More from George:
I awoke in the morning to the sound of children's voices. The time I estimated to be about 8.50 a.m. From my position on top of the haystack I could see a small group of unaccompanied children, books in hand, making their way along a narrow road towards a small village a quarter of a mile away. Brushing the hay from my hair and clothes I decided to walk behind the children into the village, there to seek further help.
Children, I knew are instinctively inquisitive, but these were so busy chasing each other, they had no eyes for the shock-haired, unshaven, rather tired-looking individual following them. We passed a German soldier. I say we because in such a situation as this I hoped I would be presumed to be either the big brother seeing the children off to school, or else a casual farm-labourer on an errand to the village. The soldier took little notice and so we came into the village of Berlicum where the children disappeared into the school and I ... where? I decided to make a bold move and entered a cafe opposite the school.
Except for a middle aged woman the cafe was deserted. At first she took no notice of me, assuming I was just passing through – then ''What do you want?'' she said. I did not trust myself to speak, but instead made signs that I would like something to eat and drink. At this she was puzzled and suspicious but nevertheless extended a glass of water. She seemed kind and only a little frightened and having drunk the water I produced my phrase card (a useful thing this) and asked her if she spoke English. My pronunciation of Dutch was bad and I repeated it several times. No - she did not speak English but she would fetch the school teacher from the school who did. She left the shop and vanished into the school. Should I stay - I thought - would she bring back a school teacher or would she bring the police? She re-appeared accompanied by a scholarly looking young man (Martin der Kinderen).
"Good morning" he said in good English. His quiet manner, his friendly smile and his good English made me decide to tell him all of the story thus far. He listened patiently, without comment. "How am I to be certain that you are an English pilot?" he said. At this I produced the remnants of my escape-kit - maps, rubber water bag. A few horlicks tablets and a small compass. "No identity discs? No photographs? he asked. I said I had forgotten these in the hurry and excitement of returning from leave and mentally cursed myself for a stupid ass. I also produced chewing gum wrappers and chocolate paper which I had kept, purposely not throwing them away - thus leaving a trail. He spoke to the woman in rapid Dutch, looked across at me, smiled and said in English "Yes I believe you and shall help you".
I was overjoyed at gaining help so soon. He went on to say that I would be hidden on a nearby farm and would wait there until it was safe for me to proceed on my journey. Somehow even then I knew, that by some miraculous chance I had made contact with one of the many wonderful underground organizations in occupied Holland.
Martin den Kinderen told me (after I met him again after the war); that during my interrogation at pistol point, the general opinion was that I should be taken outside and shot. I was in civilian clothes with no identity discs, and could not immediately prove myself. Many of the escape organisations had been decimated by the infiltration of ‘bogus' pilots (or informers); and they would not take any chances. However the good news (for me) was that Martin found me a ‘safe house' while my identity was being checked. My interrogators had taken a vote on whether to take me outside and shoot me. I survived by one vote !