I had never had any thoughts that my parachute would not operate properly. It was a 24 ft. chest type. At this time, I estimated our altitude at about eight to ten thousand feet, and I probably fell about a thousand feet before pulling the D-ring which allowed my chute to escape from the pack and open. After the opening shock, I check the canopy. It was a clear sunny afternoon, and I could see three of my crew members were drifting in their chutes. I knew I would have to face downwind when landing so I determined my direction of drift by observing the ground between my feet. I turned myself in my chute harness and then I realized that I was still firmly holding the D-ring in my right hand. I dropped it as it was of no more use to me.
After so many hours in enduring the noise of a B-17, the silence of falling to earth in a parachute was a little weird and unreal. I landed without trouble and immediately spilled the air from my chute canopy, detached the harness, discarded my "Mae West", flying boots, cotton flying helmet and gloves. It was SOP to leave the landing area immediately so I departed on the run. After running about 200 yards, I fell to the ground exhausted. I wanted to vomit, but nothing came up. I realized my nerves had been twisted up tight the last few hours, and I would have to get myself organized.
After resting a few minutes, I discovered that I had run in the wrong direction. I was moving into the marshy area of the coast. I removed my maps from my escape kit, studied them for a few minutes, located myself, and then moved off at a fast walk inland. The area was not heavily populated so I did not come in contact with any French people or any of my fellow crew members. I continued walking eastward hoping to find a north-south road as indicated on my map. It was getting late in the afternoon, so I wanted to find the road before dark. My maps were printed on cloth and did not show much detail, so I could not be sure of the distance. After a couple of hours of walking across the country, I heard some vehicles moving in the distance so I knew the road was near. I had not observed anyone in the area that might be searching for me, so I began to feel a little better about things, but knew that I had a long way to go before getting to Spain.
I knew there was a night curfew in France so I would have to be very careful moving through the villages later. I was happy when I found my first road marker and it showed I was on the road to Saujon. There was a total blackout in this part of approaching a house along the road was the barking dogs. It appeared that every Frenchmen had two to four dogs and they all loved to bark. Their bark was always surprising and what little confidence I had gained in my few hours in France was lost at every farm house.
I arrived at the village of Saujon about midnight. It was cold and dark and I was very hungry and thirsty. I had not eaten or drank anything for almost 24 hours. I knew it was after curfew so I decided not to go through the village until daylight. It was a very long night; I was chilled to the bone and estimated the temperature to be around 30 degrees. I did calisthenics to warm my body and moved about often. The moon came up about 3 a.m. and this allowed me to view my surroundings much better. While I waited, I had thoughts about everything. I was thankful that I had not been injured in any way. I had thoughts about my fellow crew members. Thoughts about my folks at home and what they would think when they received the news that I was missing. All of the activities that we had planned at our base in England and the two pretty Red Cross girls that served us coffee, donuts, and hot chocolate at our briefing room at Polebrook. They were always a welcomed sight. My WASF friends stationed at Market Deeping and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Flo o Orchard St in Peterborough. After all of these thoughts, it all came back to one important thing - getting back to Spain. If I did not get sick and with luck and help from the French people, I could make it back to jolly old England for a "good show" and some "cheers" from my friends.
On the first light of January 1, 1944, I went through the village of Saujon and moved on to the road to Pons. As yet, I had not seen the first Frenchman or a vehicle on the roads. The first thing I wanted to do was to get something to eat and exchange my olive drab flying coveralls for more suitable clothing. After walking about an hour I stopped at a farm house. I could not speak French so I used sign language in asking for food. This family was very poor and even though the man of the house wanted to help he had very little to offer. Some fresh milk and bread was all he could give me. I requested some clothing in exchange for my flying coveralls and after some searching the family produced pants, coat, scarf and a cap. I was taller than the Frenchman and I had difficulty in covering my bright blue heated flying suit with this clothing but I did not want to discard the suit as it was very warm. After thanking the family for their help, I began walking south towards Pons. It was clear and sunny.
As I walked along on this warm day I began to think about the lectures that I had heard at my base at Polebrook about other airmen escaping from France and other countries. I knew I would have to stick to some basic rules for escaping and the first one I had fulfilled, that is, remaining free for the first twenty four hours. I would have to stay in the rural areas of the night curfew. I also reasoned that I could not walk twenty to twenty five miles a day and then stand or sit all night in the open country. I must seek a place and ask for help before darkness fell as the homes of the French would be difficult to locate in the blackout.
After walking two or three hours, and only seeing a couple of vehicles and no people, I made a turn in the road and in the distance I could see someone riding a bicycle towards me. In a few moments, I could make out that it was a person in uniform. There was no place for me to hide so I maintained my steady walk and hoped for the best. As the rider came nearer, I saw that it was a Luftwaffe corporal. He crossed over to my side of the road, stopped his bicycle, and dismounted. He was not armed but had a huge knife in a case strapped to his belt. But then I was not armed either. To say the least, I was scared stiff. He spoke to me and since I did not know French or Germen, I did not understand anything, I turned and pointed up the road in the direction that he had been traveling. He went through the motion of thanking me and mounted his bicycle and rode away. I was weak from fright, but continued on my way but looked over my shoulder occasionally and could not believe that I was so lucky.
About an hour later, I was passing through the village of Gemozac. The people stood in the doorways of their homes and stared at me and no one made any effort to speak to me. It was a creepy feeling but I also realized that the French people would be severely punished if they were caught talking to an allied airman and not reporting it to the local German Headquarters.
Then suddenly, without warning, the German corporal returned and rode his bicycle around in front of me, stopped and dismounted. I could sense that he was a little irritated and had returned to find out why I had sent him on a "wild goose chase" around the countryside. I was "stoned" with fright as he spoke to me and without saying a word, made a motion with my hands to indicate that I did not understand. At that moment, a young Frenchman who had been standing a few feet away from us spoke to the Germans. While they conversed, I moved around the German's bicycle and slowly walked down the street. In a couple minutes, I looked over my shoulder and saw the German mount his bicycle and ride away to the north. In a few minutes, the Frenchman that had talked to the German soldier rode along beside me on his bicycle. I told him that I was an American parachutist-avion and this seemed to delight him very much. He laughed about the situation. I did not share his delight as I realized that I had narrowly escaped detection by the German, but then I reasoned that the incident might of had a humorous tone too; that is; whatever inquiry the German was making and all the people in the area that he could have approached, he stopped me. But I will never know.
I indicated that I was on my way to Spain, and after a short time, I thanked him for his help with a firm handshake and he rode away. I had been excited enough for one day so I decided to try to find a place for the night before arriving in the city of Pons. On my first effort, I was taken in by a French family and honored with my first good meal with large amounts of French bread and wine. The home was comfortable and I was very happy to know that I would not have to spend my second night in France out in the darkness. In the evening, a gentleman friend of the daughter came and luckily for me he could speak some English. We were able to talk about my situation and make plans for my movement south toward Spain. He advised me that he would be able to accompany me and that we would go by train to a point north of Bordeaux, but he would have to make proper plans. I was permitted to sleep in the home and after a good breakfast of fresh eggs and potatoes, I was hidden in the hay loft in the barn. The family checked on me frequently during the day and I always had plenty of food and wine.
There was one thing that I began to miss now, and that was my toothbrush. I don't know why I had never thought about placing one in my flight coveralls, but certainly hoped that someone would make one available in the near future. My friend returned in the evening and advised me that we would leave the next morning. He also let me know that there was another airman in hiding at a home close by and that he was trying to find out who it might be. I was elated to think that it might be one of my fellow crew members, but was disappointed later when we received news that the airman had been moved and we did not know who it was.
We were up the next morning and after a good breakfast, we rode into the city of Pons on bicycles. We parked our bicycles at a home of a friend and walked a short distance to the train station. It seemed to be a traveling day for the French people, as the station was crowded and I remained outside looking as French as possible while my friend purchased our tickets. In a short time, the train arrived and everyone made a rush to board it. Every seat was occupied so we stood in the vestibule at the end of one of the cars. For the next two hours, I faced the door with a half window and watched the French countryside pass. We did not talk to each other, as we never knew who was standing nearby.
We detrained at the city of St. Andre-de-Cubzac and while standing on the station platform, we observed a German officer who had also departed from the train. He appeared to be a naval officer and he was between us and the station house so we delayed our departure until he went inside. I followed a short distance behind my friend and when we entered the station, I could see the German officer just outside of the main door talking to two soldiers who had apparently come to meet him. We stopped our movement again, but in a few moments the three Germans walked to a vehicle and drove away. We then went through the station and surrendered our tickets. The station was located outside of the city proper and we walked south a few blocks. The Frenchman gave me a lunch that the family so kindly prepared and a Shell company road map. He bid me farewell with a handshake and a kiss on both cheeks and I was off on my own again.
I always gave these people my name, rank, and serial number and was sorry that I could not keep a record of names, but did not want to jeopardize the lives of these brave people who had taken such great risk in helping me in the event that I was captured. I began studying my new map and soon realized that it was a much better one than my G.I. issue. It was very detailed and had all of the secondary roads.
It was a fine hiking weather and since I had rested for a couple of days, I made good time walking south toward Branne. Later in the day, I came in contact with a young Frenchman and he accompanied me for a few miles. He had a bicycle, so he carried me on the crossbar for a while. He rode into a school yard near the village of Promrol and I hid in a small building while he went into the school house. In a short time, he returned with a young French woman. She spoke some English, so I told her about myself and what my plans were. She was very interested in my situation, but could not help much as she had to remain at the school. She did provide me with a small French-English dictionary which I found useful in later days. I thanked them for their help and continued on toward Branne.
On my first try for a place for the night, I was refused help so I walked a few more miles and approached another family. They consented to take me in and it was so very nice to be able to sit in front of a nice warm fire for awhile knowing that I would have a nice bed for the night. I was always anxious to get started in the mornings, so I was up early and on my way. My feet were sore and always a little swollen in the mornings, but after getting my G.I. shoes on and walking awhile , they seemed to loosen up a bit and did not bother me anymore.
It was a cloudy day and I hoped I would not be caught in a rain storm. I had to cross my first bridge near the city of Branne. I proceeded with caution, looking for guards and waited until there were no vehicles in sight. After returning to a secondary road, I was able to get a ride in a horse drawn two wheel wagon and rode along on the tailgate. This gave me a feeling of security and was quite restful.
I stopped at an isolated farm house in the afternoon and was taken in by an elderly man and his wife. They gave me some food and wine and then the Frenchman directed me to his barn and I hid in the hay loft. In a short time, I fell asleep. I was startled when someone awakened me with a small light shining in my face and discovered it was the man of the house. As we walked to the house, I looked around for some sign of daybreak, and only saw darkness. When we entered the kitchen of the house, I saw by the clock on the wall that it was only nine o'clock. The farmers wife was busy preparing some food and I suddenly realized that they were getting ready to feed me again and then boot my tail out into the cold night. I made good use of my French-English dictionary. I found the French words for curfew, Germans, sleep, and morning. While we conversed, he also talked to his wife as she appeared to be upset by my presence in their home. After discussing my situation, I was advised that I could stay for the night but could not sleep in the house. I was then directed down a flight of stairs to his garage. It was enclosed and had an automobile which had not been driven for some time as it was sitting on blocks with the wheels removed. The man removed the seat cushions from the car and gave me two blankets. I made up my bed and turned in for the second time.
I was up and on my way early. As I looked at the countryside, I saw that it was covered with the heaviest frost that I had ever seen. It was like snow and if it had not been for a French school teacher and her thoughts about a dictionary, I would have spent a cold, miserable night in France. I was walking toward the city of Langon and also had another river to cross, so I was hoping that I could get to Langon by nightfall. I couldn't. There was too much activity on the main road and I could not find a secondary road that would get me across the Garonne river.
I arrived outside of Langon around sundown and crossed the river and began walking east around the city. Just before darkness came, I stopped at a home and asked for help. A Frenchman about 40 years old let me in and after talking for a few minutes, directed me to another home about a mile east of the river. He said that the family had a son in the Free French Army in North Africa and that he was sure that they would help me. He wanted to know my age and when would the invasion start. I could not help him in regard to allied invasion plans.
I was disappointed that he would not take me in for the night, but had no other choice so I went on as he directed. I arrived at the other home after dark. It was a large estate with spacious grounds and a tree lined driveway. The sound of the winter breeze rustling through the trees was pleasant and peaceful. The home was large and built of stone. I went to the large double front door and knocked using the big metal door knocker. I waited a few minutes but no one came to the door. I then went around the house and found a door with a window and light burning inside with someone moving inside. I knocked on the door and an elderly woman answered. I went through my introduction routine of being and American parachutist and on my way to Spain. She became very excited and motioned for me to go around to the front door. I did and she opened the door still talking. She gave me a large piece of bread and some sausage and closed the door. I interpreted all this to mean that I should get lost in a hurry.
I went back to the main road, stopped and tried to think out what would be best for me. I decided to go back to the home of the man that had sent me to the place and ask for help. When he came to the door this time, his attitude had changed. He became very excited and said, in broken English, that the police were searching for me and that I should leave immediately. I left at a fast walk and decided to hide for awhile and see what developed. I hid on the side of a hill overlooking the road. It was dark now and the sky was clear so I knew that eventually there would be moonlight. In a couple hours, the moon came up, there had not been anyone moving along the road, and the cold night was chilling me to the bone. I stayed until I could not stand the cold any longer and then hit the road. The remainder of the night was spent walking around the edge of Langon looking for a main road to the south.
By morning, I was on a good road again but there were lots of people and they made me a little nervous. At one point, a motor transport passed me with about 15 German troops standing in the back. All were talking in typical "G.I." fashion. A little later an old Frenchman came by in his horse drawn two wheel cart. I was dog tired so I went through the motions of asking for a ride. The old man waved me so I climbed aboard and sat on the tail gate. It was a perfect cover so I rode for a while and studied my road map. After a short time, we came upon a good secondary road, so I bid the old Frenchman farewell and left the main road. Around mid-day, I decided to try to find someone that would take me in as I was worn out and very hungry. On my first try, I was taken in by a middle age couple. The wife began to prepare some food for me and her husband broke out a bottle of cognac. They seemed to be rather well fixed and acted as if they were delighted that I had "dropped in" and without concern as to the risk that they were taking in helping me.
After two good drinks on an empty stomach, I was beginning to feel great. At this time a friend came in and this in turn called for another round of cognac. I did not want to offend anyone so I put the third one down. The food was great and after eating, I went with the friend to his home and put to bed for some much needed rest.
Early the next morning I was on my way again. I was now traveling through a forest area of France and there were not many homes along the way but my luck was good at the end of the first day. On my second day, my luck was down and I had to spend the night in the forest. From my map, I calculated that my position was a few miles west of Roquefort. I had passed a group of workmen cutting timber so there were plenty of wood chips in the forest. I was lucky enough to find an abandoned rabbit pen with a roof. After clearing a small spot in the middle of the pen, I gathered wood chips and started a small fire. It was a long night of just sitting and feeding the fire with the chips. It was a poor substitute for a nice warm bed, but not as miserable as the other nights that I had to endure without shelter.
I was out of the forest by the middle of the next day and was also lucky enough to get a "hand out" of some bread and wine. It was enough to keep me going as I was anxious to make it to Spain. A few miles north of Aire-s-L'A in the rolling hills of southern France I saw snow capped mountains some 70-80 miles to the south. I could not believe what I was seeing. I realized that it would be impossible for me to pass through these mountains alone. I felt that the Air Force had let me down as they had made things sound so easy. "Just walk over the Pyrenees into Spain".
My morale went to "rock" bottom and I became very depressed. I found a hiding spot from the road and studied my map with the thought that it might be better for me to change direction east or west, but I could not see any clues as to the height of the mountains on my map. I made an unsuccessful attempt to roll a cigarette from some bulk tobacco I had. I soon decided to go on and look at my problem later in the day. At the end of this day, I picked out an isolated home and asked for help. This home was occupied by a young French couple and their grandmother. We discussed my problem and he agreed to help me get to Spain. He also mentioned that if I had passed by his home and stopped at the next home, I would have probably been captured, as the people living there were pro-German. These kind and wonderful people permitted me to take my first tub bath which was a pure delight after so many days.
My French friend had to make plans for us so I remained overnight and the next morning I was given the fresh new clothes that fit me properly and the young Frenchmen, his wife, and me left for the village of St. Cricq, on bicycles about 25 miles away. He had indicated to me that we travel more to the west away from the high mountains that I had seen that day before. We arrived in St. Cricq without trouble and I was hid upstairs in the home of the young man's mother. The next day he let me look out the window and down the street I could see the German flag positioned over the door of the German Headquarters.
Early on the second morning, the young man and I left St. Cricq on our bicycles riding south toward Orthez, a distance of about 20 miles. We were met at a river bridge outside the city by another young Frenchmen. We followed the young man through the city, riding about 30 yards behind him. There were many German troops marching in the streets of Orthez and at one point, I could have reached out and touched some of them on the shoulder as I rode by. I now had thoughts that I was at last in the organized French underground and they would "pass" me along to others in the organization, hopefully, all the way to Spain.
We continued on for most of the day and finally arrived at a home outside of the city of St. Palais. I remained in hiding and on the second morning was escorted by two new friends by bicycle to a place near the city of St. Jean Pied De Port. We remained at this home until darkness came and then we began our journey into the Pyrenees. This trip was on foot and the night was dark with low clouds in the sky. After several hours of walking we arrived at a small mountain cabin. It was occupied by a man, his wife, and teenage son. It was primitive living. The place had a dirt floor and the wife cooked in the small fireplace. Poor, but brave people. I was advised that we would move on the next night if the weather was good. The weather cleared so on the night of January 18, 1944, I began the last few miles to freedom. These people were smugglers, but I was not permitted to see what was placed in the small bags and then covered with flour, but I had very little interest in their activity as my only thoughts were of getting to Spain.
The night was clear and later the moon came up. There were some light patches of snow, but nothing that made walking difficult. I estimated that our altitude was 2500-3000 feet. Much of our traveling was done parallel to the mountain ridges which made walking easier. The two Frenchmen placed their bags at a spot along the way and by mid-morning we were at the end of the trip. We rested a bit and had some bread and wine for lunch. When we arrived at the next mountain ridge, my friend pointed towards the valley below and said that it was Spain. I bid the man farewell with a firm handshake and for about an hour I walked at a fast pace toward the valley below. It was a beautiful cold clear day and by the grace of the Lord and my G.I. shoes, I had escaped from occupied France.
Arriving at a small village, I knocked on a door as I wanted to make certain that I was at last in Spain- and free from capture from Germans. An old man answered and after telling him who I was, he spoke to me in English, a very pleasant surprise. He told me that he had lived in the state of Nevada and had returned to Spain just before the civil war started. He also stated that there was another American airman in the main village nearby and that he would accompany me there. He saddled his horse and we walked another mile to the mountain village. Along the way we talked about the war, and the states and I concluded that he would have liked to return to the United States but was unable to do so due to the current political situation in Spain. In the village I met a Lt. Adcock who was from the 94th Bomb Group and shot down on another mission. Later in the day, I was questioned by the Spanish troops that were assigned to the village. Lt. Adcock, myself, and three young Frenchmen were confined to the village hotel and on January 22, 1944, we were escorted from the village of Valcarlos by the Spanish guards to the city of Pamplona. On the first part of the trip, we rode a small electrified railway car which reminded me of the Toonerville Trolley in the comic strip of American newspapers. We then boarded a rundown bus that was long overdue at the junkyard for the remainder of our journey in to Pamplona.
After stopping at the government building, Lt. Adcock and I parted company with the three Frenchmen and were taken to a small hotel where we found eight more American airman, an RAF officer, and a French Canadian Captain. All were officers except myself, and this was due to the fact that I had informed the Spanish authorities that I was an officer. Our intelligence people had advised enlisted men to take this action as the Spanish treatment of enlisted men was much more harsh that for officers. They were placed in prison and had their heads shaved. As soon as my status became known to the others, I was awarded the honorary rank of "Major" as Captain was the highest rank in the group. It was all in fun, but this followed me back to the states when one of the group was assigned to my base in Florida and the "Major" thing started again.
Our stay in Spain was easy and pleasant. We were fitted with tailor made clothes, given a small money allowance, and had complete freedom of movement. Spain was a neutral country and there did not appear to be any shortages in the shops so we spent our days touring the city and window shopping. There were wonderful pastry shops and fresh oranges which were not available in England. It was the custom to have the evening meal around 7:30 p.m. and then we went out to our private restaurant for coffee which was all we could afford on our seven dollar a week allowance. At one particular restaurant, which had an orchestra, and after we had become known to them, when we entered the restaurant they would start playing "St Louis Blues" for our benefit and delight.
In a week, our group was moved south to Zaragosa by train and escorted by a Spanish Air Force officer. We were again put in a nice hotel in the main part of the city and there were 18 allied airmen in our group. We remained in Saragosa for about ten days before being moved south toward Madrid by personnel from the military attaché in Madrid. This part of our trip was made by auto. Our stay in Madrid was short as we departed by train in the afternoon of the day of our arrival for an overnight trip to Gibraltar. At Gibraltar, we were issued military clothing and were quartered at the RAF air base. We could not get a complete issue of G.I. uniforms as everyone had some British uniform items including the officers. The British food rations were a disaster but we tried to make up for this in the bars of the "Rock".
In a few days we were scheduled for a night flight to London. The aircraft was a DC-3 operated by the BOA. We departed from Gibraltar in the early evening and excluding my combat missions, it was the worst flight I ever made in an airplane. We were in bad weather most of the night consisting of thunderstorms, rain and lightning. I knew that much of our trip was over the cold North Atlantic and this added little to our comfort, but the crew did a wonderful job and we made our landing outside London around 9:00 a.m. It was a "good show" to the crew. In London, we were interned in a small hotel at 63 Brook Street, just off Park Lane at Marble Arch.
We were interrogated by USAF personnel. We also had to be positively identified by someone from our unit. Our records were updated including our back pay, and a complete issue of clothing was made. All of this required several days but then it was "off to the races" to see London and a trip back to our bomb group. At this time the Air Force policy did not require me to fly bombing missions again after evading, so on my 20th birthday, I received orders for my return to the states.
In my contact with the relatives in the following weeks, I received information concerning the fate of my fellow crew members. Pilot M.H. Bender, Co-Pilot W.J. Grupp, Sgts. H.F. Long, L.R. Anderson, W.J. Koski, W.R. Rollins were taken prisoner almost immediately after their landing in France. Lt R.B. Wilcox, Lt H.O. Freeman, and Sgt L.H. Collins were still missing. This was a good sign as it meant that they were still free and in hiding somewhere in Southern France. Many months passed before receiving the details of their Journey through France.
Bombardier, Lt. Wilcox was taken in by a French family, and remained with them from January 1944 until September 1944. During this time the invasion of France began and due to the activity of the German forces in occupied France, it was impossible for him to be moved by this French "helpers". In the last days of September 1944 he was escorted by an American O.S.S. officer to Marseille, France where he joined the American forces. He then returned to Naples, Italy and North Africa.
By accident, Navigator, Lt. H.O. Freeman and Ball Turret Gunner, Levi I. Collins came together shortly after parachuting down. They survived the harsh life of a POW camp and were liberated in 1945. Freeman and Collins joined six other allied flyers and were moved around southern France and South toward the Spanish frontier. This group was together until March 15th when Collins and two others were caught at Axat, France. It must have been heartbreaking for them to have come so close to escape and fail. Lt. Freeman and his group crossed into Spain near Andorra March 30, 1944. They then returned to England by way of Barcelona and Gibraltar, arriving in London April 12.
I am, and I know there are others who will always be grateful for the brave deeds of the French people in helping allied flyers to escape. They laid their life on the line and their courage and bravery was our freedom.