Over the Wire: A POW's Escape Story from the Second World War by Philip Newman

Author:Philip Newman [Newman, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: HISTORY / Military / World War II
ISBN: 9781473830066
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Published: 2013-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

The Haven of Rouen

The train pulled into Rouen Station about midday. Long before reaching its destination the occupants of the compartment had begun to make ready. Their conversation, which had been abundant during the whole journey, ceased. The carrier racks, overladen to breaking point, contained every imaginable type of package. Bundles rested on their knees and the space under the seat was stuffed to capacity. There could be no doubt that the struggle was going to be desperate if all these people with all their packages were going to have the precedence of exit that each imagined. They loaded their burdens with precision and a finality resulting from ample practice. Like soldiers refreshed from a halt on a march they manoeuvred and wriggled the upper part of their anatomy into the various straps and strings which distributed the weight of their luggage.

When this was done they turned towards the estimated door of arrival and braced themselves for the plunge. The drill was not carried out without a trace of delicacy and politeness typical of the natives of this country on such an occasion. There were apologies as they pushed and trod on each other’s toes and worked like ones possessed in this desperate struggle for survival. But at this moment of departure the inherited element of courtesy became eclipsed by a zest, born of the condition of war, to serve the demands of the omnipotent black market. A little more ‘push’ was justifiable; a little more heightening of the colour and dilation of the veins of the forehead revealed the urgency of the situation.

As soon as the platform came in sight the handles were turned to the ready and the doors allowed to remain ajar. Now there was deathly silence as every face leaned towards the exit. Mouths were tightly closed and limbs were braced for the spring. It came. What a mad rush it was; with what incredible speed twenty people with twice, nay thrice, as many packages, could escape through a small door. This miracle of birth could never have happened without some element of grace and concession.

For me there was no hurry. I remained seated watching this astounding performance from within. It was as well, however, to keep within the crowd so as not to be one of the stragglers through the barrier. Fortunately I had chosen the middle of the train.

What a picture of movement as everyone raced to the barrier, a fusion of individuality bent upon one object, a scene of distortion as the weight of their burdens played havoc with their legs. What a medley of boots and clogs and shoes and slippers, of berets, shawls and kepis, of short jackets and long coats trailing on the ground, of blue trousers, leggings, knee breeches, aprons and skirts. Like schoolboy athletes in a walking race some allowed themselves to break into the semblance of a run but most kept to the rules and walked as fast as their legs would move.

As I approached the

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