“There was not much chance of getting to Dunkirk,” he said. “The enemy were too numerous. Our company was surrounded. We were somewhere near Amiens when we were all taken prisoner. We knew what that meant. My corporal, Buster Brown, was with me. He is sharp-witted, a wiry little Cockney. He is a good cook and could work all sorts of miracles with our meager rations. He had a way of disappearing and returning with a couple of chickens. He’d concoct some dish with them, which was a luxury after tinned fish and meat of slightly mysterious origins. He admitted he raided farms for the chickens, and he used to say: ‘Well, what’s a bit of nicking? Ain’t we saving them from the Hun? Small price to pay for that and you’ve got to feed the boys that lay the golden eggs.’
“He was a great character and I never saw him disconcerted in any situation. He had always been my special servant and I often thought how different life would have been without Buster Brown.
“Well, we were surrounded and put in lorries. There was a great deal of confusion in the dash to the coast, and the gathering up of small groups of prisoners was left to young and inexperienced men newly arrived on the battle scene. We were close to a small deserted château which was probably intended to serve as a temporary prison, but perhaps because we were not a large company and there were more pressing matters to occupy the German headquarters, we remained there. In most cases there would have been some notification that we were prisoners of war but there are occasions in such times as we were living through when those matters are overlooked.
“Life was not too bad in the beginning. We had periods of exercise, strict rules of course, and not very adequate food, but most of our company were housed in the château and we were among our own people. We planned our escape continually. We knew there would be no early release. We were aware that the French were beaten and that we had lost much of our equipment and would concentrate on getting our men out. We did not know how fortunate we had been in that evacuation.
“Well, we started building our tunnel. It lent a spice of adventure to the days. We each had a turn at it. It was an arduous business—most would have said it was a hopeless task—but we lived on hope in those days. We had our little concert parties, and the Germans looked on at us in bewilderment. There was complete misunderstanding between us. They were amazed by our hilarious laughter at the jokes—usually jibes against them—and the amateur efforts of our ‘artistes.’ What amused us so much was that it was during these concert parties that the larger part of our tunnel digging was in progress.
“This went on slowly. Imagine our dismay when we thought we were near completion—that must have been over two years’ work—to find that we had come out on the wrong side of the wall and were still inside the castle! But we were resilient. We kept going. We made plans for our final success. We arranged how people should escape—not all at once, but two by two. We would have a rota. That was how it went.
“We kept a certain discipline amongst ourselves. We had to stay cheerful and hopeful. Someone had a pack of cards and we played some evenings; but the cards became dogeared and having only one pack was constricting.
“It was the tunnel which was the great excitement. And then there came the Normandy landings. We were not sure what was happening, but everything had changed. The attitude of our guards was different. They were jumpy, nervous. There was less food. There would be occasions when the guards were almost lax and others the opposite.
“We knew something was going on. Some of our men had a smattering of German and they picked up one or two things through eavesdropping. So we learned that the Allies were now in France. You might have thought that, after waiting four years, we could wait a little longer to be released. But it wasn’t like that. The fervor to be free had increased. We had more opportunities to get on digging the tunnel and we seized them.
“Then … it was completed and this time it came out outside the château. Several of the men escaped and we believed they had got safely away. We only went two at a time, but it was not long before absentees were noted, in spite of the slackness of control. A guard was set at the top of the tower to keep watch throughout the night. At any movement they would shoot immediately. Sometimes during the night we would hear shots and wonder if those who were attempting to escape had got away. We were never told, of course.
“And then it was my turn. I was to go with Buster Brown. He looked upon me as his protégé. He reminded me of a nanny I once had. He thought I needed looking after and there was no question of one of us going without the other.
“Violetta, I shall never forget that night. The watch was in position and there was a crescent moon which shed enough light to reveal our escape at any movement, I feared. We preferred the moonless nights, of course, and clouds were welcome; but on this night the sky was cloudless.
“We could take little with us and we had no money; but we did have a little food which we had been storing over the days and which was given to those who were attempting to escape.
“We got through the tunnel—not the easiest of feats, for it was very low and in some places too narrow for comfort—but we were agile and determined. Then there was that glorious moment when we emerged into the open—no longer prisoners, but, for the first time in more than four years, free men.
“The searchlight moved quickly over the expanse of grass outside the château. We crouched on the ground when the light came our way.
“It was not easy. I heard the shots ring out and I was aware of a sudden burning pain in my arm. I thought, I’ve had it. This is the end. Then I heard Buster whisper, ‘Keep still. Flat on the ground. Don’t move a muscle.’ I obeyed and the searchlight passed over us and went on.
“‘Now,’ whispered Buster, and with a tremendous effort, for I was beginning to feel faint, I rose and ran. Buster was pulling me on. ‘Get a move on, sir,’ he whispered. ‘Want the Jerries to get us?’
“We crouched in the bushes. I was aware of the searchlight and that we were beyond its range.
“‘Cor Blimey,’ said Buster. ‘That was a close ’un. Thought it was goodbye, home and beauty. Come on now, or we’ll miss the boat. Got to get going.’
“My sleeve was wet. I touched my arm and my hand came away red with blood.
“‘You’d better go on, Buster,’ I said. ‘I think I might …’
“‘Don’t talk tripe, sir. Begging your pardon,’ said Buster. ‘Course I’m not going on without you. Who’d look after you? We’re going to make it. They’ve had their bit of fun. They won’t come after us now. They’re kidding themselves it was a fox they saw. Makes life easy that way.’
“He was half dragging me along with him. I was beginning to feel rather vague. We were on a road and I saw the lights of a lorry in the distance. Buster dragged me into a hedge until it had passed. Then we went on. I hardly knew what was happening; I think I must have been delirious. Buster told me later that I kept asking where I was and saying, ‘Where is Jermyn’s? Where’s the Priory? I’m coming home.’ ‘You was saying your own name over and over again,’ he told me, ‘and talking to some bird called Violet … or something like that.’
“I think he must have carried me, which would have been awkward as I am considerably taller than he is. He probably dragged me most of the way. We had great good luck because in a field he found a wheelbarrow. He was very good at improvising and I had seen him make good use of the oddest things. Now the wheelbarrow proved to be a carriage for me. It was easy just to push me along. I think that wheelbarrow probably saved our lives. He would never have gone on without me. He’s a marvelous fellow, old Buster. He was as clever as he boasted he was. He used to say he could get round anyone, from commanding officers to the shyest bird. He saw himself as a powerful manipulator of everything, including women. I used to call him Casanova Brown. He had never heard of Casanova, but he was pleased when he realized the implication.
“In any case, I shall always believe I owe my life to Buster Brown.
“We came to a house, some way back
from the road. Buster took a chance. He told me afterwards he thought I would pass out if he did not get me somewhere quickly. I was losing a lot of blood and he couldn’t push a wheelbarrow in daylight.
“The house had been a farmhouse and was set in the midst of several acres; there were some chickens pecking round, a pig in a sty, and a donkey in a field. This I discovered later, of course, for I was not in a state to notice anything at this stage.
“When the door opened I was faintly aware of a woman speaking rapid French, of which I might have understood a little if I had been in a better state of health. Buster’s knowledge of the language did not go beyond ‘Ooh la la.’
“However, he must have managed to convey to her that he had escaped from the château, that his friend was wounded, and that he needed help.
“What good luck we had that night! Marianne, as we later discovered her to be, had an intense and abiding hatred of the German invaders. They had shot her husband before her eyes and if she had an opportunity of harming them in any way she would eagerly have taken it.
“We also learned that she had helped others from our company to escape to freedom. She took in the situation at once—our clothes, our state, Buster’s sign language, my blood-soaked sleeve—they all told the story.
“Briefly, she took us in. She attended to me first; she bandaged my arm, got me into a bed, and gave Buster a hunk of rye bread and something which bore a resemblance to coffee.
“I think I was delirious. I was not sure where I was and most of the time thought I was in the Priory. Buster slept well on the floor beside my bed.
“He said afterwards: ‘I knew that Marianne was a good ’un. Some might have took us in and then given the alarm. Not this one. She’s going to get her own back on the Hun, and his enemies are her friends.’
“Well, Marianne was indeed a ‘good ’un.’ She was so good to us and without her I could not have survived. Through everything she did, she showed her hatred of the enemy. Otherwise she was a placid sort of woman, good-looking in a rather blowsy, dreamy way—except when she was giving vent to her hatred of Germans. Then she would look fierce and mutter what she would like to do to them.
“Buster and I smiled on these occasions. ‘All the better for us,’ was Buster’s comment. I believed she would have taken any risk to work against them.
“But she was tender and sympathetic. When she dressed my arm she would murmur, ‘Le pauvre petit garçon.’ It comforted me, for the pain could be great.
“We learned a little from Marianne of what had happened, how the great General de Gaulle was going to save France, of the Allied landings in Normandy, of that villain Pétain who had betrayed France and become a slave to the cruel conquerors. The English and the Americans were ‘magnifique’ and here they were, back on French soil to rise against the conquerors and betrayers, to wipe away the country’s shame and make her great again.
“It was her duty to help escaping prisoners, she said. She was doing it for France and she had liked so much the charming men who had come her way. There had been two airmen. They had dropped from their parachutes. She had kept them for two nights. There had been men from the château. She could tell them about the country … she could get clothes for them. She had some which had belonged to her husband who could no longer wear them because of the cursed Hun.
“I could see that I was a handicap for Buster and I said he should go on without me. We were too near the château for comfort. What if the guards discovered that we were in this house? Not only should we suffer, but Marianne herself would.
“Buster turned this aside, and so did Marianne. She would not allow me to go with such an arm, though she could do but little for it, alas. It needed a doctor. She could not call one, for how could she trust him? No, she would do what she could. At least it was something.
“Then we met Lisette. Lisette had been staying at her uncle’s farm and had now come home to her mother. She was a younger version of Marianne—with the same plump and shapely figure, the same hooded eyes and full lips and overwhelming femininity. She smiled warmly at us. She must have been accustomed to her mother’s helping men to escape: she could speak a little English which was helpful.
“She said: ‘Escape. You? From the château?’
“We told her we had and that her mother had been very helpful.
“‘My mother like much English and Americans. I too.’
“‘Lucky for us,’ said Buster.
“We were at Marianne’s for several weeks. Much of the time I was hardly aware of my surroundings. It seemed so unreal there. My arm began to fester, but Marianne was afraid to ask the doctor to come. She was wonderful to us. She kept us there and fed us, though we had no money with which to pay her.
“‘She do for France,’ declared Lisette dramatically. Buster worked on the farm, which I am sure was a great help, but I was unable to do anything.
“There was a time in the beginning when I suffered from delirium. It was a sort of fever …”
Jowan paused, as though looking back. I guessed he was seeing the old farmhouse, and recalling the strangeness and uncertainty of those days.
“The Allies were advancing,” he went on, “and there seemed to be numbers of Germans everywhere. We had to be very careful not to be seen. Marianne had a big cupboard in which she proposed to hide us if they ever came to the house. It contained heavy farm implements and we were to crouch behind some sacks if it was ever necessary. I was sure, if they ever came, we should be discovered at once. Fortunately, we did not have to hide.
“I was always urging Buster to get away. It would be easier for him if he did not have an invalid to look after. He would not go, of course. I think he was enjoying his stay at the farmhouse. It was clear that he liked Marianne and her daughter. He had mended and painted the wheelbarrow and it was placed on the farm. It was almost like a shrine.
“‘Our savior,’ he called it. ‘Do you know, sir, we couldn’t have got by without that? Makes you think.’ He would go and look at it every day and, as he left, blow it a kiss. There was an unsuspected sentimental streak in Buster’s nature.
“I think he was on rather special terms with Marianne. He told me once that Marianne was ‘a bit of all right.’ This was always accompanied by a wink. He was equally devoted to Lisette.
“There was something cozy about the atmosphere of the farmhouse, in spite of the danger which was lurking all through the days and nights.
“They used to get me to talk in the evenings when we sat in the dark. Buster was always alert for noises which might suggest the arrival of unwelcome visitors. I told them about the Priory, the old monks who used to live here. I described the wild Cornish coast. Lisette was enchanted. Her slight command of English made it possible for her to ask questions, and she would convey the answers to her mother. Buster would sit there listening, smiling on us all. He always regarded himself as the man of the house. I didn’t qualify because of my wound. He was the one who would look after us all. It was a strange set-up, but we all knew that it was transient and could disappear at any moment.
“Inevitably it came to an end. Marianne came in one day with the news that the British soldiers were only a few miles away. She took out a tattered tricoleur from one of the drawers, muttered fiercely over it, and hung it from one of the windows.
“Lisette told us: ‘Her great-grandfather hung it there when the Germans came in 1870.’ The cloth was fluttering from the window when we left. I said to Marianne: ‘I do not know how to thank you.’ She began to speak rapidly and Lisette translated: ‘She is happy to have you here. It is her duty to France … and she like you.’
“‘We owe her our lives,’ I said. ‘We shall not forget.’
“‘When war is over, maybe you come back,’ she said.
“Violetta, you will come back with me? I want to show it to you.”
“We shall go together,” I said. “And what about Buster?”
“He will want to see it again, I daresay.
“I still can’t believe it.”
“Nor I. We’ll go ahead with our plans, shan’t we?”
“Oh yes, Jowan.”
“And the war can’t last much longer. We must be near the end. It will be as we planned it. We’ll forget the years between.”
“We will.”
“You haven’t thought of changing your mind?”
I laughed. “No. I always believed you would come back. I could not have borne it otherwise. Others thought you never would, but your grandmother and I went on believing.”
“And I believed you would be waiting for me. That belief helped me through. I used to recall details of those meetings we had. Do you remember the first time at Smithy’s … all those years ago? And I thought of you, wondering … and there was no means of getting a word to you.”
“It is all over now. This wretched war has brought misery to millions. One man’s mad dream and a deluded nation following him! Well, disaster is overtaking them now and we can only rejoice. But enough of that. Let’s talk about ourselves.”
So we talked. He was not sure what his future would be; it might well be that he would rejoin his regiment.
“I wonder what happened to Buster,” he said. “He must have been undernourished after those years in a prison camp, although his energy had not flagged in the least.”
“You must ask him to our wedding,” I said.
We'll Meet Again Page 24
