Bruzio e s’andò a Gello, perché lei era stata nominata a Gello, quindi si cercava il posto dove lei aveva la scuola e a cercare questo posto si passò dall’Ombrone perché un si potea passare dal Viale Malta, da Viale Adua, perché s’avea paura che – a un certo momento venne una Cicogna, ma era un aeroplano, strano, si chiamava “La Cicogna”, che non era fatto come gli altri, era un po’ come un vecchio aeroplano di ‘elli un po’ antichi, anche quello era un ricognitore probabilmente e la paura – randoloni – s’era sull’Ombrone dietro un ponticciolo [?] largo, che voi che facesse? Quello era proprio irrazionale, ma noi un si sapeva nulla di questi aeroplani, qual erano quelli che bombardavano e quelli che faceano le fotografie, per noi quando se ne vedea volare uno s’era tutti di fori, ma guarda Pistoia era un deserto –
AG: E tutti ospitavano in campagna.
CD: Ma facendosi profumatamente pagare, perché per i contadini fu una bella pacchia.
AG: Si facevano dare qualcosa –
CR: Non sono stati di solidarietà umana –
CD: Noi – ti dirò che io – noi si stava in una bella villettina, no, no, non c’era tanta solidarietà in questo senso, c’era –
[parlano contemporaneamente]
AG: Se c’avea un parente –
CD: I parenti [incomprensibile] ma noi s’andò in casa di contadini, noi si pagava dugento lire il mese per una bella villettina in Via Gemignani e dugento lire il mese si dettero a questi contadini per una ‘amera e un granaio. No, no, si faceano pagare i contadini, poi c’era un mercato nero floridissimo, vero, i contadini in quel periodo s’arricchiron quasi tutti, anche perché per esempio noi s’era costretti – siccome poi durante il periodo della guerra stipendi un ne pagarono più, si rimase tutti – io mi ricordo i miei avevano ritirato i pochi risparmi che avevano, avevan cinquemila lire, ma tu li finivi presto senza stipendio, si stette almeno tre o quattro mesi, poi il dramma fu che quando arrivarono a riprendere lo stipendio: mi’ madre prese trecento lire e una scatola di cera, tornaron da Prato terrorizzati perché avean pagato una scatola di cera cinquanta lire, costava quindi, quindi successe anche che ai contadini parecchi si pagava in natura. Io mi ricordo parecchi dei nostri bei lenzoli di lino furon dati in cambio di farina e roba del genere, perché un tu mangiavi se un c’era il mercato nero, perché con quello che ci davan di tessera per l’amor di Dio.
CR: E dei morti dei bombardamenti si seppe nulla?
CD: Terribile. Ce ne furono – io mi ricordo l’episodio lì di Via Provvidenza: in una casa di Via della Provvidenza ci cascò una bomba, ci moriron tutti e mi ricordo l’aveano sdraiati – io non li vidi perché a quei tempi ai ragazzi non li facevan vede’ queste cose, però ce lo raccontava il babbo.
CR: Questo nel primo bombardamento –
CD: Primo bombardamento, mi pare furono centoventisei i morti a Pistoia.
CR: Solo a Pistoia –
CD: Mi pare, sì, ora poi queste cifre sono certamente rilevabili e in Via della Provvidenza era morto, mi pare, nove persone e le avevano tutte allineate lì nella strada tutte così, sì, sì e ne morir – dopo ne morì pochi perché si scappò tutti, ma il primo bombardamento fu il frutto dell’a lupo a lupo. Siccome – anche noi s’era scappati pe’ tre mesi, tutte le notti da non ne pote’ più [enfasi]: due volte pe’ notte dalla paura [enfasi]. Quella notte, si vede, parecchi dissero – perché probabilmente le serate precedenti c’enno stati diversi allarmi e non era successo niente, a quel punto la gente disse ‘Ma insomma un verranno stasera’ e invece fu proprio la serata.
CR: Poi la gente credeva che a Pistoia non ci fossero obiettivi –
CD: Che non – ma un po’ si pensava però, la San Giorgio ci facea paura a tutti perché lo dicevano che la San Giorgio sarebbe stato un obiettivo, io un so poi in effetti quali loro ritenevano obiettivi qui, la San Giorgio o il nodo ferroviario –
CR: Il nodo ferroviario perché permetteva di andare al di là –
CD: Sì, e la cos – ecco, molto poi puntarono su quel famoso ponte di Piteccio, perché la direttissima probabilmente era saltata –
CR: Buttando giù quello si bloccava –
CD: Sì, però lo buttaron giù, finalmente dopo – la sera che noi si scappò a Vinacciano. Da Vinacciano si vide bombardare il ponte di Piteccio e buttarlo giù, ma buttaron giù solo un’arcata e i tedeschi nel capo a tre giorni l’aveano ribell’e riaccomodata, però non fu – un po’ lo – mitragliavano molto, ma non –
CR: Sì, il ponte di Piteccio è stata una storia – ma a Piteccio non c’era stato più nessuno? Eran andati tutti via?
CD: Roba pazzesca, ma noi si facea altro che scappare, noi si scappò tre o quattro volte.
CR: Perché ci insistettero tante volte, vero? Mi diceva –
CD: Tantissimo, io mi ricordo d’averne visti almeno tre o quattro di bombardamenti da Gello.
CR: Ah, li riusciva –
CD: Perché era messo in una posizione tale per cui – tu l’hai visto com’è fatto, bisognava proprio pigliarlo di filata, ecco perché poi dopo mandavano molti caccia, mitragliavano molto ma un ce la faceano, insomma, buttaron giù alla meglio quest’arcata ma poa roba vero, i ponti [incomprensibile] no [pausa] che altre notizie t’hanno dato di –
CR: Dei bombardamenti? Ma, in tanti comuni, ecco, c’è questo: molti – a parte non è che ne ho intervistati molti – non si aspettavano di Pistoia, ecco, questo discorso di Pistoia – cioè questa era – anche l’altra sera mi ricordo Giancarlo ci disse anche loro rimasero in casa –
AG: Loro rimasero in casa.
CR: Sì, anche loro erano rimasti in casa, non se l’aspettavano.
CD: Era piena di gente Pistoia, sì.
CR: Poi dopo qual era l’altro tratto comune che ora si diceva?
AG: Io non ne ho sentiti tanti.
CR: No ma comunque viene – ah, questo della preghiera, tutti, cioè questo –
CD: Ah si?
CR: Questo della preghiera, tutti. Mi diceva per esempio l’onorevole Bianchi – ho intervistato anche lui – che anche loro erano scappati oltre il cimitero, c’era un rifugio e loro appunto si facevan meraviglia dice ‘Io sa’ sono credente, faceva ridere’ dice ‘di gente che senza fargli offesa, insomma, forse non avevano mai visto una chiesa’ dice ‘tutti lì a –’
CD: E tutti abbracciati, è vero [enfasi].
CR: Praticamente Giancarlo ci diceva addirittura – lui si ricordava, ti ricordi quella – insomma, la lezione qual era? Gesù e Maria salva l’anima mia –
CD: Io mi ricordo l’atto di dolore, perché l’atto era classico del pentimento, capito, ‘Prima di mori’, dice, ‘pentiamoci dei peccati –’
CR: E poi anche l’altra cosa che viene fuori in tutti è che la guerra finisca, cioè non c’era il minimo ‘Buttin giù tutto, venga giù tutto’ –
CD: Sì, sì, non c’era senso di coso. L’odio era per i tedeschi, perché effettivamente loro ci terrorizzavano: io mi ricordo l’episodio di quando i tede – di quando ci fu il capovolgimento, io ero in Via della Madonna e Pistoia rimase deserta perché i soldati scapparon tutti. Tedeschi non c’erano, però stavano arrivando e mi ricordo il povero onorevole Philipson in bicicletta che passava per tutta la città e diceva ‘Ritiratevi, scappate, i tedeschi sono a Capostrada’ [enfasi] e infatti appena arrivarono ne cinciaron [?] cinque, vero. Cominciaron quei maledetti bando numero uno, bando numero due, che era, guarda, da pelle d’oca, vero, perché mi ricordo quando sentii di’ che avean fucilato quelli alla Fortezza, insomma, fu una cosa che fece impressione, perché quelli erano proprio degli innocenti, vero, li presero così e via e, ecco, loro ti facevan paura e a quel punto lì noi s’avea più paura dei tedeschi che dei bombardamenti, perché poi c’era le famose retate. Io mi trovai – quel poer’omo di mi’ padre avea sessant’anni, lo portaron via, se noi un si fosse avuto un amico, il povero avvocato Manni, che avea una bella villa in Bigiano e lì c’era andato un gruppo di SS – però sa’, anche loro cercavano di tenerseli boni questi e avean fatto un po’ d’amicizia con questo tenente Scher – capitano Schefer [?] che si conobbe anche noi. Se non era questo capitano che l’andava a rilevare lui personalmente, quel poer’omo l’avean portato in Germania come ci portaron tanti, avea sessant’anni vero, ce lo vennero a levar di camera, io me lo ricordo perché dormiva – si dormia tutti in questa –
CR: Incominciaron [?] a prendere tutti gli uomini, sì.
CD: Io mi ricordo – ma poi che successe per esempio a Vinacciano: io mi ricordo la fila della gente che avean preso da tutti i casolari – perché li beccaron tutti, poi dopo ci s’era – anche lì ci presero alla sprovvista, perché un si sapeva che facevan queste cose, dopo ci siamo organizzati perché poi c’era un servizio sulle colline di vigilanza, mi ricordo il grido era ‘Ugolina’, quando qualcuno vedea – avvistava un tedesco comincia a di’ ‘Ugolina’ [enfasi] e allora gli uomini si nascondevano, ma quella volta ci presero tutti così e mi ricordo che c’era uno che per far finta di – si buttò in terra e cominciò a farsi veni’ le convulsioni, o poeracci quegli altri gli toccò anche caricarlo sul carretto e tirarlo e insomma un lo lasciarono mica lì, se lo portaron dietro e gli misero – che spettacolo [enfasi] – li misero tutti nella palestra Marini, a vede’ tutte le poere donne – noi fori a cercar d’ave’ notizie, a dagli un po’ da mangiare, anche il mio babbo c’era lì – un po’ da mangiare, un avean nulla, capito, dormivano in terra, anche lui era un omo di sessant’anni, un avea mia – vero, allora, insomma, quello era veramente uno spettacolo terribile, veramente s’è visto delle cose che nella gente non li riveda più, ma sai c’hanno assodato anche il carattere, vero, perché c’hanno abituato a tanti sacrifici, senza conta’ la fame che era –
CR: Nel dopoguerra, ecco, dei bombardamenti s’è continuato a parlarne, o no? O c’è stata una rimozione?
CD: No, secondo me c’è stata una rimozione, il fatto stesso che è avvenuta questa ricostruzione vuol di’ che la gente non ne volea più sentir parlare, volea volta’ pagina e ricominciare tutto, come ha fatto una poera Italia, ridotta, ciurmata [enfasi] in quella maniera dopo un po’ a rifiorire? Vuol di’ che la gente non l’ha più voluti ricordare e che s’era arricciata le maniche e ha detto ‘Seppelliamo i morti e via’. No, non c’è rimasto e anche – perché sembrerebbe strano, che po’ dopo quelli stessi che ce l’avean date legnate sode son stati quelli che c’hanno occupato e che hanno fraternizzato al massimo, perché nessuno di noi sentiva sentimento di odio.
CR: Quindi anche in casa non è che si sia raccontato? Ad esempio ai figlioli, raccontare l’esperienza?
CD: Ma io al mio sì, però sa’ a chi gli garba tanto sentir queste cose? Agli scolari, io quando raccontavo queste cose ai mi’ ragazzi d’Agliana stavano a sentire a bocca aperta. Tutta la fase della guerra è che noi, vedi, che s’è vissuta diciamo storicamente, non l’abbiamo mica molto chiara, io insomma – poi noi s’è vista sotto un’altra [incomprensibile] il fenomeno dei partigiani io l’ho vissuto in una maniera diversamente da come lo raccontano ora, io ho visto ben poco di partigiani qui a Pistoia e quel poco facean della [ride] – io mi ricordo, per esempio, io andavo a lezione dal professor Benedetti, ora io chiacchiero poi dopo – andavo a lezione dal professor Benedetti, noi s’era du’ ragazzini: s’era io e Ughetto Berti, du’ ciui che s’era bocciati e mi ricordo tutte le volte s’andava da questo professor Benedetti, dev’esse’ stato – era un antifascista e sicuramente era un partigiano, io ci trovavo sempre dentro il povero Silvano Fedi e Emiliano Panconesi che pissipissi, ‘Ma che stanno – loro son grandi, che ci vengano a fare?’ Invece probabilmente lì c’era un nucleo, perché io Silvano Fedi lo conoscevo molto bene, vero, ma proprio bene, l’hanno ammazzato vicino a Vinacciano, vicino a noi, s’era – me lo ricordo bene, però come forze di partigiani io mi ricordavo di Polverone [?] e di Abbo [?] che facean della confusione, ogni tanto – mi ricordo una volta avean trovato del grano i partigiani, allora ci misero noi ragazzine, devono [ridendo] aver sfruttato l’occasione perché allora bastava farsi rilasciare il certificato uno andava a posto e ci misero noi ragazzine. C’era, mi ricordo, il Petrucci, che anche lui dovea essere del movimento di liberazione e ci misero a pesa’ questa farina –
CR: Ma l’avvocato [?] Petrucci?
CD: Sì, sì, sì.
CR: È stato, sì.
CD: È stato, io me lo riordo, era lui un po’ – forse lui facea un po’ parte di Intellighenzia, ma non che ci fosse –
CR: Sì, era nell’Intellighenzia.
CD: Ma non che ci fosse dell’organizzazione, secondo me era di molto scompaginata, detto fra noi, perché poi tutte le cose fanno – poi in alt’Italia sarà stata – qui eran molto scompaginati, secondo me c’era qualche ragazzoto un po’, sai, fissato così, un po’ d’Intellighenzia che movea un po’ di fila ma molto vagamente, poi è venuta tutta fuori dopo insomma e poi c’ha messo a distribui’ questo grano. Mentre s’era lì ci vennero a – venne la notizia che in un bosco avean trovato uno impiccato e probabilmente era un partigiano, non s’è mai saputo chi l’avesse – se erano stati i tedeschi, perché d’intorno populava di tedeschi, vero.
CR: I tedeschi mi sembra strano perché di solito facevano in modo plateale.
CD: Lo facean molto plateale, sì.
CR: A Montale impiccarono tutti, ma nella piazza del paese, mettendo – ci fecero un bosco –
CD: Lo ritrovarono questo e quando fecero fuori Silvano Fedi me lo riordo bene, era proprio lì dietro dove si stava noi, sa’, io lo conoscevo bene, lo conoscevo da ragazza –
CR: Una morte [?] molto misteriosa. È rimasta una cosa abbastanza –
CD: Eh sì, per me è stata una fonte – è stata una grossa leggerezza secondo me da parte di loro, che loro hanno – hanno sfidato qualche cosa che non dovevano sfidare, stavan tirando un carretto con della roba sopra, vero, questi qui, lì c’è stato qualche – sì, non s’è mai saputo molto bene.
CR: [incomprensibile] molto misteriosa, sì.
CD: Il fatto che un bel ragazzo – un ragazzo in gamba come Silvano ci rimise le penne – questo m’è sempre dispiaciuto tanto, perché sarà che [incomprensibile] s’era giocato –
CR: Ma che tipo di ragazzo era? Come –
CD: Un donnaiolo incallito, gli garbava tanto –
AG: Perché era giovane.
CR: Era giovane.
CD: Bel ragazzo che era Silvano.
CR: Quanti anni aveva? Vent’anni?
CD: Avrà avuto vent’anni, spensierato di lanciano [?] e, insomma, era un ragazzo in gamba, però doveva essere forse lui – politicamente era impegnato e convinto, forse era un puro, io credo.
CR: Era di questo gruppetto del Liceo, era lui, Panconesi –
CD: Sì, Emiliano, poi chi c’era?
CR: Il Giovanelli [incomprensibile]
CD: Sì, Fabio Gio –
CR: Come si chiama? L’ingegnere Pier Giovanelli.
CD: Carlo?
CR: Carlo Giovanelli.
CD: Sì.
CR: Poi Fondi Fabio.
CD: Fabio Fondi. Io mi ricordo molto bene Emiliano, lo conoscevo molto bene Emiliano e poi ti dico, lui e quell’altro lo vedevo dal Benedetti, che non è mai venuto fuori il Benedetti, io non l’ho mai sentito rammentare, però era un uomo intelligentissimo [enfasi], professore di latino bravi – afflitto da una moglie cialtrona e da una trentina di figlioli che tu te li trovavi anche sotto le scarpe, poi si separò dalla moglie e andò a sta’ di casa – ti dirò dove, che io trovavo questo – questo gruppetto, in Via dell’Amore, l’hai presente dove c’è ora la Croce Verde?
CR: Sì.
CD: Ancora più avanti c’è – proprio all’angolo con la Via del T c’era uno stanbugioletto, c’era una specie di ingressuccio e uno studio dove lui ci dovea anche dormire, ecco, quando noi s’arrivava loro eran sempre lì nell’ingresso a fare questo conciliabolo e erano quindi – lì doveva nasce’ qualcosa probabilmente, ma io non credo nascesse poi tutto quello che hanno detto, perché c’era una grande disorganizzazione, ecco: noi per esempio non c’hanno aiutato niente loro, perché – anzi, in un certo modo ci facevano anche paura, perché erano questi ragazzi, tagliavano i capelli alle donne, insomma hanno fatto anche degli spregi.
CR: Ma quelle che avevano collaborato?
CD: Collaborato [enfasi], ma che voi collaborare? Anche noi si dovea collabora’ per forza, perché a un certo momento se tu l’avevi in casa –
CR: Anche a Pistoia ci son state queste forme –
CD: Sì, sì, sì, io c’ho avuto una mia amica, per esempio, che stava a Agliana e che l’hanno – lei diceva che era fascista, ma male – e collaborare – non aveva fatto male a nessuno, era fascista era, ma s’era un po’ tutti, guardi, io l’unica fotografia bellina che ho trovato è questa qui che è della mia mamma, questi – era a Vinacciano, guarda se è poco –.
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Title
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Interview with Clara Dei
Description
An account of the resource
L’intervistata è Clara Dei, nata a Prato il 19 maggio 1927, insegnante elementare. Interviene l’amica Annalia Galardini. L’intervista è effettuata da Claudio Rosati a Pistoia, presso l’abitazione dell’informatrice, il 5 settembre 1983. La notte del primo bombardamento di Pistoia, Clara Dei scappò con la famiglia al rifugio di Via Franchini. Ricorda il timore per la vicinanza delle Officine San Giorgio, obiettivo militare. Sfollò a Gello, dove assistette a mitragliamenti e ai bombardamenti di Piteccio e Pistoia, e successivamente si spostò a Vinacciano affittando una camera da alcuni contadini: lì vi furono rastrellamenti e ricorda di aver visto l’arrivo dei sudafricani. Ricorda inoltre due aerei: “Pippo” e “La Cicogna”. Racconta poi della cattura del padre da parte dei tedeschi, che lo portarono alla palestra Marini; fu liberato grazie a un conoscente che era in buoni rapporti con un gruppo di ritenute SS in città. Infine, si sofferma sul periodo in cui andò a ripetizioni dal professore Aristide Benedetti; qui incontrava spesso Silvano Fedi ed Emiliano Panconesi e riteneva ci fosse un nucleo di partigiani. <br /><br />
<p>The interviewee is Clara Dei, born in Prato on 19 May 1927, primary school teacher. Also present was her friend Annalia Galardini. The interview is conducted by Claudio Rosati in Pistoia on 5 September 1983, in his house.</p>
<p>The night of the first bombing on Pistoia, Clara Dei ran with her family to the Via Franchini shelter. She was afraid because of the proximity of Officine San Giorgio, a military target. Clara was evacuated to Gello, where she witnessed the bombings and strafing of Piteccio and Pistoia. Then she moved to Vinacciano where she took lodging at the home of some peasants: Clara saw civilians being rounded up and witnessed the arrival of South African troops. She remembers two aircraft: Pippo and the Fieseler Fi 156 Storch. Father was captured by the Germans who took him to the Marini gym: he was then set free, thanks to the intervention of an acquaintance who was on good terms with local SS.</p>
<p>Finally, she describes the time when she was privately tutored by Aristide Benedetti; there she had frequent catchups with Silvano Fedi and Emiliano Panconesi. It was widely believed that the place was the headquarter of a Resistance cell.</p>
Identifier
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MB CR 3 A
Date
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1983-09-05
Creator
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Claudio Rosati
Spatial Coverage
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Italy
Italy--Pistoia
Italy--Piteccio
Type
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Sound
Format
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00:30:39 audio recording
Coverage
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Civilian
Language
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ita
Temporal Coverage
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1943-10-24
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
bombing
evacuation
Pippo
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2221/38713/MB CR 5 Giuliana Menichini Pereira.2.mp3
3fb8117b43a28a9945f404d2d3ce4162
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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ISRPt. Survivors of the 1943-1944 Pistoia bombings
Description
An account of the resource
12 interviste a testimoni dei bombardamenti alleati di Pistoia, realizzate da Claudio Rosati tra il 1983 e il 1984 con l'intento di comprendere e studiare gli effetti che le incursioni aeree hanno avuto sulla popolazione civile tra il 1943 e il 1944. Gli esiti della ricerca furono esposti al convegno internazionale di studi “Linea Gotica. Eserciti, popolazioni, partigiani” svoltosi a Pesaro il 27/28/29 settembre 1984 e pubblicati nella rivista Farestoria n. 1/1985, edita dall'Istituto storico della Resistenza di Pistoia. L’istituto, dove le cassette sono state in seguito depositate, ha gentilemente concesso all’IBCC di digitalizzarle e di pubblicarle in licenza. Le interviste conservano la struttura originale, che può essere diversa dal modo in cui le interviste dell’IBCC Digital Archive sono di solito realizzate. La digitalizzazione rispecchia fedelmente le caratteristiche delle registrazioni originali, con minimi interventi. In base agli accordi con il licenziatario, i sunti delle interviste sono dati in italiano ed inglese.
12 oral history interviews with survivors of the Pistoia bombings, originally taped by Claudio Rosati between 1983 and 1984 with the aim to understand the fallout of the 1943-1944 operations on civilians. The findings were presented at the international symposium “Linea Gotica. Eserciti, popolazioni, partigiani” (Pesaro, 27/28/29 September 1984) and then published on 'Farestoria' n. 1/1985, published by the Istituto storico della Resistenza di Pistoia. The Istituto, where the tapes were later deposited, has kindly granted permission to the IBCC Digital Archive to digitise and publish them. Interviews published here retain their original format, which may differ from the way IBCC Digital Archive ones are normally conducted. The digitisation captures faithfully the characteristics of the original recordings with minimal editing only. According to the stipulations with the licensor, summaries are provided in Italian and English.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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GMP: Perché c’erano tutti i bengala, so che era così, tutte le notti più o meno si sentiva questo ricognitore, quella notte lì io non sentii niente ovviamente, loro cominciarono a sentire questo aeroplano, dopo un po’ sorte il mi’ babbo – [incomprensibile] per avermelo raccontato dopo, è chiaro – il mi’ babbo disse ‘Questo aeroplano non mi garba, qui mi sembran troppi, mi sembran più di uno’.
CR: E vi eravate già abituati –
GMP: Tutte le notti faceva [incomprensibile].
[parlano contemporaneamente]
GMP: Dopo l’8 settembre questo, perché era nell’ottobre, un mi ricordo la data ma era nell’ottobre. Allora, lui poi si alzò, aprì un pochino la finestra e vide che [incomprensibile] [rumori di sottofondo] i bengala, allora mi svegliarono, ci si vestì alla bell’e meglio, ‘Via, via, perché qui bombardano’, infatti mentre ci si vestiva cominciò il bombardamento. Io mi ricordo, insomma, si scese in strada che – illuminato a giorno [incomprensibile] sembrava uno spettacolo bello insomma, tutto sommato, [incomprensibile] e ci si trovò a scappare noi tre: io, lui e la mi’ mamma, con dei vicini di casa: marito, moglie e una bimbina di circa un anno, scappando così alla cieca, senza – senza rendersi neanche ben conto di quello che poteva essere, cioè, forse il mi’ babbo sì, perché avendo avuto –
CR: Quindi lei quanti anni aveva all’epoca?
GMP: Dunque sono del ‘28, era nel ‘43, nell’ottobre del ‘43, sicché quindici anni.
CR: Ma dove stavate?
GMP: In via Monte Sabotino.
CR: Ah, senti [incomprensibile]
GMP: Ma non in quella casa lì dove tu c’hai conosciuto te, un po’ –
CR: Allora scappaste nei campi.
GMP: Si scappò, si scappò praticamente dove poi si fece la casa, si fece la casa. Allora lì eran tutti campi, per l’incirca, circa – che so – cinquecento metri ci sarà stato.
CR: Ma le bombe le vedeste?
GMP: Si vedevano sì e no, cioè io di questo ho ricordo – ecco, del primo bombardamento ho un ricordo preciso, così, però so che si scappava sentendo queste bombe, magari ogni tanto guardando, però c’era questa grande illuminazione di questi bengala [incomprensibile] era di notte fra l’altro.
CR: Ma ve l’aspettavate o no che bombardassero?
GMP: No, perché io so che ho il ricordo un po’ vago tra l’8 di settembre e questo primo bombardamento. Io mi ricordo dell’8 settembre dell’Armistizio, dei soldati in fuga e tutte queste cose qui, poi da questo a arrivare al bombardamento il ricordo è vago, so che si pensava giustamente [?] che vabbè, c’è l’Armistizio, ci sarà anche la guerra, siamo a posto [?] invece cominciò ovviamente – cominciò la guerra di resistenza e cominciarono i bombardamenti americani, degli Alleati che risalivano poi l’Italia, ecco, e io mi ricordo questo primo bombardamento, così insomma, ecco, senza – non lo so – forse più che paura stupore, perché inesperien – perché non avendo mai visto di queste cose – magari il mi’ babbo se n’è subito – ‘Questi son fuochi di bengala, bombardano’. Secondo me all’inizio era tutto – che so – tipo fochi d’artificio insomma, ecco, però ovviamente poi la paura ci fu. Però mi ricordo in questa casa di contadini con altra gente, vicini di casa nostra, si rimase un po’ allibiti, non si sapeva appunto [incomprensibile] senza rendersi ben conto neanche forse in quel momento lì di chi ci bombardava, se gli americani o i tedeschi insomma, probabilmente non ci si poneva neanche questa domanda, era – era una confusione e basta.
CR: Ma poi ce ne fu altri?
GMP: A me mi sembra che siano stati cinque bombardamenti, però, che io mi ricordo bene sono questo, che è il primo, e l’ultimo, l’ultimo che fu – non mi ricordo – so che fu nel novembre del ‘43, che – ecco – quegli altri tre – so che furono cinque bombardamenti. Io quegli altri tre l’ho in mente più vagamente, so che magari c’erano frequenti allarmi e si scappava e poi il cessato allarme e magari non era successo nulla, si tornava alle nostre case tranquillamente, questo ultimo [rumori in sottofondo] l’ultimo fu il più grosso, perché fu in varie ondate, a ripetizione e a tappeto, cioè, ecco, ho in mente precisa questa cosa – da ragazzini ci si ricorda sempre di vederli spuntare da dove praticamente tramonta il sole – veder spuntare questo stormo d’aeroplani, questo rombo lo sento ancora, te lo immagini – bombardavano proprio passando, a tappeto, senza scegliere forse neanche posti ben precisi e di laggiù apparivano e di lassù sparivano, sicché si tirava un pochino il fiato e come riapparivan di laggiù e poi successe quattro o cinque volte, ecco, fu un bombardamento veramente –
CR: Ma c’era risentimento verso chi bombardava o no?
GMP: Non direi, perché, non so bene – come dire – com’è stata, non c’è stata forse una propaganda, però forse io penso un po’ inconsciamente c’è stata la, la, la percezione che questa gente doveva far così per poter – per poter venire, per potersi liberare da quello che era –
CR: Ecco, c’era questa [incomprensibile].
GMP: C’era, forse più a livello inconscio penso, che –
CR: Che in modo consapevole –
[parlano contemporaneamente]
GMP: Però c’era, almeno, ecco, se ripenso alle mie situazioni – come dire – quel che ho pensato ultimamente, so che ci venivan a bombardare, però lo devon fare perché devono risalire [incomprensibile] ovviamente erano – come esperienze non erano simpatiche [?] ecco.
CR: Ma con un po’ di paura siete rimasti? Cioè, dopo cinque bombardamenti [incomprensibile].
GMP: Mah, non lo so. Erano – guarda – eran sempre un po’ strani, almeno per quel che mi riguarda, insomma, e penso che più o meno fosse per tutti così, perché pur vivendo il pericolo era costante, di tante cose per esempio, no, perché poi quando proprio qui diventò fronte, quindi era costante il pericolo dei missili e rappresaglie e allora cominciarono le azioni partigiane per esempio, quindi si sapeva che c’era pericolo di tante cose e però – come dire – non lo so se la vita ha veramente un – come si dice –
CR: Delle difese.
GMP: Delle difese ma anche, ecco, soprattutto va avanti sopra ogni cosa insomma, in qualche modo va perché ovviamente si continuava a chiacchierare, si continuava a ridere, si continuava a parlare di tutte le cose insomma, ovviamente in mezzo alle paure, in mezzo – oltre ai bombardamenti poi ci son stati i cannoneggiamenti, tedeschi che arrivavano e sembravano – guardavano – magari il pericolo degli omini giovani che se li portassero via, insomma, tutte queste cose ecco, però la vita andava avanti comunque insomma, bene o male, morti ce n’era [incomprensibile].
CR: Quindi non è che è rimasto qualcosa del ricordo dei bombardamenti che dopo la guerra abbia continuato a sognare – che abbia lasciato nulla, ecco?
GMP: No, io solo per po’ di tempo so che sono stata – come dire – quando si sentiva gli aeroplani mi davano un po’ noia, però c’è una cosa da dire, che quando li sento – a volte ci sono quei caccia che provengon da Pisa che passano bassi con quel rombo costante, mi dà una certa sensazione, a volte dico ‘Quest’aerei, gira gira –’ [ride]. Davvero, questo me lo fa ancora, non è una sensazione di paura, però in un certo senso di irrequietezza insomma, ecco, che non – non mi garban troppo ecco, perché queste cose – questi rumori mi sono rimasti, ecco, bene negli orecchi, il rumore degli apparecchi soprattutto, ma anche delle bombe, di quel rovinio, di tutto quel – quel – la gente che scappava – un era da dire – come si faceva per esempio a rimanere uniti le famiglie? A parte noi che eravamo tre, ma [incomprensibile] famiglie che avean più figlioli, quando si scappava in quella maniera lì, in maniera disordinata, in maniera – senza avere neanche, diciamo, un indirizzo da dire, un so, ‘Andando lì siamo più sicuri’. Inconsciamente si scappava sempre verso la campagna, ovviamente in punti più aperti[?] [rumori di sottofondo] e quindi era – si scappava un po’ così, senza [incomprensibile].
CR: La gente lo sapeva che [incomprensibile] bombardano o no?
GMP: No, no, dopo si sapeva che –
CR: Cioè sapevate che –
GMP: Si sapeva che erano gli americani e tant’è vero – ecco – c’era – si sentiva a volte dire da alcune persone ‘Sì, eh, ma, ci verranno anche a liberare, per il momento c’ammazzano’. Era chiaro, in quei momenti venivano e di morti [?] ne facevano insomma, ecco, però ovviamente c’era questa situazione che dovevano farlo per doverci liberare.
CR: [incomprensibile]
GMP: Questa era netta, perché [incomprensibile] si sopportava anche abbastanza bene e abbastanza volentieri perché il fatto dei tedeschi – cioè, erano troppo – il modo di fare loro ovviamente non era – non c’era [incomprensibile].
CR: [incomprensibile]
GMP: Sì, dopo l’ultimo bombardamento sì, me lo ricordo, che si scappò, che allora dopo si sfollò [incomprensibile].
PM: La gente per le strade [incomprensibile] mi dicevano [incomprensibile] ‘Fermati, fermati’ [enfasi] e io [incomprensibile] con la città sottosopra, bombardata [incomprensibile] ero in un fosso, rimpiattato, [incomprensibile] la città era annientata completamente.
CR: Ma lei aveva paura Menichini? In quei momenti s’ha paura o no?
PM: S’ha paura perché si scapp – un si sapea doe scappare. Quando arrivonno le squadriglie facean paura, chi scappava da una parte, chi da un’altra, io scappai sull’Arca [incomprensibile] quando arrivai – quando arrivai in cima all’Arcadia c’era la moglie di un omo che conoscevo, stava per lì, mi fece ‘Mi porti via’ [enfasi] [incomprensibile] io tirai e andai avanti, quando arrivai a casa – passai di lì dietro casa – [incomprensibile] e vado su, trovo [incomprensibile] lungo i muri, lungo i cigli, di qua e di là ‘Fermati, fermati’ [enfasi] e si sentia le bombe, era un terremoto continuamente, un terremoto [incomprensibile] la San Giorgio era tutto un monte di macerie, la città era – era completamente spaventosa, facea pietà.
CR: Ecco, ma secondo voi volevano colpire degli obiettivi precisi o anche civili, oppure sbagliavano? Cosa pensav – cioè che ce l’avessero – volevano bombardare indiscriminatamente –
GMP: No, io credo che –
CR: Secondo voi, quello che pensavate allora.
GMP: Secondo quello che si pensava allora era una – come dire – un cercar di colpire obiettivi che potessero danneggiare diciamo, ecco –
CR: Non quindi la popolazione –
GMP: Non la popolazione. Ovviamente, in effetti appunto, quando la gente poi cominciò a sfollare si cercavano le zone di campagna dove non passassero strade, ferrovie e robe del genere, perché appunto cercavano di colpire quei posti lì insomma, le fabbriche, se ce n’erano, e via discorrendo, sicché ovviamente era un cercar di colpire appunto alcuni obiettivi in modo da favorire la loro avanzata, però la popolazione in qualche modo c’andava di mezzo perché è chiaro: non si può colpire preciso qui insomma, quello che mi ricordo – un’altra cosa che a me m’è sempre rimasta in mente, avevo sempre tanto pensato quando il mi’ babbo mi raccontava della Prima guerra, no, pensavo ‘Come sarà un rombo di cannone, una bomba che scoppia?’
CR: Sicché il babbo gliel’aveva raccontato.
GMP: Me lo raccontava della guerra, però è una cosa – un si riesce a immaginarla, veramente, bisogna sentirla, ecco, però è bene che non la sentano la gente, meno possibile, perché è proprio una cosa terribile.
CR: Ma lei l’ha raccontato poi dei bombardamenti? Nel dopoguerra si raccontava ai figlioli –?
GMP: Glie n’ho parlato poco, veramente, perché cioè se c’è qualcosa, per esempio la televisione, e mi interessa e a volte, per dire, se son qui ‘Ragazzi rendetevi conto di quel che era, di quel che è, di quel che potrebbe essere se –’ ora poi sarebbe terribile insomma, ci sarebbe da scappare, però non è che glie n’ho parlato mai molto no, forse perché, come dire, in un certo senso sarebbe meglio scordarle certe cose, ma insomma non è neanche spiacevole [?] ricordarle, così mi capita in dei momenti di parlarne –
CR: I morti si sapevano allora – quando successero i bombardamenti quanti morti c’era stato [incomprensibile] –?
GMP: Ma le notizie giravano, ma più che altro di bocca in bocca, non è che ci fosse gran punti di informazione –
PM [?]: [incomprensibile]
GMP: Quello non so se fu nell’ultimo bombardamento o in uno dei bombardamenti dopo –
CR: Ma degli Zanzotto?
GMP: Degli Zanzotto –
CR: Lei se lo ricorda?
GMP: Io me lo ricordo perfettamente sì, erano – erano – non mi ricordo se a desinare o a cena, so che era in un’ora di mangiare, ecco, che venne questo bombardamento e che questi si addossarono in questa stanza, otto – mi pare erano dodici i figlioli a quell’epoca là, sì – otto a una parete, cioè il babbo e la mamma con sei figlioli, e gli altri sei ragazzi s’addossarono all’altra parete e si videro crollare tutta la parete, queste cose qui, poi altra gente che mi ricordi – ecco, questo quando c’era già il fronte che c’erano i cannoneggiamenti, non più i bombardamenti dall’alto quanto proprio il cannone, che so, gente che magari faceva la fila per prendere il pane, per prendere il sale, anche le sigarette, si fumava e si faceva la fila anche per quelle ovviamente – n’è morti diversi che io mi ricordi insomma, si sentiva dire ‘Sai, è morto il tale, stamani la bomba di cannone è scoppiata mentre si faceva la fila’ così e cosà, però magari le fonti di informazione [incomprensibile] c’era la radio –
[parlano contemporaneamente]
GMP: Sì, sì, sì, quello si sentiva, era all’ordine del giorno sempre e poi durante lo sfollamento i tedeschi che venivano, ci venivan per casa. Mi ricordo una volta – una volta che eravamo – eravamo diversi in quella casa sfollati, diverse famiglie e – non so se ti può interessare questa cosa –
CR: Sì, sì, sì, mi interessa tutto in realtà.
GMP: E c’era una stanza su, era il granaio insomma, in questa stanza praticamente – perché questa casa era a ridosso della montagna, sicché da questa stanza – mentre dal davanti della casa era due piani e si rimaneva tutto aperto di fronte, dalla parte dietro della casa. In quest’ultima stanza era facile saltare nel bosco insomma, allora quella era la stanza degli omoni giovani con i vari segnali di – di – diciamo – le parole per potersi intendere se potevano uscire o meno.
PM: I segnali –
GMP: Sì, sì, ricordo per esempio “La pasta asciutta è pronta” voleva dire che non c’erano tedeschi in giro e poteano scendere un pochinino, ecco, oppure – insomma mi ricordo questa sera che eravamo tutti per lì, queste famiglie in questo casone, sfollati –
PM: [incomprensibile]
GMP: A questo punto bussarono e erano quattro o cinque tedeschi, col mitra, ovviamente. Io di quell’armi aveo una paura cane – insomma mi puntaron questo mitra alle costole – ecco, una cosa è certa: ho una paura matta delle armi, come feci a non avere tanta – non lo so, ero abbastanza tranquilla e s’andò per tutta la casa, cercavano uomini di [incomprensibile] sicché si girò, qui che c’è, là che c’è, via via dicevo ‘Qui c’è la camera della mia famiglia’ qui c’è questo, qui c’è quell’altro. Quando s’arrivò in cima c’era la porta di questo granaio dov’erano questi uomini, di questa porta noi si teneva chiusa a chiave e la chiave la tenevamo giù, di modo che casomai c’avessero imposto d’andare a aprir – a prender la chiave per aprire, intanto questi avrebbero sentito e sarebbero scappati e così di fianco c’era un’altra porticina dove c’era la camera di una famiglia di sfollati, sicché quella sera lì chissà per quale ragione gli uomini c’erano nel granaio, però la porta era stata chiusa ma non a chiave, non so perché, una distrazione, una sbadatezza, se non che questi tedeschi mi fecero ‘Qui che è?’ nella camera di questa gente, sicché io dissi ‘C’è una famiglia’, aprii la stanza e dissi ‘Guardi’, volevan sapere – loro guardarono con la lampadina e poi mi fecero ‘E qui?’, però ero tranquilla perché ero convinta che le chiavi fosse giù, sicché feci – dico ‘Niente, granaio, però’ dico ‘non c’è la chiave, vado a prenderla’ gli dissi, sai proprio così spontaneamente, ‘No’ e si scese –
CR: Tante volte il caso –
GMP: E si scese le scale, quando poi – poi se ne andarono – quando se ne furono andati che si seppe – quest’omini scesero e dissero ‘Lo sapevi che la chiave – ’ ci si sentiva morire [enfasi], ma la chiave – non si sapeva che era aperta, ‘Bastava spingere un poinino’ dice ‘che avrebbero preso tutti lì’ –
PM: Quant’erano?
GMP: Eran diversi uomini giovani, sì, sicché per di – e queste cose dopo ti lasciavano sai con quel senso di – non lo so – io quel che dico ‘come si faceva a non morire dalla paura? com’ho fatto a non morire dalla paura?’ per esempio quella volta che sono andata – andavo alla messa alla villa del seminario, che da Torbecchia [incomprensibile] al Serravalle, a Felceti era la villa del seminario, era – sarà stato un chilometro, tra campi e bosco insomma, così, e una mattina ero andata, mentre c’era la messa si comincia a sentire il mitragliamento, perché passavano gli aerei ricognitori, magari mitragliavano le colonne su per la Collina, sicché finì la messa e mi ricordo c’era il vescovo sfollato lì a Felceti e mi disse ‘Aspetta un poino’ dice ‘perché sento quest’aereo mitraglia da diverse parti, aspetta un po’ ad andare via’ e aspettai un po’, poi sembrava che tutto fosse finito, dissi ‘Vabbè, io vo a casa’. Ero sola, voglio dire, non lo so se oggi sola lo farei, non lo so neanch’io, so che venni via e quando arrivai a circa metà strada, cioè in pratica era la stessa distanza fra tornare alla villa di Felceti o venire a casa dov’ero sfollata – ricominciò questo mitragliamento, ma guarda sembrava mi fischiassero intorno all’orecchi, io mi ricordo appiattita lì contro un albero, sola come un cane, so che dicevo ‘Ma se passasse almeno qualcuno, vedere un’anima’, so che arrivai a casa e ero talmente impaurita che a pensarci ora dico ‘E poi?’ e poi niente, ho continuato a fa’ la mi vita come sempre, come se niente fosse stato e poi un lo so se a un certo punto s’ha l’abitudine – a certe situazioni probabilmente si fa l’abitudine, a un certo modo di vivere, non lo so, ci s’adatta [incomprensibile].
CR: Comunque con quei bombardamenti cambiò anche il modo di vedere la guerra, quella era una cosa lontana o no?
GMP: Era una cosa lontana, è chiaro, dopo – dai bombardamenti, in pratica, l’arrivo del fronte è qui? Non passò tanto tempo, per cui diventò una cosa reale, una cosa – una cosa che si toccava con le mani insomma –
CR: Cioè dalla dichiarazione di guerra ai primi bombardamenti la cosa cambiò insomma.
GMP: Sì, cambiò, dalla dichiarazione di guerra del ‘40 fino all’8 di settembre –
CR: [incomprensibile]
GMP: Ma in pratica no, Claudio, forse non si – non si percepiva proprio bene che era la guerra, perché tutto sommato tra la propaganda che c’avevan fatto, guerra lampo –
CR: Quindi furono i bombardamenti via –
GMP: Furono i bombardamenti, fu l’8 di settembre che – che portò lo scombussolamento, questi militari in fuga, insomma, e poi i bombardamenti, poi cominciarono al fronte l’azioni partigiane, queste cose qui e ci si incominciò a rende conto che era una cosa insomma – che c’era da girare insomma –
CR: Però la voglia che finisse – c’era questa voglia –
GMP: La voglia – cioè questo periodo –
CR: Che finisse, sì, la guerra –
GMP: Che finisse la guerra, che finisse –
CR: Questo periodo –
GMP: Che venisse mandato in su i tedeschi e con loro tutto il che c’era al seguito insomma ecco, questo c’era veramente, tant’è vero che rispetto alle [?] prime truppe d’occupazione via via dove sono arrivate sono state accolte – io mi ricordo che i primi tedeschi – i primi inglesi che arrivò in Sardegna – la prima truppa d’occupazione in Torbecchia arrivò gli inglesi, mi ricordo dov’ero io era su un poggetto così, poi si scendeva e c’era un’altra casa laggiù che si vide ‘Eppure son le truppe d’occupazione’, via tutti – tutto il paese, tutto Torbecchia penso che ci fosse lì, eran cinque o sei inglesi. Insomma, si faceva delle feste enormi perché, ecco, era proprio il senso della liberazione – della liberazione, davvero e poi si tornò a casa e si cominciò a sentire – come dire – a rivivere, a Porretta, Gaggio Montano, da quelle parti lì stavan peggio insomma ecco, però a quel punto lì era passato – a quel punto lì via via di dove passava i bombardamenti finivano, non c’era più rappresaglie, non c’era più niente e si cominciava a rivivere veramente.
PM: [incomprensibile] da una famiglia [incomprensibile] a un chilometro, neanche, cominciarono a arrivare i tedeschi, cominciarono da una finestra a gridare ‘Partigiani correte, correte partigiani, i tedeschi, correte’ [enfasi] e noi si prese i fucili, chi avea una rivoltella, chi aveva il forcone –
GMP: Questo è vero [?]
PM: E incominciarono da quella finestra ‘Partigiani correte, correte’ [enfasi].
CR: Perché erano in fuga –
GMP: Questo lo potrebbe dire il mi’ marito per esempio. I tedeschi si raccomandavano, ‘Non si appoggiavano [?] i partigiani’, la guerra di liberazione, i partigiani – io tant’è vero che tutti gli anni ho [incomprensibile] d’andare a una commemorazione partigiana su a Gaggio Montano il 5 settembre, perché è la commemorazione di una Brigata Giustizia e Libertà. Insomma, io, ecco, la sento, non so, per me il Presidente Pertini che non è partigiano non lo tocchi, perché sennò – no no, io l’ho sentita parecchio insomma, da ragazzina, in quel modo anche – come dire – più vivo [incomprensibile].
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Giuliana Menichini Pereira
Description
An account of the resource
L’intervistata è Giuliana Menichini Pereira, nata a Pistoia il 31 gennaio 1928. Interviene il padre Pietro Menichini, è presente il marito Miguel Pereira. L’intervista è effettuata da Claudio Rosati a Pistoia, presso l’abitazione dell’informatrice, il 6 ottobre 1983. Durante il primo bombardamento Giuliana Menichini Pereira si trovava in Via Monte Sabotino, vide la città illuminata dai bengala e fuggì in campagna con la famiglia. Questo e l’ultimo bombardamento le sono rimasti particolarmente impressi: l’ultimo soprattutto a causa delle ripetute ondate. Ricorda la morte dei cinque fratelli Zanzotto. Sfollò con la famiglia vicino Torbecchia. Pietro Menichini menziona le macerie delle Officine San Giorgio e racconta che un giorno, nei pressi del luogo in cui erano sfollati, sopraggiunsero i tedeschi: i partigiani furono avvertiti con delle grida e lui e alcuni vicini si prepararono armandosi di fucili, pistole e forconi. Giuliana Menichini Pereira festeggiò, insieme al resto del paese, l’arrivo dei primi soldati inglesi. <br /><br />
<p>The interviewee is Giuliana Menichini Pereira, born in Pistoia on 31 January 1928. Her father Pietro Menichini edges in, her husband Miguel Pereira is in the room. The interview was conducted by Claudio Rosati in Pistoia on 6 October 1983, in his house. During the first bombing, Giuliana Menichini Pereira was in Via Monte Sabotino – she saw the city lit up by flares and ran to the countryside with her family. This and the last bombing made a lasting impression on her; the last also because of the many aircraft waves. She remembers the death of the five Zanzotto brothers. Giuliana was evacuated near Torbecchia. Her father, Pietro Menichini, remembers the Officine San Giorgio in ruins and tells about the arrival of Germans near the place where they were evacuated. The partisans were alerted with shouts, he and some neighbours got ready to fight with rifles, guns and pitchforks. Giuliana Menichini Pereira, together with the village inhabitants, cheered the first British soldiers</p>
Date
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1983-10-06
Identifier
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MB CR 5
Creator
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Claudio Rosati
Spatial Coverage
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Italy
Italy--Pistoia
Type
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Sound
Format
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00:27:11 audio recording
Coverage
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Civilian
Language
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ita
Contributor
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Ilaria Cordovani
Temporal Coverage
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1943-10-24
1944-01-18
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
bombing
evacuation
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2154/37730/MRidingRH1525125-210923-32.1.jpg
0df709aff571423023908097ee426a01
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Riding, Ronald Holford
Riding, RH
Description
An account of the resource
45 items and five photograph albums. The collection concerns Ronald Holford Riding (b. 1921, 1525125 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, correspondence, documents, photographs, and service material. He flew operations as a navigator with 69 Squadron before he was shot down in France. He evaded and worked with the resistance before crossing the Allied lines in August 1944.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Lyn Elizabeth Jolliffe and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
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2021-09-23
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Riding, RH
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Pauls school work
My Grandad
My Grandad
was in the Raf
and flew in a
Boltimore [sic] and
a Wellington
and a Lancaster
One night at D-Day he was
flying over France after panzer tanks. Suddely [sic] tak tak tak tak
it was ackkac.
The crackling noise of fire came from the engine shes hit said the canadian pilot.
My Grandad bailed out in a parashoot. [sic]
He nearly landed in the river but was blown off course by the wind. Finaly [sic] he landed in a forest next to a panzer tank. Boom Boom but he was in the long grass so they couldn't see him. he ran back in to some trees then he heard foot steps. It was the french resistance They took him [indecipherable word] a boiler. hes safe
Dublin Core
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Title
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Paul's School Work
My Grandad
Description
An account of the resource
Paul's story about his grandfather Ron, being shot down and evading capture.
Creator
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Paul
Spatial Coverage
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France
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Format
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One handwritten sheet
Identifier
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MRidingRH1525125-210923-32
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
evading
Lancaster
pilot
Resistance
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2154/37729/MRidingRH1525125-210923-26.1.jpg
44311449a451d658f60255ee0dc7cb52
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Riding, Ronald Holford
Riding, RH
Description
An account of the resource
45 items and five photograph albums. The collection concerns Ronald Holford Riding (b. 1921, 1525125 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, correspondence, documents, photographs, and service material. He flew operations as a navigator with 69 Squadron before he was shot down in France. He evaded and worked with the resistance before crossing the Allied lines in August 1944.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Lyn Elizabeth Jolliffe and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2021-09-23
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Riding, RH
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Comete
Description
An account of the resource
A badge of the Comet Line escape group maintained by the French during the War.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Format
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One badge
Identifier
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MRidingRH1525125-210923-26
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
de Jongh, Andree (1916 - 2007)
escaping
evading
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2156/37464/PRidingRH21020008.2.jpg
9c6be19e740a7cf2e5fcfecfb879ed42
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Riding, Ronald Holford. Album Two
Description
An account of the resource
12 items. Photographs of Ronald Riding.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2021-09-23
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Riding, RH
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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HULL TIMES, MARCH 14, 1969
RODE THROUGH ENEMY TERRITORY ON BICYCLE MADE FOR TWO
[sketch] Shot down, he took part in French Resistance raids on Germans
IT IS DIFFICULT to imagine Ronald Riding taking part in armed sabotage raids in occupied France or in any country for that matter. But in 1944 a lot of men were finding that they could do things they had never imagined possible.
Desperate circumstances have always called for desperate actions and when it is a question of survival the quietest people can become very determined opponents.
With his wife Gwyneth and his 11-year-old daughter Lynn, Ronald Riding leads a peaceful unexceptional life at his home at Brocklesby – close First-lane, Hessle.
By day he works as an electrical engineer in the City Architect's Department at Hull Guildhall.
Twenty-five years ago, at the age of 23 Ronald was part way through his second tour of operations.
His first had been in the Middle East, but now, with No. 7 Squadron at RAF Oakington, he was seeing action over Europe.
The Allies were preparing for the D-Day invasion on June 6, and information had been received that the 21st Panzer Division were under cover in a strategic position north of Rouen.
On the night of June 5, Fg.-Off. Riding took off in a Lancaster bomber together with a main force of 200 aircraft in an attempt to flush out and destroy the Germans.
His aircraft was carrying flares as well as bombs, as No. 7 Squadron was then a pathfinder squadron.
As navigator, Ronald would have no time to let his mind wander from the job of getting the aircraft to the target.
All went as planned on the trip to France, and the crew silently prayed that their luck would hold out as they approached the target area.
At 01.00 hours, two hours after they had taken off, the enemy began to become more accurate with their anti-aircraft fire.
Flack was exploding all round the Lancaster, and suddenly the great aircraft recoiled from the impact of a direct hit.
The wireless operator was killed where he sat and the mid-upper gunner badly wounded. In the bomb bay the flares ignited and the aircraft became like a ball of fire.
[photograph]
FO RONALD RIDING
From the pilot came the command to bale out. The question arose of what to do about the wounded gunner, and Ronald and the rear-gunner elected to try to get him out of the aircraft.
Between them they hurriedly rigged up a static line which would open his parachute after they had helped him out of the aircraft.
At the controls, the pilot desperately fought to keep the blazing plane flying until the rest of the crew had left.
Finally, the injured man, by now barely conscious, was dropped into the night.
Ronald watched as the parachute opened, then dismay gripped him as the material caught fire and the gunner, perhaps mercifully, plunged to his death.
The rear gunner left next, and then it was Ronald's turn. He jumped. A few seconds later the skipper followed.
A tug on the ripcord and the parachute billowed out, causing such a jerk that Ronald lost both his flying boots.
He watched as the aircraft, now a mass of flames, careered crazily about the sky. It alarmed him. He thought it might cut back and collide with him.
He watched it all the way down as it passed below him and crashed into a forest.
A few minutes later he was down himself, after narrowly avoiding a watery landing in the Seine. He too found himself in a pine forest and around him were the sounds of guns being fired.
[photograph]
Now an electrical engineer in Hull City Architect's Department, Mr Ronald Riding looks with his wife and 11-year-old daughter Lynn at a map of the area of his wartime exploits.
[underlined] Ominous [/underlined]
Fortunately he had escaped injuries and he hastily hid his parachute before setting out with the intention, somehow, of finding his way home.
Around him were various noises. The most intense was the sound of dogs barking. It seemed as though every dog in the country was loose and terrified.
Then through all the clamour of dogs and guns came the more ominous sound of German troops – Incredibly they were singing.
Ronald set off away from the happy-sounding enemy. He thought of the ridiculous side of the situation – walking, alone, at night, behind the enemy lines and without shoes.
The first building he came to was a farmhouse, and after a few minutes debating with himself he plucked up courage to knock at the door and ask for help.
The farmer appeared at an upstairs window and promptly told him to go away. An argument ensued between the man and his wife, and eventually Ronald was admitted to the dwelling.
He was told that they would shelter him until the morning, but then he would have to go on alone. He was given a meal and later he slept.
At the crack of dawn the farmer sent him on his way, apologising for the fact that he could not let him have any shoes.
[drawing]
The Germans made a full-scale attack on their camp with troops and armoured vehicles.
[underlined] In touch [/underlined]
Throughout the day he stumbled on, keeping to cover in the thick woods of the area. Towards dusk he came across an old woman standing outside her cottage enjoying the evening and smoking a clay pipe.
Without hesitation she invited him inside and together with her husband fed him and found him a bed.
Ronald asked them how he could get in touch with "the organisation" – the resistance movement which could get him back to England.
Later the same day two of the old woman's sons came to see him. They departed after a few questions and returned later with six of the senior resistance leaders.
He was closely questioned, to determine if in fact he was an English aviator or a spy planted by the Germans. The men left with the warning that he was to keep under cover but not to leave the small farm.
For three days Ronald laid low, and escaped detection from the Germans by hiding under a pile of logs when they arrived unexpectedly one day and searched the premises.
[underlined] By tandem [/underlined]
On the third day the resistance members returned and gave him a French identity card and a pair of wooden sabots.
He was then taken from the farm and led to a road where he was shown his means of transport to the next meeting point.
This turned out to be a tandem and the next 15 miles were spent furiously cycling and staring at the back of a very determined French guide.
Eventually at a pre-arranged point they were picked up and taken by car to the central headquarters of the local resistance. This was a large farm with about 200 men living and training there to carry on the underground war against their oppressors.
The camp was quite well organised considering the difficulties under which the men were operating. Ronald later learned that it was supplied by air from England every two weeks with rations and arms, and that it was the training ground of new recruits from the cities.
One of the most noticeable things about the camp was the very young age of the people there.
Youths of 16 and 17 made up the body of the force. There were also two woung [sic] women wireless operators in communication with London.
[underlined] Instructor [/underlined]
The group held 12 German prisoners guarded by Russian and Italian soldiers. As he [indecipherable words] these men were hostages, but at the moment were made to be useful by doing the cooking and minor chores on the farm.
The first question he was asked was would he be willing to help the Resistance. When he replied that he would he was given a Browning machinegun and assigned the duties of training the raw recruits in its use. He was given an officer's rank and settled down to his new job.
All things being considered, he had very little choice. Although he knew that he should be trying still to reach hime [sic], he had the feeling that London knew where he was and was content to let him remain there.
After all, the work he was doing was as important in its own way as the main effort being directed from London.
[underlined] Fought convoy [/underlined]
The group was between 40 and 50 miles behind the enemy lines and the Germans were under constant pressure from the Resistance.
Their main targets were the scout cars and small patrols active in the area, and raids on these were carried out efficiently and regularly.
As they gained in confidence they began to look for more ambitious targets. One night they mounted an attack on a fairly large convoy and miraculously created havoc without suffering casualities.
A few nights later they attacked a battery of anti-aircraft guns, but this time they were not so fortunate. Many of the group were killed or wounded, but they managed to take back with them a handful of German prisoners.
Ronald's main worry was the lack of discipline among the youths with the group.
Prize possessions among the boys were jackboots or Luger pistols. To get these they would go out on their own, looking for solitary German soldiers. These men were killed without compunction and robbed of their possessions.
[underlined] Hostages [/underlined]
Apart from these over-enthusiastic youngsters, however, the group was close and well organised. They also had the support of the farmers in the area, who contributed food supplies often to their own detriment.
It did not surprise Ronald when at last the Germans decided to put an end to activities of the resistance group.
They did this in a way most calculated to bring them out in the open. They took 10 hostages in Rouen and threatened to shoot them if the actions continued.
A party of resistance members attempted to rescue the hostages but the Germans were waiting for [missing words] attempt ended it [missing words] the men were caught, questioned and publicly shot.
[underlined] Over-run [/underlined]
As a reprisal, it was decided to take similar action against the Germans by shooting the dozen or so prisoners held at the camp. This decision was arrived at after much consideration but was never carried out.
Before the appointed time for the executions, the camp was subjected to a full-scale attack by the Germans. At 5.0 o'clock one morning the farm was over-run by troops and armoured vehicles.
The resistance was all but wiped out, and it was every man for himself in the flight that followed Ronald managed to escape with a young French man, but later they decided to split up to give them a better chance of surviving.
For two days he kept out of sight, living as best he could. Then he heard that the British lines were close by and he tried to contact them without success.
The three days that followed were desperate. Nobody wanted to know an ex-resistance man. Word had spread that the Germans were looking for the ones who had escaped, and the penalty for assisting a man on the run was death.
[underlined] Better luck [/underlined]
Eventually he arrived at the town of Thiberville and asked again for help. Here he met with better luck, and for the next three weeks he was passed from family to family, always being kept out of sight.
Towards the end of August there was a leaflet raid on the town, telling the townspeople to leave as the Allied troops would be arriving very soon.
Ronald left with the family who were sheltering him and for the next 10 days camped with them in a small hut outside the town.
On the eleventh day he ventured back into the town and was greeted by a Toronto Scottish regiment marching down the road.
One week later he was back in London, after three months on the run behind the enemy lines.
[underlined] NEWS FROM THE PAST [/underlined]
[italics] Extracts from the Guardian files. [/italics]
15 years ago
SALE and Altrincham Divisional Labour Party members had expressed concern about the effectiveness of the country’s Civil Defence against atomic and hydrogen bomb attacks. They decided to ask Coventry Labour Party their reasons for refusing to take part in Civil Defence services.
*
The Rev Charles Taylor, minister of Sale Trinity Methodist Church and Sale Moor Methodist Church for five years, left Sale for Keynsham, near Bristol.
25 years ago
The National Day of Prayer was observed in all Sale churches, and included a civic service at St. Anne's attended by the Mayor, Ald. J.H. Willson, the Mayoress, Miss Dallas Willson, and members and officials of the Borough Council.
*
Flying-Officer R.H. Riding, 3, Farmfield, Sale, arrived home on leave after being missing since the early days of the Allied invasion of France. In an interview with the Guardian he payed tribute to the courage and fortitude of the French who had helped him to escape.
40 years ago
THE monthly meeting of Sale Council was one of the briefest on record. The only matter to be discussed was a letter from the Postmaster at Manchester concerning the council’s request for a letter box in the Dane Road area. The Postmaster had turned down the request.
*
THE Sale and Ashton Women and Junior Conservative’s annual garden fete, held at Beech Hurst, proved to be the best organised of the season, despite unfriendly weather.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Shot Down, He took part in French Resistance raids on Germans
Description
An account of the resource
A newspaper article about Ron after he was shot down over France. A second cutting has a brief note about Ron returning home after being missing in France.
[The details in the article are incorrect. His aircraft was a Wellington, it was shot down on 14th June, he flew with 69 Squadron]
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Hull Times
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1969-03-14
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France--Eure
Great Britain
England--Sale
England--Hessle (East Riding of Yorkshire)
France--Rouen
England--Yorkshire
England--Lancashire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Format
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Two newspaper cuttings
Identifier
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PRidingRH21020008
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-06-14
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
7 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
evading
killed in action
Lancaster
missing in action
navigator
Pathfinders
pilot
RAF Oakington
Resistance
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2154/37407/B[Author]RidingRHv30001.jpg
c921d5e4d46059d6cceef4f9053f4cdd
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2154/37407/B[Author]RidingRHv30002.jpg
87f2766dd1a5ebd36eebaa552e29e369
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Riding, Ronald Holford
Riding, RH
Description
An account of the resource
45 items and five photograph albums. The collection concerns Ronald Holford Riding (b. 1921, 1525125 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, correspondence, documents, photographs, and service material. He flew operations as a navigator with 69 Squadron before he was shot down in France. He evaded and worked with the resistance before crossing the Allied lines in August 1944.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Lyn Elizabeth Jolliffe and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
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2021-09-23
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Riding, RH
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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[underlined] I OWE MY LIFE TO YOU [/underlined]
At two o’clock in the morning of the 6th. June, 1944, a German shell shot down F/Lt. Ronald Riding’s Lancaster. He was twenty-two years old and his mission, on that night prior to the bombardment, was to locate the German 21st. Armoured Division. Three members of the crew were killed when the bomber was hit and four others survived by baling out of the aircraft.
Ronald found himself alone on the ground somewhere near Mailleraye and quite close to Caudebec. He lost his flying boots when his parachute opened so he was in his stockinged feet. Thus began his great adventure. “I walked in my bare feet, which wasn’t very easy, and then I saw a farm. The man did not want to let me in, but his wife standing behind him said “Yes, yes, we must give him something to eat’,”. At daybreak Ronald set out again but he decided to hide up during the day and walk during the night. The following evening he knocked at the door of Mme. Guegan. “She simply told me to come in and she gave me something to eat and drink.”
He stayed at Mme. Guegan’s home for a few days during which time the Maquis, of which Mme. Guegan’s son Jean was a member, were informed by London that Ronald was an English flyer and not a German spy. “In order to establish my identity I had to state where I lived in Manchester and I had to list the names of several London Underground stations.” His identity now verified, Ronald was now accepted by the Robert Leblanc Maquis near Port-Audemer. Infortunately [sic], one of the band was arrested and fearing that he might reveal the whereabouts of their hide-out, his comrades dispersed: Ronald remembers that this occurred on the 14th, July.
After staying for some time at the ‘Maison Blanche’ (a code name?), Ronald and another flyer, John, decided to leave to try to join the Allied lines. Then at the end of July they met M. and Mme. Jules Joigne at Brevedent.
“My father has spotted them late that evening. They were consulting a map printed on a piece of cloth. My father came back into the house and said to my mother, “They are English”. The next day he came across them again and brought them back to the house. I was four years old at the time and my sister was sixteen.” said Guy and Eliane, the children of M. and Mme. Joigne. It was at their house that Ronald and his friend John, were hidden for some time. Then they made contact with the escape network.
MM. Jean Dufay and Jean Breard came to fetch them in a horse-drawn carriage and brought them to Thiberville. “I rode ahead on my bicycle,” recalled M. Prévost. “We came across two German policeman [sic] and I can tell you I was dead scared.” But nothing more untoward happened before they arrived at the home of M. and Mme. Prévost who took it upon themselves to hide them. However, their house was very exposed so Ronald and John decided to continue on their way. They were taken into the convent in Thiberville for several days where their best hiding place was in a cupboard, but Ronald and John kept in good spirits in spite of their misfortunes.
[page break]
[underlined] 2 [/underlined]
They were then lodged at the home of Mme. Sénéchal, first of all at the butcher’s shop in town and then in a small, isolated house where they made the acquaintance of the Vandamme family and of André l’Hotelin: “the children were going to play football with them to pass the time” recalled one who remembered them. The liberation of Thiberville was now near and Ronald and John waited for the arrival of the Canadian troops on 24th. August, and shortly afterwards they returned to England. John was killed on another mission and Ronald continued his operations until the end of the war.
[underlined] MY DEAR FRENCH FRIENDS [/underlined].
On Tuesday, at the time of the ceremony organised in his honour at the Thiberville Town Hall, Ronald Riding could not conceal his emotion. “Thank you all. It has been wonderful to return to Normandy to take part in the ceremonies marking the 50th. Anniversary of the Liberation and to be re-united with my dear French friends. I received the same welcome as I did fifty years ago when I knocked on a door and you said to me, “Come in Monsieur.” I must express my gratitude to the French families who gave me food and concealed me at the risk of their own lives. I owe my life to you. Thank you and Long Live France.”
[underlined] REMEBRANCE AND FRIENDSHIP [/underlined]
In his speech, the Mayor of Thiberville, M. Bessirard, surrounded by his Council, representatives of the Police and Fire Brigade, emphasised the honour for the members of the community to receive a liberator on the day following the 50th. Anniversary of ‘the longest day’. And he added, “It was due to thousands and thousands of people like you M. Riding, and like your parents Mme. Guerin, and like you M. Prévost and you M. Dufay, that we reached this longest day whose success regained for us our honour and liberty and gave us our future.”
Then the Mayor presented the town medallion to M. Riding, M. Dufay, M. Prévost, M. Joinge and posthumously to M. Bréard: “that it shows to all of us a sign of gratitude, remembrance and friendship.
M. Bessirard then invited his guests to join him in a toast to the friendship that was so evident today. Ronald posed for photographs and answered the many questions that were put to him. Ronald’s feelings were a mixture of joy and sadness, but more than this understandable emotion, he was carried away by the joy of finding himself in France again among his dear friends.
May this day remain forever engraved on the hearts of all of us.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
I Owe my Life to You
Description
An account of the resource
The events after Ronald was shot down on the morning of D-day.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-06-06
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
Great Britain
England--Manchester
England--London
France--Caudebec-en-Caux
France--Eure
England--Lancashire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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Two printed sheets
Identifier
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B[Author]RidingRHv30001, B[Author]RidingRHv30002
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1944-06-06
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Steve Baldwin
bale out
evading
killed in action
Lancaster
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2154/37406/B[Author]RidingRHv10001.jpg
c554ac2e432dd50a8585712c5d785458
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2154/37406/B[Author]RidingRHv10002.jpg
db4d9d63f511268d29014651759bde62
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Riding, Ronald Holford
Riding, RH
Description
An account of the resource
45 items and five photograph albums. The collection concerns Ronald Holford Riding (b. 1921, 1525125 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, correspondence, documents, photographs, and service material. He flew operations as a navigator with 69 Squadron before he was shot down in France. He evaded and worked with the resistance before crossing the Allied lines in August 1944.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Lyn Elizabeth Jolliffe and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2021-09-23
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Riding, RH
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] THE JOURNEY IN NORMANDY OF MR. RONALD H. RIDING [/underlined]
In June year 2000 as a result of a brief ceremony of remembrance at St. Georges du Viévre I made the acquaintance of Mr. Ronald H. Riding, a veteran English airman of the R.A.F. who had passed through our region during the war in dramatic circumstances. He spent many weeks here during which time he discovered the "Belle France" to use his expression. This period was however absolutely not the most favourable time to make a visit.
Ronald was a navigator on his second tour of duty in a crew of seven airmen flying in a Lancaster aircraft of a reconnaissance squadron. It had been the duty for several weeks to fly these single night missions over occupied France in order to establish the location and movements of enemy troop concentrations.
Ronald who had volunteered for aircrew in 1941 aged 20 years had trained in Canada to be an observer/navigator. This mission which commenced during the night of the 5th/6th of June was similar to previous operations but it was however to leave a permanent mark on his life.
At 01.30 hours 6th June close to Rouen a shell from the anti-aircraft batteries hit the Lancaster in the middle of the fuselage leaving two crew dead and two wounded. The pilot navigator and rear gunner away from the point of impact were unhurt.
With the aircraft now on fire and having fixed parachutes to their wounded comrades they 'baled-out' from the doomed aircraft which crashed into a garden in La Mailleraye. The rear-gunner broke his leg on landing, was treated in hospital and became a prisoner of war. The pilot, a Canadian, was caught after a few days dressed in civilian clothes; because of this he was tortured in Le Havre by the Gestapo; transferred to Paris for further interrogation and finished the war in a prisoner of war camp in Poland.
Ronald after his jump into the darkness found himself hung up in the branches of a tree in the forest of Brotonne. He had lost his flying boots but he was alive. Before the coming of the dawn, not being able to walk far without boots he found a small forestry workers house. (1) When he knocked on the door the inhabitants chased him away. Their patriotism and help being limited at this time by fear of denouncement to the Germans; The penalty for helping allied airmen being death or minimum deportation to a concentration camp.
The next house where he asked for help was that of Madam Guégan. This brave woman hid Ronald for three or four days. Her son Jean Pierre of 16 years helped Ronald in the forest to find and bury his parachute. Whilst at her house he heard the news of a very historic event, he now understood why his mission to locate the movements of the German Panzer Divisions and observe the crossings of the River Seine were important. Ronald who knew an invasion was imminent had not been briefed and was ignorant of Operation "Overlord"; when he was escaping from his burning aircraft Allied parachutists were dropping at Ste Mère L'Eglise and Pegasus Bridge. The longest day had commenced.
After a rigorous interrogation as to his identity Ronald was taken in by the Maquis Surcouf of Pont-Aude Mer and hidden by their Chief Robert Le Blanc and Section Chief Edmond Floquet (Codename Grande Jules). Our region has preserved its "Bocage"; an area of small fields and woods protected by high hedges and criss-crossed by small roads; paths and tracks favourable for the hiding of the partisans. However it was also an area suitable for the concealment of the S.S. Division and the Gestapo hunting them. The Maquis of Pont-Aude Mer were very active in the region, their technique of Guerilla attacks depended on mobility of movement. Given information by the Gendarmes of the Division at St. Georges du Vièvre regarding the movements of the Nazis, the partisans dispersed and then regrouped to sabotage
1
[page break]
and harass the enemy. Consequently Ronald changed his hiding place three times. He had successive "Residents" at Le Landin near Hanville, (2) at St. Martin-St. Firmin, (3) and at St. Siméon (4) where he met another English airman, a Russian deserter, some Italians and many partisans.
On the 14th July (Liberation Day in France) a "Wartime Alert". The Nazi's commenced a concentrated series of attacks and reprisals in the region. In Pont-Aude Mer they machine-gunned and killed several civilians. In Saint Etienne L'Allier, (5) they searched several houses and arrested the inhabitants. They intercepted and annihilated a patrol of partisans. In St. Georges Du Vièvre they arrested the Gendarmes and for several days they refused under torture by the Nazis pilice to reveal the network of the Maquis. Ronald and John, the other airman succeeded in escaping from the Maquis hide-out and with others found a safe hiding place near to Epagnes. (6) However soon came the final command for a general dispersal of all the partisans so that the Nazis were not able to trace the Maquis.
After several days of evasion, tired and hungry and so far having escaped detection because of their blue workman-like clothes and wooden shoes Ronald and John arrived at the small hamlet of Le Brevédent, (7) about 10 km N.E. of Lisieux. Intrigued by the strange behaviour of these two young men Mr. Jules Joigne understanding their secret and difficulty immediately welcomed them and hid them in his small farm. Once again they had found a "safe house".
At the end of July the Maquis at Thiberville (8) decided to help. For reasons of security they were moved, hidden in a horse and cart, and escorted by two young partisans, Jean Bréhart and Jean Dufay with a senior partisan Gaston Prévost riding ahead on a bicycle to secure the route passing by Barville. (9) On arrival at Thiberville they were first hidden in the workshop of M. Prévost, and then moved to the Pork Butchers Shop of Madam Sénéchal, another brave lady. Finally Thiberville was liberated by the Allies on the 24th August and so finished Ronald's adventure in Normandy.
But the story continues. Ronald returned to England and Became an Instructor. The war was not finished, but fortunately he never again had to use his parachute.
Unfortunately his comrade John after some rest and leave returned to operational duties. During a bombing raid over Germany his aircraft was shot down and he was not given a second chance.
Since the end of the war, Ronald loves to return to Normandy, he appreciates the peace and calm. Few people of our region remember the unknown heroes who took part in the Liberation of our Country. Ronald himself does not forget his comrades in the Resistance or his "French Helpers" who risked their lives to give him shelter. Now when he returns he sees the children of those who sheltered him, they were four and five years old in 1944. They have grown up now and their parents are dead.
Ronald also wishes to remember and visits the many graves of the Allied airmen who are buried in the cemeteries of the small villages where they fell from the sky. He stands and remembers because the remains of his four comrades of the Lancaster have never been found or identified.
It was in front of the Memorial Plaque recording the sacrifice of the four Gendarmes of St. Georges in Vièvre that I met for the first time Mr. Ronald H. Riding. That day in front of the old Police Station there were no more of us than the crew of his aircraft which fell in the forest of Brotonne on "D-Day" morning 6th June 1944.
2
Dublin Core
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Title
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The Journey in Normandy of Mr Ronald H. Riding
Description
An account of the resource
A story of Ronald's escape after being shot down.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France--Eure
France--Rouen
France--Seine-Maritime
Canada
France--Le Havre
France--Paris
Poland
France--Sainte-Mère-Eglise
France--Lisieux
France
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Format
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Two printed sheets
Identifier
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B[Author]RidingRHv10001, B[Author]RidingRHv10002
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Sue Smith
air gunner
aircrew
bale out
evading
killed in action
Lancaster
navigator
pilot
prisoner of war
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1560/35630/BMillingtonRWestonFv1.2.pdf
8f0a70969cd59c55fef62f5a0d5a383d
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Weston, Fred
F Weston
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-11-13
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Weston, F
Description
An account of the resource
20 items. The collection concerns Fred Weston DFC (1916 - 2012, 126909 Royal Air Force) and contains documents and photographs. He flew operations as an air gunner with 101 and 620 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Catherine Millington and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
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Title
A name given to the resource
Air Gunner
Based around the WWII service of Fred Weston DFC RAFVR
Description
An account of the resource
A biography of Fred. In addition it includes histories of aircraft and squadrons he served in, Details are included of airfields he served at. Additionally there are biographies of various servicemen associated with Fred's squadrons and service.
At the end there is a biography of the officer in charge of Arnhem, Lt-Gen Sir Frederick Browning and his wife Daphne du Maurier.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Roger Millington
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2005-01
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Cambridge
England--Letchworth
Wales--Bridgend
Wales--Penrhos
Egypt--Heliopolis (Extinct city)
Singapore
France--Cherbourg
Netherlands--Eindhoven
France--Brest
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
France--Dunkerque
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
France--Brest
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Berlin
Italy--Turin
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
France--L'Isle-Adam
France--Quiberon
France--Boulogne-Billancourt
Germany--Essen
France--Le Creusot
Germany--Leverkusen
France--Caen
Netherlands--Arnhem
Norway
Germany--Wesel (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Belgium--Brussels
England--Rochester (Kent)
Northern Ireland--Belfast
England--Longbridge
France--Arras
England--Darlington
Italy--Genoa
England--Longbridge
Yemen (Republic)--Aden
Europe--Frisian Islands
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Nuremberg
Italy--Sicily
France--Normandy
Netherlands--Arnhem
Netherlands--Eindhoven
Netherlands--Nijmegen
Wales--Pwllheli
England--Yorkshire
England--Leicester
England--Sunderland (Tyne and Wear)
Scotland--Edinburgh
England--Rochford
England--London
England--Cornwall (County)
Scotland--Ayr
England--Friston (East Sussex)
England--Gravesend (Kent)
England--West Malling
England--Hailsham
England--Yelverton (Devon)
England--Bentwaters NATO Air Base
England--Great Dunmow
England--Heacham
England--Weybridge
Wales--Hawarden
England--Blackpool
England--Old Sarum (Extinct city)
England--Kent
England--Folkestone
England--Hambleton (North Yorkshire)
England--York
Scotland--Scottish Borders
England--Cambridge
England--Thurleigh
England--Darlington
England--Hitchin
England--Lancashire
Italy
France
Egypt
Germany
Belgium
Netherlands
Great Britain
Yemen (Republic)
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Bedfordshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Devon
England--Durham (County)
England--Sussex
England--Essex
England--Herefordshire
England--Norfolk
England--Suffolk
England--Surrey
England--Wiltshire
England--Worcestershire
England--Leicestershire
England--Swindon (Wiltshire)
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Coastal Command
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
British Army
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Royal Canadian Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Free French Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Format
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85 sheets
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BMillingtonRWestonFv1
1 Group
100 Group
101 Squadron
103 Squadron
105 Squadron
114 Squadron
139 Squadron
141 Squadron
148 Squadron
149 Squadron
162 Squadron
1657 HCU
1665 HCU
18 Squadron
180 Squadron
2 Group
208 Squadron
214 Squadron
239 Squadron
3 Group
301 Squadron
304 Squadron
342 Squadron
6 Group
6 Squadron
620 Squadron
7 Squadron
75 Squadron
8 Group
9 Squadron
90 Squadron
97 Squadron
99 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
air gunner
aircrew
B-17
B-24
B-25
bale out
Beaufighter
Blenheim
bombing
Bombing and Gunnery School
Boston
Caterpillar Club
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
crash
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
ditching
evading
final resting place
Gee
Gneisenau
H2S
Halifax
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hitler, Adolf (1889-1945)
Horsa
Hurricane
Ju 87
killed in action
Lancaster
Lysander
Manchester
Me 109
Meteor
mid-air collision
mine laying
Mosquito
navigator
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
P-51
Pathfinders
prisoner of war
propaganda
radar
RAF Bicester
RAF Biggin Hill
RAF Boscombe Down
RAF Bottesford
RAF Bourn
RAF Bradwell Bay
RAF Bramcote
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Chipping Warden
RAF Coltishall
RAF Drem
RAF Driffield
RAF Duxford
RAF Elsham Wolds
RAF Evanton
RAF Fairford
RAF Finningley
RAF Great Massingham
RAF Halfpenny Green
RAF Harwell
RAF Hendon
RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor
RAF Honington
RAF Hornchurch
RAF Horsham St Faith
RAF Kenley
RAF Lakenheath
RAF Leconfield
RAF Leuchars
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Little Snoring
RAF Ludford Magna
RAF Manston
RAF Marham
RAF Martlesham Heath
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Newmarket
RAF Newton
RAF North Luffenham
RAF Oakington
RAF Penrhos
RAF Pershore
RAF Ridgewell
RAF Shepherds Grove
RAF Sleap
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tangmere
RAF Tempsford
RAF Tilstock
RAF Tuddenham
RAF Waterbeach
RAF West Raynham
RAF Woodbridge
RAF Wratting Common
RAF Wyton
Resistance
Scharnhorst
Special Operations Executive
Spitfire
Stirling
target indicator
Tiger force
training
Typhoon
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1560/35628/MWestonF126909-161113-01.2.pdf
ce6f4163a11fed7db978c417a92e54d9
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Weston, Fred
F Weston
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-11-13
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Weston, F
Description
An account of the resource
20 items. The collection concerns Fred Weston DFC (1916 - 2012, 126909 Royal Air Force) and contains documents and photographs. He flew operations as an air gunner with 101 and 620 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Catherine Millington and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Obituary: Ex Flight Lieutenant Fred Weston DFC
A TROPHY-WINNING marksman, Fred Weston, who has died aged 95, joined the RAF at the outbreak of the War, became a Rear Gunner in Bomber Command and was awarded a DFC.
After the War, he went into Forestry, ending his career as District Forest Officer for Hambleton, and Deer Patrol Advisor for the North of England.
Born in Runcorn, Cheshire, Mr Weston was the eldest of the four sons of William and Ivy Weston.
He got a place at Wade Deacon Grammar School in Widnes where he was a hard-working pupil and excelled at rugby union, continuing to play in later life.
Leaving school, he joined the accounts department of the Mersey Power Company in Runcorn.
He took up shooting and competed at Bisley, winning a number of trophies including a BSA Shooting Trophy, and, in 1938, the Bromley-Davenport Silver Challenge Cup.
On joining Bomber Command at the outbreak of war, and completing a gunnery course, he became a Rear Gunner, initially flying in Whitleys and Blenheims.
In May 1941 he was posted to 101 Squadron, which sustained the heaviest losses in Bomber Command. With 101 he flew in Wellingtons until May 1942, and for the rest of his service in Stirlings.
On July 28, 1942, he had to bale out at low altitude after a mid-air collision with a Wellington as they left Cambridgeshire en route to Hamburg. His violent landing in a tree at Cherry Hinton, near Cambridge, caused a back problem from which he suffered for the rest of his life, but that night the remainder of the squadron suffered devastating losses.
From June 1943 he was a Gunnery Leader with 620 Squadron in dangerous missions against heavily-defended targets, including the German battleships, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau.
In the many crash landings he experienced, he broke his nose at least twice and had his front teeth knocked out.
In June 1943, he received the DFC from George VI in recognition of the tenacity, courage and devotion to duty.
Mr Weston’s last operational flights were during Operation Market Garden at Arnhem in September 1944, and special duties with Transport Group 38 on secret SOE (Secret Operations Executive) missions, dropping supplies to the Resistance Movement and dropping and recovering agents.
He found relief from the stresses of those missions by playing rugby for the RAF and driving fast cars, a Bugatti, Lamborghini, Maserati and Alfa Romeo among them.
When the war ended, he went to Bangor University, played rugby for the university and gained a BSc in Forestry in 1948.
After a year as a Forestry Officer, he moved to Northern Ireland as a Field Officer and eventually as Chief Forest Officer. While there, he met and married Dorothy Barclay.
In 1952 he returned to the Forestry Commission in England as District Forest Officer in South Hampshire, based at Winchester, and in 1964 he moved to Helmsley as District Forest Officer for the vast Hambleton area and Deer Patrol Advisor for the North of England. At one time, he had the overall charge of seven beats and 128 men.
When he was 60, having spent 10 years at the Helmsley Office and two at Pickering, he retired, able now to spend more time fishing and shooting.
Mr Weston knew his own mind, and spoke it – particularly when he considered an injustice was being done. And fiercely independent, he would not be rushed into making a decision. It took two years to persuade him, at the age of 93, to have an Aid Call button.
An out-of-doors man, he did not feel the cold, and thought no-one else did either.
He loved music, particularly Gregorian chants, tango and jazz. He appreciated a good joke, even against himself, particularly if it was in service language and if he had a glass of whisky or a gin and tonic in his hand.
His tough exterior disguised a compassionate nature, testament to which was the very many charities he supported.
His most prized possession was his well-thumbed copy of the New Testament which went with him on every operation.
Mr Weston’s three younger brothers pre-deceased him, and Mrs Weston died 8 years ago. The couple had no children, but he is survived by his cousin, Mrs Sylvia White, his God-Daughter Catherine Millington and his nephews and nieces.
A service for friends and family to celebrate his life was held at 2.45pm at the Chapel at Lister House, Ripon, on Wednesday, May 2.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Obituary - Flight Lieutenant Fred Weston DFC
Description
An account of the resource
A obituary for Fred describing his life before, during and after his wartime service.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Runcorn
England--Hambleton (North Yorkshire)
England--Widnes
England--Bisley (Surrey)
England--Cambridge
Germany--Hamburg
Netherlands--Arnhem
Wales--Bangor
Northern Ireland
England--Winchester
England--Helmsley
England--Pickering
England--Ripon
Germany
Netherlands
Great Britain
Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Cheshire
England--Hampshire
England--Surrey
England--Yorkshire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two printed sheets
Identifier
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MWestonF126909-161113-01
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
Steve Baldwin
101 Squadron
620 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bale out
Blenheim
Distinguished Flying Cross
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
Gneisenau
mid-air collision
Resistance
Scharnhorst
Special Operations Executive
Stirling
Wellington
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/746/31383/BColemanTEColemanTEv1.2.pdf
a47a0c7dc2a02b29cf62e3ebd9646c70
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Coleman, Thea
Theadora Erna Coleman
T E Coleman
Theadore Tielrooy
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. An oral history interview with Theadora Coleman (b. 1933) and a memoir. She grew up in The Hague and was a recipient of Operation Manna.
The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-09-14
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Coleman, TE
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
MY STOREY
1940 - 1945
[black and white photograph]
Thea Coleman – Tielrooy
[page break]
CHRISTMAS 1939.
Quietly we followed one another into Opa's garden. It was early morning and still dark. The ground was covered in snow, which crunched under foot. Our breath was visible in the moonlight, while the shadows moved forward in a single file. Aunt Elisabeth turned around and put her finger on her lips to indicate that the girls should not spoil the surprise with their giggles.
The surprise was for Opa. All his children and grandchildren had come together to celebrate Christmas in Bergen, a little village north of Amsterdam. We stopped under his bedroom. My father stooped to dig for a stone and threw it against the window. We held our breath. A light switched on....All was going according to plan. We sang Silent Night, a beautiful arrangement for four voices, which sounded as pure as the clear frosty night. We were a musical family, singing and playing instruments were part of our upbringing. And there stood Opa looking down, the window wide open. He was surprised and moved. I noticed that he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.
Opa fascinated me. He was awesome, with silver- grey hair. His bright blue eyes penetrated your soul. Though he had been a very strict father to his eight children, to his grandchildren he was definitely a lot milder. He kept us spellbound for hours with his stories. We were always delighted when we went to visit him.
This Christmas morning, after breakfast, we all went to church. Very upright, with his silver-knobbed walking-stick Opa led his family to his pew at the front. The church was in candle light and the aroma of the pine branches hanging all around was gorgeous. The minister talked about the dark days to come. I found that strange, because the days should be getting longer! The singing sounded better and louder than ever before! I remember the evening very well, twenty of us around the table was quite an occasion! Our eyes wandered towards the Christmas tree. It was fixed in a musical box, turning around playing carols. Underneath the tree we noticed a few parcels, wrapped in red paper, which was unusual. Normally presents were not given at Christmas. They were books for the children. The adults were talking very seriously. Now and then we heard the words, Austria, Poland and Hitler. We were soon to know what it was all about. It turned out to be the last Christmas together.
It had not been an easy life for my parents as they, like everybody else, were slowly building up their future again after the depression. Ten years after my brother Wim and my sister Willy, I was a planned baby and at my birth in 1933 I was given the name Theodora, Gift of God, which says enough. The greatest step forward, however, was to move to a new house in this recently developed area of The Hague, the Zuider park. The outside stone stairwell led to the front door of our two storey home. From the balcony at the front we overlooked a magnificent park as far as the eye could see.
I loved it all. We now had our own bedrooms, which pleased Wim and Willy. Soon they had to sit their finals for school and they needed peace for studying. They were allowed to put a lock on their door to keep me out. Rightly so, because their marbles and roller-skates were not safe! With Wim and Willy, and my parents, it was as if I had two fathers and two mothers.
I was delighted when in 1939 my younger brother Hans arrived, together with a
washing machine. Both were equally admired and intensely enjoyed! I had now a living
doll to play with and he was mine.
My father was strict, too strict maybe. He believed in a spartan approach. We had to finish our shower with the cold tap, which spoiled the bath fun. Good for your heart, he would say. He insisted that his children learned to swim as young as possible. He was not a very strong swimmer himself, though he rescued a boy from drowning when he was in his teens. With so many ditches around where we lived
now, it was essential. As soon as I started school, Wim and Willy had to take it in
turns to take me to the open-air swimming pool in the park, before breakfast. I
remember Erica, a fat lady with cropped ginger hair, who kindly rubbed my purple body dry after the lesson. I made sure it did not take me long to acquire the skill of swimming!
Piano lessons were next. The teacher, Bep, did not allow you to touch the instrument until you knew all the notes on the music-sheet and the corresponding keys on the piano. Finger exercises had to be done daily too. Finally I could open the lid and play. Practice time was early in the morning. Invariably my father would get out of bed when he heard my inability to count. Every time I made a mistake he would say: "Again, from the beginning!"
It always ended in tears. My mother often felt sorry for me, but I made progress. My father would also praise me:" Well done, Sunbeam!" Willy had piano lessons too, but she did not like it when the time came I surpassed her. Wim played the harmonium, until my mother discovered that the tutor played Wim's set pieces, while telling each other jokes. The lessons were stopped and Wim was quite happy with this.
I liked going to school. It was a long walk, but sometimes I could hitch a lift in the morning on the back of Wim or Willy's bike or my father's crossbar. We had two hours for lunch and all pupils had to go home, rain or shine. Wednesday afternoons were free, because of school on Saturday morning, which was still a normal part of the working week for everybody.
I spent a lovely time with Hans, or I played outside with the numerous neighbourhood kids. We got on very well together on the whole. On one occasion I had taken Willy's bag of marbles and lost them all in a game. I was very upset when they refused to return them. Fair is fair, but I was not looking forward to Willy's anger.
The Sundays were special. Church in the morning and long walks in the afternoon, either to the park or the city. The information given by my parents encouraged our interest, even to this day.
The weekend finished on Sunday night with a serial story, told by my father.
His own made-up tale and he had the knack of stopping at the crucial point that made iit hard to wait till the next episode.
The winter time was great when it started to freeze. As soon as the ice was strong enough the skates came out. Young and old were on their way. I learned behind a little chair or between adults, if they were willing to help.
On December 5th, it was the birthday of St. Nicholas. Some evenings before I had put my shoe on the hearth and sang a special Sinterklaas song up the chimney, hoping that when he rode his white horse over the roof tops, he would reward me with a sweet. Sometimes he didn't! One year, on the 5th, we took our places around an enormous crate in the front room. I was quite neNous, especially when the lid slowly opened and I saw Black Piet's face appear. He is St. Nicholas's helper. After all the poems were read and the presents received, Piet left. I was really sorry that Wim had missed all this. I had not even recognised him as Black Piet!
The long school holidays were a problem as most people had only one week off a year. Very few ever travelled abroad. For us, there were family visits. On rare occasions we would go by train and the destination was usually Bergen, to enjoy the woods, sand dunes and the sea. We would stay on after my parents went back home.
Opa and Aunt Elisabeth lived about a hundred metres away from each other.
Uncle Arie was in the Merchant Navy and often away for very long periods. Their children were about the same age as us, so it was fun to spend time with them. I found Aunt Elisabeth much stricter than my mother! Well, she had to be, I suppose. There were so many exciting things to do. We particularly loved a journey with "Bello", an old steam-train. We would hang out of the window and enjoy the smell of the puffs of steam-clouds drifting along, while the sharp whistle announced our arrival at the sea-side.
Opa would always come along on walks to the woods, encouraging us to collect fir-cones for his fire. How can we ever forget the buckets of green beans we sat stringing in the garden! Hoarding food had been forbidden recently, but everybody still bottled, salted and stored as before, just in case.
During the evenings we made music. One uncle, who still lived at home with Opa, was an accomplished pianist. The others all played a different instrument. We younger ones listened or sang. It was a super way to finish the days. It was at the end of this summer holiday, in 1939, that the idea was discussed for all the family to meet at Christmas.
PROLOGUE OF THE WAR.
What I could not have known then as a seven-year-old that, although I lived in a wealthy country, changes were afoot.
At this point I need to explain that my personal memories in this chapter have been supplemented by knowledge of the facts at an older age. We often had lengthy discussions about this period, at home and at school, long after the war was over, details of which should not be lost with time.
With the Depression years gone and with the wealthy possessions of our colonies in the Far East and the West-Indies you would have thought Holland had little to worry about - but no. The world-stage was politically in turmoil. Drastic measures had to be taken to economise. Insecurity and the disaster of unemployment made people tense and nervous. Especially my father, who had experience of it during the Depression years and had to work very hard now for long hours to keep his present job as an accountant.
No wonder I never got a scooter with proper tyres I so dearly wished for!
With no pension or benefits in those days, we had to save as much as possible for that famous "rainy day".
A great concern was the growth of the NSB, the National Socialists. With anxiety the development in Germany was being witnessed. Adolf Hitler, the leader of the National Socialists, had come to power in 1933 and since then there was a strong military build-up, as well as persecution of Jews. One could see, even then, which direction Germany meant to go.
During the First World War, Holland had been neutral but many doubted that this time it could be the same. It was desperately trying to avoid annoying the strong, states, Germany, Italy and Japan. At all costs, Holland wanted to prevent its people from being subjected to the cruel brutalities of war. When England and France declared war on 3rd September 1939, Holland proclaimed neutrality and Germany seemed to agree.
Germany, with its numerous kingdoms and dukedoms, provided many partners for royal suitors all over Europe. Wilhelmina, our Queen, had married Prince Hendrik in 1901 and in 1937 Juliana, the Crown Princess, also married a German, Prince Bernhard. Under the circumstances, he had to adjust quickly to the Dutch way of life.
When a state of emergency was declared on November 7th, our Queen paid a visit to King Leopold of Belgium, whose country was also neutral, to discuss the situation. They sent messages to all countries concerned to offer mediation. The Dutch have always been a sea-faring nation, so when our ships ran into mines and sank and the borders were violated by aircraft, a complaint was lodged. Goebbels dismissed these incidents as "unfortunate errors".
When Berlin reacted unfavourably to a complaint of yet another border incident, the Prime Minister cancelled all leave to protect the borders and to flood strategic areas of low-lying land, which would hamper the German infantry.
However, this proved an old-fashioned idea of defence, when you consider the use of German aircrafts.
The N.S.B. inside Holland now gave greater concern. Everybody knew that our country was full of German spies and of Dutch people who were pro-German.
They presented a positive danger. During April 1940 the Germans insinuated, for the
first time, a possible assault by the Allies in Holland and Belgium with the aim of attacking
Germany.
A radio-news broadcast was never missed. Also, the English and German ones were closely followed. I was not even allowed to whisper. Family discussions were held afterwards. The word "war" frightened me and, though I did not know what it entailed, I kept on asking if we were going to have one.
In the meantime, trenches were dug across the road from us. How futile that was became clear on that fatal early morning of 10th of May 1940. It was a most beautiful sunny start of the day. We were roused by a steady drone, occasionally interrupted with a diving noise that would become so familiar during the following years. We stood, stunned and pale, clinging to each other on the balcony. The sky was black with German fighter planes, dropping hundreds of parachutists into position. It was like a flock of birds disturbed by a gunshot. Never in my life had I seen anything like this. It was incredible! It was the distress on my parents' faces that made me control my excitement.
The war had started! Without warning Holland had been invaded! The radio gave out bulletins on the situation. Civilian airports and military bases were being bombed. The bridges over the big rivers were blown up to obstruct the Germans. The Germans, in Dutch uniforms, were unmasked and executed. They had to say the word "Scheveningen", and if they couldn't, you knew they were Germans in disguise.
It had only been a few weeks ago since the Prime-Minister had asked the population to stay calm, like Chamberlain waving his piece of paper in Britain, some months before. The N.S.B. correspondent, Max Blokzijl, the biggest traitor of all, reassured the Dutch that from 'German authorities’ source' there was not the slightest reason to suspect a hostile attitude from Germany.
The German Consul asked for an audience with the Minister of the Foreign Office three hours after the attack. He confirmed the invasion and advised that resistance was pointless. Providing that no opposition was given, Germany would guarantee our possessions overseas as well as our dynasty; otherwise, the risk of total destruction was imminent. Our Minister was so enraged about this unannounced attack that he informed the Consul to consider us at war.
I was very scared when I heard planes flying over and jumped on my mother's lap clinging on for comfort. My parents were doing their best not to panic and made a game out of covering the windows with tape, some quite artistically, to prevent them shattering in the bombardments. The black-out did not help me with my fear of the dark either. Hans, now eight months old, had my full attention while the news was on.
The soldiers fought hard and were brave to try and oppose such an enormous army, but it was useless to even contemplate a dent into this iron force. The few blown-up trains with tanks certainly did not weaken the German strength and 79 planes shot down sounds a great number but, compared with the number in action, it was nothing. In one of those planes shot down near The Hague was the German general Von Sponeck. It also contained a saddled horse on which he had hoped to enter The Hague, heading his victorious army, as well as a complete plan of action. The Queen and her Government had to be arrested immediately and to be sent to Berlin.
Everywhere heavy fighting went on, especially along the Rhine to keep the enemy from crossing the river with their heavy armour. Many lives were lost.
At the Palace, in Soestdijk, Prince Bernhard stood armed among the Dutch soldiers facing his own country-men, for which he gained the deepest respect of the population. He and Princess Juliana with their two daughters were picked up by a British destroyer on May 12th. The Queen boarded a British warship and headed for the, as yet unoccupied, province of Zeeland. When it became known that the enemy knew, the course was changed for Britain. The Government sailed that same evening, destination London.
By now most of the country seemed open for the German troops. An un signed ultimatum was presented to the Dutch commander in charge of the Rotterdam defence on May 14th, saying, that in two hours the Germans expected the resistance to cease, or else... The Dutch commander sent the letter back, requesting the signature, rank and unit of the sender. Though Rotterdam had already capitulated, the German bombers destroyed its entire centre, even before the two hours were up!
The whole of Holland had to capitulate; otherwise, all the big cities would have to share Rotterdam's fate. This was it! At six p.m. on May 14th the Dutch surrendered. The war had lasted for exactly five days!
When the German troops entered Amsterdam and The Hague on May 16th the true Dutch watched in silence and with sombre faces, the N.S.B. cheered and presented the troops with flowers and sweets and Rotterdam was still burning. We could see it from the upstairs window, where we watched it with tears running down our cheeks. So many innocent people were burnt alive. The destruction of the heart of commerce. The cranes in the harbour collapsed, like our hope.
To see so many adults cry everywhere had a bewildering effect on me.
Why? What was happening?
The newly elected State Commissioner, Seys lnquart, declared that the Germans had not arrived as conquerors and would not dream of taking away the freedom of the Dutch, nor impose the German doctrine. He had the audacity to say this in the Ridderzaal, where our Queen opened the new sessions of Parliament every year. Even Hitler commented on the "honest fighting of the Dutch soldiers and because no civilians took part, I might consider to free your P.O.W's."
Our P.M. in London sent a message to the Dutch nation that "it was a duty • to work together with the Germans as well as possible." This was considered as so obviously pro-German that he was immediately replaced by Professor Gerbrandy, Cherry-Brandy, as Churchill liked to call him.
One of the police departments, now all under German control, announced in June that one million kg. of potatoes had to be sent to Germany. This was the immediate beginning of the looting of our enormous amounts of stocked food, shoes and clothing. It was a pity that the population did not have a chance to acquire it before it all went to Germany, but a most accurate inventory was already in their hands. The Germans paid for it all by patiently printing Dutch money in unbelievable quantities.
From the beginning there had always been hope that the British would come to our aid, but no sign of them-as yet. Daily, heavy German bombers were flying west, whilst the German soldiers marched through the streets, singing about their next move, England. To support this financially, collections were held, which they called winter help. Fluorescent badges like little houses were given in return, which appealed too many, especially us children. To my disappointment I never got one.
The BBC news was followed intently and we heard about the Battle of Britain. The Germans were not very pleased with this outcome and it must have cut to the core when they marched and sang, "Und wir fahren gegen England", with passers-by adding "splash-splash, glug-glug" under their breath!
After the Battle of Britain, the glug-glug bit was also used as an end piece at dance parties consequently, all dancing was forbidden.
LIFE GOES ON. 1940-1942
At school we held regular drills when the air-raid siren sounded and we had to dive underneath our desks. To start with it was chaos and we found it hilarious. The headmaster had to come in and bash his cane on the desk in order to make him-self heard. Soon he convinced us of the seriousness of the exercise and after that we were as meek as lambs.
The summer holiday started well. I was so happy that I could go up lo the next class in September, but two of my classmates had to stay behind and do that year again, which was a pity.
Wim had finished his schooling and, at nearly 18 could be called up for military service al any lime. This was a great worry, of course. Willy was facing her final year, come September. She did nothing but revise even during the holidays and I had to keep well out of her way.
The Germans were very anti-British. Only their version of events was the right one, therefore they objected to people listening to the BBC and ordered that all radios should be handed in. Nobody did, or at least not immediately. A bit more time for me to listen to the children's choir of Jacob Hamel!
Wim and Willy had taught me an English love song "I love you, yes I do", and also "God save the King", but they strongly urged me not to sing these outside. A great shame, because I wanted to brag.
I was warned about our neighbours, who belonged to the NSB. Their balcony was next to ours. Al least, they were easily recognisable in their uniforms when they stood there showing off. You can imagine my mother's horror when she caught me singing a skit about the NSB on the balcony, as loudly as I could. "On the corner of the street stands an organ grinder. Not a man, nor a woman, but a traitor!" She pulled me back by my hair and thus I found out about dangers of many kinds.
So strong were the feelings against the NSB that you would not even dream of wearing a black skirt with a red jumper, their colours! An alarming number of the Dutch became members of the NSB, convinced they would benefit from being on the winning side. However, once they belonged it was impossible for them to leave. They proudly wore their badges on the lapels and their children were given lots of fun at the Party clubs. To prove to be a worthy member they were expected to pass on messages and information to the authorities, which created mistrust from the outset.
I received, yet again, a warning from my parents to avoid them as much as possible. I did not mind, because only very few members with children lived near us. Little by little restrictions were imposed. To organise the housekeeping was a nightmare for everyone with the shortages, queuing and coupons. Sugar had already been rationed in 1939, which was hard on us as my father drank sugar with tea, instead of the other way around!
By 1942 everything was on coupons, even vegetables. Food-hoarding was forbidden, but many an evening we were all involved in bottling whatever we could get hold of. The washing up was usually left to me and all was done in good spirits, singing away together. We were so pleased when the preserved vegetables, meat and my favourite, apple-sauce, could be hidden away.
During the autumn my father started to bring home apples he managed, again, to obtain via connections with his firm. Eventually there were so many that a cupboard was emptied and planks fixed at the front. It filled up quite nicely and the odd one I pinched was not missed. They were delicious!
No eggs. Pigs and chickens had already been slaughtered before the war to keep the grain for bread-making. Fortunately, we only ate meat on Sundays as a rule. The choice was very limited. It was either horse-meat, often served with red cabbage, or veal and was both very scarce. Calves were killed to prevent them drinking the precious cow's milk.
There was still a choice left what to have on your first slice of bread, the subsequent ones were with 'contentment', that meant with nothing. We did not complain much and ate what was given. That is, except my white pet rabbit.
It was destined for the Christmas dinner! I howled and objected furiously and fled upstairs. Even to this day, I can see its skinned body on the kitchen table when I happened to come down a bit too soon. Nobody could eat it...
In the park, across the road, a large area had been turned into allotments for schoolchildren. Wim already had a plot a year or two and now managed to get me one also. It was run by professional gardeners and nothing less than perfect was acceptable. It was a yearly job for all of us to prepare the site. First, we had to tread paths over the whole area and then divide it into beds, which were measured exactly to the cm. into the same sizes. The vegetables had to be grown like a regiment in straight lines. Rain or shine, we had to attend and it was hard work, but who cared when you brought the proceeds home, for free, and you saw the relief on your mother's face. To her it was an answer to a prayer. Our potatoes, in particular, were very good, much better than the poor quality in the shops, if available of course.
The evening meal was discussion time as well as for explanations. The newly issued stamps had to be stuck more to the left on the envelope to leave a space for the imaginary stamp of our Queen's head. We never forgot to do this.
There would be no more museum visits, because paintings, if not looted, were hidden. (In the sand-dunes, but re-appeared after the war none the worse for wear). However, the children's museum was still open but for limited hours.
Church bells did not ring out anymore. Some were successfully hidden, but a great number had already been seized by the Germans. A deal was struck that, if the bells could not get through the door, they could stay in their position as long as they were not rung. Miraculously one or two doors narrowed overnight!
All along the West coast a heavily armed and mined defence line, two miles wide, was being built. It was out of bounds for civilians. Somewhere we still have a clandestine photograph of the pier of Scheveningen on fire. The story was that the Germans thought that it was a bridge to England. Whatever the reason, the sea-side trips were over for everybody. The people who lived within this zone had to vacate their house and move further inland. Most families had to double up with strangers and store their furniture or leave it behind.
- We received a telegram both from Opa and Aunt Elisabeth asking for help and advice. We did not have a telephone in those days. My father went there immediately and must have been of great help. Opa found a detached house, about 20 miles further north, in Heilo. Aunt Elisabeth was just as lucky to find a big empty house, a few miles outside Amsterdam along a lonely road amongst scattered farms and several windmills.
At last they could move with the furniture to their new house. As for us, we would miss the long walks in the dunes, the swimming in the sea and the fun on the beach. Teenagers may sometimes cause problems.
One evening Willy dropped a bomb-shell whilst we were having dinner. "Do you know that I don't need your permission anymore if I decide to marry a German soldier, now I am over 16 years of age? I hear it is a new law." My father went berserk! Normally the age of consent was 31. I am sure she did it to annoy. She always liked to challenge, especially my father.
One morning a letter was delivered for Wim. Indeed, the call up papers had arrived for the Arbeits Einsatz, a work force for Germany. My parents were naturally upset, but there. was nothing one could do about it. A few weeks later he arrived home in his uniform. It was a faded green. I liked his jodhpurs with bandages up to his knees, but most of all his peak-cap with yellow and green tassel. I tried it on and saluted the mirror. He was also issued with a spade, which I thought was funny for a 'soldier". He was on a short leave before he had to return to his unit and go to Germany.
My mother and I took him to the tram. Tearfully we waved as the tram screeched around the corner. "I'll be back soon," he shouted. It would be years before we met again.
This was also a premature end to his recent employment at the Ministry of Public Works.
It was in 1942 when Willy passed her finals for the Grammar school and was immediately employed by Van Leer's Vatenfabrieken, once a Jewish firm, but now under German control. She was promoted quickly to the technical department, which she enjoyed. Her dearest wish would have been to study engineering, but universities were closing.
She had less time for me and also with Wim gone, my position in the family greatly improved. The whole of our house was at my disposal without restrictions. I could be my happy-go-lucky self. Life was more or less normal. The occupation did not affect us children too much, apart from the shortages and the presence of soldiers.
1942 was the year with many changes afoot of which I was blissfully unaware. Through his firm, my father met Mr. Sanders, a Jew, who helped other Jews flee via
- an escape-route to Switzerland and Spain. He had also set up-an organisation that took care of Jews who had already gone into hiding in Holland. Dr. V, also a member, persuaded my father to join this resistance movement, soon followed by Willy and Jan and Lien Marijnis, the couple in the top flat. He was in the police force.
My mother was not to know anything about all this. One day on my way to school; I
saw a flurry of activity. Men were busy pinning up a notice, 'Forbidden for Jews', on the park entrance, the benches, the tram, the swimming pool and even on the door of the hairdressers. Everywhere! Some shops were being boarded up. People stopped to watch and I wondered what they were whispering about together.
The persecution of Jews was in full swing and all of them were ordered to wear the Star of David, my mother explained. Not everybody did of course, despite the promise of 'protection'. A small number of pupils in our school left. Teachers and professors were being sacked and when the students rebelled, the universities were closed. They could either all hide, or be sent to Germany to work in the factories.
How easily one could get involved. One evening we received a visit from a lovely couple with their three sons. They were Jews. Their house and the contents had been confiscated by the S.S. They were fortunate to have escaped arrest, because they happened to be elsewhere at that time. The father was short and well built with a kind face, the mother was a bit taller and very elegant. I was sent upstairs, bursting to know what it was about. When they eventually left, the eldest, who was my age stayed behind.
I was so excited to hear that Fred was coming to live with us. He had lovely short, wavy black hair and his mother's dark-grey eyes.
I had it all worked out. He could go to my school and we would walk there together. He could have my bed as long as I got Wim's! At the time, understandably, I totally overlooked the fact that here stood a young boy giving a shy impression, but who was in reality very unsure of himself. To be separated from his parents, knowing his situation and to have to live with strangers could not have been easy. Besides, he was given a new surname and had to be very careful not to slip up.
He felt so much happier when he was told that John, his middle brother, was living with Aunt Elisabeth and Frits, the youngest, with Opa, who had remarried after Oma's death in 1940. Frits was a three-year old with blond curly hair and light grey eyes.
Fred and I got along very well together. However, I asked him so many questions that it frightened him and he complained to my father, who took me aside to 'have a word'.
To my friends and the neighbours, he was to be an evacuated relative, or better still, to walk away when asked who he was. Fred rarely went outside, anyway.
He played his part extremely well. I never knew that he pretended to go to school. He walked around the block and when I was out of sight, he returned home. Sometimes, usually when it rained, he could leave home after me, because 'his school was closer by'. I was totally taken in by that one! Willy had taken it upon her self to try and teach Fred. 'To help him with his homework', she explained to me. It
required a lot of patience as he was not particularly very keen. I remember her shouting at him. ·
During the summer we went on a week's holiday and cycled all the way to Markelo to stay at a farm. Since the cows were in the fields, we slept on fresh straw in their stables. Great fun! The weather was good. We played hide-and-seek among the corn sheaves, or we went on bike-rides. On one of them we passed a butcher's shop where my mother spotted a magnificent piece of ham. Unfortunately she had left her purse behind, so we cycled all the way back to collect it. When we returned, the ham proved to be made of wood!
Every Friday night Fred would wear his kippah. Not to be outdone, I demanded one too. Margot, his mother, knitted me a nice woolly hat in the inevitable · red, white and blue colours as a St. Nicholas present. She had also dressed my favourite doll, Pummeltje, in a gorgeous outfit all sewn by hand. Fred's parents were both there for the occasion.
All presents were individually tied to a long string from the kitchen chimney and right through the hall to the living room. My patience was tested to the limit, because my biggest present was the last one and right at the end of the string.
1943
At the end of 1942 the BBC broadcast some hopeful news. The British were fighting the Germans in North Africa!
Our stored, red, Edam was christened 'Tunis Cheese' and would be consumed as soon as Tunesia had fallen, which happened in March. I can't remember, but I bet it was delicious!
No BBC news was ever missed from now on. What really annoyed me were the discussions at home in either English or German. I felt very much left out. I thought myself disciplined enough not to talk about what went on in the home with anybody. One could not take any chances.
By now our home had become a through house for people for whom a place to hide needed to be found. It was mostly for one person at a time. He or she slept in Wim's room and was usually gone by the time I got up. The introduction of the curfew had complicated matters, especially for Willy. Nights were far safer to move about, unseen, on her rounds to deliver coupons to the addresses of persons in hiding, or accompanied people to their new homes.
Years later, she told me about her fears, when she heard foot steps in the night, hoping there would be a dark corner to slip into, if need be. She always tried to pick the safest possible route, if she could manage it.
Finding new addresses was essential. There was a growing demand, not only for Jews, but also for students and young men. It was all very dangerous. You risked your life by putting them up and many people were just too scared.
The big question was who was really trustworthy? Money and favours were given for betrayals and not everybody was anti-German....
The badly needed money, clothing, but above all, false papers were my father and his group's department, later also joined by Willy.
Whatever went on behind the scenes, great care had been taken that, at least, the Sundays were kept as before. My father tried to choose a good story-telling vicar for the church service, often not the nearest to walk to! I found sitting still for an hour an ordeal, but the singing made up for it. Willy or a house guest would baby-sit for Hans, who was too young and Fred, who always managed an excuse why he could not join.
To my delight, a visit to my maternal Oma was on the agenda when the weather was not good enough for walks. Oma was quite short, not much taller than me. Her long hair was plaited into a bun at the back of her head exposing her wrinkled face with the kindest of dark brown eyes. She was extremely deaf and used a horn as a hearing-aid, which she avoided, if possible. Her help was indispensable during those years.
Every given opportunity was taken to curl up on a chair to read. Once a week we borrowed books from the library, but it was a very long walk. Occasionally we would cycle, with me on the carrier, holding the books.
However, a bike was an important mode of transport with which the Germans agreed. When they needed one they would stop you, take it and ride away on it! When they wanted even more, they would round up quite a number and load them onto trucks at the end of the day. So, we preferred to walk from then on.
Mr. Sanders, alias Mr. Ringeling, had been one of our more permanent guests of late. He had Wim's room, which was now out of bounds for everybody else. Mr. Ringeling had a round, friendly face, always smiling and his eyes twinkled behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. The little hair left on his head was grey. I guessed he must have been a lot older than Matty, his secretary, who had also been living with us before. I liked him and so did Matty.
She was a real beauty and great fun to have around, with lots of laughter. We often played board games together. I missed her when she moved upstairs to live with Lien and Jan Marijnis. Fred had left us for some reason and went to live with the family Landrok. He was the chauffeur for the same firm my father worked for. Fred had taken over Wim's allotment with great enthusiasm. His contributions to our food supply would now certainly make a difference. He would be missing his 'garden', as he called it. Of that I was convinced. I missed him as a friend. He had been with us for a year. My mother panicked when, one day, my father asked me what my headmaster was like. Could he be trusted? "Dick! What are you saying!?" she exclaimed. "Don't worry! I'll ask him if he belongs to the NSB", I suggested. I was strongly dissuaded to even think about it! In view of the 'activities' at home, my father thought it best to finally obey the 'last' order and hand in the radio. That way his name would be safely on that register. We had another one, anyway. I went with him to deliver it to the collection point at a school close by. I kissed it sadly goodbye, before it was put onto the pile. Also tin and copper had to be handed in. If you had a garden, you could bury it. We painted ours!
House searches took place at random, therefore, the less they could arrest you for, the better!
BETRAYAL
When a road had been closed off and I saw a truck parked in the middle of the street and armed soldiers going in and out of houses, I froze, especially when people were being led to the truck. The only place I wanted to be was at home.
My parents were very well aware of the danger they let themselves and the family into. Believe me; it must have taken a lot of heart-searching. Once you got involved, there was no way back. They could not have lived like a good Christian without helping others in need. Many years later I asked them if they would do it again, knowing what was to come? After some thought, their answer was still, "Yes, we would".
Mr. Sanders had fallen in love with Matty and decided he preferred to live together at the same address and also moved to Lien and Jan Marijnis' top flat. He wanted to leave his clothes at our house, behind locked doors. So now and then he would call in to change, but always after my bedtime. I rarely saw them.
Nobody knew about that impressive German officers-uniform or the revolver in his wardrobe. Who could have known? My mother certainly didn't. For her own protection, she was kept out of all the goings-on. She was incapable of telling lies, even white ones. Had she known about Wim, she might have been caught out, when people asked after him. Right up to the end of the war she believed he was in Germany, which worried her beyond imagination. She suffered in silence, rarely showing her feelings for Hans and my sake.
Neither my father nor Willy had told her that Wim was in hiding in De Bilt. Nevertheless, stress took its toll. She was dissatisfied with her photo on her 1.0. card and had another one taken, on which she looked so old and haggard, showing the strain, that she stuck with the original. There was worse to come! Poor Matty! Her mother had been arrested and she was told that she would be released if she, Matty, could arrange a meeting with Mr. Sanders. What was she to do? The advice, of course, was dead against it. The Germans were obviously on his trail and he would be a big catch!
Whatever happened, I don't know, except that they met on het Valkenbosplein and she kissed him, whereupon Mr. Sanders was arrested and taken to the Gestapo Headquarters. Here he was spotted by an under-cover resistance worker, who heard that an address book with names had been found on him. Unforgivable!
Mr. Sanders always carried a cyanide pill, just in case. Whether he was able to swallow it, is not known. His body was later identified by his teeth. Matty's mother was never seen again, neither was Matty. All I knew, at that time, was that Mr. Ringeling had not come home that night. The next day started like any other. My father and Willy had gone to work. I was off to school and Hans and my mother enjoyed their time together.
At midday I hurried home for lunch, but nobody was .in! I panicked. This had never happened before. I rang the bell, banged on the door and screamed. Lien found me sobbing at the bottom of the outside stair-case. I was frantic! She put her arms around me and explained that I would find my mother and Hans at Hedwig's
house at the end of our block of houses. Her husband, Toon, was at sea working with the Allies. He and my father had been friends since their school days. I spurted the 100 meters, or so, because I was afraid that I might be too late back for school. Also, what about my lunch? I was hungry!
My mother was sitting on a chair with Hans on her lap. She looked ashen. Perhaps she was ill? On this beautiful, sunny day she was wearing the terracotta dress she had just finished knitting the night before. What was going on? This is what had happened. Within minutes of Mr. Sander's arrest the members of this resistance group had been alerted by way of a jungle-drum method. The advice was to go into hiding immediately, with their family. My father had been warned at the office and he in turn warned Willy. Dr. V. did one of the rounds on his bike and told both Lien and my mother, "Get out!" and was on his way again to warn others. It took place quite early that morning; my mother wasn't even fully dressed yet. She was too scared to go upstairs, so she put on her knitted dress, which she had left in the living room. She may have taken her purse and maybe a toy for Hans, certainly nothing else. She picked Hans up and left the house.
Lien didn't think there was any need yet for such a hurry. Besides, she and her husband, Jan, relied also on a cyanide pill and they decided to stay put. My father, meanwhile, was waiting anxiously at the station. My mother was waiting for instructions from him. Willy raced up and down on her bike to convey their messages. It would have been so much simpler if we had had a telephone in those days.
During Willy's time of work experience at the Van Leer's Vatenfabrieken, she had stayed for a few months with Mr. and Mrs. Mulder in Vreeland. He had given her their address - in case. Finally, the three of them, my father and mother with Hans left The Hague for Vreeland, where my father remained. After a couple of days it was thought safer for my mother to go to uncle Ab, her brother in Kampen. Willy moved in with distant relatives, Rein Lenghaus and his three daughters, on the other side of The Hague, het Bezuidenhout. There were not many hours to spare before the start
of the curfew. Where could I be taken to at such short notice? This was a big problem!
Willy put me on the carrier of her bike and refused to listen to my whining. I wanted to go to our house - I wanted my mum - Where are we going to? etc. She probably told me to shut up. Understandable, of course. After all, she must have been under a tremendous strain.
At her wits' end, she had decided to ask Ds. Straatsma for help. He was the vicar by whom she had recently been confirmed, after attending his classes for the past year. Willy held my hand and rang the bell.
I recognised him straight away from the story-telling in church and as the man with the three moustaches. He had enormous black eyebrows. I was welcome, providing it would only be for few weeks or so. They were a very kind, older couple with a different life style from ours. I was just in time to join them for dinner. I presumed that the finger bowl was for drinking out of. A good start! It must have been as difficult for them as it was for me. All I had were the clothes I stood up in, and that was it. No special outfit for the Sunday. I sat next to Mrs. Straatsma in her pew. The church was over full. I heard her whisper to a friend, who wondered who I was, that I was a child of a family on the run.
This was the end of my childhood! It did not take the SS very long to turn up at Marijnis' and our house. Armed soldiers ran up the stairs and arrested Lien and Jan, who were both at home. Jan was sentenced to death and executed, maybe something to do with being a policeman. Lien was tortured, because they had found an empty holster in their house and they wanted to know the whereabouts of the revolver and the jewellery belonging to the Jews in hiding. Finally, they let her go.
At the same time they were banging on our door, furious that nobody was in. They sealed the lock, which meant that the contents had now been confiscated and ready to be collected. The events of the last few days had been quite a blow to my mother and the fear for my father was choking her. Now she was about to lose her home, as well as the laboriously collected belongings. It saddened her deeply. Willy thought it a downright shame!
Besides, there was still that uniform and the revolver, together with a huge supply of cigarettes and expensive cigars, which my father was storing for a befriended tobacconist. Not to forget the stamp collection and the photographs... Willy's mind was quickly made up. It was worth the risk. First of all, the seal had to be broken. That was a daring deed in itself! There was no knowing when the SS would return to collect the contents... The first time the bell rang, Willy jumped out of her skin, but it only happened to be the milkman. It made her realise she had to have an escape-route ready. 'Via the roof, she told me later. She packed for three days and three nights, as quickly as possible. To avoid suspicion from the outside she left the curtains behind. The vast amount of bottled food she handed to a neighbour to look after, until it could be picked up at a later date. She had even packed a separate suitcase with clothes for each of us. What a godsend that she had even thought of that!
She had ordered a removal van for 5.30 a.m. and when it drew up, she handed them the keys and she herself hid behind a bush in the park to watch it all going according to plan. Part of the contents was bound for uncle Ab in Kampen, who had a ware-house, the rest was being stored in a garage in the Celebesstraat, which Willy had rented. One can only imagine how she must have felt when she turned the key in that lock! After the war I heard how it had enraged the Germans when they found that the birds had flown and the house had been emptied. The indentations of the butts of their guns had marked the front door. An all-out hunt for my father had already begun. At 1 a.m. the SS arrived at the house of his boss, Mr. Van Oortmersen, and because he could not give them any information, he was arrested and deported to a concentration camp in Germany, where he remained until the end of the war. Opa could not tell them either where his son might be. He was taken to the Scheveningen prison, alias 'Oranje Hotel', together with Trijn, his wife, and Frits, where he was interrogated by the Gestapo.
My father was devastated and wanted to turn himself in. However, it was pointed out to him that that would not release them and that he would be shot, if he were lucky. 'There was still far too much to be done for so many others'. There may have been inside help. After a week Opa and Trijn, including Frits, were free to go. Opa even asked for the return of the box with the silver guilders that had been taken at the house-search! I don't know whether it ever was.. My father had obtained a new I D card in the name of Swaagman, who had been born in Indonesia, which could not be checked, because of the war with Japan. His present address was a bombed housing estate, somewhere in Groningen. The most dangerous part was the taking of the legitimate photograph with your left ear showing. He decided to wear spectacles for this occasion. His picture showed his anxiety!
The Resistance had asked the RAF if they would bomb the Kleikamp, a large villa opposite the Peace Palace in The Hague, where the data of the population were kept, because they needed to be destroyed as a matter of urgency. This took place in April 1944. Only from then on could my parents, and everybody else with false papers, begin to feel a little more at ease with their new identities. My mother did not really have enough to occupy herself with in Kampen. She missed my father and the distance between them made her feel lonely. On very rare occasions, she and Hans would travel to Vreeland to visit him for a weekend. Far from an ideal situation.
As it was, uncle Ab and aunt Kitty, his wife, lived above the premises of his transport business with far too many strangers moving about the place. Besides, they had just become the parents of a baby daughter, Margreet. My mother was concerned about the danger in which she was putting her brother and his family and she also realised their fear about her staying with them. When she heard Willy's good news she was so happy and so relieved. Through contacts with Mr. Stoffels and his Jewish wife, Willy had managed to rent a large room on the second floor at the back of their old patrician house in the Joh. Verhulststraat. A quiet area in Amsterdam-Zuid. Our furniture from the garage in The Hague was moved in, including the piano. It happened to be a most welcome fall-back address in time to come! As for me, my weeks at the Straatsma's had come to an end. To my surprise I met up with Fred again at my next address. We were both delighted and hugged each other like long lost friends. A pity that I could only stay there for a week. Fred appeared extremely happy living with the family Landrok and not having children of their own they, in turn, had really taken to him. They formed a cheerful trio. I am sure I was jealous and felt left out. They could handle Fred, but not me. I was mixed up and unsettled, even dramatically threatening with suicide if the war had not ended in three weeks. A week later Willy came to collect me. They were pleased to see me go!
KOOTWIJKERBROEK
Ds. Straatsma had kindly organised for me to live with two of his lady friends, who, years ago, had been his confirmation candidates and they had kept in touch with each other ever since. At last Willy and I had caught the train to Barneveld. For most of the way armed German soldiers were getting on and off, which made me feel nervous.
Willy had not been able to give me any more answers to the numerous questions I put to her during our long journey, bar telling me that I was going to stay at a farm. This could turn out to be rather like one of our family holidays, except that I would be there by myself. I was excited and apprehensive at the same time!
We were the only passengers leaving the station, where we met the two ladies waving at us from an open horse-drawn carriage, the only available transport. Buses and taxis had stopped running already quite some time ago.
We soon left Barneveld behind and were driving into the open countryside ef the Veluwe, one of Holland's beauty spots. The unobstructed view was such a contrast with a city, like The Hague. We passed large pinewoods, acres of purple heather and yellow cornfields which, in those days, were mingled with red poppies and blue cornflowers. Now and then we came across a village with their small houses or huge villa's.
The regular rhythm of the horse's hoofs was the only distinctive sound. Whilst Willy held an animated conversation, I sat quietly in a corner clutching my small suitcase. From time to time I dared to glance at the two middle-aged women and wondered what they would be like and what would be in store for me.
Ursula had been a nurse and Rita a teacher. After they had both retired early, they decided to buy and run this remote smallholding in Kootwijkerbroek. It was a typical, traditional farm with a thatched roof. The green, wooden shutters on the outside of the tall windows were always being closed at nightfall.
The living room was massive with two huge open fireplaces at either end. noticed a large side of smoked bacon hanging up in one of the chimneys. Even the grand piano did not appear to fill much space at all.
Ursula and Rita shared a bedroom with a four-posted bed each, draped in clouds of organza. In a corner of the room was a shower-cubicle, but not for me to use. I can't actually remember ever having had a bath as such. It merely amounted to a strip wash in the large, tiled washroom, which was a part of the barn. My bedroom, under the rafters, was small but comfortable and I was able to see the stars at night through the skylight, which made me feel happy and secure. The barn formed an integral part of the house and was joined up by the same roof. A door through the hall gave access to the animals there. Our brown, blazed horse, called Vos, had already been put back into his stable again and was tugging at the hay from a rack above his head. The jet-black horse next to him appeared to be a less friendly one. They were facing the two Frisian dairy-cows at the opposite side of the threshing-floor.
Fortunately, we had used the inside door into the barn. No way would Willy or I have dared to enter from the outside through those enormous barn-doors, guarded by five huge dogs on long chains, which gave them plenty of scope to move about. Normally they would be in their baskets, but if anybody came near, even Ursula or Rita, they would jump up and bark ferociously. Willy and I were not keen! The most affable one of the dogs was a St. Bernard with his drooling face and at least twice my size.
Outside we spotted many farm-cats and an abundance of chickens roaming about freely, not paying any attention to anybody. The geese waddled away under loud protest. Maybe somehow, they knew that they were being fattened up for the Christmas dinner!
It seemed an ideal place for me to stay and Willy was relieved that she did not have to worry about my lodgings anymore. The following day we took her back to the station with the black horse. He was much faster than Vos and because I started to scream, he bolted. It was a scary moment, therefore, on the way back I was handed the reins to show me that there was really no need to be afraid of him. Just before Willy departed, Ursula had suggested bringing more clothes next time and they would write to her regularly to keep her informed -about me. As neither of them ever went near shops, they had no idea that nothing was obtainable anymore. Willy was going to receive many letters with complaints about my clothes or the money. It was never enough. Luckily, my father's firm kept paying him his salary throughout the war years and had to honour the ladies' requests. What else could he have done? In his situation he was at their mercy. I soon settled into the routine of farm-life. Rita and Ursula took care of everything themselves with no help, except for harvesting and sowing, when neighbouring farmers helped each other. I quite liked to be treated as an equal and I was soon turning into a useful farm-hand. Milking the cows I found too difficult, but I could churn the butter and this became my job, which suited me fine, because I could do this sitting next to the fire. The only other warm place was the kitchen. I must say, both ladies were very good cooks. The three of us always took a break after lunch. Two big wooden crates covered with a mattress made up my midday bed in an alcove, off the living room. I had seen the mill around the corner was in action, so I wandered up to it. The miller and his wife were pleased to see me and asked me in. They showed me how a corn-mill worked. However, I was more interested in their seven children and I promised to call in again soon.
Rita had other ideas. For some reason she disapproved of my visit to them. She had suddenly decided that I should not miss out on my education. Since there was less work to be done on the farm at this time of the year, my lessons were scheduled for the morning and Rita would be able to do the marking during our rest period after lunch. Little did she know I could hear her every comment to Ursula! Each spelling mistake had to be corrected and written out again ten times. Not funny when, one day, she counted 117 of them! It made me stay in bed a lot longer to avoid her punishment, but at least it taught me to be more accurate. How I hated the lessons from now on, as well as being prevented to play with the miller's kids, because of lack of time.
There were so many jobs for me to do, that I was not given a chance to be lonely. I loved to help with grooming the horses and feeding the animals- even the grunting pig in the other big barn, which also held the two carriages. The fallen apples in the orchard had to be gathered and prepared, by slicing and stringing up, to be dried. Every Friday the gravel around the farm had to be raked, making my arms ache! My shoes were useless for this type of life. I had to wear wooden clogs instead, for which Ursula had kindly made me a pair of soft, velvet insteps and told me to line the clogs with hay when my feet were sore or cold. That helped, when I had to make the long trek to the only available, small shop. Although the farm was self-sufficient, certain items had to be bought.
I was totally unprepared for the day the butcher arrived. The pig was dragged out of his pen onto a table near the barn. He squealed whilst hot water was being poured over him, to soften the hairs to make shaving them off easier. This, I could not bear! I fled upstairs into my bed and put my pillow on my head to drown the noise. Very much later, when I eventually ventured to go downstairs, I found the pig hanging, splayed, on a ladder in the hall. I screamed! They laughed! On the floor, at the bottom of the ladder were several bowls containing the insides, marked with the inspector's purple stamps of approval. I found the whole scene revolting and I did my utmost to avoid the hall. This side of farming was not for me. Neither was the digging up of sugar-beets with a fork in the evenings. There was still a small area to be done, before the frost arrived and the ground would become too hard.
When it was dark, Jan would turn up to help. I had never seen him before. He was a student in hiding, who lived in a hollowed-out hay-stack in the farm-yard. A man of few words and did not appear to be very happy. With clear skies and by moon light we were like shadows in a spooky story! Willy had made a special effort to arrive the day before my birthday, to be with me on the actual day. She was amazed to see how I had grown in all directions in such a relatively short time, an obvious result of a healthy life. No wonder, the ladies had complained about my clothes being too tight. Willy's present to me was a book, as well as two new dresses. One, dark blue, inserted with knitted red and white stripes, the other was a 'two made into one'. I don't know how she had found the time for it. Anyway, they fitted and I liked them. Rita was not over impressed. Ursula's opinion was kinder.
The next day Willy had to leave before I got up, in case I would be upset! This was worse and I cried for days. They had done this once before with my father. One night I had been in the wash-room, when I saw a light approaching through the half round stable window. My heart stopped, but it happened .to be my father on his bike, delivering a rush mat they said they needed. I had to go to bed soon after, and by the morning he had already left. That, I found difficult to forgive.
We were having great problems with mice, which had to be solved before it got even worse than it was already. They had entered the house, scurrying across the floors and having a feast in the pantries. As the cats were unable to cope with that number, a mouse hunt was organised. A fair amount of sheaves of corn was stored above the stables, under the rafters.
Rita and Ursula clambered up a rickety ladder to throw it all down onto the threshing-floor. They discovered that it was infested with nests. I had been given a clog in each hand and my task was to kill as many as I could. The dogs went berserk when hundreds of mice scattered all over the place and all the while I stood, petrified, with my arms raised. When finally the exhausted ladies came down, they could have gladly throttled me for not killing a single mouse!
It would soon be Christmas and the preparations were in full swing. It had been tradition that Ds. Straatsma and his wife would come to stay for those days with Rita and Ursula. The living room was already decorated and looked a picture, with a big tree in the middle and lots of branches around the fire-places. It was all very cheerful, especially with the candles, which had been bought and put away when they were still available, some years ago. We had a lovely time together and I felt quite happy. It helped that I knew them. The dinner was indeed a goose, stuffed with dried apples. Not my taste! Ds. Straatsma played the grand piano for hours on end and I thoroughly enjoyed the music. As I was not allowed, and the ladies could not play, this was the only time it was being used. Not long after the New Year, Ursula developed a brain tumour and two of the miller's children had diphtheria, so the mill had been put in quarantine. Apart from the running of the farm, Rita had to cope with nursing Ursula and revealed a warm-hearted side of herself that I had failed to detect before. Ursula, though in constant pain, was more affectionate towards me than ever. Looking back, I think that Ursula had been dominated by Rita in many respects. In the meantime, arrangements had been made for me to move to Van Reemst's big egg-farm in Barneveld. The presence of soldiers in town reminded me that it was war time, of which there had been so little evidence in Kootwijkerbroek.
This farm was huge and possibly the biggest in the area. I was fascinated by the incubator with the many trays, each filled with hundreds of eggs, and sometimes I was lucky enough to witness the cracking of a shell. The chicks were then sold off, but how did he get the eggs? How come, there were none in the shops? He also kept pigs, lots of them! It did not take long to find me near their pens. I would far rather be doing something on the farm, than facing the two teenage daughters who totally ignored me. The farm-hands were more than willing to teach me how to help a sow, when she was about to drop her litter of piglets. They did their best to keep me busy.
When an alarm went off, many of the farm-hands disappeared into thin air. This happened again one afternoon, but this time German soldiers were wandering in. They poked their bayonets into the (hollowed-out) hay-stacks, where I knew some of the farm-hands were hiding. The soldiers left, satisfied. I didn't dare look up, in case they had noticed how scared I was!
The last unfortunate incident had been spreading liquid stable- manure onto the fields. A horse pulled a square box filled to the brim, when a wheel found a hole. I lost my balance, and got a ducking! The water from of the pump outside was freezing cold. I stank for days after! This address was not the right place for me, after all, and also far too expensive. When the train stopped in Kampen, uncle Ab was at the station and greeted me with a big smile. Suddenly I realised how I had missed being hugged!
It was almost like living at home again and be able to enjoy all the things young girls like to do. It was a real privilege, when aunt Kitty fetched me her two precious dolls with a box of clothes for them. They were beauties, with real, long hair and eyes that could close. Henny, who lived a few doors away; adored dolls and we spent many happy hours playing together. Her father had a bakery and, needless to say, I went often to her house, tempted by the wafting smell of baking. Riki, also my age, was the girl next door. Her mother was a widow and made the hats she sold in her shop. We were allowed to make our own creations from the scraps. The three of us had hilarious times together. What a marked contrast between this and delivering a sow! Margreet, my cousin, was a lovely one-year-old and I found it great fun to help my aunt with taking care of her, especially at bath time. She smiled readily.
Kampen was the old town near the mouth of the Yssel that had belonged to the medieval Hanseatic League, a pact which promoted European trade. Uncle Ab often tried to find time to take me on walks along the river and, like my father, he always pointed out something of interest, whether it was shoeing horses or, on this particular day, taking me up the church tower. Every day, at noon, a tune was being played on the carillion. It was surprising that the bells were still there. The chimer showed me that it was similar to playing a piano, except that you had to hit the keys with a fist. He encouraged me to try and indicated the keys I should press. I was thrilled to hear my notes resounding across the town!
Uncle Ab was always singing and you couldn't help but joining in. He had a beautiful tenor voice. I heard him singing duets with a contralto, who had been his teacher and friend for many years. I could have listened for hours-. Since nobody could possibly predict how long the war was going to last, I could not remain here for however long that might be. We were all upset when I left and I was given the promise that I would be more than welcome to return, after the two months' visit of aunt Kitty's mother.
Where next? For a few days to our rented room in Amsterdam! My mother and Hans were staying here for a while with my father. This was like a dream come true! We had riot seen each other, since we had left our home in The Hague, many months ago. No words could describe my happiness! Hans had grown a bit and was chatting all day long. He had a sense of humour and could burst out laughing over little things. My parents seemed happier too. They avoided to travel together, so when my father had to go Heilo to see Opa, I begged him if I could come along. In a way I'd wished, I hadn’t.
Opa and Trijn, just released from being interrogated again, were very upset, because Frits had been taken away by the Gestapo. He had been in the garden when they came to pick him up, in broad daylight. Though I had not been able to follow much of their conversation, I gathered that it was a serious matter. My father was very quiet during the journey back to Amsterdam.
Years later we were to hear more about the details. Willy had cycled up to Heilo to warn Opa about a rumour that an eye was being kept on his house and to suggest taking Frits to the nearby cloister. It could not have been easy, especially for Trijn, a one-time matron, or for a man like Opa, to follow advice from a self-assured girl of nineteen, but they agreed to send him there the following day, unaware of how close the enemy was. Although his whereabouts were known (Westerbork), efforts to rescue him failed. His final destination was Auschwitz; a four-year old and all alone.... Who betrayed him has never been found out.
The reality of war had, once again, left its indelible mark on many people.
ZEIST
Once again, I was put on the carrier of Willy's bike to yet another destination. was going to meet a surprise, she said, as long as I didn't ask any questions.
To make the ride more comfortable, I had a little cushion to sit on and I could put my feet on the foot-props. Willy's back provided me with some shelter, but also restricted my front-view. With my hands firmly tucked into her waistband, my arms followed her swaying body pushing hard against the wind. Of course, we had stopped a few times on the way, but I was very glad when this long journey of about sixty km, from Amsterdam to De Bilt had come to an end. She put her bike against a high wall and opened a gate which led into the garden of a white-washed house. I was sure she had been here before! What a surprise! Mrs. Arks, the mother, came to meet us followed by her two sons and Wim!! Wim had heard about my predicament and through contacts with local friends, he knew about a children's home in Zeist that might be just the place for me. He had asked them to make the arrangements. It was only about ten km away and the knowledge that he, Wim, was close by would certainly help me to settle. lt was obvious that Willy and Wim, as well as my father, had been in regular contact with each other. Zeist was a residential town on the edge of an extensive wooded part of Holland. The Slotlaan, the main avenue, finished at the gates of 'Het Slot', a historic castle, which was occupied by the Germans and guarded by armed sentries. On either side of the Slotlaan, just before getting to the castle-grounds, were two big squares. One was called Sister-square, where the church, the school and the homes were for the retired missionaries. The Kinderheim was opposite this, on Brother-square. Both were looked after by the Hernhutters'community. Zeist was the centre of the Hernhutters, a Christian sect, which had its origin in Bohemia and was, above all, noted for their missionary work, mainly in Africa.
Willy and I were welcomed in the main room of this multi-storey house, where a few small children were playing on the floor. Surely, these were not all of them? Before Willy had to leave, Sister Han (Stan) and sister Tine (Stine) gave us a guided tour through the house. Stan, grey-haired and slim, seemed the friendlier of the two and was in charge. Stine was the complete opposite, with dark, short, hair, well-built and robust. She took us first to the kitchen and the dining-room in the basement, which was no surprise as she was the cook, at the same time explaining the high cleaning standards she demanded from the group of children who were delegated to this job. "You will find out soon enough, how we work here together as a team", Stan added. Hearing the noise from the rest of the children who had just come home, we went upstairs to meet them. This was the moment when Willy decided that it was time for her to leave. Besides, Wim had asked her to call in and see him again on her way back to Amsterdam. After all, his knowledge about the home had been 'hearsay' from other people, therefore he insisted on getting a first-hand opinion from Willy.
I kept on waving, even after she had disappeared out of sight. I had never felt so lonely and deserted. Maybe the idea of a children's home created a sense of vulnerability in me? One of the reasons for the sporadic contacts with the family had been due to the distances between us. At least Wim was living nearby and, although he was in hiding and restricted in his movements, he could see the same clouds in the sky as I did, which was a comforting thought whenever I was upset.
How I yearned for the war to end! Stan took me by the hand and opened the door of the large living-room. The noise changed abruptly into a deadly hush. Many pairs of eyes were looking at me in surprise - apparently new-comers were rare! After Stan had introduced me, everybody started to talk at once and bombarded me with questions. Firstly, they were interested, (or worried) which bed I would sleep in. Asking about families was discouraged, which pleased me. They were mostly children whose parents were missionaries abroad and contacts were broken off, because of the war.
There were only four young boys and twelve girls of various ages, of whom Elly, the eldest at seventeen, had the same authority as the assistants, Mia, Dini and Nell. I felt bewildered and had not much to say. In fact, we were weighing each other up, but when they noticed how horrified I looked when they mentioned school, I met with their sympathy! School! Nobody had even hinted at that possibility! Fortunately it was holiday time, thus I could concentrate on the house-rules first. I shared a dormitory with four, rather nice, girls, who showed me how I had to fold my clothes at bedtime. I was exhausted and could easily have stayed in bed, when the gong woke us at 7 a.m. the following morning. The order of the day went according to a strict, almost military, regime. We had to strip to the waist and wash the top-half with cold water and then queue up to be checked that you were wet all over, before you were allowed to dry yourself. After you had made your bed, making sure no wrinkles were showing, you were sent down stairs. One by one we entered the dining room and when all of us were present, we could start our breakfast, a slice of bread with a glass of milk. Everybody was given a daily task. Those in charge of the basement stayed behind, while the rest of us spread out to different parts of the house carrying brooms, buckets and dusters.
I had to help with cleaning the basins and the toilets, the least fancied job of all! The rota changed every two weeks. A close eye was being kept on the one who excelled and, as a result, was then rewarded with privileged jobs, one of which was the honour to clean the rooms of the staff. In the course of time, I actually managed the top job: making Stan's bed! Holiday or not, everything had to be finished by 8.45 to fit in with school hours.
On Sundays we all went to the church on Sister Square, a white building with a very plain white interior, not even stained-glass windows for me to look at.
All the women sat together, wearing a lace cap (Haube) tied under the chin with a ribbon. Ours being pink, like all the un-married, blue for the married and white was worn by the widows. The service was held entirely in German of which I didn't understand a word. I always loved the singing, but only a few tunes were familiar to me and, because I could not read German, I was bored and glad to be outside again. A group of local children were passing by and stopped to watch us on our way home, intrigued, because to them we seemed to be a weird lot. They never missed an opportunity to quiz us about what went on in the home. Whenever we played outside, you could be sure some of them would try and join in. We were warned, no threatened, not to divulge anything, not even a simple question about what we ate for dinner. On the whole they were not too bad, except that the boys could be very cruel
to the frogs they found in great number on the square. One of the reasons we didn't want much to do with them.
I had been fully accepted by our girls, who were excellent at inventing games, which helped when we were supposed to play outside between 2 and 4 in the afternoons, whatever the weather. Nell was always busy with washing and ironing, but Mia and Dini took us on regular walks to the woods instead, where we were able to roam freely amongst the trees, where we could shout as loudly as we wanted and run about like wild animals. Mia always tolerated our behaviour with a smile. She gladly shared her extensive knowledge of edible mushrooms with us, which we picked and then enjoyed them at meal- time. We also collected plenty of dry sticks to keep the cooker in the kitchen going.
During the evenings we would assemble in the living room, for reading, games or needle-work, like mending. No noise, of course, and early to bed!
I had a cautious respect for Stan, but I was afraid of Stine, who looked fierce and easily lost her temper. She had a cast in her eye and you never knew, if it was you she was looking at. One day, during breakfast, Henk, one of the small boys she often picked on, irritated her for some reason. She grabbed the biscuit tin and kept on hitting him on his-head with it. Nobody moved a muscle, not even Stan. We were stunned. To relieve the tension, we were taken up into the loft to choose clothes for the new season. Excitedly, we rummaged through the enormous trunks filled with dresses of all sizes, hoping the chosen one would fit. I managed to claim the dress I liked, particularly for the half-round, green apron that went with it. All the clothes had been donated by charities and few dresses were the same. It was less difficult for the boys to make a choice, because they wore mostly sailor-suits and there were plenty available. Happily clutching our new outfits, we lined up to go down the narrow ladder. The attic was out of bounds, except for occasions like these. I had a good look around and was not only amazed at the size of it, but above all impressed with the vast quantity of stored food. Besides sacks of potatoes, apples and lentils, I saw sugar, jams and honey. At least we would not have to starve! Funnily enough, the food was never mentioned. Neither was the war. By now it was the beginning of June 1944. Although I could not put my finger on it, I noticed that something was afoot. Even the people seemed different.
Recently, the activities of the Germans had increased and huge convoys were often on the move. There were also far more Spitfires about than ever before. One day, a number of trucks with armed soldiers passed us on our walk, being pursued by two Spitfires. They flew so low that we could see the pilot's face. The Germans abandoned their vehicles in a frantic hurry and jumped into the ditch, close to the bank. They stood all in a line, up to their necks in water, with just their helmets visible. If it had not been for the shooting, which frightened us, we would have laughed! We loved to see the Germans being scared off by the 'English Tommies'.
Nobody really knew much about the occupants of the castle, except that they were Germans. Who lived there and why? Was there more to it than that? It came as no surprise that the castle had been made a target. When the siren went, we all fled into the basement. The home shook and the flashes were blinding. Some of our windows upstairs were shattered and left the floors covered in glass. After the 'all clear' we had to wait until everything had been cleaned up before we could go back to bed, still shivering with a mixture of fear and being cold. The castle had received little damage and was quickly restored. Unfortunately, it was not possible for us to obtain glass for our windows!
AMSTERDAM '44/'45
The winter had made its entree with a vengeance and much earlier than usual. When I woke up I noticed the inside of the windows covered with patterns of pretty frost-flowers, which meant that it was bitterly cold outside. Willy had come to Vreeland to take me to Amsterdam. We would definitely have travelled by train, if they had still been running. Neither Willy nor I was looking forward to a journey by bike in this weather and hopefully this would be my last long jaunt on the back of one. The Mulders were quite concerned. After hugs all around, they double-checked that I was well covered up with even my head wrapped in a scarf, leaving just a slit for my eyes. My hands and feet felt like blocks of ice when, after several hours, we finally arrived at Willy's rented room in the Johannes Verhulststraat, where I was going to be with my mother and Hans.
Willy was cold and tired and decided to go straight home to the Uitweg, to Aunt Elisabeth's home, where she was staying at present. It was also the only safe place to keep the bike and besides, she had to be in before the curfew.
I had been here only once before on a very short visit. All I remembered was that the Joh. Verhulststraat had a long row of beautiful big trees in the middle of a wide road. I was overjoyed to be re-united with the family and I couldn't wait to run up the stone steps. Mr. and Mrs. Stoffels had already seen us and opened the front door before I had a chance to ring the bell. I dashed up the stairs to our room at the back on the second floor to surprise my mother and Hans. I was home! We had a lot to talk about, but once I had warmed up it didn't take me long to fall asleep in one of our own beds. Whatever the outside world, this room with its familiar furniture was our sanctuary! The Stoffels, who owned this old multi-storey house, lived on the first floor. All the other rooms were let, including the basement. Once or twice, we passed the occupants of the front room, but we never saw the others. Our room looked out on the large back gardens of the houses around us and where, at regular intervals, a tree was being chopped down for fire-wood. Since the 9th of October, North-Holland had been the first province without electricity and a few days later the gas was disconnected too. People had to resort to emergency stoves. Ours was a majo, which looked like a large coffee tin with a small opening to draw the draught and it would only burn very small pieces of dry wood. It was placed on the original stove for safety. My mother never got the hang of it and would rather leave it to my father. It was quite an art. It needed continual blowing into the vent to keep it alight. However, since the rations had been reduced drastically and the food became so scarce, there was little use for the majo, except for boiling water.
A few weeks later I was well enough to join the family in Amsterdam. Except for Wim, we all lived near to each other again.
It was not until after the war when we heard about the raid on the cottage in de Silt, where Wim lived. It had been surrounded by the SS., but Wim was lucky to have been able to escape through the toilet window into a corn-field behind the house. Among the arrested were his friends, the boys Arks. So far, Holland had endured the occupation for well over four years. After the Battle of Britain, the Germans had focussed their attention on Eastern Europe, having given up on England for the time being. When and where were they going to stop? That was the question.
The Germans controlled the news-papers and their successes made big head lines and were also blurted out on the radio. To them it was a morale-booster; to the Dutch it was worrying. The Resistance had issued _and circulated two illegal news papers, Trouw and Parool, in order to report a more honest and realistic version of events. Printing and even delivering the papers was a dangerous undertaking. Also the BBC news was indispensable and was received secretly by a hidden and often cleverly-concealed radio. Both, the papers and the BBC, were vital contributions to reassure the nation and give them hope. The German news never reported their defeats and certainly said nothing about the successes of the Allies who, we hoped, were on their way to help us.
After North-Africa and southern Europe, came Normandy on June 6th.'44. Although still a long way away, the liberation of Western Europe had begun. First Paris, followed by Brussels and finally, by September 3rd, the southern part of Holland was free. The Germans seemed defeated and fled north. There was such a quick succession of events that the news was scanty and · even the BBC got confused. In Rotterdam it was mentioned that Breda had been liberated and the people in The Hague were waiting for the arrival of the British troops. The whole of the population was deliriously happy. Even the Dutch flag appeared in places, which was strictly forbidden. The Germans and NSB members loaded their (stolen) cars and bikes and fled towards Germany. Alas, the rumours turned out to be false! Therefore, September 5th became known as Dolle Dinsdag! (Mad Tuesday)
There were obstacles. Crossing the bridges over the river Rhine proved impossible. The advance had to be halted, giving the Germans the opportunity to tighten their grip on the north of Holland. At last, I understood the reason why the evacuees had come to Zeist! The trains stopped running on September 15th. The Dutch Government in London had advised the railway-personnel to strike and to go into hiding, but not before putting the trains out of action first.
In retaliation, the Germans stopped all alternative food-transport. Consequently, the west of Holland, north of the big rivers, was facing the last winter of the war under the worst circumstances imaginable! We braced ourselves for this period in Amsterdam.
Usually we could find one who pitied us and donated about half a litre. Not much, but as long as we collected enough for the baby! We always tried several farms for more milk for ourselves as well, often without much luck. Whilst on one of my rounds, it was snowing hard with that horrible pack-snow, which quickly stuck to our clogs. When we hobbled past the castle, the guard on duty offered to remove the snow with his bayonet and even gave us a biscuit! If only we had not mentioned it to anybody when we got home, we would not have had that spanking!
How we all loathed having to play outside every day, even in cold weather. If only there had been some snow, we could have built snow-men; otherwise there was little else for us to do. Hans, in particular, suffered in his thin summer-coat. He also complained about his feet hurting and, for that reason, he could only wear Wellingtons and thin socks. We sympathised with him. Most of us suffered with painful chilblains, which were treated by putting our toes into a chamber-pot with (our own) freshly-produced urine! One day, when Hans could not possibly face being outside again, he decided to hide. He thought he'd be better off in the loo instead.
He almost got away with it, if it had not been for one of the boys who told on him. Hans had to pay dearly for this! It must have been agony for him to be sent out immediately, on his own, and walk around the square for an hour. He looked so lost! How I hated the kids that were laughing at him from behind the window. It was dark when he came back in and yet again I was prevented to console him.
It was towards the end of 1944 when my mother paid us a surprise visit, still wearing her terracotta dress! She had cycled all the way from Amsterdam on her bike without the tyres, one way of preventing the Germans to confiscate it. The first thing Hans did was to show my mother his feet. She was horrified. The staff tried to assure her that 'all will be better by the time spring is here'. My mother was being put up for the night in the attic, but her mind was already made up, whatever the consequences. The staff was furious when, the next morning, she told them that she was taking Hans away with her. They informed her that, in that case, I must leave too. My life was made far from easy during the weeks I had to wait for Willy to collect me. Meantime, a solution had to be found at short notice for Hans and myself. On their way back to Amsterdam, my mother stopped in the Bilt to call on Wim who, after seeing Hans' feet, asked Mrs. Arks to arrange an appointment with the doctor. He diagnosed frost-bite and advised that, on no account, was Hans to walk on them and to seek medical advice as soon as they got home. I was counting the days for Willy to arrive to take me to wherever. Anywhere would be better than here! I was desperately unhappy since Hans had left.
Half-way, between Zeist and Amsterdam, was Vreeland. The initial address my father had stayed at was always available to be used as an occasional hide-out for either Willy or my parents. Now it was my turn to be there. Mr. and Mrs. Mulder made me feel at home straight away. I was pleased with the warm house and to see their large, well-stocked kitchen-garden. However, I was under-nourished to such an extent, that I was only allowed to eat a little and often, a table-spoonful to start with. Gradually the portions were increased to normal amounts. The house was next door to a farm and I soon got to know the farmer's wife, who was well-built and cheerful. I enjoyed feeding the animals for her. She was determined to play her part in my recovery and suggested that I should come every morning to be fattened up with proper cream, as long as I didn't tell the Mulders! Anyway, it had no ill-effects and I have loved cream ever since...
We were getting worried about the reduction of our food-rations. The next few weeks would be the ideal time for harvesting the produce a forest can provide. To supplement our rations we made daily treks, carrying an array of containers, as well as pulling a cart to transport the wood. The youngest ones loved having a ride in it on the way there; otherwise the journey would surely have been too tiring for them.
It proved to be a good year for mushrooms and we collected baskets full of different kinds, thanks to Mia. Berries were plentiful and were squeezed and then sieved. If sugar had been available the juice would have tasted nicer. We spread the pulp on our dry slice of grey bread, which made a change from the usual tomato ketchup.
One day, when the weather was unsuitable for the woods, we had to make do with playing on the square. We had discovered an orchard covered with fallen apples and we stuffed, as many as we could, under. our clothes and hid them when we got home. Would you believe it! The owner came to complain about his loss and the police was called in. If it were ever to happen again, we would go to prison!
For punishment I lost my privileged job of making Stan's bed and got transferred to cleaning the dining-room on my own for at least a month. Placed on top of a small stool, in a recess of one of the walls, was the dog's feeding-bowl. Later on, when I really started to feel very hungry, I could not resist the temptation. His food was much better than ours. I licked some of it like a dog, so it could not be detected. Where did the potatoes and the beans come from? Or could it have been the leftovers from a staff's dinner, after we had gone to bed? Nobody seemed to pay much attention to the dog's food and I had learned to keep my mouth shut. When we had gone up into the attic again for warmer clothes, it was noticed that a lot of the stored food had disappeared and somebody commented on it. The 'hungry' evacuees were blamed.... The branches were arched by the weight of the heavy crop of elderberries and feeling hungry, we promptly took the opportunity to eat them there and then.
We never found out, if it had been the berries, or indeed an outbreak of the widespread dysentery why we were so ill and many of us, including Hans, had ended up in the sick-room. The doctor prescribed Norit, a dry, black powder, three times a day a tablespoon, washed down with water. It made us choke! How on earth could they have been so cruel to Hans, who had accidentally soiled his bed, to make him wash his sheets in the sink with that icy-cold water! I tried to help him, which was refused and I was sent back to bed. They told me that he had to be taught a lesson! The winter had arrived and with no central heating in those days, you often felt inside as cold as being outside, especially upstairs with make-do windows. We all felt sorry for the latest arrival, a small baby that cried all day long. This presented a big problem. She needed milk and there wasn't any! We had all gathered in the living room to see who could come up with an idea how to obtain milk. We loved being involved. The solution was quite simple really and by asking us, they could bank on our full cooperation. It was pointed out that it was not just a project for a week or so, but maybe for months of going daily to the nearby farms.
We all agreed and for everybody older than 11; a rota was drawn up for groups of two. That worked out at about once a week. This meant getting up at 5 a.m. to arrive at the farms at milking-time. Though some of the farmers refused.
Back home again from our frequent walks to the woods, I was told to report to the office to see Stan. This sounded so formal, that everybody wondered what it could be about. Usually messages were given in passing. To be called to the office was only for serious matters. With a heavy heart I knocked on the door. Stan was sitting behind her desk and told me to take a seat. She informed me that my father was coming to visit me, together with my mother and Hans! I could not believe my ears. Stan had a lot more to add, but I did not listen to the rest. All I heard was that Hans was coming to stay here, with me. Then she mentioned something about responsibility and though he was my little brother, I should not pamper him, etc. l could not care less about that. I was too delighted! Hans had great difficulty in accepting his and my parents' new surname of Swaagman. Therefore, it was considered the best option for all concerned that Hans should join me in this relatively safe environment.
My mother and Hans had never been apart for longer than a day. Now she had to leave him behind and nobody could predict for how long. On their homeward journey my father had planned a big surprise for my mother. Ever since Wim had left, in 1942, she assumed that he was still in Germany. I can't begin to imagine, how
my mother must have felt when she finally met up with Wim again, that he was alive, that she could touch him! Wim, also very happy, smiled at my father while hugging my mother. At last, she was let into the secret of his whereabouts. It did not lessen her anxiety, but this was better than Germany. Hans was not quite five years old. He looked so helpless after our parents had left. The first few days I was allowed to be protective towards him, but all too soon I was given silly tasks to do, in order to make Hans less dependent on me and force him to find his own way.
Regular testing for 'immediate obedience' was one of the priorities. At the most inconvenient times an order would be given and you'd better not hesitate! It was supposed to be for our own safety - it was war after all. Poor Hans. He was in trouble! He would always do as he was told, but, alas, not quickly enough to their liking. Whenever I tried to defend him, I got a severe telling-off. That made me very unhappy. AU in all Hans and I were able to visit Wim twice during our stay in Zeist and since we had so much fun with him, it never entered our heads to talk about the home.
September 1944. We were not informed about what was happening in the outside world, we could but observe. We noticed the night flying of heavy bombers high overhead. We heard that the trains had stopped running altogether and that evacuees were being put up regularly for the night in the attic, but not where they came from or were heading for.
The school had already been reduced to only two days a week for quite some time and since the bombardment also caused damage to the school-building and the summer holidays were not far off, the decision was taken to close. Anyway, I don't think the few weeks I attended the lessons added much to my education. We were being taught by the old missionaries in small classes of about five or six pupils, hence no chance to step out of line. Maybe that is the reason why the only thing I remember is a prank. The teacher had mentioned her fear of frogs; therefore, one of the girls released one in the class-room to try her out. The teacher screamed and jumped onto a chair. The girl realized her stupidity and although she was sorry, she got expelled. Soon afterwards we were all at home, because our school was being closed for good!
The room in the Johannes Verhulststraat was mainly used by Willy or my parents for an occasional break. As a rule, they all lived together at Aunt Elisabeth's and as from now, I was going to stay there as well. It was a long way, much too far for Hans, whose feet had not quite healed up yet, so my father decided to collect him. With each trip you always ran the risk that your bike might be confiscated, especially in the city, but Hans' feet could give him a valid excuse, in case he was being stopped. Besides, a bike without tyres was less in demand.
Not so long ago, the city-tram would have taken us as far as Sloterdijk, a small village on the fringe of Amsterdam-West, but since the electricity cut and people making off with the sleepers for fuel, no more trams meant that my mother and I had to go on foot. Fortunately we were good walkers. We had so much to talk about on the way that I was not aware of either distance or time. My mother told me that Annamie was back - I didn't know she had been away! My aunt thought, her daughter would get better fed if she went to stay with an uncle in Bergen, but she was home-sick and had returned a week later. Good, otherwise I would have been without her company. We were about the same age and we got on very well together. I heard about their fun on St. Nicholas' Eve, albeit without the usual goodies. Nothing could possibly have broken the tradition of writing poems, even without any presents. However, there was a surprise! A bunch of carrots each! A pity, I had missed all this, as I was still in Vreeland.
Before I realized, we had reached Sloterdijk and the end of the built-up area. My heart sank!! Ahead of us was an enormous expanse of sky, right down to the horizon, covering a never-ending, flat landscape of empty fields and a few isolated farms! How much further? Where was the house? We kept following the main road alongside the Haarlemmer Trekvaart, the oldest canal in Holland, until we came to a windmill where we turned left into a narrow road, appropriately called, the Uitweg (the Road to Nowhere).
At last we could see the house, about another half a mile away. Before the schools closed down, my cousins had to walk this distance every day in all weathers. I could not believe that it took them only half an hour.
It was the only house in the Uitweg, standing all by itself. The nearest neighbour was a farm a bit up the road. We crossed the hump-bridge, past the large willow-tree by the side of it, towards the front door. It was a big place. It had to be, because we were now with thirteen! Five of us, five of Aunt Elisabeth's and three more 'lodgers'. I knew about John, Fred's brother, age-wise between Hans and Wim, my other cousin. On the way my mother had told me about tante Hans, who apparently was an excellent cook and old Opa Johannes. And he was old! When I met him, he was fast asleep in a chair with a hanky over his thin face and a cap on his head. He was annoyed when we poked fun at him, but we resented having to be quiet for so long. I didn't know at the time that they were Jews in hiding.
There had been no point in objecting when a decree was issued to billet twelve German soldiers in the attic. After a few weeks, the men convinced their commander that the house was too over-crowded and got him to agree that the soldiers could move into the shed instead, provided they had free access to the bathroom. This was a much better arrangement under the circumstances! The family's big advantage was a 50 cm. metal pipe, the 'gas-bell', suspended in the willow tree. This indicated the presence of Germans and therefore, when a raid took place, this house was left alone. We were safe in the lion's den!
Just as well I was warned that I might suddenly bump into a soldier on the stairs or in the kitchen. The first time it happened I felt ill at ease; they carried a gun everywhere, even to the bathroom! We didn't really meet them very often.
All day and every night the continuous drone of heavy bombers on their way to Germany was a reminder of war-time. During the day we saw them coming over in large formations. (Americans by day and British by "night) Across this part of Holland they tried to fly high enough not to get within the reach of anti-aircraft guns. If a plane had been damaged during their mission and was trying to return to Britain, it wa-s an easier target fo be shot down, even using rifles! In case one crashed, Germans and Resistance alike would be on the look-out for a baled-out pilot. It was essential to get rid of his parachute first, so he stood a better chance to be rescued. At night the sky was lit up by search-beams. When an aircraft was pin-pointed inside two or more crossing beams, a strong battery came into action, but they were still flying fairly high. We had a good view from the attic-window! It was as if they played the game: Catch me, if you can!
Although without heat, we lived in a nice, big house and had plenty to do. Before all else, each day somebody had to go to the farm across the road and buy a litre of milk. I didn't like it when it was my turn, because of the rats. I was petrified of them. They scattered in all directions as soon as I opened the back door. Whenever I had to cross the bridge towards the house, I would first pick up a stone and throw it on the path along the side of the house, to make sure they had gone. I wondered if they lived in the ditches or in the shed?!
My cousins had their daily music practice. Annamie played the violin and Sep the piano, like my aunt, whose ambition it was to form a trio when, in a year's time, Wirn should be old enough to take up the cello. The teacher, who came once a week, was difficult to please and the lessons invariable ended in tears. I felt sorry for them. It was lovely when they played pieces together since we all liked hearing the sound of music.
Uncle Arie, who was in the merchant navy, liked to tinker with the radio, constantly trying to improve the reception of the receiver, which was hidden behind a switch in their bedroom. He had devised a method to supply electricity with a bicycle dynarno. When it was time for a BBC broadcast we took it in turns to pedal the (upside-down) bike, whilst the others were on the look-out to give a signal in case a German needed the bathroom.
The banister got polished so often, it could function as a mirror!
We all lived in harmony together, trying hard to avoid misunderstandings. My uncle could be very grumpy at times. By a stroke of luck, he happened to be on leave when the war broke out. He missed being at sea on his ship, but most of all he missed his tobacco. He even tried smoking dried oak-leaves! It cheered him up no end, when he and my father went scouring the neighbourhood for pieces of wood for the cooker. They enjoyed thinking up useful projects together. The low-lying garden was most unsuitable for growing vegetables, even if seeds had been available. It was quite boggy; hence the idea of peat-cutting was worth a try! It might have worked, if they had found a way of drying out the blocks, which was difficult in the middle of winter! Another time they were planning how to build a sort of kiln in the garden for baking bread, but first someone had to go out and try to get hold of some grain. The manual coffee-mill had proved to be an ideal item for grinding.
The food situation had gone from bad to worse. Most people looked gaunt and many started to die of hunger. We were not the only ones calling on farmers. They received an ever-increasing number of people asking for food and some of the farmers got fed up. Most wanted a lot of money, while others preferred goods, like linen or jewellery. You do anything when you are hungry!
So now and then Willy and Aunt Elisabeth went together and it could take them all day to cycle from one farm to the next. Each time they had to go further and further a field. They were only too happy to return with a small amount of potatoes and a little bag of grain. When my aunt started to feel unwell, uncle Arie helped out. My mother felt it as her duty to do her share and travelled as far as the farms across the big rivers. After all, they were not occupied anymore, so finding food might be a bit easier. Passing the German guards on the bridge presented no problems, they knew she would return. She managed to fill her bike's carrier-bags, but on her way back was searched by the guards and all her arduously gathered food got confiscated.
When my mother arrived home, empty-handed, she cried. Feeding a large family like ours was no easy task! Our piano in the Verhulststraat was sold to the farmer opposite. He was so pleased, that he made sure we were a little better off for milk and occasionally we got a few eggs. The milk for the soldiers was delivered every day and put on the work-top in the kitchen, a jug for each of them. It was as tempting for us as it was for the Prussian, minor aristocrat, Freiherr Von Sietzowitz. He jumped out of his skin when my aunt caught him spooning the cream from the others' jugs into his own. Only the day before, when he swept a path, had she told him that a broom was for sweeping not caressing a pretty girl! He grinned and didn't argue.
When it was bitterly cold, we would share our beds and stay there all day, draping a blanket around our shoulders. We played games or read a book. Willy took the opportunity to study for her short-hand exams. The adults would take turns to get up and make us all something to eat. The sweet and sickly smell of sugar-beets would
waft through to the upstairs.
After the horrors of Kristal! Nacht in 1938, tante Hans had fled from Nazi Germany and taken refuge with one of her relatives in Amsterdam, where she should be safe, or so she thought. When the persecution of Jews also started to take place in, meanwhile occupied, Holland, her relatives had to go into hiding and thus tante Hans ended up at aunt Elisabeth's as one of the family. We all loved this motherly, chubby lady in her 50's, who spoke Dutch with a strong German accent. She joined in with everything, but took charge of the cooking. It was remarkable what she was able to concoct with so very few provisions. Food was everybody's main topic of conversation when meeting with friends or neighbours, always happy to suggest some different ways of preparing anything from tulip-bulbs to stinging nettles. Instead of potatoes we had sugar-beets and however difficult it was to vary, either diced or mashed, they were still sugar-beets, which made poor Hans cry at every meal-time. Nobody liked to eat cattle fodder by choice, except when starving-hungry!
In the mornings everybody had to fulfil a task in Jl)e house, necessary or not. I could not see the point to polish furniture again when it had already been done the previous day, but the main purpose was to keep us busy and warm. Tante Hans
was about to hang the washing on the line, when this arrogant, young German officer - -
showed up. Only a few weeks ago he had scared everyone when he boasted that he was an expert in rounding up Jews and people in hiding. While she was pegging out the sanitary towels, he tried to be funny by asking her what they were. 'You mean, the caps for the cookery-school?' she retorted, sharply. With this, he had overstepped the mark and broken the billet's code of conduct. Being indiscreet was not tolerated and after lodging a complaint, he got posted elsewhere. We (and the soldiers) gave a sigh of relief to be rid of him at last. The rest of the others were less convinced of winning the war and behaved more amiably. They liked to talk about their families 'bei uns zu Hause' and Bauer spoke mostly of his concern about his farm's future in Bavaria, since his two sons were fighting with the army. I could not understand all they said, but when he was told that both had been killed, he cried bitterly. He threw his gun away and screamed, cursing Hitler for causing nothing but death and destruction. That needed no translation!
As daytime offered our best available light, the afternoons were the ideal opportunity for reading. It did not take tong before many were absorbed in a book and downstairs felt silent. The boys often went upstairs to play, Old Opa Johannes had his face under his hanky, as usual, and before anything else, my aunt would nod off for her regular (exactly!) twenty minutes. On one of the tables was a jigsaw puzzle, at hand all the time and whoever fancied to add a bit, could assist tante Hans, who loved to do puzzles. So did I! Just before dusk, Aunt Elisabeth would play a few piano-duets with Sep, or she played well-known songs so we could join in. Uncle Arie was good at telling, increasingly better, stories about far-away lands and his sea faring life. Fascinating! but really true?? We spent the evenings playing games by the dim light of improvised oil-lamps, a couple of water-filled jam-jars, with a wick on a layer of oil - Monopoly was the best. However, my father and Bep often plotted together to rob the bank and it was difficult to catch them out, because every game they tried a different system. It was not always as funny as it was meant to be!
Once in a while, weather permitted, we walked to the centre of Amsterdam where it was now very quiet, no more screeching of trams, fairly empty streets and the German vehicles being the only traffic. My father and my aunt knew a lot of the history and they guided us along with interesting stories about buildings and famous people, which also appealed to us younger ones. When my father noticed we were flagging a little, he would say, "One more, just around that corner." Somehow, he managed to take a route that led us on the way home. We also got more used to walking the distance to the Verhulststraat. My mother and I were spending a couple of nights there when, by chance, we met up with Willy. We knew nothing about her, her movements or what she was up to. She merely called in on her way back to the Uitweg.
Since the end of January, the Germans had to allow the ships with grain and margarine from the Swedish Red Cross to dock in Holland, the bakeries to be supplied with electricity and the bread to be distributed among the shops in the city. With our coupons, Willy and I queued for hours for one loaf. We were in luck, but many had to go home without. I insisted that I carried it! It was pure white and tasted like cake!! The same day my mother got hold of two live eels! Unfortunately, when she tried to rinse them in the basin, they wriggled, found the plug-hole and escaped! I could not stop laughing. However hungry we might have been, eels put me off. The same, when my parents and I once had a meal with friends who served up meat, an unknown luxury. Many different animals were caught for food, but a cat was too much for me to swallow!
Aunt Elisabeth fell ill. The sores on her neck and legs, of a tubercular nature, got infected, causing open ulcers. The doctor ordered her to stay in bed and have plenty of milk and butter. From her bed in the living-room she could keep a watchful eye on what was going on around her. The farmer kindly supplied some extra milk, which she churned into butter in a small churn on her lap. There was such a shortage of everything. Soap, which did not lather and we called, air-soap. Pans were scoured with sand. Ersatz coffee, which was a warm drink, if nothing else. The water had been cut back to an hour a day. We had extra, because of the German 'guests', but who would take a bath in cold water! The sewing-machine in the attic
was in constant use. Dresses were unpicked and combined to create new ones. We were growing 1n all directions and the h1ana-me-downs were exhausted. Jumpers
were unravelled and the wool was washed and wound around a plank to stretch the thread and knitted up again. Aunt Elisabeth was kept fully occupied. Shoes were another problem. First the toes were cut off the upper part, but when your big toe started to stick out too far, your own design of wooden soles with webbing across, worked fairly well. In spite of thirteen hungry people living with fear and being deprived of so many essentials, as well as a war that did not seem to come to an end, we continued to live happily together. We learnt to be tolerant and to have a sense of humour. Since hunger had turned into starvation, a state of emergency had been declared. Something needed to be done soon! We tried our hardest to remain optimistic. It was almost April. At least the weather was improving and there were days we could go outside to play. Annamie and I would lay a purse in the middle of the road, attached to a thin thread and hide in the long grass. The moment somebody tried to pick it up, we pulled the string. It produced many laughs! We also tried out home-made nets on pond-dipping in the ditches.
-My father started to complain about stomach pains and when the colour drained from his face, we knew it really hurt and he should see a doctor. Who could be trusted enough to register with? Having a price on his head, he thought it too risky and decided to retreat to the Verhulststraat instead, where he took to his bed. I went along to help my mother. One day when she couldn't get the majo to work, my father crawled across the floor to help her. I was worried and talked to Mrs. Stoffels. She persuaded him to see her doctor, 'who is one of us'. He was kind and when he said, 'I have my own private clinic and I'll admit you now, for six weeks', we were relieved. He was in the right place and not far away from the room where we both stayed put, so we could visit him.
A feeling of restlessness hung in the air. Was something about to happen? News from London was a direct contradiction of the papers. The Germans began to doubt and most wanted to go home, others became more fanatical. Raids never ceased and one early morning our street was cordoned off by armed guards and house-to-house checks were made. We were petrified when they entered our house, banging and shouting with those horrible voices. We kept very quiet, trembling like a leaf. One young soldier just poked his head around our door and left. Afterwards we saw several people being driven off in trucks.
April 29th. Today we had all gathered in the Uitweg to witness a miracle. The Germans had been forced to allow the British to drop food-parcels on pre-arranged locations. We hoped to get a good view from the window in the attic. The planes flew over slowly and very low with their bellies open! We jumped up and down wit-h excitement and a few tears were shed. This was the first of many deliveries of Operation Manna. The strong tins withstood the impact. They were collected before being allocated fairly. The contents were delicious, especially the egg-powder and the chocolate. As a token of thanks to the pilots, people spread the Dutch flag on their flat roofs, well out of sight from Germans.
May 4th. Back in our room, we were already in bed, when Mr Stoffels knocked on the door and blurted out that the peace- treaty was going to be signed at 8 am! Everyone got up and the couple in the front room invited us to look out of their window. We heard that a great number of students had been in hiding nearby and not been outside for years. Some could not wait and ignoring the curfew, ran into the street. Sadly, two were shot by a German on patrol.
May 5th 1945. The war was over and Holland was free! Our first thoughts were with my father and at 9 o'clock my mother and I stood on the doorstep of the clinic. It was too early and they refused to let us see him.
Everywhere people were dancing, embracing strangers and singing the national anthem. On the way to the Uitweg we met trucks full with disarmed soldiers, looking glum. Now it was their turn to be driven away! With great satisfaction, the yellow, German signposts were kicked down and wrapped in orange paper to be taken home for burning. From every house the flag was flying again, a mass of red, white and blue and with orange pennants. We had dyed sheets orange and they were made into dresses to wear to the city. I was very proud of my parachute-silk dress I had acquired from somewhere. We did not want to miss any of the festivities. De Dam has always been the heart of Amsterdam where the population congregates. We stood like sardines in a tin among pale, thin, but elated people. When the Canadian tanks arrived, covered with girls and flowers, the cheers were deafening. Suddenly shots were fired from a roof, where a few Germans were still present. The tanks closed immediately and we all fled into side-streets. It was a terrifying experience! The next day we watched a British parade and the Scots played the bag-pipes. They looked wonderful. We were told they didn't wear anything underneath their kilts, so we made sure we sat on the curb....Still none the wiser! Around every soldier was a crowd, kissing them and begging cigarettes. When I offered one a piece of my chocolate as a thank you, he gave me a packet of Lucky Strike, which infuriated the adults, but pleased my uncle!
The B.S., the Forces of the Interior, were rounding up members of the NSB. Girls, who had associated with Germans, were dragged into the street, tied to a chair to get their heads shaved and painted with red-lead. Hate without mercy!
Three weeks after the liberation, my father was discharged from hospital. He immediately made contact with the housing-department of the B.S. Our house was occupied by two families, but they promised to find us another one. We were put on the waiting-list. Meantime Willy had moved to Paleis Het Loo. She was one of 200 resistance workers invited by Queen Wilhelmina, to spend some time to recuperate in her palace. Willy never talked about her activities. Once, about 50 years later, did she mention a visit to Amersfoort prison, when she was part of a group posing as Germans, to get somebody out of there! We were allocated a house that had belonged to Jews, confiscated by Germans and re-possessed by the B.S. The original owners returned a year later and expected us to move out forthwith. The
B.S. helped right away to sort it all out. Wim was back! We moved again. Opa returned to Bergen and tante Hans went to New York to her nephew. My uncle was back at sea and my aunt found a nice flat in Amsterdam. John and Fred were living with their parents again and Mr Van Oortmersen returned from the concentration camp, ill, but alive! We settled in this pleasant part of The Hague, trying to adjust to normal life. I have a Menorah to remind me of people who were not so lucky....
The Menorah
The family to whom it belonged told us to retrieve it out of their garden in the event they failed to return from Auschwitz.
POSTSCRIPT
One memory that has been suppressed all this time is now ready to be put into words and to add to my story.
On one of my many walks in Amsterdam with my father all pedestrians were stopped by
soldiers. We were near a prison. In retaliation of an assassinated German, five young men came out and were lined up and executed. We had to watch. A vicar who looked at it from his window and praying for them was killed by a stray bullet.
Page 29
I should have elaborated on the train journey to Heilo with my father. Fancy my fear when he told me: Look, when soldiers enter the train and if I get arrested, pretend you don't know me, but make sure you take that suitcase with you!
Page 29
Then there is Fritz, the 4 year old, taken by the Gestapo·. ·I should have mentioned Opa's feelings of despair, guilt and failure. How did he tell the parents!? Though devastated the parents were so grateful for their safety and the other two boys, that they planted a tree for my family, in Jerusalem near the Holocaust museum.
Page 52
When I mentioned the crowd on the Dam and the Germans opening fire, 29 people were killed. One soldier was asked why he did it? His answer was: Why didn't you cheer like this when we arrived.
Page 52
The house we were allocated that had been confiscated by the Germans (from a Jewish family) had been used as a prison. When we lived in it a man came to the door to ask if his shoes were still there. He had escaped out of the window with the help of a sheet.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Thea Colemen - my story 1940-1945
Description
An account of the resource
Describes growing up in the Netherlands before the war. Writes of the political situation in the Netherlands before the war. Mentions the invasion by the Germans and subsequently describes life under occupation. Includes photographs of Rotterdam after bombing. Describes life between 1940 and 1942, including air raid drills, rationing, school, German defences along coast. Includes b/w photograph of German coastal defence bunker and fire on a pier. Mentions persecution of Jews and taking in sons of a Jewish family. Continues with description of activities including holidays, searches and the betrayal of members of the resistance. Continues with description of life living with friends and moving again to Zeist and then Amsterdam. Mentions shortage of food towards the end of the war and moving again and gives description of her family and lack of grain for bread. Writes of food being dropped by the British and liberation and the end of the war. Includes many b/w photographs of people and places
Creator
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T E Coleman
Format
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Sixty page printed document
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BColemanTEColemanTEv1
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Netherlands--Zeist
Netherlands--Scheveningen
Netherlands--Hague
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
anti-Semitism
childhood in wartime
heirloom
Holocaust
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1505/28862/BDaviesMDaviesJRv1.2.pdf
6cad25b6bc5e0195a54b8d2881caa3a4
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Davies, Leslie and Jack
Leslie Alfred Davies
L A Davies
John Richard Davies
J R Davies
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-04-28
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Davies, LA-JR
Description
An account of the resource
49 items. Collection concerns Leslie Alfred Davies (1922-1996, 1581024 Royal Air Force) and his brother John Richard Davies ( - 1944, 1580941). Leslie served as a Lancaster navigator on of 50 Squadron completing his tour of 30 operations in March 1945. John served a Lancaster bomb aimer on 166 Squadron He was killed in action 3 August 1944. Collection consists of Leslie's crew's individual logbooks and biographies, operational histories, photographs of people, aircraft and a grave, documents and correspondence. <br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Murray Davies and catalogued by Nigel Huckins. <br /><br />Additional information on John Richard Davies is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/105795/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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John “Jack” Richard Davies
JACK – SOME THOUGHTS SO FAR (in the form of a draft account)
1). Jack died on active service with 166 Squadron of the royal air force [sic] on 3 August 1944. The enquiry is prompted by the long enduring family rumour that Jack survived the destruction of his aircraft, but was killed by a French person or persons for motives unknown.
2) Jack was a bomb aimer/front gunner in a Mk 1 Lancaster ME839, squadron recognition number AS-N. The reminding [sic] crew comprised..
Flying Officer Hubert Athelstane Lancelot Wagner (pilot)
Flying Officer William Samuel Richards (navigator, a Canadian)
Sergeant Sydney Witham (flight engineer)
Sergeant John Richard Davies (Jack) 1580941
Sergeant Henry Charles Joseph Buckler (wireless operator) 1600800
Sergeant Francis James Graham (mid-gunner) 1585636
Sergeant Lewis John Arthur (rear-gunner) 1584922
3) The pilot and flight engineer survived the loss of the aircraft, the remaining crew members losing their lives.
4) The remains of Jack, Flying Officer Richards, and Sergeants Buckler and Graham were interred in the communal Cemetery at Creil in Northern France, and those of Sergeant Arthur at Marissel French National Cemetary. [sic]
5) The crew took off from RAF Kirmington in North Lincolnshire during the afternoon of 3 August 1944 on a daylight raid on a V1 flying bomb site at Trossy St Maximin. St Maximine, [sic] as it now appears to be known, is about a mile to the south south [sic] west of Creil, which is itself some 30 miles to the north north [sic] east of Paris. The German forces had begun their flying bomb attack on southern England in June 1944.
6) The attack force comprised no less that 372 Lancasters, and 11 Mosquitoes, from a number of squadrons.
7) In the book “Bombing Hitler: One man’s war with Bomber Command” by T. I. Steel, it is stated that the anti-aircraft fire was “moderate but very accurate” ….. and Lancaster ME838 of 166 Squadron …. Was fatally hit at a position to the north of the target where it crashed”. This account of the demise of the aircraft is almost certainly in error, and is probably a case of aircraft mistaken identity.
8) Wagner, who after the war pursued a career as a doctor, described events thus..
“my bomb aimer (Jack of course) was instructing to “hold her steady skip” – it was a perfect lineup, [sic] a Lancaster on my starboard broke formation to avoid the accurate German Ack Ack (and) gained about 200 feet and eventually drifted right over us …. I told my engineer Sid to fix his parachute before going to the nose to throw out the radar jamming silver strips ….. We were loaded with seven pairs of 1000 lbs bombs. As we released our bombs I managed to glance up and counted four pairs of these sleek armour piercing bombs in front of our plane, one of the fifth set landed on our wing root tearing off the wing and both engines, another bomb hit us amidships and tore a hole through the fuselage from top to bottom. (We) went into a very fast spin and most of us were jammed in one way or another. I saw Sid in the nose but could not get myself free …. I saw the ground, trees etc and had given up all hope of getting out. Sid managed to free the hatch door and a tremendous blast of air seemed to steady the spin enough for my leg to break free, and I slithered down the stair way, bumping into Sid and shoot out of the gaping hatch.”
9) Wagner goes on to describe his descent to earth, injured and on a badly damaged parachute, and his subsequent capture. He also makes reference to his engineer evading capture.
10) Witham said in later years …
[page break]
“there were 7 to a crew and mine consisted of me, Hugh Wagg (Wagner) there were two gunners Lou and Buzz (Arthur and Graham presumably) and our navigator was a Canadian airman. I also forget the name of our bomb aimer but he was a little snooty to the rest of us. Lastly our wireless operator was Joe Butler (obviously Buckler). We were due to leave at 1:45 in the afternoon. This was unusual in itself as the Lancasters were night bombers. The raid should have been carried out by the Americans 5 group. When we got to France we manoeuvered [sic] our planes into a line to start bombing. I said to Hugh Wagg who was the pilot with me “look at this lot up here”. There where [sic] some of our our [sic] aircraft positioned above us and they should not have been there. Our bomb doors were open and the order was given to drop our bombs. The bomber above us dropped his bombs, one knocked our wing and engine off (and one hit a Lancaster flying alongside) ….. Wagg was in trouble, the Control column had jammed and we couldn’t move. Wagg was fast in and couldn’t get out so I went down to the bomb aimers compartment to open the escape hatch. A terrific wind came in and he shouted “I am free” and came running down the steps, he bailed out and I followed him to the ground ….. the other five crew members unfortunately did not make it.”
KEY POINTS AND CONCLUSIONS SO FAR
[symbol] Jack was lying prone in his bomb aimer’s position in the belly of the nose of the aircraft when it was hit by the falling bombs, they hit just as he was releasing his own bomb load
[symbol] In his prone position he was lying across the forward emergency parachute exit hatch
[symbol] The bomb aimer’s parachute stowage is immediately to the left of the escape hatch
[symbol] No reference is made to any incidental damage being sustained to the front of the aircraft during the bomb strike or at all.
[symbol] Both witnesses make reference to the blast of air when the escape hatch was opened. This provides support for the theory that at this time the bomb aimers compartment was undamaged. There is, therefore, a probability that at this time Jack was still alive.
[symbol] On the face of it Jack had the best chance of all the crew members to bail out of the doomed Lancaster.
[symbol] Neither witness makes any reference to him, and yet he could only have extracted himself from the forward position in the aircraft by bailing out, or by climbing the short steps up to the main cockpit area where the pilot and engineer were themselves located. There was no cogent reason why Jack should have gone back to the cockpit, but had he done so he would inevitably have been seen by the pilot and the engineer.
[symbol] Could he still have been in the forward position when Wagner and Witham bailed out and gone unnoticed by his two escaping crew-members? No, the space is tiny and this would be akin to not noticing someone occupying the same telephone box. Indeed his presence there would have been a major impediment to the pilot and the engineer getting out.
[page break]
[symbol] Could Jack have bailed out before the pilot and engineer and closed the hatch behind him? Had he opened the hatch there would have been a blast of air through it, but neither pilot nor engineer make reference to a blast of air until Witham himself had himself open [sic] the hatch. In any event Lancaster pilot Tim Dunlop of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight advises that upon the hatch being opened it comes away, thus Jack could not have bailed out and closed the door behind him, as it were.
[symbol] The only logical conclusion is that Jack bailed out of the aircraft after he or Witham
opened the hatch, and before Witham and Wagner themselves exited the aircraft. If Wagner
was still extricating himself from his pilots seat he would not have seen this happen, there being no line of sight between the pilot seat and the escape hatch.
[symbol] However Witham would have seen him leave the aircraft, yet makes no mention of him save in so far as he states that the other five crew members, one of whom was Jack of course, “did not make it”.
BEYOND WHAT HE SAYS AS TO EVENTS IN THE AIRCRAFT ARE THERE REASONS TO QUESTION THE RELIABILITY OF WITHAM’S ACCOUNT?
11) There are two very different versions of what befell Witham after he hit the ground. The first is to be found in an extract from the book “On the wings of war – A history of 166 Squadron” by Jim King. This account has Witham, on the end of his parachute, landing in a quarry. First he hid in a forest then began walking north east. He met a French girl, who brought her brother, and Witham was hidden overnight in a slit trench near their house. From there he was moved to a house in Chantilly where he stayed until 7 September when he contacted the Allies. He was airlifted back to the UK on the following day.
This account makes perfect sense. The Allied ground forces were advancing fast (Paris was liberated on 25 August 1944). He laid low until the front line safely rolled over him, as it were, and then he revealed himself to the Americans, and was duly repatriated. Jim Wright’s source is unknown, but is corroborated by Wagner (who presumably only learned of this following his own repatriation) who describes Witham as “being picked up by the advancing Americans.” Most of the information can only have come, ultimately, from Witham himself. I refer to it his first account.
12) The Second account is summarised thus. Witham comes to earth in a large forest to the north of Paris. He walks for four days without food, and on coming out of the forest sees a teenage girl mowing a field. He tries to make himself understood to the girl. She goes away and comes back with two men and two women, and he is taken to a house where he is given a change of clothing. The following day he has [sic] taken to Chantilly, first to one house, and then to another nearby. This is the home of Yvonne Fournier and he speaks of her fondly – “a lovely lady” …. “Yvonne looked after me very well”. He then tells how the French Resistance visited him, but does not say when, and told him he was being moved to Switzerland. However later the same day “another bloke who spoke perfect English “came to see him. Witham asks “what tribe are you from?”, to which he is told that a guide was going to take him across the Pyrenees to Spain, where he would meet a representative. He then makes what he describes as the long and arduous journey to Spain, and says that when they reached Salou (a Spanish coastal town to the south-west of Barcelona) “we got word that the war was over”.
[page break]
Thereafter he returns to Chantilly where he is picked up by “a yank” in a jeep. He asks the yank to take him to his Paris HQ. The yank telephones the airport and tells with him that he could not fly home that day because someone had sabotaged the landing lights at the airport. The yank then proceeds to take him to the Limoges and he is flown home from there.
There is some additional whimsical detail, which might be thought to add to the plausibility of the account.
13) There are problems with Witham’s second account of his adventures, beyond the fact that it is completely at variance with the first.
[symbol] He says he is taken to Yvonne Fournier’s house on 8th August. There she “looks after him very well”, suggesting a stay of more than one night. Rejecting that suggestion for the moment, the earliest date of the visit by the French Resistance was 9th August. The battle for Paris began on 19th August, and Paris was liberated on 25th. Beauvais to the north of Paris was liberated on 30th August. Chartres to the south-west of Paris was liberated on 18th August. What conceivable reason could the Resistance have on 9th August, (or later) for telling Witham that he was being moved to Switzerland, yet alone Spain, when liberation was imminent?
[symbol] Let us for the moment give him the benefit of the doubt, and accept at face value that he set off on the long and arduous journey to Spain. Perpignan, just north of the Spanish/French Mediterranean border was itself liberated on 19th August. Toulouse, to the north east of Perpignan, was liberated on 19/29th August. Between the two, Carcassonne was freed of German presence on 19th August. So the area of Southern France through which Witham would have to travel to get to Salou, where he learned the war was over (VE-Day was 8th May 1945) had been liberated only 11 days after Witham ARRIVED at Mme Fournier’s house in Chantilly. Indeed pretty well the whole of France was liberated by the end of the Summer of 1944, and yet all this goes unnoticed by Sid Witham as he tramps through France and across the Pyrenees, arriving in Salou some time after 8th May 1945.
Unnoticed also by the mysterious representative he was to link up with when he had crossed into Spain?
[symbol] What does Witham do when he learns the war is over? Does he contact the local consulate and arrange to be repatriated to England? No, he makes his way back to Chantilly, presumably on account of his fondness for Mme Fournier rather than a belief that she could help him get home. Does he stay with Mme Fournier? No, because along comes the yank in his Jeep and takes him to Paris. But he can’t fly home from Paris because someone has sabotaged the landing lights, so the yank drives him several hundred miles to the south west to Limoges and he flies home from there.
[symbol] Witham’s account of his escape is pure romance. This does not help us one iota as to what happened in the aircraft, but it does mean that we have to treat with significant caution what he says occurred in the air. We do need to ask why he should make up this tale. There appear to be three possibilities. First that these are the ramblings of a man whose memory had failed him. Second that he was a man retaining his mental capabilities, but who lied to aggrandise his role in the war – he would not be first or last to do so (but was omission of Jack from his account a deliberate omission, and if so why?). Third he had been required by higher authority to paint a false picture of events as part of a cover up of facts that were inconvenient or embarrassing to that higher authority (although had a higher authority played any part in devising the story one would have expected a story rather less susceptible to question).
[symbol] But Witham’s second account is corroborated by that of his wife Kathleen, at least as to the time when he returned home to Derbyshire. That corroboration cannot turn nonsense into
[page break]
sense, but what it can and does do is provide us with a fourth explanation as to why Witham should have concocted his second account. Attached to the second account is a photograph of Witham with Yvonne Fournier and a gentleman who may or may not be Mme Fournier’s husband. The photograph is said to have been taken in July 1944 but that is plainly wrong. Witham’s aircraft was not shot down until August 3, 1944. Was the photograph taken four days after he had tramped through a forest? The state of his uniform suggests not, but then Mme Fournier might have cleaned it for him. But he is wearing shoes, not flying boots. And would a French civilian in occupied France have been able to purchase film for a camera? And would that person then have run the risk of having to that photograph, complete with its English airman developed? And how chirpie, and well dressed, Mme Fournier and the gentleman look after four years living under the yoke of German occupation. This photograph may have been taken in July, but surely it was July 1945.
[symbol] Recall how, in the second account, Witham describes learning in northern Spain that the war was over. He then makes the long journey back from whence he came, namely Chantilly. Then he is picked up by our yank in the jeep, and after a night in Paris, and because the landing lights in Paris are sabotaged, the yank drives him to Limoges. We know this is nonsense, but a moment’s thought reveals the real reason why he should make up this story. The first account, the plausible account, has the newly-wed Witham (he and Kathleen had not so much as a single night together as husband and wife) staying in the home of Mme Fournier for a month, where the lovely lady looked after him very well. The only way to make sense of this yarn and it’s [sic] invention, is that the young airman had his head turned by Mme Fournier. He is repatriated to England on 8 September 1944 and no doubt returned to his home base at Kirmington to be debriefed. Lovesick for Mme he could not bring himself to return home to Derbyshire, but nor could he bring himself to contact his recent bride to tell her the marriage was over. So he stayed in Kirmington doing his duty, for the remainder of the war. After the war was over he went back to Chantilly to see if his passion for Mme Fournier might be rekindled. For whatever reason things did not work out, and he decided he had little option but to return to England, and to his wife in Derbyshire. But he needed a cover story to explain his absence for the previous 12 months, and hence the yarn of the long journey to Spain. The inclusion of the lightning visit to Chantilly in the yarn was to explain away the photograph, which is plainly he wished to keep, and did keep for there it is attached to his account of his adventures.
[symbol] So the second account was a cover story, but not a cover up in relation to what might have happened on the aeroplane, but a cover up as to his activities following his real repatriation in September 1944. There is no reason why a single word of Kathleen Witham’s story should be doubted. She believed her husbands quite enormous deception, and was obviously still believing it when she gave her an [sic] account of events in 2004.
[symbol] So what conclusions can be drawn from all this? It seems likely that Jack bailed out first, and that Witham saw him go. In the absence of any evidence of foul play on the ground, it seems likely that Jack lost his life in the air, either by striking the aircraft, or as a consequence of the gunfire that Wagner describes, or possibly as a consequence of bombs exploding beneath him as he descended on his parachute. Witham would have been debriefed upon his repatriation in September 1944. In the course of that debrief he would surely have been asked about the fate of the bomb aimer. We need to see Sgt Witham’s evasion report.
[page break]
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
John "Jack" Richard Davies
Description
An account of the resource
Draft comments on last operation of John Davies. Died on active service with 166 Squadron. List crew of his Lancaster (pilot and flight engineer survived) and recounts operation to V1 site at Trossy St Maximin in which and other crew John were killed. Mentions that Jack's aircraft was hit by bombs of another aircraft and comments on his chances of survival as bomb aimer. Questions reliability of witness accounts Offers several other accounts of subsequent events. Suggests Jack was killed after he bailed out.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Five page printed document
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
France
France--Creil
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-08-03
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BDaviesMDaviesJRv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Tricia Marshall
166 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
bomb aimer
bomb struck
Bombing of Trossy St Maximin (3 August 1944)
evading
final resting place
killed in action
Lancaster
Lancaster Mk 1
Mosquito
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
RAF Kirmington
Resistance
V-1
V-weapon
Window
-
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Leadbetter, John
J Leadbetter
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-21
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Leadbetter, J
Description
An account of the resource
166 items. The collection concerns John Leadbetter (1549105, 163970 Royal Air Force) and contains his log books, photographs and documents. <br /><br />There are four sub-collections:<br /><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1725">Leadbetter, John. Aerial Photographs</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1721">Leadbetter, John. Aircraft Recognition</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1723">Leadbetter, John. Canada</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1718">Leadbetter, John. Maps and Charts</a> <br /><br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Keith Henry Leadbetter and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
John Leadbetter's Evasion Photographs
Description
An account of the resource
An envelope containing three head and shoulder photographs of John. On the cover is handwritten 'To be given to French underground movement in order to facilitate escape'.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Three b/w photographs and a paper envelope
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MLeadbetterJ163970-160421-100001, MLeadbetterJ163970-160421-100002, MLeadbetterJ163970-160421-100003, MLeadbetterJ163970-160421-100004
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
escaping
evading
Resistance