Chapter 15

PUNTING ON THE RIVER ALLER

We were disturbed during the night by the sound of aircraft circling the woods before dropping a parachute flare, its fluorescent white light making the countryside like day and casting stark shifting shadows amongst the trees. We quickly dismissed the idea that the Luftwaffe were searching for sheep stealers, and when the aircraft came round again we saw they were a couple of RAF Typhoons. We guessed that the pilots were looking for enemy troop movements and concentrations to strafe, and this activity gave us added confidence that we would soon be meeting up with our troops. As soon as the flare went out the aircraft flew off to seek the enemy somewhere else.

It must have been well after midnight when we set off again, encouraged by the far off sound of gunfire that had not let up since we first heard it a few hours before, and the presence above of the seemingly unchallenged aircraft of the 2nd TAF. After walking along a cart track over open heathland for some time, we came to a gate giving access to a cobblestoned road. As we passed through the gate we came face to face with two German soldiers deep in conversation. They had rifles slung over their shoulders and were wearing tin helmets. We were too near to about turn without causing suspicion, so we strolled past them and in unison wished them a good night. We were walking away from them when one asked who we were and what we were doing there. Over our shoulders we explained that we were Polish labour, and quickened our pace while they thought that one over. As soon as we felt that we were out of sight we dived into the long grass beside the lane. And only just in time. It may have been the para’s jumping jacket or it may have been Goodie’s khaki army greatcoat. Whatever it was, the Germans felt the need to question us some more and were doubling along the lane to catch us up, their jackboots stomping on the cobblestones. We hugged the ground and dare not breathe as our pursuers hurried by only a few feet away from us.

Giving them time to get well away, we cut off across the land we had just come from to make a detour of the area which could have a large military presence. Within minutes we were again taking evasive action as another flare dropped from an aircraft caught us out in the open. We dived to the ground, cursing the 2nd TAF for spotlighting us at that precise moment. The aircraft circled until the flare spent itself, and then climbed and flew away. Neither the pilot nor the enemy spotted us under the flare before we dived to the ground. We pressed on, stumbling along forest trails, farm tracks and across heathland, making our way with extreme caution through a dangerous and hostile country. Our greatest problem was encountering increasing numbers of foot soldiers through the night, either in retreat or to take up other positions along the front. We came across weapons laying in ruts, some covered with leaves and dirt for camouflage purposes. The weapons were mostly Panzerfaust anti-tank projectiles which were similar to the British PIAT, mines and, in some instances, hand grenades. These booby traps were put there to slow down and kill our soldiers but we could not risk moving them for fear of becoming casualties ourselves. We consoled ourselves with the thought that our lads were up to all sorts of enemy dirty tricks and were capable of looking after themselves.

We came to a hamlet perched on high ground and, if it had not been for smoke curling from a couple of chimneys, it gave the impression of being deserted. Now very conscious of booby traps, we decided not to try and enter any of the cottages. I managed to find four eggs in a small henhouse although there was no sign of any poultry. The eggs were stone cold but fresh, suggesting that the house had recently been abandoned. What a luxury cold raw eggs were to two very hungry escapees.

We were ready for sleep long before it got light and, after finding a suitable place in some bushes, we had a scratch and were soon asleep again. We came to in broad daylight to find that, with uncanny accuracy, we had managed to settle down near a busy road. No more than fifty yards away refugees were streaming along the road, with military transport moving in the same direction.

There was no further need to listen intently for the sound of gunfire, as it was now background noise. It sounded no more than a few miles away and coupled with the sound of artillery fire were the sounds of aircraft hedgehopping and strafing. Although the refugees passed along the road in near silence, we knew there would be pandemonium and death further down the road. It would have been no surprise if refugees diving for cover were to flop down beside us to curse the strafing Luftgangsters. We would have been as panic-stricken as the refugees. We knew what a terrifying experience it is to be caught up in an air strike – whether 2nd TAF or Luftwaffe, they were equally as dangerous

After the local air activity had quietened down we were off to sleep again, but only to be aroused a short time afterwards by the sound of someone talking loudly nearby. Opening one eye, I saw two German officers standing and looking directly at us lying under the blanket. They were about eight yards away and were obviously discussing us and probably concluding that we were yet another pair of refugees. They wore the uniforms of a Panzer corps and their less than smart appearance suggested that they had been involved in recent combat. I was thankful the blanket covered my camouflaged jacket.

After a few minutes they disappeared from sight. We then heard orders being shouted, to be followed by the sound of many engines being revved up. Peering through the undergrowth, we were appalled to see tanks and other armoured vehicles being manoeuvred into the trees and coming far too close to us for comfort. We had no option but to leap to our feet and hightail it across the heath as fast as we could, not daring to look back to see what was happening. If we had been spotted by anyone, we must have looked an odd couple disappearing across the heath.

We gained the cover of another copse without being challenged and felt comparatively safe. We did not want to get involved with the military, nor be around if our air forces discovered the armoured column tucked away under the trees.

Although I knew that my para’s jacket was a liability in enemy held territory, I was loath to dispose of it because the nights were still cold, and in any case I would soon be in territory held by friendly soldiers – I hoped! We hid again until it got dark, making sure that for the time being we were unlikely to be disturbed.

As soon as it was dark we were off again, now heading for an unusually bright sky beyond some high ground in the south-west. As we made our way slowly to the brow of a hill, we had to be careful not to become silhouetted against the backcloth of light; light that appeared to come from giant arc lamps on the other side of the hill. On reaching the brow of the hill, we gazed in wonder at a fantastic panoramic scene – so beautiful and yet awesome.

Below us and no more than a mile away, at the foot of a shallow decline sloping away from us, was the Verden–Nienburg road crossing our field of view. The road had few bends and ran through avenues of trees. There were many isolated buildings along the stretch of road within our view, probably farm buildings and the whole was brilliantly illuminated by the beam of a searchlight directed horizontally along the road. The source of the light was from some buildings a mile or so off to our right. Birds that shone a silvery colour in the beam of the searchlight were flitting from tree to tree, and it looked for all the world like a Disney fantasia. The birds were not only disturbed because their night had been made into day, but also because they were unable to roost amid the unfamiliar sound of a violent battle taking place.

The fighting was the severest over to our left in the direction of Nienburg. Criss-crossing arcs of tracer were accompanied by mortar and cannon fire. Flares were fired to light up the shadows, and one or two buildings were ablaze. There were smaller skirmishes on either side of the road, particularly in the middle distance. From where we were, we had a wonderful observation point. Not only could we see artillery positions firing towards our lines, but we were able to decide which was the safest route to the farm buildings from which the searchlight was being operated. One thing was certain, our lads were encountering fanatical resistance during their stint of night duty. Men were dying while those birds were flying about in their noisy technicoloured surroundings.

To get to the searchlight we would have to negotiate what war correspondents describe as a ‘fluid front line’ or ‘flexible no man’s land’, but it was down hill all the way. We would have to be extra vigilant as we did not want to become the targets of snipers, regardless of whose side they were on, nor did we want to blunder into an enemy position waiting to engage our lads.

We soon reached flat countryside and came upon our first obstacle. It was the River Aller, a tributary of the River Weser. It was about thirty feet wide and fast flowing and not a bridge in sight. It was a natural obstacle and we supposed that any of its bridges would be guarded. We were in no condition to swim across at that point, but we were prepared to try to wade across if we could find shallow water.

Shells were now flying over in both directions to land out of our view. The 2nd TAF were doing their thing, dropping flares and shooting places up at a reasonably safe distance from us, but we had to be ready to be bathed in light from one of their flares.

We made our way along the river bank for a few hundred yards and lady luck smiled upon us again. Moored to the river bank was a punt. It had no pole and was in need of repair, but we were used to being up the creek without a paddle. Goodie’s sense of humour was returning!

As soon as the punt took our weight water began to slop into it, although we were not too concerned about that so long as we crossed the river. The fast flow of the current swept us along, spinning us around while we tried to coordinate our paddling with the palms of our hands. It was far from easy. Eventually, we made the other side and grabbed tufts of grass to provide anchorage while we scrambled out of the punt.

No sooner had we got on the other bank than I made a fool of myself. It was Goodie’s turn to have a good laugh at my expense.

I tried to corner what I thought was a cow. Fresh milk from the udder would have gone down a treat. However, when I did manage to get close to it I could see that it was a young bull. My companion, who was watching the caper in silence, thought that I had completely flipped my lid and was a bloody fool for not knowing the difference between a bull and a cow.

Walking away from that bit of nonsense, we soon had to dive for cover at the sound of an engine. An open topped troop carrying halftrack clattered by so close that we could have touched it. A white star was stencilled on its side, and armed soldiers were leaning forward and peering into the night. This was our first sighting of Allied troops, and I had to stifle the impulse to jump to my feet and wave my arms. However, had either of us done that we would have undoubtedly died instantly. The soldiers were fighting a deadly enemy and did not expect to be waved down by Goodenough and Johnson on Lüneburg Heath just after midnight on Friday 13 April 1945. We would have been shot on sight, a policy adopted in such circumstances by units reconnoitering enemy positions. It was necessary for survival.

With the sights and sounds of war all about us, we at last came close to the farmhouse from which the searchlight was being operated. Excitement mounted as we covered the last few hundred yards, until we were able to hear the engine-driven generator for the searchlight. Wary of sentries posted about the farm, and still uncertain who we were going to find occupying the premises, friend or foe, we approached the buildings cautiously from the shadows.

Looking along the length of the searchlight beams, we could see all types of mechanized armour along the mile or so stretch of road and we could vouch for the fact that our lads were having to struggle for every inch of German soil. Artillery fire came from somewhere behind us and the shells whined overhead to explode beyond the farm, obviously trying to get the range to knock out the searchlight. Lüneburg Heath was not a very healthy place to be at that time, but for Goodie and I freedom was just around the corner of a barn.