Chapter Three
Hiding
Ash peered out his cockpit window and saw that he was quickly descending. The roof of a church below raced toward him as he stared out the window. “Better not hit that,” he said out loud, and he tilted the plane so that one wing would dig into the ground.
The Spitfire touched down and began to do cartwheels. Ash saw patches of green grass followed by bits of blue sky as the plane tumbled and spun. When it finally came to rest, Ash was upside down in the cockpit. He managed to undo the straps that held him in his seat and climb out of the plane, scrambling away from the burning wreckage. The plane was destroyed, but he, somehow, was alive with just a few scratches.
But for how long? he wondered. He saw a German plane flying low overhead and knew it was looking for him. Ash hid in some bushes, his chest tightening as the plane circled above him. If the German pilot had spotted him, Ash knew a truckload of Germans would soon be rushing to his hiding spot. He watched the plane finally head off, then he scanned the roads. He saw nothing. He felt safe—for now.
Ash crawled out from under the bushes and began walking down a nearby road. It led to a tiny village. Ash knew he had landed not too far from the English Channel, the body of water between France and England. He hoped he could reach the coast and find a way to get across the channel and back to England.
Ash approached a small cottage just off the road. The front door opened, and a young woman grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside. Ash thought she had a kind face, though it seemed a little sad. He imagined that she had seen more than her share of the horrors of the war already. He began to speak quickly. “Ma’am, I’m a pilot with the RAF, and—”
She motioned for him to stop talking. She didn’t seem to speak English, but she seemed to understand his situation. The woman opened a closet and pointed to some men’s clothes. Ash nodded. He realized that he couldn’t go walking around the French countryside dressed as an RAF pilot. The Nazis had already defeated France and had troops all over the country. He was sure that word of his crash had spread quickly and that German troops would now be looking for him. Ash quickly changed into the civilian clothes, thanked the woman, and headed out.
After three days of wandering with almost no food, Ash came to a village called Quercamps. Struggling to find the energy to keep moving, he stumbled down the main street. Passing a closed restaurant, he heard voices coming from inside. The voices stopped when Ash knocked on the door.
The door opened a crack. Ash knew just enough French to explain what had happened. The owner of the restaurant, an elderly man named Boulanger, looked Ash up and down. The Frenchman turned to the others with him in the restaurant. They spoke quickly and quietly in French. Finally, Boulanger faced Ash again and motioned for him to come in.
Boulanger led Ash to the kitchen at the back of the restaurant. The sight and smell of food made his stomach grumble. Ash realized he hadn’t eaten a real meal since before he had left England days earlier. Mrs. Boulanger saw how he was eyeing the food. With a smile, she began to make him a large plate of eggs. With each bite, Ash thought it was the best food he had ever tasted.
After the meal, the Boulangers took Ash to a small room in the back of the cellar. Mrs. Boulanger pointed to a bed where he could sleep. In the cellar, Ash met the Boulangers’ children: Marthe, a teenager, and her younger brother, Julien. That night, Ash slept deeper and longer than he ever had before. For the moment, at least, he felt safe.
Over the next few days, Ash continued to eat and sleep, slowly regaining his strength. He sometimes joined the Boulangers in the restaurant, but most of the time he stayed hidden in the cellar. No one knew when German soldiers might come to the restaurant.
For several weeks, the Boulangers fed Ash and let him stay in their cellar. One night, as he slept, Ash was startled awake. He saw the two Boulanger children standing above him.
“It’s the Germans,” Marthe, the oldest, whispered. “They are coming to search the village.” Her younger brother, Julien, then said with a shaky voice, “You must go. They will search our cellar, for sure.”
Ash nodded and dressed quickly, then followed the two children out of the house and into the fields. They led him to the house of Emile Rocourt. “He is a very important man in the region,” Marthe explained. “The Germans won’t bother him.”
Ash soon saw the Rocourts’ large home on the edge of the village. Mr. Rocourt greeted him at the door and led Ash to an old mill on his land.
“The Germans won’t come here?” Ash asked, wanting to make sure that Marthe was right.
“They sometimes come to the house,” Mr. Rocourt said. “But I will tell them everything is fine and there have been no strangers around. They’ll believe me. You’ll be safe here.”
Ash went into the mill. He tried to be as calm as Mr. Rocourt was. It wasn’t easy, knowing both of them would end up in jail if the Germans found him. Through a window, Ash saw German vehicles speeding through the village streets. He held his breath when one truck filled with soldiers slowed down as it neared the Rocourts’ driveway. Please, just keep going, Ash thought. He let out a deep breath as the German truck rolled past the driveway. A few hours later, Marthe came back for him; the Germans had left the village.
Back at the Boulangers’, Ash once again spent most of his time in the cellar, until the Germans returned for another inspection. Again, he headed to the Rocourts’ for safety. One day in the Boulangers’ kitchen, Ash finally spoke up.
“You have all done so much for me. I can never repay you. But I’m healthy now, and I need to get back to England, so I can fight again.”
“We were glad to help,” Mr. Boulanger said. “I wish we could do more.”
“We can,” Marthe said. “I can take him to the Resistance.”
Ash had learned all about the Resistance during his training in England. It was made up of French civilians secretly working against the Germans who now controlled their country. Ash and other RAF pilots knew the Resistance would help them if their planes crashed in France. Members of the Resistance could be able to get him back to England.
Marthe contacted Mr. Rocourt, who soon put Ash in touch with a local Resistance member named Jean. As the two men shook hands, Jean said, “It will be dangerous, of course, to get you out of France. But I think we can do it.”
“When?” Ash asked.
“Right now.”
THE RESISTANCE TO GERMAN RULE
Even before the start of World War II, Nazi Germany began seizing control of other nations across Europe. The German control of these nations was called an “occupation.” To fight these occupations, some people in the defeated countries tried to find ways to resist German rule.
This resistance could take many forms. Some people printed newspapers that shared the facts of what was happening during the war, since newspapers under German control only printed what the Nazis told them to.
In occupied Denmark, even teens did their part. They printed posters that called on Danes to destroy machinery used to make goods that the Germans needed. Some went so far as to steal rifles from a German barracks. Other Danes protected Jewish citizens when the Germans wanted to send them to the death camps.
Sometimes US and British secret agents parachuted into occupied countries to bring Resistance groups resources like radios and weapons. At times, the agents and the Resistance members blew up railroads and bridges that the Germans needed to move their troops and supplies in occupied lands.
The Resistance was particularly useful in France, as Bill Ash learned. Members helped pilots shot down by German planes. Some took more direct action and killed German military officers. As in other countries, teens and women played important roles in the French Resistance. They often carried messages from one Resistance group to another, and some women smuggled weapons as well.
After the war ended, Bill Ash returned to France to learn what had happened to the people who had helped him before his capture. The woman whose cottage he had first approached was named Pauline Le Cam. She heard Ash’s plane crash and was prepared to help him. She was later arrested by the Nazis, who forced her to work for them in a factory.
Marthe Boulanger, the teenage daughter of the French family that took Ash in, went on to work closely with the Resistance. The Germans finally caught her and sent her to a concentration camp, but she survived the war. Both she and Le Cam received a medal from the French government for their service. The man who traveled with Ash after he left the Boulangers’, Ash learned, was named Jean de la Olla. He was also arrested, then tortured, but he too survived the war.
After a quick meal, Ash and Jean began their journey to Paris. From there, the Resistance would try to get Ash to Spain, which was not involved in the war. He couldn’t risk trying to travel directly to England, since the Germans controlled the ports and airports. After reaching Spain by train, he could safely sail to England.
As he traveled with Jean, Ash had to fight back nerves. German troops patrolled train stations and city streets, and they seemed to stare at him with menacing looks. He felt like they could tell he was not a simple French farmer. But Jean got him safely to Paris. There, he shared an apartment with two other Resistance members.
“We cannot get you to Spain right away,” Jean explained. “The Germans have captured some of our members who were going to help you. But we will be ready to get you out soon.”
Ash enjoyed his stay in Paris. Even though German troops filled the city, he no longer felt afraid. He carried false papers that said he was a French citizen. And in such a large city, he did not stick out. But his Paris “vacation” soon came to an end.
On a June night, as Ash and the two Resistance members slept, a loud banging jolted Ash awake. He realized that someone with heavy boots was kicking at the apartment door. In seconds, several armed Germans burst in and dragged Ash and the others out of bed.
With guns pointing at him, Ash tried to protect the two Resistance members.
“They don’t know me,” he said. “We just met. Don’t hurt—”
“Shut up,” the German said. Ash felt the butt end of a rifle crack into his face. Pain shot up his cheek and into his head.
He must be from the Gestapo, Ash thought. He knew that the Gestapo were the most brutal of all the troops and police that worked for Hitler. The men dragged Ash out the door and drove him to Gestapo headquarters. There, in a small room, Ash tried to explain again that his two roommates were innocent. Then he added, “I’m a Royal Canadian Airforce pilot, and I expect to be treated as a prisoner of war.”
“But perhaps you are actually a spy,” the Gestapo officer said. “And we don’t put spies in prison. We kill them.”
THE POWS OF WORLD WAR II
Bill Ash was one of many thousands of Americans who spent time in German prisoner-of-war camps. Germany built hundreds of camps in its own country and in the countries it defeated during the war. One of the largest German camps held about ninety-three thousand prisoners from various countries. Over the course of the war, the Germans captured almost six million Soviet prisoners. Stalag Luft III, where Ash spent much of his time as a prisoner, held as many as eleven thousand prisoners at a time.
Germany managed its prisoners according to a series of international agreements called the Geneva Conventions, named for the city in Switzerland where they were developed. These agreements spelled out how prisoners of war should be treated: POWs were entitled to receive Red Cross packages full of useful items, and had the chance to do such things as play sports, take classes, and stage plays. Prisoners could also send and receive mail and packages from home.
Not all countries treated their prisoners of war the same. The Japanese, for example, forced most prisoners to work. They built railroads and bridges in the lands Japan conquered, and some were sent to Japan to work in coal mines and factories. About 20 percent of the prisoners died because of the harsh treatment they received.
Americans also kept prisoners during the war, and about four hundred thousand captured German troops were sent to camps across the United States. Many of the prisoners worked on farms. Under the rules of the Geneva Conventions, they were paid for this work. Most of the prisoners were treated well, and US officials hoped that treatment would encourage Germany to do the same with Americans held in German POW camps.
The Gestapo officer wanted to know the names of everyone who had helped Ash since he was shot down. Ash thought about Marthe, the teen who had helped him hide and connected him to the Resistance. He thought about Jean, who had saved him from discovery in the countryside by bringing him to Paris, where he could hide and blend in. He thought, I can’t betray the people who helped save my life. He refused to reveal the names.
The officer called in two men. One took Ash by the arms, and the other began to pummel his face. Blood flowed from the cuts on his face, and Ash was sure he was going to pass out. Finally, the beating stopped.
“Tell me the names,” the officer demanded.
“No,” Ash said again. “I’m a pilot and prisoner of war. I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Prove you are a pilot,” the officer said, “or you will be shot tomorrow.”
The officer motioned for the two men to take Ash away.
The next morning, two guards came to drag Ash out of his cell. But instead of taking him to a firing squad, they took him back to the Gestapo officer.
“Are you ready to talk now?” he asked.
“Never,” Ash said.
The beating began again—more bruises, more bleeding. Then the guards took him back to the cell. This pattern went on for several days—more questions, no answers, more beatings. Then, a new officer came to Ash’s cell. He was in the Luftwaffe, the German air force. Two soldiers stood at the officer’s side.
“Come with me,” the officer said. “We have determined you are a prisoner of war and the Gestapo has no right to hold you.”
Ash was too weak to walk by himself, so the soldiers helped him. Soon, he was on a train to a German POW camp. I don’t know what I’ll find there, he thought. But it can’t be any worse than this.