Grandpa Louis’s Escape

I was about eight; I think, when I walked passed my fathers office and saw him crying. For a child to see a parent cry is unnerving. True they are human beings, but children want to feel that their parents are stronger than they are and will always protect them. Walking into his office I saw him holding a photograph album. 

“Are you okay Daddy?”   

“Yes I am son.” He wiped his eyes. “Come sit with me and I’ll show you pictures of me as a little boy about your age. I know my father was gone by the time you were born, so you never got to meet him, but let me tell you something about him.  Come sit with me.”

I sat beside him on the bed and together we looked at the Album. There was a picture of my Dad with his Dad. My Dad was wearing a little sailor suit; he looked about three or four, and his Dad was in a military outfit. Grandpa Louis was in the air force during WW II. He looked tall, maybe because he was standing next to a little boy, and he looked quite fit with a big smile on his face. I guess the person who took the picture was my Grandmother Irene and she died when I was eleven. She was a very religious person and sang in the choir for the Presbyterian Church. Grandpa met her when she came to America from Scotland and was staying at his cousin’s boardinghouse.  

Of course, I didn’t know her when she was young, but in the pictures of her she was quite pretty. The pictures of her had been hand painted, since there were no colored photos then. She had red hair and lots of freckles and she talked with a funny accent. When my grandfather met her, as the story goes, he was smitten with just about everything about her and it wasn‘t long till they married. But then after only a few weeks he was called to service for the country. And Grandma Irene was left at home pregnant and waiting for his return. Her cousin Maureen who had recently come from Scotland moved in with her till my Grandpa came home. And then Grandma Irene got a telegram that Grandpa Louis was missing in action. A year later she got this letter from him. 

* * * *

Dearest Irene, my freckled face girl. 

I don’t know if or when I will see you again, as of now I am fine and I will do everything I can to get back home to be with you and our son Alexander. I am in a Stalag in Germany since being shot down, but I got them good just the same. We dropped a few 12,000 pounds of bombs on them, but flying too low they shot at us from below. They hit my port wing and fuselage, which set the wing on fire. Once I could no longer see my instrument panel I knew I had to bailout, even though I knew the Germans would capture me, and my bombardier, who had been taking the new infrared pictures of German installations. We thought we had it made before this. 

I was burnt a little and had a terrible wound to my shinbone. The Jerry’s took me to a hospital to get treated and I was there for about a week, before they took me to some headquarters for interrogation. Not sure where I was, but between interrogations they kept me in a dark solitary cell with nobody to talk to, and not knowing where I was made me disoriented; at times I thought I could see the walls moving toward me, closing me in. I could hardly tell night from day, so I actually looked forward to the interrogations for some companionship. I know that sounds funny, but true. I would talk to myself out loud to make sure I was still alive. Then they’d take me out again and ask questions again, but I only gave them name, rank and service number. Oh I knew a lot, as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force, but wasn’t going to tell them. The Geneva Convention said I didn’t’ have to, and luckily they didn’t kill me. But the Jewish American soldiers weren’t so lucky. We were all asked to pull down our pants to see if there were any Jews amongst us and two had been circumcised and immediately shot in the head. It was also a warning, as to the power they had over our life and death. And yes it did un-nerve me, and you know me, I have a lot of nerve.

After three more days of interrogations and the solidary cell, me and other prisoners were loaded into trucks and I and two other men were taken to a stalag in Germany and some went to Poland. Because we were officers we had better housing then enlisted men, the Germans called it The Estate, but it was simply boards nailed together with cold air streaming in.

I felt for the enlisted soldiers; their accommodations were much worse than ours. They slept on straw mats, while we had bunk beds with thin mattresses, which was ten times better than any straw mats. When the food was scarce officers ate first then what was left was split up between the enlisted men. I felt for them, since no matter how bad it was for us, they had it worse. We at least had cubbies and a small hot tray; shelves with dishes and a table and chairs where we ate and played cards.  When there was enough food it consisted of a slice of bread and some watery potato soup.   Along side one wall were three latrine holes on a bench and if you didn’t go fast you could freeze your fanny off since the walls behind had huge spaces between the wooden slates. 

We weren’t all American officers; there were British, Canadians, Australians and a few Irish and one Welch as well. We all spoke the same language but with different accents and we quickly felt each other out and formed alliances. I bonded with an Irish fella, Kevin Fitzgibbons from County Cork; he was ingratiating, friendly and smart. 

We all knew we could be kept like this for years, or till the war ended and as officers we also knew we would have to try and escape. After all, we couldn’t see the future, but we knew that food shortages, loneliness and boredom along with possibly being executed gave us nothing to loose if we tried to escape, and the planning gave us something to live for, whether we made it or not. And as officers that was our job, but most of all I wanted to get back to you and our new son. 

Fitzgibbon had been a sandhog in Ireland before the war, and understood tunnels, which was how we thought we should escape, but it didn’t’ work out that way. Of course we didn’t’ know that then and we were crazy for something to look forward too. Fitzgibbon make us plans for the tunnel; we wrote on the harsh toilet paper, or used the dry ground outside to layout our plans. 

It was decided that three cabins of officers would all start a tunnel through their latrines going about three hundred feet, then meeting up to form one tunnel to go out past the outer most fence. Everyone had an assignment to stick to in two shifts, so no one got too tired. Sleepyheads were noticed and the Germans knew the score, since they too were trying to escape from American POW camps. And the two shifts saw to it that each man got enough sleep. 

Now that we had a plan we still needed to find things to dig with, so we used spoons, tin bowls, even rocks and belt buckles, or sticks and old tree limbs and our boots to get rid of the soil. Each night in each cabin they would lift off the bench to the latrine and slip down into the hellhole of slime, and fetid smells of human waste and urine, which was held in a solid concrete reservoir below. Once below that they could more easily dig, but until then the men would gag and even throw up. 

I had befriended one of the German guards, Franz Burger; we would share a smoke and talk philosophy, opera and women. He too was bored. Though Fitzgibbon was the commander in charge of the tunnel, I was to make connections on the outside, since Franz and his German Shepard dog Rugger would take me into the town to pick up supplies. This was always a treat anyway, just to see people walking in the streets having normal lives, though actually their lives weren’t so normal but better than mine. Food was scarce and rationed for them as well. But the two men who helped us load the truck were in the underground and I was able to make arrangements with them for passports and identity papers for the escapees, which would take about a month so the next time we went into town they would be ready. 

On the way back Franz and I would have discussions about the war, our families, as well as art. Franz bought me a few packs of cigarettes even though I could buy them in the camp canteen; he wanted to show me friendship.  Rugger would sleep across us both on the ride back to camp, his head in Franz’s lap and his legs and tail on me. And it would take a good month or more of digging a tunnel before I could go back for supplies, so I kept nurturing my companionship with Franz. 

Each night two men from three cabins dug for four hours then woke up their seconds and went to sleep and the well-rested men took on the digging. It took several weeks till they finally had dug to bypass the holding reservoir and everything got better and went smoother till all cabins met to make one main tunnel. Now Fitzgibbon went through to navigate the next assignments. But just as they were going on to the next phase of the operation we got news that the Russians were on the way, which meant the war might soon be over.  We now had to decide if we should let them free us, or continue on with the tunnel. The consensus was to continue on in case the Russians didn’t make it. So on we dug, but since only one man at a time could fit in the tunnel, it would take longer to dig. It was slow going, yet still no Russians. 

When once again Franz and I went into town, I collected the men’s papers and found out the Germans had plans to walk most of the prisoners out of the camps before the Russians could get there. Their mission was called “The Road to Evacuation” but we had no idea when it would start. Yet we knew now for sure the war would be over very shortly. I stuffed the papers uncomfortably in my underwear, and Franz and I returned back to the stalag.

 When I got back I pulled Fitzgibbons aside letting him know what I had learnt and we decided to keep the tunnel up, so if not all the men were walked out they would still have a way to get out without being noticed and the tunnel was almost finished to let the men out in a potato field outside the camp and they could make a run for it.

Then on January 30th, 1945 the German’s rounded up the officers. There were about three hundred of us from allied forces.  They walked us out of the camp like a group of misfits even though we made sure our uniforms looked good, it was hard not to seem downtrodden after over a year in a prisoner of war camp. 

After walking for miles, I realized homeless German civilians trying to flee the Soviet onslaught, were following us with carts to carry their things with them. Things they might not need in the long run.  This is the fear of those who lose a war and find out they are caught by their enemies.  There were soon hundreds walking with us. Fitzgibbon and I would be the last to peel off from the walkers as we found places for the men to hide.  Whether it was barns or behind rural farmhouses, in basements or blacksmiths, or horse and cattle holdings, two men would run off the line into safety. And with so many marching they were hardly noticed now. The men were relying on us for safety and we weren’t going to let them down. After about fifty miles it looked like most of the men were gone. 

“Now,” I said to Fitzgibbon, “we should say our prayers we make it too.” 

“You might not believe this, but me prayers have been answered since this war began. If me prayers weren’t answered I would be in a concentration camp dead.”

“Are you a Jew Fitzgibbon?” This amazed me how he wasn’t caught.

“Does this change anything for ye?” Fitzgibbon inquired of him looking into his eyes. 

“I guess not, but how did you get through the physical without them seeing your schlung. Didn’t you have to take your pants off?” 

“Yes, but I am not circumcised. My mother was Irish Catholic, my father Jewish and he didn’t want me to be circumcised, he thought it would spoil me pleasure as a man.”  

“And it saved your life.”

“You bet it did…God was on my side. Whether I will have more pleasure than the next guy can never be proven.”

He was quite a guy and I hugged him around.  ”Glad I met you. If we get separated I’ll look you up in Ireland as Fitzgibbon the uncircumcised.” We now had a secret to share. And together we wondered how the men who escaped had faired, each I’m sure had their own story. 

Though the allied officers were fleeing the Germans, they were fleeing the Russians too. They might let us go, but we couldn’t be sure and if we got caught with the German civilians who joined the march we could also be sent to Russian internment and labor camps and used as German reparations to countries in Eastern Europe. We couldn’t take that chance so we knew we had to run now. 

We continued to walk for about another mile until we came to a thick wooded area   and as the march went past we slowed up so we were in the back of the line and then we ran for our lives through the forest. We heard shots, but weren’t sure if they were for us or not, so we kept running as fast as we could and for as long as we could before being totally out of breathe.  And then we came to a house nestled in the woods. It looked like the Witches house in Hansel and Gretel with gingerbread moldings along the top. Could it be a lure? We didn’t know so we laid low in the woods watching the house.

It appeared an old woman lived in the house alone as we saw no one else. We could see her canning fruit in her kitchen while a large black and white cat sat watching her. She came outside and placed food for the cat in a bowl already out there. She petted him and went back in the house. After the cat finished eating it stood on the top step of the porch and stretched then took a cat bath. But something alerted the cat to the woods and he ran towards us…we once again began to run and the cat ran after us. It made no sense even thinking we could stay at that house, or if we could trust that old woman in the wood.   

So on we went. By now the adrenal was wearing off and we realized how hungry and tired we were. Plus, we weren’t exactly sure where we were; had we crossed a border or were we still in Germany. We hoped, we could be found by Canadians, Australians, or any unit from the British Isles, which might be possible be in Austria, but we weren’t sure if we were in Poland, Czechoslovakia or still in Germany. Yet we were so tired we both lay down on the grown and slept. When we woke up, men with guns surrounded us, but they weren’t in any uniforms just old farm clothes. They got us up, and marched us back to the Handsel and Gretel house and led us in by the back door. 

Fitzgibbon asked them what country we were in? And the men laughed. 

“You don’t’ know where you are?” the tallest one asked. “Well then where did you come from?” And again the men laughed. 

We only gave them our name, rank and service number.  

“Oh I see,” said the smaller one with the mustache. “You were prisoners of war?” 

The taller one looked at us both very seriously, “would you believe it if I told you, you were on the border of Switzerland and Austria, but you still might not be safe. The Russians are roaming around and not too friendly.” “We are the Austrian underground,” the third man now spoke. He took out tobacco and rolled a cigarette and offered it to the two men. “I can tell which one of you is American, I know all the accent now?” And they all laughed. 

I took the cigarette; and breathed in deep and let the smoke out slowly; it was good to have a smoke, I had not had one since I had finished the packs Franz Burger had given me. It calmed me. “If we could get to France and the consulate there we can find our units possibly. My wife must think I am dead.” 

“Well,” said the tall one “you’re still not safe even here.”

“But each day you will be safer,” the mustached one told them. “Right now the Russians are taking what they want before they return home. So stay here for a few days and we will make arrangements’ to get you to Bern in Switzerland and from there you are on your own.”

Now the old woman Heidi served us food and we were staved and ate as fast as we could get the food in, then she put us to bed with warm quilts. We slept for hours, and when we woke we began to feel human again. In the evening the men sat and talked and smoked and told stories of war. And the black and white cat Gruber took a liking to Fitzgibbon, curling himself up on his lap and sleeping in the bed with him. In a few days it was hard for them to part. 

The men pulled out a Jalopy from a hidden garage that was covered with tree limbs and laid us down in the back with a blanket over us. Then they drove till they got to a main road, passing German civilians who had gotten away so far. We came into Switzerland at Klosters and left the men on the road as we walked to Grindelward and then Bern. The Swiss called the American Consulate in France and an American Sargent came and got us. 

 The war is over now and I am coming home my love. It will take a while to get there, as we will be debriefed, but I am alive and will be coming home to you and our boy. 

* * * *

My Dad had never seen him before and at first was afraid of him, but that changed quickly. Then a year later there was another baby and that was my Uncle Harry. 

But Dad did go to Ireland to see Fitzgibbon and spend a week with his family. And the rest of the time they wrote…but they always had a bond since their escape. In the photo album there is a picture of the two men in France and another one of Fitzgibbon and his family in Ireland. He looks handsome and rugged with a shock of dark curly hair and a big smile on his face.

“Dad?”

  “What son?”

“Grandpa Louis was a tough guy eh?”

My Dad looked at me for a minute and then gave me a big hug. 

“I guess he was.”