by John Willis
My Love
The Squadron Leader in charge of administration, Peter Price, who would have been an Air Vice-Marshal by now if his accent had been refined, told us last night over a glass of whisky how he lost his first promotion. He had been drinking for some time in the mess bar, and spirits added a little zest to his natural wit.
Before the war he had been working in balloons when Viscount Trenchard, the man credited with being the father of the modern Royal Air Force, and a fellow senior officer, toured on an inspection with their wives. Price wanted to make an impression and give the women an exciting visit.
‘I asked the ladies if they would like to get inside the balloon. When they were in, I undid some of the sandbags to give them the sensation of the balloon rising. But I undid too many and the balloon went up. It shot up 180 feet into the air. You should have heard those women scream!
‘Trenchard remained silent. When I got the balloon down he looked at me with an icy glare and said, “What’s your name?” “Price, sir,” I replied. Then he said, “I’ll see that you will never get promotion.” ’
Although he was overlooked for promotion, Price soon recovered from the farce with the officers’ wives. He was given a job in the secret service and was sent to Germany to try to discover how many Zeppelins they were making, what their performance was, and for what purpose they were being built. So, Price was sent to pre-war Berlin to stay in a smart hotel and meet some key German contacts.
That was where Price’s interest and expertise in balloons came into play again.
‘On this trip I met this lovely bit of Austrian stuff in a hotel. She asked me to take her for a trip in a balloon. I said I hadn’t got one but she told me we could hire one, which we did. Oh what a wonderful feeling! Lovely warm evening. Blue sky fading into red and brown, the balloon floating in a gentle breeze, anywhere it pleased and this lovely Austrian girl inside. Soon she was naked. We landed miles and miles away, in Holland.’
Meanwhile, Margot Myers and her children stayed with their friends in the countryside near Moulins for three months. Within a few days the grocer and his trusty wife had smuggled clothes across the demarcation line in a box marked ‘soap’. Fortunately, they were very isolated and Margot cycled everywhere. She was cautious about everyone and everything. Her friends were Pétainists themselves, but they had known Margot’s family a long time and were completely trustworthy. Their children were sweet and soon adopted Robert and Anne as their own playmates. Although the free zone was less frightening than her life across the border in the occupied zone, there was a big question about whether the Germans would flood south to annexe the southern half of France.
In February 1941, Margot finally managed to get a message out to England, to the home of Geoff’s mother in Oxfordshire. His friend John passed the news to Geoff at Coltishall. The message revealed that Margot and their two children had escaped safely across the border into the unoccupied zone, and that her intention was to try and travel to England via Lisbon.
March 15 1941
I am like a schoolboy striking off the days until the end of term, counting the hours and minutes that go by. I sometimes want time to stop, so that I can grip and control its course, perhaps at the end of the counting I shall turn time inside out, wishing that I were back in February (when I got your message). It’s all very silly. It would have been better if I had been a little more dispassionate and written to you regularly but I couldn’t.
On February 6 I came into the mess for lunch from the aerodrome and was told by the telephone orderly that John had rung up. I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks. The boy said, ‘the gentlemen told me it was urgent and you should ring him.’ My legs seemed to run away with me as I went to the telephone. Sometime afterwards I drank in John’s voice telling me that that you had crossed into unoccupied France and were at La Busserie, near Moulins. The grey fog which had been hovering for ten days suddenly lifted. The early spring day seemed to be lovely. I forgot the war for a few minutes. I felt just as I used to after a long night’s work when I came into the bedroom and you awoke, switched on the lamp, rubbed your eyes and smiled.
Myers’s colleagues in 257 understood the importance of his news from Moulins. His closest friends in the squadron had seen the strain he was under while he tried to stay cheerful for the sake of his job. The next day he was allowed to travel down to London to try to make arrangements for his family’s onward transportation.
I saw the official at the prisoners of war department for the third time. He seemed pleasantly surprised and arranged to give the full details to the American authorities, so that you could gain facilities even if you did not have your passport with you. I booked passages by air from Lisbon to London and I telegraphed you to go and see John Elliott [their American journalist friend] in Vichy. I telegraphed to him.
Later I saw my friends at the Daily Telegraph, and with the help of the editor, sent telegrams to the correspondents in Lisbon and Madrid. I then telegraphed John Elliott again, telling him that they were helping and giving their addresses. A stream of telegrams started flowing back from the continent with encouraging messages.
On February 14 I received that wonderful telegram from Vichy, ‘Margot getting necessary papers. Will leave soon possible. Is well. Sends love. Regards.’
Myers wrote this letter in March 1941 and so it was already more than a month since he had heard that his family were safe in the countryside near Moulins. His desperation to see his family had rather run away with him. Escaping a second time, this time through unoccupied France, was not as easy as he hoped. Margot was cautious and uncertain. She knew that she needed to keep one step ahead of the Germans, but she had no idea how to proceed next.
Margot was alone with her two young children with no one to advise her about the least risky way to reach safety. She felt very isolated and stayed in Moulins for three months, wrestling with how to get to Spain safely.
For Geoffrey the waiting continued, but there was still a war to be fought.
March 15 1941
I started counting the minutes. There was little excitement at the aerodrome except for an attack by enemy planes when our squadron was carrying out night-flying practice. Just before midnight, when I was watching the boys circling round the aerodrome before landing, there was a quick burst of machine gun fire, followed by several others. The flare path was fully lighted and the moon was so brilliant that you could see the aerodrome from 15,000 feet above the ground. A flight sergeant ran up to us. His lips were quivering as he blurted out, ‘They’ve shot down one of our boys. I saw him dive, just after the machine gun fire. He must have crashed over there.’
He could not hold his arm straight. He was trembling too much. As we were looking out over the aerodrome, the station commander, who was with us, sounded the alarm and ordered us to take cover. Just as we were going into the shelters, showers of incendiary bombs fell through and around the hangars. Our new medical officer and I ran to one of the hangars to put out the incendiaries which were burning near an aircraft. We tackled the job like the amateurs that we were. I felt rather ashamed of doing so clumsily what civilians in and around London did with expert experience.
In the dark, after we had extinguished incendiaries in the hangar, I fell into an open sump for water piping and twisted my ankle. I found it rather difficult, hobbling along to put out the other incendiaries. One was burning away just outside the hanger in a patch of half-mown grass. Having no sand handy, I dug up the wet clay with my fingers and smothered it. I almost felt as if I were having a game with you, my little Robert, digging mud pies.
Our boys were still flying around the aerodrome but all lights had been extinguished. I looked around, expecting the high explosive bombs to follow any moment. I suppose the attacking planes must have been light aircraft for they dropped no big stuff at all.
All our boys had landed after the raid. There had been some near misses but the flight sergeant, in his excitement, had just imagined things. The incend
iaries had done no damage at all. There had only been about forty of them and they had all been put out within about five minutes.
For Margot life was not easy at La Busserie. She travelled down to Vichy several times to try to find a way forward, and the journey entailed a bike ride in the dark, just before dawn, followed by a bus. On other occasions, she would wait for hours in a local cafe three kilometres away, just to make a simple phone call. For important documents she travelled the seven kilometres to Tronget where the postmistress was compassionate and the family was finally able to have their identity card photographs taken.
Life was not easy for her friend Madeleine either. Money was tight but she never complained about the three extra people in her house. Her husband Pierre had a position in the Vichy government and Margot was never sure exactly where he stood politically. He supported Pétain but raised no objection to his wife sheltering a runaway family with a Jewish husband and father.
‘At La Busserie they would speak of Pétain with great admiration. It was very hard for me to keep my mouth shut! I would have so liked to listen to the radio broadcasts from London, but that was out of the question. Here they would listen to Radio-Vichy on which Pétain’s every move and pronouncement was described in full.’101
Geoff had no idea whether his family was safe but at least he had a reasonable grasp on what was happening in France. Margot, on the other hand, was completely in the dark about the progress of the war, apart from any propaganda she picked up.
Once or twice Madeleine’s husband gave Margot a lift into Vichy when he returned from a few days at home, back to his work for the Vichy government. ‘When I happened to meet his colleagues or friends I would overhear their most pro-Pétain conversations.’
Vichy was full of people trying to sort out their vital paperwork, ‘In the offices where I waited in line, I met families from Central Europe who were clamouring for resident permits, exit permits, visas. I could feel everyone’s anxiety. The answers that they received were generally discouraging. One had to wait, wait, wait.’
Vichy was a magnet for Jewish refugees from all over Europe. By the time Margot arrived there, thousands had already been expelled from the city and anti-Semitic propaganda was openly allowed. In 1941, the anti-Jewish activity in Vichy was stepped up. A known anti-Semite was put in charge of a campaign against the Jews including mail interception and telephone tapping.102
As Lisbon had been earmarked as the safest exit point to the United Kingdom, Margot Myers eventually decided to travel from Moulins to the Portuguese Consulate in Lyons. She had to secure an exit permit to leave Vichy, France, a permit to enter Spain and also a visitor’s permit for Portugal. But first she needed US dollars. Her first attempt was greeted with a cry of ‘impossible’ from a grumpy bank cashier. On her second visit another cashier was more sympathetic, especially when he heard the word, ‘England’. The man did not say anything but secretly gave Margot an address where she might find the currency she needed.
In an office in a Vichy hotel room, she found two men, ‘They figured out themselves how much I would need to get to Lisbon and they accepted my francs without comment. It was Mother. Mother who always took care of everything, who had provided the money and had even found a way for me to receive it at Madeleine’s house.’
Now, armed with her dollars, Margot made her way to the Portuguese Embassy. It was shuttered and closed. It was too small, she was told, to let refugees in. They would be overwhelmed. When the consul finally turned up very late, he saw the crowd and laughed, telling them that he was not receiving anyone that day. Then he slammed the door in their faces.
Margot was desperate but a kind stranger among the disappointed crowd suggested that she try the Americans. This was all new to Margot. To her surprise, on arrival at the American Consulate, she learnt that the USA was representing the British. The Americans were helpful and practical. They would help her.
In Coltishall, Norfolk, Geoffrey Myers received news that he was to be posted away to Martlesham Heath, just across the border in Suffolk, as assistant station intelligence officer. On two previous occasions he had been offered promotion to a station role but had turned it down so that he could stay with his squadron.
I had effectively been barring my own way to promotion but I did not think it mattered, as my work with the squadron seemed as useful as any. This time, Group took it out of my hands and put a posting through. Most of my friends in the squadron had been posted, and in a short while Cowboy Blatchford would probably leave to command a station of his own. If you came back, there was more chance of seeing you at a station. I was too happy at the thought that perhaps I would see you again soon for anything else to matter.
Just after Myers was promoted and moved south a few miles to Martlesham Heath, Pilot Officer David Hunt rejoined 257 Squadron. He had finally been released from the Burns Unit at East Grinstead and, after some rehabilitation, was looking forward to seeing his old friends. But, so much had changed, as his wife recalled, ‘Geoffrey, the intelligence officer, had been posted away and Jimmy Cochrane, the Canadian, and David Coke, whom he had most hoped to find, were abroad.’
The mess was full of strangers but then ‘Peter Blatchford came in, a Canadian who had visited David in hospital, and distinguished himself soon after, and the squadron he had just joined, in a wonderful encounter with the Italians. We were glad to see him, and to be allowed to talk at last. And here was Stanford Tuck, the squadron leader who was so much in the press that he had begun to creep into the more relevant adverts; and a wonderful blonde who soon bore him away. Certainly, it was a brand-new squadron.’
Hunt had been hurried back to his squadron but was still not fit enough to fly. He was not needed on ground duties and so, quite quickly, David and Terry Hunt were moved on by the RAF to another station.
Myers was desperate for his wife to also be on the move. Writing in March, her husband realised that escaping the unoccupied zone was more complex and uncertain than he had understood.
I began to get uneasy again when I had no more news for a fortnight. On my birthday I received a note from my friend in London enclosing a telegram from our friends in Clermont-Ferrand. I then realised that I had been hoping for your return too early. I had to wait for six weeks. I have struck off ten days since then.
I have watched the spectre of France and Britain over the blockade.103 I see no prospect of the blockade being lifted sufficiently to satisfy the Vichy government, for Vichy must follow Berlin in this or crash. It is appalling to feel that the blockade may be instrumental in preventing you from coming home and may bring those I love to the verge of starvation. It is appalling, especially as I know I must support it, because I feel it is one of our most powerful weapons.
Increasingly, Myers found comfort and messages in books, including the Bible. His favourite seemed to be Richard Llewellyn’s How Green Was My Valley. But, as the amount of news from Margot increased, he replaced the imaginary world of books with the reality that his family was on the way home. Not that Margot and his children were free to travel yet, and any travel through Free France for a family with Jewish blood was potentially fraught with difficulties. But progress was being made.
March 17 1941
My little world has suddenly been filled with joy. When I walk, I feel as if I am stepping on billowy clouds filled with sunlight. The yellow buds on the hawthorn have been winking to me and the pine trees have been whispering words of hope. Good God, it is all so wonderful that I am overwhelmed by my own joy. I am so thankful for this blessing that everything is surging up in my veins and pumping laughter into my eyes. I will not, for all that, forget the misery of thousands around me, and I will try to be less selfish, less conceited and more tolerant.
There was a letter in my box this morning from the Daily Telegraph. I didn’t know where to take it to open it. I cut the envelope carefully so as not to spoil anything inside, just as if I were unpacking a silk dress. The telegram was from Lisbon and said, ‘Mrs Myers n
ow received Portuguese and Spanish visas, awaits only exit visa.’
Until that moment I had always wondered what people meant when they talked of one’s heart jumping into one’s mouth. As I read the telegram, something went ‘bump’ above my stomach and I had difficulty in swallowing. It was probably my breakfast. I did not know whether I had received good news or bad. I thought that perhaps you were having difficulty with your exit permit and that, in spite of the visas, you might not be allowed to leave. I could not dismiss this thought during my work this morning.
My loved ones, I can start thinking of our meeting. I am bound up in you, and you are bound up in me. You have been with me despite this year of separation, but my thoughts have been filled with anguish.
I think it is a good thing for us all to try and remain cheerful. Your mother taught me that. I often think of her. Her son is a prisoner in Germany and now you are leaving the country with her grandchildren. I will not forget what she has done for us all and I hope I shall live to bring her happiness in her old age. If Daddy is not alive, Robert and Anne, remember what he wanted to do and try to do it for her.
A friend said, ‘Hello, I’m going to make you drunk tonight. I’ve got some news for you about your wife who hopes to be back soon. She’s asking for your address.’ The words would not go in, and went buzzing around my head like a swarm of bees let loose. He saw that I was dazed and repeated it all with a broad grin. I phoned John who read the telegram out to me, stating you hoped to leave in a fortnight.
One of the older officers was a confidante, and when Myers told him about his family he said
‘So you have got your private troubles. You must have been going through a pretty hard time. I would never have guessed it. You always seemed to me to be cheerful about the mess.’ I was gratified because I had succeeded in doing what I had set out to do. It has helped me a great deal because by dint of being cheerful I have strengthened myself and gained optimism.
