ONCE AGAIN!
As the days began to shorten, Edwards and I began to plan our escape.
We had the maps, the one he had bought at Vehnemoor and the one I had
made. We had the compass, which we had kept hidden in a very small
crack in the sloping roof of the hut, and the Red Cross suits had
come, and were dark blue and quite unnoticeable except for the piece
of brown cloth sewed on the sleeve. Mine had Russian buttons on it,
which I had put on to have for souvenirs--and which I have since had
made into brooches for my sisters.
On the map which Edwards had bought at Vehnemoor, the railways were
marked according to their kind: the double-tracked, with rock
ballast, were heavily lined; single-tracked with rock ballast, were
indicated by lighter lines; single-tracked, with dirt ballast, by
lighter lines still. I knew, from the study of maps, every stream and
canal and all the towns between us and the border. On the map which I
had drawn myself, from one I got from the Canadian artist at Giessen,
I had put in all the railways and the short spur lines of which there
are so many in northern Germany.
We knew that when a railway line ended without reaching another line,
it was a good indication that the soil was valueless, and therefore
there would be no settlement of any account. Through such districts
we would direct our way.
We began to prepare for our flight by adopting a subdued manner, such
as becomes discouraged men. We were dull, listless, sad, rarely
speaking to each other--when a guard was present. We sat around the
hut, morose and solemn, sighing often, as men who had lost hope.
But we were thinking, all the time, and getting ready.
I had a fine toffee tin, with a water-tight lid, which had come to
me in a parcel from Mr. Robert McPherson, Aberdeen, Scotland, whose
brother-in-law, Mr. Alec Smith, of Koch Siding, was a friend of mine.
This can, being oval in shape, fitted nicely into my pocket, and we
decided to use it for matches.
Edwards had a sun-glass, which we thought we would use for lighting
our pipes when the sun was shining, and thus conserve our supply of
matches.
Our first plan was to cut our way through the wires, as we had done
at Vehnemoor, but, unfortunately, three Russians, early in the
spring, did this--and after that no cat ever watched a mouse-hole
with greater intentness than the guards at Parnewinkel watched the
wires. We saw this was hopeless!
We then thought we would volunteer for work on farms as we had done
before at Rossbach, but although French and Russians were taken,
"Engländers" were not wanted! The Englishmen in the camp not wanting
to work had given themselves a bad name, hoping that the Russians and
French would carry it on to the farmers for whom they were working,
so that they would be afraid to employ such desperate characters. One
of them had "et an ear off'n" the last man he worked for. Another one
never took orders from any one--"the last man that tried it, woke
up in the middle of a long fit of sickness!--and had since died."
Another one admitted he had a terrible temper, but he had had it
"from a child and couldn't help it--he turned blind when he was mad,
and never knew where he was hittin'!"
This all worked well for them, but when Ted and I wanted to get out,
we were refused. "Engländers" were not wanted!
The first working party that was made up to go out and work with a
guard did not give either Ted or me a chance, although we wanted to
go, but four other Englishmen volunteered. They were not anxious to
have us go with them, for they knew we were thinking of escaping,
and when there is an escape, those who were present at the time have
embarrassing questions asked them and various privileges are likely
to be curtailed afterwards.
On Saturday morning, at roll-call, a working party was asked for, and
Ted and I volunteered, and with a Welshman and some Frenchmen, we
walked out to a small village called Seedorf, about four miles away,
where we were turned loose in a field of turnips from which the weeds
had not been taken out since the turnips were planted. There were
about a dozen of us, and we were taken into the house at noon to be
fed. The farmhouse was one of the best I had seen in this section of
the country, for the pig-pen, chickens, and cow-stable were in a
separate building.
The two daughters of the house were true daughters of Germany and did
not eat the bread of idleness; the biggest one, bare-legged and with
sleeves rolled up, was attending to the stock, without pausing for
anything. She looked as strong as a man, and was absorbed in her
work--not even stopping a second to look at us. The other one worked
in the house at meal-times, but no doubt joined her sister
afterwards.
The dinner consisted of soup, potatoes, bread, and coffee, and the
soup was a real treat, entirely different from the kind we were
used to. After dinner we went back to the field and put in a fine
afternoon's work. We were anxious to establish a good record before
we left there.
We had saved up a lot of things from our parcels, thinking that our
manner of escape might be such that we could take them with us.
A working party such as we were on made it impossible to carry
anything, for we were in great danger of being searched. Whenever the
Commandant thought of it, he ordered a search. Just as the Commandant
at Giessen was keen on rings, so this one went in for searching. We
were searched at unexpected times--going out to work or coming in--at
meal-times or at bedtime.
The following day--Sunday--we sat around with our saddest, most
dejected air, like two men in whose hearts all hope had died. We had
everything ready--razor, tobacco, matches, toffee tin, toothbrush,
comb, pocket-knife, watch, soap, strong safety-pins, and some strong
string. Edwards had the sun-glass, shaving-soap and brush, and other
things to correspond with mine.
It was quite a grief to us to have to leave behind us all the things
we had been saving from our parcels. The people of Trail, British
Columbia, had sent parcels to all their prisoners, and one of mine
had followed me from Giessen to Vehnemoor and from Vehnemoor to
Parnewinkel, and at last had found me. It contained, among other
things, hard-tack biscuits, just the thing for carrying in our
pockets, and my aunts in Ontario had sent me some line dried beef and
tins of jam. At this time, also, an exceptionally good box came from
Miss Ray, of London, England, and home-made candy from Miss Dorothy
Taylor, of New Westminster, British Columbia. We had a regular
blow-out on Sunday, but were too much afraid of being searched to
risk taking anything with us beyond the necessary things, and so had
to leave our precious stores behind. Oh, well--they wouldn't go to
waste!
Monday morning we dragged our tired feet along the four miles to the
turnip-patch--with every appearance of complete submission. I had the
compass in the middle of a package of tobacco; my maps were still in
the pay-book case in my pocket.
We gave ourselves up to the joy of labor, and pulled weeds all day
with great vigor. We wanted to behave so well that they wouldn't
notice us. Of course we were not sure that any chance would come. We
might have to carry our stuff for several days before we should get
a chance.
That night we came into the kitchen again and sat down at the long
table. Every one was hungry and fell to eating without a word. No
wonder the guard thought he had a quiet, inoffensive gang whose only
thought at that moment was fried potatoes. The potatoes were good,
hot from the frying-pan, and we ate as many as we could, for we
believed it might be a long time before we again sat at a table.
The guard, at last, satisfied that we were all right, strolled into
the next room--a sort of dining- and living-room, where the family
were eating. We could hear fragments of conversation and some
laughter, and it seemed a good time to slip away! We crowded down a
few more fried potatoes, and then leisurely left the table and looked
out of the window.
A big black cloud had come up from the west, and although it was
still early in the evening it was beginning to grow dusk. Outside
there was no one stirring but the young lady feeding the pigs, and
she was not taking any notice of any one. She was a fine example of
the absorbed worker. We lit our pipes and strolled out to enjoy the
cool of the evening.
The pigs were gathered about the trough, protesting the distribution
of their evening meal, squealing "Graft" and calling for a commission
to settle it. The lady took no notice of them. They could settle it
among themselves. They did not need to eat at all if they didn't want
to. She should worry. It was take it or leave it--for all she cared!
She had gone as far as she was going to, in bringing it to them.
We looked back at the kitchen. Fried potatoes still held the
attention of the prisoners, and the guard was not to be seen.
We turned around the front of the house and found ourselves on the
shaded street. There was a row of trees along each side of the street
and the houses were built well back. It was not the main street of
the village and had more the appearance of a lane. We had concluded
that even if the alarm were given, we should only have the one guard
to deal with, for the prisoners would not pursue us, neither would
the farmer.
The big danger was in the fact that the guard had his gun, and if he
saw us would shoot, but the shady lane was deserted and still, and we
pushed on with an unconcerned stride that covered the ground, but
would not attract the attention of the casual observer.
When we came to the edge of the village, we saw the wood which we
had observed when coming in from work both days, and which seemed to
promise shelter, although the trees were small. We passed through it
quickly, and kept it between us and the village until we reached a
ditch two and a half or three feet deep and overgrown with heather.
By this time it was beginning to rain, for which we were glad, for it
would discourage travelling and drive indoors those who had any place
to go to. We crawled on our hands and knees along the ditch, whose
bottom was fairly dry and grassy, until we found a place where the
heather hung well over the edge and made a good protection. We could
look through the heather at the village, which was about six hundred
yards away!
We stayed here until it was quite dark. There did not seem to be any
search made for us. The guard would be afraid to leave the other
prisoners to come looking for us himself, and we knew none of the
village people would be keen on coming out in the rain. But there
was a telegraph station at Seedorf, and it gave us an uncomfortable
feeling to remember that the guard could wire to Selsingen and get
some one there to telephone to the camp. But the rain, which was
falling heavily, was our best hope that we were unpursued. It beat
into my ear as I lay in the heather, until I put my cap over the side
of my head.
At dark we stole out, after taking our direction with the compass
while we were in the ditch. When we came out, we observed the
direction of the wind, and started straight south. We would follow
this course until we rounded Bremen, and then it was our purpose to
go west to the Holland boundary. From our maps we knew that to strike
straight across from where we were would bring us to a well-settled
country, and the chief desire of our lives now was for solitude!