George on the ground in Holland:
I slept soundly and peacefully, undisturbed by dreams and awoke to an unusual sound I could not recognize. Sitting up I peeped through the tiniest part of the hedge and saw two cyclists coming along the road. I was attracted firstly by the fact that both cycles were without tyres - hence the unusual sound and secondly they wore wooden shoes.
Wooden shoes and windmills - that was about all I knew of Holland. That they were Dutch farm labourers I had no doubt and the fact that I was in Holland was extremely pleasant. Another gorgeous summer's day - I was quite enjoying it I decided. Feeling in my emergency food pack I extracted a few horlicks tablets and began to suck them, one at a time. They were very sustaining. Then another drink of the stinking water, followed by the 'sweet' of the meal, a bar of full milk chocolate. It was delicious after the many plain bars of chocolate I had eaten in the past. I then began to chew thoughtfully on a piece of gum. Lying back hands behind my head I began picking out the morning noises. Far away I could hear a train racing along the rails; a lorry changing gear; the mooing of a cow and the faint rush of the wind blowing through the corn. The mist cleared, morning gave way to the warmer noon, noon gave way to the cooler evening and 'ere long the sun glowed red in the west.
And the night came, and with it I must travel further westwards into central Holland. More isolated farmhouses, more barking dogs. Skirting villages and keeping to the shadows. Hiding like a common fugitive and always listening, walking and listening, walking and listening all night long. The bright stars above, the cold light of the moon lighting my way along the narrow footpaths, across the fields and parallel to the main road. The feeling of being followed obsessed me as I pushed on faster. Only the melancholy hoot of an owl and then silence. Hour followed hour, always walking. Exhaustion sent me in search of another hiding place and I found one in the form of a dried up ditch floored with weeds. I slept away the hour before daybreak.
In an instant I was fully awake, heart pounding as a rifle shot still echoed in the woods behind me. I lay very still hardly daring to breathe, my heart still pounding like a hammer. The search party had followed me and were even then searching the wood. behind where I lay, the more nervous one shooting at the least thing believing me to be armed. I peeped cautiously above the level of the road and there not twenty yards away was a German soldier armed with a rifle guarding a camouflaged lorry. One of the invincible ‘Master Race'. He didn't look it. Old, forty I would say; greying hair beneath his cap; gaunt face, a thin neck set upon round shoulders. I must wait quietly until they tired of the search. His comrades, there were five of them, continued their search of the wood and the surrounding countryside. There was another shot. I could hear the soft crunch of their boots as they strolled about. They shouted across to each other as all the time I lay there hardly daring to draw breath. I lay there so still and quiet that a field mouse ran on to my chest, stayed awhile looking at me and then ran down my leg and vanished into the ditch. It was towards six o'clock I estimated before the six of them gathered round the lorry. They had all passed the prime of their years and were not particularly happy looking. There was much nodding of heads and before long they boarded the lorry and made off westwards. I relaxed, my heartbeat returned to normal. I waited yet again for the night.
The first stars began appearing before I left that unforgettable ditch and walked stealthily parallel to the road and westwards. The walking, the lack of adequate food and the excitement of the day made me decide to seek help from one of the numerous farmhouses I passed. Approaching one without the inevitable barking dog I peeped behind the curtain. There in a sparsely furnished room sat a woman sewing and a man eating. No-one else. I would go in and announce my identify. Presuming it more polite if I knocked - I did so, I knocked three short and one long tap on the door. I tried to anticipate their startled look across at each other. Were they expecting visitors? The door was opened by the man. He said something I did not understand so I walked in closing the door behind me.
"I am a British pilot'' I said, remembering the phrase from my phrase card. Instantly he was nervous, suspicious. Raising my blue reefer I showed him my flying badge. He slowly uttered the letters R-A-F. He understood, went to his wife and said something. They continued to stare at me nervously. With much difficulty and by using my phrase card again I made known to them that I wanted civilian clothes and shoes, offering my battle dress and flying boots in return.
Rummaging in an outer room, the wife produced a pair of old brown trousers, a tattered coat and well worn wooden shoes. She placed these before me. Nothing was said. With no show of embarrassment I changed out of my uniform and boots which they accepted. Dressed once more in their old clothes and wooden shoes I uttered my warmest thanks, shook the man by the hand and as quickly as I had entered, departed leaving them to their surprise, their incredulity and their nervousness.
I decided to put a few miles between myself and that friendly farm-house before resting for the remainder of the night. I saw no-one and thought that a haystack would be as good a place to hide as any and there were plenty around. Finding one with a roof over the top, I climbed up, lay down and slept.