We will be recounting his memoirs as we pass through the various towns and villages he travelled through during his journey to freedom but before we set off, it is worth providing the background to his capture which paints a fascinating picture of what life was like for a young man in the RFC.
The following is taken from a lecture Jock gave on the 23rd March 1921. The audience is as yet unknown but I am trying to find out more detail and excuse any typos and 'of the time' language - I have copied this verbatim from some rough, typed notes that have been photocopied many times.
Dear. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen,
I have been prevailed upon to deliver this lecture much against my will, firstly and chiefly because of inexperience as a public orator and secondly because so much has already been said and written in the Press and elsewhere ui0fi the subject on which I am going to speak. There have been a great number of escapes from Germany by both Officers and men, some extraordinary cl ever ones and some the very opposite. If I have time at the end of this lecture I propose to so over a few of these which I consider the most clever.
Our own experiences were quite common, as tunnelling was one of the most popular methods employed in getting out of Prison Camps. If successful it ensured one of a nice quiet comfortable start of several hours before daylight disclosed the exit to the ever-watchful Hun. This is more than can be said for some of the other methods adapted by some of our dare devil fellow prisoners who were quite glad if got twenty yards start before being noticed and then had to leg it for all they were worth usually accompanied by rapid shooting from nearest sentries.
I shall begin by saying a few words as to how I was unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of Hun.
On September 6th, 1916 1 was one of four 2-seater Sopwiths sent out on a long reconnaissance our destination being a village nearly eighty miles behind the Lines. All went well on the outward journey except that two of the machines had to turn back owing, we presume to engine failure. On the return journey I was attacked by three Hun machines which proved to be a good deal faster than my own machine. In the first minute of the fight my observer was unfortunately knocked out with an explosive bullet through the left jaw and to make matters worse my own machine gun jammed, leaving us in a pretty hopeless position. However, I cleared the gun and we managed to drive off the Huns leaving us to go on feeling very thankful we had got out of it so well. Our satisfaction was however short-lived for we had not gone far when my engine showed signs that all was not well with its internal mechanism finally giving up the Ghost by seizing completely up.
Nothing for it now but to get down as best we could and land as we were still some sixty miles behind the lines, but our feelings can be better realized than talked about when we knew we were out of everything for the rest of the War and not knowing how the Hun would receive us.
In landing I crashed into a group of field telephone wires turning the machine over on her back and effectively putting her out of commission so far as the Huns were concerned. We had just time to set fire to the wreckage when we were surrounded by a yelling horde of Huns and taken to a motor—car which came up where we waited until the Huns had tried to put the fire out in the machine.
INTEROGATION
We were taken off, after my observer's face had been roughly patched up by a Hun doctor, to a sort of German G.H.G. where I was asked by two observers of the German Flying Corp to admit that each of them in turn had shot me down. Needless to say, I did nothing of the sort.
My observer was then taken off to a village Hospital where we said goodbye, not meeting again until a week or two ago when we ran into one another in the lounge of the Queen's Hotel in Leeds. I am glad to be able to say that but for a bad scar on the left cheek he is otherwise all right. They then took me to a Brigade Headquarters where they showed me a large map of France and politely asked me to point out the place where our Aerodrome was and when I refused they proceeded to show me the exact spot I had left only an hour or two before. Not only did they tell me this but also the number of my Wing, my C.o’s name, the type of machine I was flying and how long we had been in France and asked me if all the foregoing was not true. I spinned them a great old yarn in reply which anybody but a Hun would not have believed, my later experiences all went to show that so long as your tale was at all feasable they would believe any rot one liked to tell them.
Having been interrogated I was next taken by a German Staff Officer to his billet in a tumbledown squalid farm where he occupied the one and only sitting—room and where I was allowed to have a wash and a brush up. His diminutive servant, a fierce looking little fellow, then armed himself with a rifle which was about as big as himself, and after fixing his bayonet to the rifle I was marched out to a waiting motor—car and told to take the back seat, my fierce guard occupying the one beside the driver, another sullen, wooden—faced looking brute. By this time it was growing dark so that I could not see much of the country we were passing through. We passed two very cunningly concealed Aerodromes, the hangers in both cases being built under a large wood so that practically nothing would be shown to our fellows from the air. On both Aerodromes they were sending up powerful red Very's lights to attract the attention of any of their own pilots who might have got lost or had forced landings away from the Aerodrome.
On went the car passing troups and transports of every description. At one place we passed a group of about one hundred French Tommies who were being marched towards St. Quentin under a strong guard of Uhlans.
The car I was in was either a dud or had not had its engine looked at for months, because on anything like an ordinary hill it slowed down almost to a walking pace which fact slowly penetrated to my dulled wits and an idea of escape began to take shape. I thought that on the next hill when the car slowed down if I were quick I could hop over the back and be far enough away before the sentry realized I had gone, to bring down to a minimum the chance of his hitting me on such a dark night as that was, although it was only the beginning of September. However, my hopes came to nothing for on the next and last decent hill while we were going up at a snail's pace, a long line of fresh looking Infantry were marching down, and I did not like the idea of trying anything foolish in the face of some few hundred rifles. A shout of and a light flashing in front brought the car to a standstill when two armed Hun soldiers accompanied by a Unteroffizier came and demanded to see the driver’s papers. Followed five minutes of guttural conversation mostly composed of "Ya’s” "Hein's" "Ach's” and "Hoch's” after which they came and grinned like apes at me until the car moved on.
Very soon we stopped outside formidable looking building surrounded by a huge stone wall some twenty feet high, I afterwards found. An immense iron gate was opened and I invited to step inside and so said goodbye to Freedom for twenty three months to come.
[To be continued...]
No comments:
Post a Comment