Library Reference Number: 143
Bailing Out - The Route Back To The UK
Regardless of adequate pre-operational training in emergency procedures, few situations in aircrew life could be more daunting than swift decisions being made on bailing out of a doomed aircraft, with little knowledge of what lies below. Even if landing uninjured in German-occupied Europe during world-war-two, many were the hazards awaiting Allied aircrew. A number were arrested immediately on landing, some landed in towns, others in countryside areas only to hear the sound of the aircraft dying away to be left with one's thoughts in absolute isolation. In this situation, making the first move to make a personal contact was a highly dangerous process, for it was known that underground organisations were in existence, but the risk of betrayal by making the wrong selection of initial contact was an ongoing hazard with disastrous consequences.
On 22nd April 1944, Harry Fisher was confronted with those very life threatening choices on survival, and in the following first-hand account Harry describes some of the people he met on the way to eventual freedom.
"From the moment our Pilot leaned over and tapped me on the shoulder, indicating it was time for me to leap out of the aircraft to safety, I instantly knew that my aircrew life had changed for ever. I naturally thought that the Pilot would be following, but realised later that perhaps losing control or being too seriously injured, he failed to get out and he and the mid-upper gunner both crashed to their deaths with the stricken aircraft.
As a member of No.218 (Gold Coast) Squadron based at Woolfox Lodge, we had been briefed to attack locomotive sheds and marshalling yards at Laon in Northern France. Flying Stirling 3 EH942 captained by S/Ldr Poulter, we were attacked and our Stirling aircraft seriously damaged by enemy fighter aircraft around midnight on 22/23 April 1944. On following my Pilot's instruction to bail out, I jumped, but must have blacked out as I had no recollection of pulling the ripcord. Not being fully conscious or properly braced, I also suffered some whiplash. Having landed in a field, my mind was in a complete turmoil, but my first reaction was to get away from the immediate vicinity. From earlier training and partly from instinct, I followed a railway line for a considerable distance, and after one negative encounter at a house where I decided to seek help, I came to a farm cottage.
All this seemed so unreal, but I knew I had to get some assistance. A young man answered the door of the farm cottage, and to my great relief took me inside. Just imagine, this was about one o'clock in the morning, and he and his wife were in their night attire. They were both so kind to me and bathed my face which was bleeding from the parachute descent. Not being fully conscious when the chute opened, the harness must have grazed the side of my face. The young couple also offered me some food but as I was feeling nauseous I was unable to eat it_ They then suggested I lie down and try to get some rest which I did, although I don't think I slept very much.
Some time later, but still fairly early in the morning, the young man gave me a shake and said we had to leave. He took me what seemed quite a short distance to another house where I remember there were two or three men but no introductions were made. The young man who took me there left, I didn't see him again and never knew his name. Those remaining asked me a few questions, mainly how far I had walked as they were trying to establish precisely where I had landed (perhaps to ensure my chute was not still visible). The moment of truth arrived when the men stated I would have to get out of my RAF uniform. They agreed to help me, but not if I was to wander around in a RAF Officers' battledress. Previously, I had felt secure in my uniform, but realised then, that being clothed as a French civilian was a different ball game, but essential if these people were going to help me.
That same day I was taken to a farmhouse close to the town of Vic-sur-Aisne where I was surprised to find my Canadian Bomb-Aimer Archie McPhee. Rescued from a tree, he had injured his leg, and still confused did not recognise me immediately as I was now in civilian clothes. We were both hidden in a mushroom cave where we spent a week. Surprisingly, this wasn't too bad as the temperature in the cave didn't seem to vary too much. Taken to the farmhouse daily to get cleaned up, I experienced my first taste of Absinthe soaked in a sugar cube. This potent drink banned in post-war France reappeared as the well-known 'Pernod' and again I can not recall the name of the owner of the farmhouse, such was the strength of security at that time.
It was now the beginning of May 1944 and Archie and I witnessed one of the dramatic, dangerous risks the Resistance workers were prepared to take on a daily basis. We were concealed on a farm cart covered with straw and taken to Vic-sur-Aisne which proved to be the home of the local Resistance chief. His name I shall never forget - it was Gabriel Cochet. I shall also never forget the heart-stopping moment of peering through the straw and realising we were under the noses of German soldiers guarding the railway crossing just before entering the town. Visions of films I had seen with escapees being prodded through the straw with pitchforks passed through my mind. Fortunately, this did not happen to us and we were waved through without any serious search. It was the first time I had seen a German soldier so dangerously close, and considering the disastrous consequences for the Resistance workers, it was remarkable that this farm cart would trundle over that railway crossing most days.
Our time with Gabriel Cochet was short although thoroughly interrogated by him in French, though his wife spoke a little English. Satisfied that we were the genuine article, it was explained that English-speaking Germans in RAF uniforms would knock on doors saying they had been shot down thus trying to trap Resistance workers.
Once again we were on the move, this time to a farm near the village of Morsain. The farm owner was a M. Preux, and he and his wife were extremely good to us. They were prepared to really go out on a limb to help us in every way possible as the following narrative will testify. This was remarkable, as these were ordinary people - though in my view they were extraordinary - as they were prepared to take terrible risks in the full knowledge of dire consequences if caught by the Germans.
Although only a short time with the Preux family, it was sufficient for my Bomb-Aimer's leg injury to improve to the extent of moving on again. This involved Mme Preux taking us by train to German occupied Paris. Although the Preux were not members of an official escape organisation, they obviously had some connections with the underground movement to be able to carry out the activities which I shall describe.
Mme Preux took us to her mother's home in Paris, and although plenty of German military personnel were present every inch of the way, we were fortunate enough to be unchallenged; just as well as I had no form of identification. This in itself was a grave risk for a lady accompanying RAF evaders who would have faced instant arrest if caught, however for Mme Preux, more risks were to be undertaken. After a few hours rest at her mother's home, she then took us across Paris to the home of a nurse - Therese Bailleul, the address I recall was 113 Rue de I'Abbe Groult. Dates I can not remember but it would be into the second week of May 1944.
Therese was a wonderful lady, and with the help of two other nurses from the same clinic looked after us at her home for the rest of our time in Paris. Visiting the clinic incognito on several occasions by arrangement with certain doctors for security reasons, it was greatly appreciated to hear London radio bringing us up to date with news. Paris was crowded with Germans, but we did manage to go out occasionally under the watchful eyes of the nurses. Isolation on my part was tempered by the presence of Archie McPhee whose companionship lessened the tension of the dangerous situation in which I found myself. At last, news came through the nurses that the Underground Movement intended to try and implement an escape plan for us through the `Burgundy Line.' Prior to being taken to a building in Paris which still remains in my memory as a secret location, saying goodbye to our three angels of mercy was quite an emotional moment.
Making yet another risky journey across German occupied Paris, we arrived at this secret location to be greeted by a group of men of varying ages, some of whom spoke English who told us they had a surprise waiting. To our delight, Harry Bossick our London-born Flight Engineer appeared, and it transpired Harry had been the last man to get out of that stricken aircraft alive, although I had not been aware of the fact at the time. However. Our Canadian Navigator Hugh 'Tommy' Thomas had bailed out ahead of me, and I later discovered he had made it back to UK.
With Archie and I now being reunited with Harry Bossick, all three were briefed on how we should conduct ourselves on the journey south. Introduced to our guide - though not by name, who turned out to be a girl perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties. It was strongly emphasised that we should follow but on no account to approach or try to speak to her unless we were given definite permission to do so. The reason being that if we were challenged, even if wearing civilian clothes, our chances of survival were infinitely better than hers. The penalty for those helping Allied airmen to escape was death at best. Even a worse prospect being severe torture to extract information on underground movement. What a burden on our conscience at thoughts of this happening.
Our small group then set out on this hazardous journey from Paris to the south of France, with the intention of eventually reaching the Pyrenees and an escape route, although we hadn't realised the full implications of all this at the time. Along with the necessary rail tickets 1 had also been given a false identity card, this indicated that I was a former ex-serviceman who was classified 75% disabled with mental problems. It was a long tiring twenty-hour journey by train to Toulouse and all we had to eat was a small amount of food we had been given before we set out. It was virtually incident free until we reached the rail station at Toulouse where we had to change trains for Pau in the foothills of the Pyrenees.
Waiting on the platform for the train to Pau, we were mindful of the fact that although our young female guide had successfully led us in the right direction so far, we should concentrate on following her at a safe distance while not appearing to stare in her direction too much or attempt to make any personal contact whatsoever. While pondering on this situation, we were suddenly startled by gunfire and the sight of a man being chased across railway tracks between platforms. His pursuers appeared to be German military of some description, and they all disappeared out of sight. It occurred to us, that the man being hunted could be a fellow evader whose identity had been disclosed. We never found out, and obviously for our part we kept our heads down hoping to be ignored.
On following our guide's action in boarding the train to Pau, we had an uneventful journey from Toulouse to Pau via Lourdes. Arriving in Pau during late evening, we discovered there was a military curfew imposed on the town, and most frightening of all - German soldiers were on security duty at the ticker barrier. This scary moment was overcome when I was waved through, and given a pass to enable me travel to my intended residence during the curfew. This was accomplished by following our guide to a safe house, where her final action on our behalf was to indicate we should seek entry to this building. I never saw that brave girl again, but found out post-war, that she was the daughter of a Belgian aristocrat.
Entering the `safe house' we discovered the underground movement man in charge at Pau was well educated and spoke excellent English. Our stay there was only overnight, thereafter we were taken by car to the foothills of the Pyrenees. Arriving there, we had a rendezvous with Basque guides who would hopefully take us over the Pyrenees Mountains into Spain and eventual freedom. If the truth be known, we realised the Basque mountain men held no allegiance to France, but were motivated purely for financial reasons. At this point we encountered a number of Jewish refugees trying to get out of France.
With no previous mountain experience, I found the next week or so really tough going with the experienced Basque guides moving us from one hut (or bothy) to another. Although it was nearing the end of May, pockets of snow could be seen on reaching 8,000 feet. I thought I was reasonably fit, but this mountain work really taxed my physical endurance to the limit. After quite a number of days, we reached a point where the Basque guides halted and told us this was as far as they were going. They pointed in the direction where they claimed the Spanish border lay a short distance away, and literally left us to proceed on our own in that direction. We carried on for a time, but as it was becoming dark, we decided to bed down for the night, get some rest and try to enter Spain at first light next morning. With this in mind, we huddled together for warmth with spirits raised for next day.
First thing next morning we realised it was just as well we had waited for daylight, as we were still very much in the hills and some of the descents were quite dangerous and tricky. While descending, we somehow managed to become split up into small groups. While I was still with my Flight Engineer Harry Bossick, Archie McPhee had lagged behind to tend to an American airman who had been quite badly injured. Nurses in the clinic where we had found shelter in Paris had managed to save one of his arms, but he was still suffering pain. I remember crossing a stream further back, and apparently Archie and the American had stopped there for a drink of water and a rest.
Four of us were progressing steadily towards the direction given for the Spanish border, and we could see in the distance a cluster of houses or small village. Suddenly, we were shocked and startled by the sudden sound of rifle fire. We turned round, and there to our horror, a hundred yards away stood three German soldiers (a frontier patrol) with their rifles pointing straight at us. They had appeared from hiding in a crevice, and for all we knew, may have been tracking our progress for some time. In our fairly exhausted state we didn't really stand a chance, and if we had attempted to run off, we would probably have been shot in the back. It was such a shattering experience to be apprehended within sight of our potential freedom. I still believe we had actually crossed the border into Spanish territory - but who could argue with three loaded rifles?
Our captured group of four consisting of Harry Bossick, a Lancaster Pilot from Portsmouth, an airman from Pasadena USA and myself, were escorted back to a small mountain village in France. It was at this time we were asked if any of us were Jewish. Harry Bossick was, but denied this to avoid the German hatred of Jews which would have led to a more sinister outcome. Then while being interrogated, I was ordered to "stand to attention when speaking to a German Officer" and it was remarked that I had a German name (Fischer?). When adhering to the agreed Geneva Convention POW information on such interrogation procedures, it was chilling to hear the sinister words "So you won't talk? Well it is not my job, but we have ways and means of making you talk."
From there, we were taken back to Pau, and via Gestapo Headquarters there, by train under escort to Toulouse. It was during this train journey we received the only bit of respect or kindness while in German hands. This was when a Luftwaffe Officer entered our compartment, asked who we were in good English, and when told we were RAF aircrew who had been shot down, said "I thought you might be" and gave each one of us a cigarette.
On arrival in Toulouse we were thrown into prison (St. Michel?), and this is where my worst nightmare began which will remain vividly in my mind for ever. The conditions in that prison were abysmal. Although apart from being knocked and pushed around, we were not actually physically abused, it was the mental torture and verbal harassment that was difficult to bear. We were continually being taunted about their intention to shoot us as spies; and were repeatedly accused of being 'terror bombers of women and children." We had been captured on 5th June, the day before the Normandy landings, and no doubt Allied successes provided additional venom to the taunts and mental abuse being poured on our heads. Prison guards told us that an attempted Allied invasion had been forced back into the sea, and also that Germany had destroyed London and south of England by Hitler's secret weapon the V2 rocket. (Little did they know I had earlier taken part in the bombing of that same rocket site while flying an operation on the Peenemunde Raid).
From the beginning, we had protested that as POWs we should be sent to a p.o.w camp and not incarcerated in such a filthy prison. They just sneered at our demands, and we were subjected to this hell-hole with mosquitoes, rats, lice, bed bugs and every kind of infestation. Despite periodic delousing sessions, bugs and lice eggs entered seams in our clothing, and if squeezed produced a bloody mess on our fingers. Vermin of all kinds was evident and our toilet facilities consisted of one bucket, which had to be slopped out twice each day into a trough outside which incorporated a cold water supply, our only form of washing facility. Food consisted of cabbage leaves boiled in water, moulded black bread, and little wonder I lost almost three stone in weight. Those conditions continued day by day from 51h June until 19th August, until by this time there existed fleeting moments when I wondered if it may have been kinder to be shot as already threatened. However, human survival exerts a very strong force!
Then out of the blue - the nightmare ended!! One morning we woke up in our cell to hear the singing of the French National Anthem. Our first reaction was `the Germans will soon put a stop to this' but it continued. The next thing was a commotion in the corridor outside our cell, and we then realised that something very unusual was about to happen. The flap on our cell door was pulled open and a voice in French asked "who is in here?" We responded that we were RAF and an American airmen. Our cell door was immediately battered down which took some force. We stepped into the corridor to see these guys who were members of the Maquis armed to the teeth; it then transpired we were to spend the next fifteen days with these members of the FFI ( French Forces of the Interior).
We had been confined in that hell-hole for over two months, and the reason for the Germans' sudden evacuation being that German Forces were being cut off in that part of France by the Allies invasion from the south. It was obviously panic-stations on the part of the Germans as they had upped and left everything as it was, including food left cooking in the kitchens. We were quickly helping ourselves to this food which took some time, and this actually acted as a life-saver when we witnessed what had happened to prisoners who had quickly rushed outside. They had been caught in a stream of machine-gun fire from an evacuating German armoured column. By the time we made our escape, many prisoners had been killed or wounded, but we managed to shelter behind stone pillars at the front of the prison building with bullets ricocheting all over the place.
When the last of the fleeing Germans had gone, we were with the French Forces of the Interior for the rest of our time in Toulouse. I was issued with a pass stating I was liaising with the FFI and it was suggested we play an active part in the Maquis operations. I was not too keen on taking this up, as in addition to lack of training in weaponry and guerrilla warfare, I was feeling the physical and mental after-effects of the past few months. We were, however, driven around the city in open trucks to the loud cheers of the French population who heard our identities announced though loudspeakers. The other side of the coin we witnessed, was the harsh treatment meted out to local females who had 'been friendly' or collaborated with the Germans. The FFI were in complete control of the city, but we did not meet any American Forces, this part of France had obviously been bypassed.
The FFI had radio contact with London (probably M19) and on 2"d September, 1944, we were informed that an RAF Special Duties Squadron aircraft was expected that night to drop off arms, munitions & supplies etc for the FFI. During late evening we were taken to the outskirts of Toulouse with about a dozen of the Maquis lads who, on hearing the sound of an aircraft circling overhead, dashed out with torches to signal and illuminate a landing spot for the RAF Hudson aircraft. I admired these guys, for as soon as successfully landing in this field, supplies were quickly dropped off and the aircraft immediately taxied into position intending to quickly become airborne again. Before this happened, the Maquis lads gave me the nod to dash out to the plane, and four of us sped out to scramble aboard the Hudson much to the surprise of the crew. A most glorious sight in the early dawn light, was the mass of shipping in the Channel servicing the Allied invasion forces.
We landed at Tempsford, and from there we were taken to London for clearance by M19. Entering the M19 building I noticed a Post Office nearby. Quite against regulations I managed to nip out unobserved and send a telegram to my mother, as I had been listed 'missing-presumed dead' for over four months. My mother received my message to say I was 'alive and well' before she received the official one from the Air Ministry; although she did not believe at first that the one I sent was from myself, because she exclaimed "It was not in Harry's writing." After some leave I was sent to a Rehabilitation Unit at Brackla near Nairn. Following more leave, I was posted to an AFU at Wigtown where I continued flying, although never again on operations over Europe.
I learned later that Gabriel Cochet the local Resistance Leader in northern France, was sent to a concentration camp but survived and lived into his nineties. Post-war I visited some of my helpers, mainly the Cochet family, the Preuxs' and Therese Bailleul in Paris. They are all gone now, the last meeting was with Therese when I was with the RAF Escaping Society in Paris in 1995. She was then 88, and I was greeted like a long-lost son. It was a very emotional farewell, particularly for Therese who had survived so many traumatic wartime experiences.
Finally, I must repeat that whatever was accomplished was entirely due to my good friends in northern France and Paris. To the Burgundy Line which almost succeeded in my escape from occupied France, and not least the Maquis in southern France who got me out of prison and organised my return to UK. They were all the true heroes who risked everything to assist this 23 year-old in 1944, and I shall never forget their courage. The main object of the RAF Escaping Society (of which I was a member from its formation in 1945) was to keep contact and assist helpers who were in need in whatever way. The Continental Standard was laid up in the British Embassy in June 1995, we were then royally entertained by various French Organisations followed by a short march up the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe with military bands playing all the way. Our UK Standard being laid up in Lincoln Cathedral in September 1995. It was really a sad moment, but after fifty years it was felt that it was better to go out in a blaze of glory rather than simply die a slow death.
Another highly significant occasion the memory of which I shall always treasure, was the Gala Dinner at RAF Cranwell to which I was invited in September 1995. This was a truly memorable occasion marking the final days of the RAF Escaping Society, and guests were addressed by The Chief of Air Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Michael Graydon, GCB, CBE. I felt that Sir Michael brought all our activities into perspective including that of the `Helpers' to whom we owed so much. In his speech he stated:
"I am delighted to be your guest tonight. It is over a year ago that Sir Lewis Hodges asked if I would attend: the event has been etched into my diary since: I would not have missed it for anything. I count it a particular honour to have been invited to be with you tonight on your 50th anniversary, both a commemoration, a celebration and a poignant end of a particular chapter in your remarkable history."
"You are one of the most exclusive and extraordinary societies in the world, a Society not only brought about to repay a debt but with the aim, I have no doubt, inspired by a deep and often very personal desire, to maintain contact with the families of those who had literally laid down their lives for others in the pursuit of freedom."
"Thus Lord Portal's directive in 1945 for the RAF Escaping Society to maintain links with the 'Helpers' has been carried out with a dedication and diligence which would be hard to match. I would venture to suggest that he would be well pleased both in the manner in which these links have been maintained and in the strength, still after 50 years, of this Escaping Society. But perhaps there should be no surprise, for as members of this remarkable Society, you have had some unique characteristics, a combination of courage, determination, cunning, imagination and no doubt some luck. Have you ever thought of going into politics?!"
"For whatever reason, for whatever aspect of character carried you through, you escaped, you evaded and you returned. That is an entrance test unique to any society. And yet, of course, you would be the first to acknowledge that none of this would have been possible without the Helpers. And you above all would know that, however long it took to reach safety, whether it was days, weeks or even months, there was an end game and when you reached it, God willing, you would be free . . For your Helpers, that was not the case. They had everything to lose, their family, their home and overshadowing it, the persistent fear, the threat of concentration camps and execution - a pressure that was there for years. I can understand why you feel so strongly and have committed yourselves so valiantly to the links with the Helpers."
This was a very valid point of course in Sir Michael's speech, we who had been freed by our 'helpers' had left those courageous people behind to cope with the next wave of escapees seeking help. It was a very moving event at RAF Cranwell, and Sir Michael ended by saying "Now you have decided to close the Society, if I may say so, you have done it with great good sense and with much dignity. The trophy that you have presented over the years will continue to remind all of today's Royal Air Force of your deeds, your exploits and your commitment to your Helpers. The Society will certainly not be forgotten when people meet to talk of honour, valour and integrity. You were set a task by Lord Portal 50 years ago. As one of his successors I can say you have met fully the remit placed on you then. Today's Royal Air Force is honoured to take part in this occasion and salutes each one of you tonight." Thus ended another moving event marking the celebration and final days of the RAF Escaping Society.
This was considered to be a fitting 'finale' for our Society, and we felt at least an awareness had now been created of those wartime escape and evasion experiences, and our efforts had been recognised - especially those of our Helpers. It was indeed a night to remember with music, unlimited hospitality and an atmosphere in total contrast to the stark conditions we had survived and were now commemorating.
Unable to keep notes during my time `on the run' I have written the above purely from memory. Some names I can not remember and many others I never knew due to the nature of the operations in which they were so deeply committed. One thing I shall never forget while paying tribute to all those 'Helpers' is the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that will remain with me for the rest of my life."