During some of the evenings Robert and I would walk the streets, saying nothing to each other, but conscious of the bond of friendship that had sprung between us. There were card games played and impromptu lessons in English and French. During the sixth day there was a daylight air raid. The sirens were sounded, people flocked to doors and windows, policemen ran about blowing whistles and soon American bombers appeared overhead, dodging the puffs of flak and beating off the fighter aircraft. People were ushered indoors, but that only increased the number of faces at the windows, and the volume of cheering when what was thought to be a German plane was shot down. Soon the sky was filled with noise, the confused pattern of vapour trails, the sound of cannon fire and the answering lighter note of machine-gun fire. Parachutes could be seen, and a crippled American bomber falling behind the main formation and being attacked by three Hun fighters.
It was soon over and people again flocked into the streets and collected in groups. The target, I found out later, was the aerodrome in the vicinity of Paris, factories and marshalling yards. Many Frenchmen had been killed and yet there we were sheltering beneath the roof of one of them, so that one day we could get back and help to fight.
When one is waiting, time always seems to pass at half its usual speed. Ten days seemed like ten weeks, Edward, Bob the American and I spent many hours talking over just what we were going to do when we did finally get back to England. We planned a celebration of our reunion in London and cut cards to see which one would pay for the food, the entertainment, the taxis and the incidentals! I was to pay for the food, Edward, the entertainment and Bob the taxis and incidentals.
I had travelled thus far with little trouble, but could it last? The people in the south of France we had heard, were less pro-British and more pro-Vichy - how would they treat us?
The next part of the journey can be described as luxurious. Edward and I were to travel with a middle-aged woman as our guide and were to catch the overnight train from Paris to Bordeaux, for which a special permit was necessary. Reservations on the train had already been made. During our stay in Paris we had memorized the details of our identity cards and business, just in case anything went wrong. We bade our farewells to Robert and his wife and Bob and said we would see them soon. We walked to the railway station in the gathering darkness.
Police were at the barrier and our identity cards were demanded for perusal. All was in order and we took our seats, which fortunately were corner seats. Our guide as usual was in the next compartment. The crowd in our compartment, rather like the English, sat in stolid silence. We tried to sleep but were afraid to, lest we talked in our sleep or on waking uttered something in English before our senses were fully alert. So we sat huddled in our corner seats, pretending to be asleep until the light of dawn showed in the sky. With the dawn came the conversation. An oldish fellow, red-faced and wearing a beret asked me if I had slept well. I said ''Oui, merci monsieur'' and then became very interested in the passing countryside.
Saint-Jean station, Bordeaux
At seven in the morning we arrived at Bordeaux. Another guide was waiting there for us. He had been described to us, but we were not to acknowledge recognition, but just follow him doing as he did. He was a young man* of about twenty-eight, bright eyed and alert looking and we found him waiting for us. He saw us and proceeded to change to another platform where a local train was waiting to take us further south to the small town of Dax, about twenty miles north of the Spanish frontier.
Smiling our goodbyes to our previous guide we followed the new one and soon we were seated in the train. All went very smoothly. The day was warm, the compartment crowded as we puffed slowly southwards through country-side little marked by war. We passed gangs of coloured P.O.Ws who were building a railway line and doing forestry work. The train stopped at many intermediate stations but no-one boarded or alighted from our compartment. Edward pretended to be asleep in the corner. The other occupants looked to me as though they might be farm labourers except for two young fellows in the other corner who seemed to eye me with some curiosity. There was something about them that made me decide that they were not Frenchmen, the tilt of their berets, their silence and their nervousness. Possibly Edward and I looked the same to them. I hadn't thought of that.
They left the train with us at Dax and waited about as we did, and walked outside the station as we did! They must be two more of the boys crossing into Spain and this guide was to accompany the four of us. From the bicycle shed outside the station we took bicycles that had been left there for us. We set off following the guide through the streets of Dax, the guide ahead then the other two and Edward and I bringing up the rear. The advent of five young strangers to the town brought few curious glances and soon we were cycling along the quiet country lanes, with golden corn in the fields either side.
We cycled for about an hour and a half with roughly a half mile distance between us and the other two and the guide a further half mile ahead. We came to a bridge by which stood a German sentry. He looked at the guide as he passed over the bridge, then looked at the other two. Surely he would stop us and we would be forced to use our elementary French. As we approached the bridge we kept our eyes on the road ahead, not daring to look at the sentry. As we passed him I could just see him out of the corner of my eye and though he looked surprised he did not stop us.