treated them exactly as he had treated the Dutch, shouting at them, ignoring their angry protestations.
An hour later they went out on to the platform to wait for the Frankfurt train. As they stood on the platform a train on the opposite track began to move out. It was a goods train. Peter glanced quickly around. Two steps would take him to the edge of the platform, four more across the track – and he could jump on to the couplings of the slowly-moving train. The corporal would not fire for fear of hitting the public – or would he?
While he hesitated, the older guard stepped between him and the edge of the platform, unconsciously thwarting his attempt. The goods train stopped again a few yards outside the station. Lucky I didn’t dash for it, Peter thought, wouldn’t have got very far if I had.
The Frankfurt train was crowded but this time the corporal got one of the girl porters to empty a compartment for them. She was a big girl, blondely bulging under her rough blue serge uniform. She wore jackboots with high heels, rather like the Russian boots that Peter could remember his mother wearing when he was a child.
After the train had left the station the girl came into the compartment and chatted with the corporal. She looked at Peter with obvious interest. He wondered if she would help him to escape, but dismissed the idea as fantastic. She seemed to be fascinated by his appearance and repeatedly urged the corporal to take some course of action which Peter could not understand. Finally the corporal agreed and, apologizing in English, asked if the girl could have some sort of trinket to keep as a souvenir. Thinking that she might be helpful later in the journey he gave her a penny, a halfpenny and a sixpence; but shortly after this she left the compartment and did not return.
As the train covered mile after mile in an eastward direction, Peter felt that his chance of escape was growing more and more remote. His guards were less nervous now, and he decided to try to jump from the window of the lavatory at the end of the corridor. He had been there several times during the day and one or other of his escort had gone with him, insisting that the door should be left open so that they could watch him.
This time the corporal came and Peter, explaining that this was to be a more protracted visit, gained his permission to close the door.
As soon as he had locked the door he turned to the window. It was a rise-and-fall window and was not secured in any way. He lowered it and looked out. The train was moving quite slowly along a grass embankment. He looked towards the rear of the train. Leaning from the next window were the head and shoulders of the corporal, who smugly waved his automatic pistol in admonition. Peter grinned ruefully and joined him in the corridor, ‘I wanted to get a spot of fresh air,’ he explained.
Chapter Four
When they arrived at Frankfurt the corporal dismissed the other guard and took Peter into the busy street. They waited in a queue of patient civilians at a tram stop, and he wondered at the banality of his arrival. He had expected an armed escort and at least a truck, and here he was about to travel, in a tramcar with a crowd of civilians going home from work.
The corporal did not speak as they stood in the queue, and Peter also thought it better not to advertise the fact that he was English.
They stood on the platform of the tramcar, well away from the step, and swayed for miles through the soft night air that was redolent with a strange perfume, almost of incense. Later he discovered that this was the odour of burning brown coal blocks. It was to be an odour that would for ever, for him, be associated with that crowded tramcar swaying through the heart of an enemy countryside.
The prison camp, as they approached it, walking silently down the soft earth road, looked stark and hard; an arpeggio of upright posts and taut barbed wire. There were shaded arc lamps suspended from gallows above
An hour later they went out on to the platform to wait for the Frankfurt train. As they stood on the platform a train on the opposite track began to move out. It was a goods train. Peter glanced quickly around. Two steps would take him to the edge of the platform, four more across the track – and he could jump on to the couplings of the slowly-moving train. The corporal would not fire for fear of hitting the public – or would he?
While he hesitated, the older guard stepped between him and the edge of the platform, unconsciously thwarting his attempt. The goods train stopped again a few yards outside the station. Lucky I didn’t dash for it, Peter thought, wouldn’t have got very far if I had.
The Frankfurt train was crowded but this time the corporal got one of the girl porters to empty a compartment for them. She was a big girl, blondely bulging under her rough blue serge uniform. She wore jackboots with high heels, rather like the Russian boots that Peter could remember his mother wearing when he was a child.
After the train had left the station the girl came into the compartment and chatted with the corporal. She looked at Peter with obvious interest. He wondered if she would help him to escape, but dismissed the idea as fantastic. She seemed to be fascinated by his appearance and repeatedly urged the corporal to take some course of action which Peter could not understand. Finally the corporal agreed and, apologizing in English, asked if the girl could have some sort of trinket to keep as a souvenir. Thinking that she might be helpful later in the journey he gave her a penny, a halfpenny and a sixpence; but shortly after this she left the compartment and did not return.
As the train covered mile after mile in an eastward direction, Peter felt that his chance of escape was growing more and more remote. His guards were less nervous now, and he decided to try to jump from the window of the lavatory at the end of the corridor. He had been there several times during the day and one or other of his escort had gone with him, insisting that the door should be left open so that they could watch him.
This time the corporal came and Peter, explaining that this was to be a more protracted visit, gained his permission to close the door.
As soon as he had locked the door he turned to the window. It was a rise-and-fall window and was not secured in any way. He lowered it and looked out. The train was moving quite slowly along a grass embankment. He looked towards the rear of the train. Leaning from the next window were the head and shoulders of the corporal, who smugly waved his automatic pistol in admonition. Peter grinned ruefully and joined him in the corridor, ‘I wanted to get a spot of fresh air,’ he explained.
Chapter Four
When they arrived at Frankfurt the corporal dismissed the other guard and took Peter into the busy street. They waited in a queue of patient civilians at a tram stop, and he wondered at the banality of his arrival. He had expected an armed escort and at least a truck, and here he was about to travel, in a tramcar with a crowd of civilians going home from work.
The corporal did not speak as they stood in the queue, and Peter also thought it better not to advertise the fact that he was English.
They stood on the platform of the tramcar, well away from the step, and swayed for miles through the soft night air that was redolent with a strange perfume, almost of incense. Later he discovered that this was the odour of burning brown coal blocks. It was to be an odour that would for ever, for him, be associated with that crowded tramcar swaying through the heart of an enemy countryside.
The prison camp, as they approached it, walking silently down the soft earth road, looked stark and hard; an arpeggio of upright posts and taut barbed wire. There were shaded arc lamps suspended from gallows above
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