Read Online We Die Alone: A WWII Epic of Escape and Endurance by Stephen E. Ambrose, David Howarth - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen E. Ambrose, David Howarth
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express any feeling about
it, except to repeat that he was welcome to stay if he wanted to; if not,
she would give him some food to take with him. She began to tell
him about useful and dangerous people all over her island. There
were several ways he could go: either by sea, if he happened to find a
boat, or along either shore of the island, or up a valley which divides
it in the middle. But if he went up the valley, she warned him, he
would have to be careful. People in those remote and isolated places
were inclined to take their politics from the clergyman or the justice of the peace, or the chairman of the local council, or some other such
leader in their own community; they had too little knowledge of the
outside world to form opinions of their own. In the valley there happened to be one man who was a Nazi, or so she had heard; and she
was afraid a lot of people might have come under his influence. If a
stranger was seen there, he was certain to hear of it; and although she
could not be sure, she thought he might tell the police. Of course,
most of Ringvassoy, she said, was quite all right. He could go into
almost any house and be sure of a welcome. And she told him the
names of a lot of people who she knew would be happy to help him.
It was still early when Jan left the midwife, fortified by a good
breakfast and by her friendliness and fearless common sense. He
wanted to get away from the houses before too many people were
about; but it was daylight, and it was more than likely someone
would see him from a window. It was a good opportunity to be misleading. He started along the shore towards the west. In that direction, he might have gone up the valley or followed the coastline
round the west side of the island. But when he was out of sight of the
last of the houses, he changed his direction and struck off into the
hills, and made a detour behind the houses to reach the shore again
farther east. He had made his plans now a little way ahead. The next
lap was to walk thirty miles to the south end of the island.
It looked simple. He remembered it pretty clearly from the map,
and during his training it would have been an easy day. He knew that
maps of mountains are often misleading, because even the best of
them do not show whether a hill can be climbed or not; but he was
not prepared for quite such a misleading map as the one of that part
of Norway. In the normal course of events, nobody ever walks far in
the northern islands. The natural route from one place to another is
by sea. The sea charts are therefore perfect; but the most detailed land
map which existed then was on a scale of about a quarter of an inch
to a mile, and it made Ringvassoy look green and smoothly rounded.
No heights were marked on it. There were contours, but they had a vague appearance, as if there had been more hope than science in
their drawing. One might have deduced something from the facts that
the only houses shown were clustered along the shores, and that there
was no sign of a single road; but nothing on the map suggested one
tenth of the difficulty of walking across the island in the winter.
Jan had arrived there in the dark, and if he had ever seen the
island at all, it was only in that momentary glimpse when he had
come over the hill from Toftefjord with the Germans close behind
him. So he set off full of optimism in his rubber boots; but it took
him four days to cover thirty miles.
He was never in any immediate danger during that walk. The
only dangers were the sort that a competent mountaineer can overcome. Once he had disappeared into the trackless interior of the
island he was perfectly safe from the Germans until he emerged
again. But it was an exasperating journey. It had new discomfort and
frustration in every mile, and the most annoying things about it were
the boots. Jan was a good skier; like most Norwegians, he had been
used to skiing ever since he could walk: and to cross
it, except to repeat that he was welcome to stay if he wanted to; if not,
she would give him some food to take with him. She began to tell
him about useful and dangerous people all over her island. There
were several ways he could go: either by sea, if he happened to find a
boat, or along either shore of the island, or up a valley which divides
it in the middle. But if he went up the valley, she warned him, he
would have to be careful. People in those remote and isolated places
were inclined to take their politics from the clergyman or the justice of the peace, or the chairman of the local council, or some other such
leader in their own community; they had too little knowledge of the
outside world to form opinions of their own. In the valley there happened to be one man who was a Nazi, or so she had heard; and she
was afraid a lot of people might have come under his influence. If a
stranger was seen there, he was certain to hear of it; and although she
could not be sure, she thought he might tell the police. Of course,
most of Ringvassoy, she said, was quite all right. He could go into
almost any house and be sure of a welcome. And she told him the
names of a lot of people who she knew would be happy to help him.
It was still early when Jan left the midwife, fortified by a good
breakfast and by her friendliness and fearless common sense. He
wanted to get away from the houses before too many people were
about; but it was daylight, and it was more than likely someone
would see him from a window. It was a good opportunity to be misleading. He started along the shore towards the west. In that direction, he might have gone up the valley or followed the coastline
round the west side of the island. But when he was out of sight of the
last of the houses, he changed his direction and struck off into the
hills, and made a detour behind the houses to reach the shore again
farther east. He had made his plans now a little way ahead. The next
lap was to walk thirty miles to the south end of the island.
It looked simple. He remembered it pretty clearly from the map,
and during his training it would have been an easy day. He knew that
maps of mountains are often misleading, because even the best of
them do not show whether a hill can be climbed or not; but he was
not prepared for quite such a misleading map as the one of that part
of Norway. In the normal course of events, nobody ever walks far in
the northern islands. The natural route from one place to another is
by sea. The sea charts are therefore perfect; but the most detailed land
map which existed then was on a scale of about a quarter of an inch
to a mile, and it made Ringvassoy look green and smoothly rounded.
No heights were marked on it. There were contours, but they had a vague appearance, as if there had been more hope than science in
their drawing. One might have deduced something from the facts that
the only houses shown were clustered along the shores, and that there
was no sign of a single road; but nothing on the map suggested one
tenth of the difficulty of walking across the island in the winter.
Jan had arrived there in the dark, and if he had ever seen the
island at all, it was only in that momentary glimpse when he had
come over the hill from Toftefjord with the Germans close behind
him. So he set off full of optimism in his rubber boots; but it took
him four days to cover thirty miles.
He was never in any immediate danger during that walk. The
only dangers were the sort that a competent mountaineer can overcome. Once he had disappeared into the trackless interior of the
island he was perfectly safe from the Germans until he emerged
again. But it was an exasperating journey. It had new discomfort and
frustration in every mile, and the most annoying things about it were
the boots. Jan was a good skier; like most Norwegians, he had been
used to skiing ever since he could walk: and to cross
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