The next morning
January 1, I was brought down by one of the warders, ordinary soldiers, and handed over to
two smart looking S.S. men. The three of us piled into another Citroen for the fifteen
minute drive into town and to the local Gestapo H.Q. Then started the first of a series of
interrogation sessions which lasted on and off for the month.
I was in a bit of a spot because I was picked up wearing a civilian jacket in lieu of
uniform so I had no hesitation in supplying the information on where we crashed and the
relevant time and date, as well as the mandatory name rank and number. My 'dog tags' also
helped the authentication of my story. No doubt they checked fairly quickly on the facts
and also with the stories of the other four surviving crew members caught two months back.
They would realise that I was indeed what was claimed.
This being established, but of course not admitted by Jerry to me, reduced the heat a bit.
I think I then only dealt with the 'B' team who wished to find out who in the French
population had helped me in any way. (The 'A' team was concentrating on catching real
agents).
The role I then tried to portray was one of a pretty dumb, pretty frightened,
run-ofthe-line bomber pilot who knew nothing of interest. Type cast you could say! I had
to appear reasonably cooperative while giving away as little as possible. I could do
little for the family in whose house I was picked up apart from maintaining that I had
only arrived there the night before in a fairly pitiable condition and begged to be taken
in. This didn't really help much but it was all that was available. As far as the numerous
others that had helped along the route I could at least try very hard not to dob them in.
The interrogation developed along the following lines, there would be one officer who
could speak reasonable but not fluent English. He would act as interrogator and
interpreter and one officer who would laboriously type with two fingers a copy of all
questions and answers, in German of course, making four copies. At the end of each session
I would sign each page, all four copies.
They continued to express to me their strong suspicion that I was an agent and therefore
that I couldn't expect too bright a future. In fact they asserted so often the glad
tidings that 'You will be shot' that it started to bear the hallmarks of 'tedious repetition'.
Galbraith Hyde |