Bernhard had worked hard all his life and had even rowed the 125 miles to the Lofoten fishing grounds on occasion. He was still strong and vigorous despite his years. And, with his heart full of hatred for the Germans, he would relish the opportunity to snatch Jan away from under their noses. Einar went next door and discussed it with his father, who readily accepted the challenge. He and his father worked out the details of how to transport Jan further.
The Sørensens outfitted Jan with dry clothes. Jan wore the civilian clothes underneath his Navy uniform. Should the Germans be lucky enough to catch him, he wanted them to know he was a soldier above all, nothing but a Norwegian soldier.
Elna prepared some traditional open-face sandwiches for Jan, the only kind Norwegians made, with a little cured meat. She placed a small square piece of wax paper between each slice of bread, and then wrapped them all securely in a separate piece of wax paper. Jan put several of these packages in his pockets. He had learned how tough it was to be hungry in the mountains, but a knapsack he did not want to carry.
At long last, Jan’s one military boot and the one sea boot were retired for real ski boots. The Sørensens even had a pair of skis with bindings that fit. The boots were quite snug for Jan’s feet, but at least he could wear one pair of dry socks with them, and Jan felt it was quite an improvement over the rubber boots.
The old unmatched boots had been with Jan in so many places they had become part of his own pain and struggles. They reminded him so much of the generous ladies who had first given them to him, Haldis and Anna at Hersøy Island. He was reminded of the snowstorms, and of being numbed by cold, pain and frostbite. When he changed his boots at Einar’s, Jan felt like he was leaving two friends behind.
Southeast of Bjørnskar across Grøtsundet Sound was the little settlement of Snarby, almost seven miles across the water. Jan had to get off Ringvassøy Island if he was to make any serious progress toward Sweden. On the southernmost point of Reinøy Island, on clear days, they could see Finnkroken from Bjørnskar. From here the powerful searchlights of the German batteries constantly skimmed the waves. A few hundred meters out from Finnkroken lay Finnøya and Nipøya Islands; between them was a narrow sound. This was Sørensen’s route to Snarby.
There were three main gateways for ships to sail into the city of Tromsø. Kvalsundet Sound on the west side of Ringvassøy Island, Langesund Sound on the east, which was loaded with mines, and the third entrance, Grøtsundet Sound, which was guarded by a German patrol boat which went shuttle-wise back and forth twenty-four hours a day. It went as far north as Grøtnesodden and to the battery installations at Lattervika on the north side of the Ullsfjord. In the south, the patrol boat turned between the battery installations at Tønnes and the estuary at Kvalsundet Sound. From here it was open sea to Tromsø. Most ships or small boats on their way to Tromsø for the first time were ordered to stop for control at the battery installations at Tønnes.
It was unusual that boats were stopped, however, unless they arrived at unusual times or came from unusual directions. In that case, they would have to be prepared to stop. A rowboat on its way from Bjørnskar to Snarby in the early morning hours was definitely unusual as far as distance and time of day went. The challenge was to cross the wide fjord without being discovered by the patrol boat.
The route the patrol boat took southward gave them a little more time than the northern route. The Sørensens’ plan was to cross the fjord to Finnøya and Nipøya Island, lie in hiding on the northern end of Nipøya, wait for the boat to pass them on its southern route, then start out again across Grøtsundet Sound toward Snarby.
A thick fog surrounded them when they left. The men were a little concerned about the unstable weather conditions. The wind blew a strong gale and they were surrounded by a thick whiteout. The Sørensens knew the rough seas would increase as they went further south, where the prevailing winds came screaming down the shipping lanes from the Arctic Ocean. There was a limit as to what a small rowboat with three men aboard could handle, but on the other hand, the Sørensen men were used to rough seas and wind, and they knew the seas had to be quite high before the rowboat would capsize. The thick snow reduced their visibility, so much so that all land vanished from sight, but they had learned to navigate by the directions of the waves. The blinding snow, though limiting, was also a good camouflage from the patrol boat.
The patrol boat chugged past Nipøya and the three men watched intently as the lanterns disappeared in the soupy gray-white mixture of heavy fog and snow. As soon as the boat vanished in the darkness, they started out on the remaining four miles across Grøtsundet Sound. With the wind to their back, they made good headway. Though Jan had rested, he did not have much strength left. He was still very tired, so much so that he was grateful when they did not ask him to row. If they had, he was sure they would have had a hard time believing he was a Navy man.
Often when the men dipped the oars into the white-capped waves and pulled them out again they were splashed with seawater, but beyond that, they reached the other shore safely without any major mishaps.
With warm handshakes and well wishes, Jan was put ashore just north of the headland at Lyngnes. From there it was only a few hundred yards to the nearest farm. The Sørensen men, Jan learned later, had an extremely tough return trip. They fought a roaring northwesterly headwind and did not arrive home until the morning hours. Luckily no one had seen Jan, no one discovered that the men had been rowing most of the night – and no one knew they returned with one less man.
Jan was brought ashore just north of Lyngneset.
The family at Bjørnskar had outfitted Jan for the next segment of his escape. In spite of the difficult times, with shortages of commodities and food, a generous spirit of selflessness and compassion characterized all the people he met in the Troms District of northern Norway. They offered all they had to the wounded soldier, a stranger in need. At the same moment they placed their own lives and those of their families in danger. Jan was deeply touched by this. He knew and understood only too clearly what they had offered. The Germans had tacked copies of a public notice on telephone poles and bulletin boards across Norway with an unmistakable message. The notice read:
ANYONE CAUGHT HELPING
THE ENEMY WILL BE SHOT!
To the Germans, the “enemy” was anyone involved in opposing the Germans. Jan knew this, and it was this knowledge that continually made him shrink from placing more people in harm’s way. Desperation forced him to seek help, but he was careful never to reveal where he came from or where he was going. He could never, on purpose, remember the names of any of his helpers when he was asked.
Einar kept Jan’s boots hidden in the boathouse. One day, several weeks after Jan had left, the district doctor came by boat. His boat was rather large and he called for Einar to row out to meet him.
“These are for you to replace the ones you gave away,” said the doctor, who winked at his friend as he handed him the package.
“I don’t understand,” said Einar.
“You will. I hope you’ll get a chance to enjoy them.”
Einar was astonished when he opened the package and beheld a new pair of ski boots. He didn’t ask questions, but shook the doctor’s hand warmly. Einar was still shaking his head when he left his boat.
Be convinced that
to be happy means to be free
and that to be free means to be brave.
Therefore do not take lightly
the perils of war.
— Thucydides
LØVLI
APRIL 4, 1943: The rugged Sørensen men rowed away as Jan picked up the skis and poles and placed them on his shoulder. He continued a few yards along the sandy beach. The Sørensens had pointed out the house where Jan should seek help. Directly ahead about 300 feet from the beach lay the houses belonging to the Løvli farm, owned by Alfred and Anatona Lockertsen. They had a grown daughter and a 12 year-old foster son, Alvin, who had come to live with them a year earlier.
; Today was Sunday. Alfred and his wife’s bedroom was a small side room on the first floor, close to the front entryway. The walls were not heavily insulated and Alfred awakened to a noise in the anteroom. It was inky-black, and he rolled over and glanced at the green-lighted figures on the alarm clock. Four in the morning! No one ever came visiting at this hour of the night, and especially not at this time of the year. A visitor now could only mean someone was in grave need of help or it was the Gestapo! Alfred reasoned the Gestapo would have made more of an uproar. Rolling out of bed, he dressed hastily and went to open the door. A dark-headed, frozen stranger faced him.
Jan greeted Mr. Lockertsen and at the same time apologized for the early hour. His presence, tall and handsome with the skis and poles at his side, exacted Alfred’s close attention. He had come out of nowhere, and it was still night. When Jan explained to Alfred that he had escaped from the Germans following a battle in Toftefjord, Alfred just shook his head. He had a difficult time believing this man was who he said he was. Alfred had also heard about the happenings at the mouth of the fjord. The story he had heard was to a great extent similar to that of Einar’s at Bjørnskar, but not quite. It was Alfred’s understanding that all twelve men from Brattholm were taken as prisoners and executed. This caused him to be quite skeptical and cautious about Jan’s story. If what Alfred had been told earlier was the truth and all twelve men had been caught and executed, then who was this man standing before him in the doorway? Was he a charlatan or was he telling the truth? Was he a bona fide Norwegian commando soldier or was he a provocateur, sent to trap him? His searching eyes observed the stranger was clean-shaven, but his cheeks and nose had a deep ruddy hue making him appear windblown and frozen. Alfred wanted to believe, but he was not persuaded that Jan was telling him the truth. On the other hand, he concluded that if he was telling the truth, he desperately needed his help. Jan was invited in, and was told to lie down on the large sheepskin in front of the kitchen stove to get some rest. Lockertsen wanted to steal a couple of more hours of sleep before getting up, but sleep escaped him; he lay on his bed staring up at the dark ceiling, pondering and being anxious.
The man lying on his kitchen floor, was he an escapee or something else? Lockertsen was mystified. If he did not report him, the entanglement with this man might have ill-fated consequences.
Around 6:30 a.m. Lockertsen moved quietly into the kitchen to start the morning fire in the wood stove. He liked to heat the kitchen before he did his barn chores and enjoyed the welcoming warmth of his home when coming in from the coldness outside. He had scarcely poked his head in the kitchen door when Jan flung himself about to a half kneeling position while at the same time grabbing his pistol and pointed it point blank at Alfred. In that moment Alfred was convinced Jan was no provocateur. This was the action of a desperate man.
Jan had been without sound sleep for 48 hours. Worn to a frazzle, he reacted like a wounded, frightened animal. The ruthless ordeals of the last four days were forcing their way to the surface. He had been half asleep drifting between consciousness and slumber when Alfred stuck his head in the door. Any slight unexpected movement put Jan on guard.
Alvin, the foster son, was sleeping in the room directly above the kitchen, known as the north-room. He woke up at 8 a.m., when Anatona started the milk separator that stood in the hall at the bottom of the steps. Merging with the reverberation of the separator were two male voices coming from the kitchen. Effortlessly he distinguished his foster father’s deep resonant voice with its enthusiastic Nordland’s dialect, but to whom did the other voice belong? It was a gentler voice, and more careful. Alvin knew straight away, since he was from the South, that the other man did not have a Nordland’s dialect at all, but that the stranger spoke with a distinct Southern tongue. He was amused listening to the two men; they spoke with entirely diverse dialects, yet they understood each other perfectly it seemed. Yes, the other man definitely had to be from Southern Norway.
Snarby was a rather deserted, almost forsaken, place north of Tromsø. There was neither road nor telephone communication out here, and Alvin could not remember that a stranger had ever dropped in like this. “So who was this man from Southern Norway? Why did he come in the early morning hours? How had he found them? Who had sent him?” He had so many questions.
Alvin started down the attic stairs but was met half way by his foster mother. Her face was sober.
“Who is that man in the kitchen?” asked Alvin.
“Oh that is just Astrid’s boyfriend. He came to surprise her.”
“At this hour of the morning? You are just kidding me?”
Anatona could see Alvin’s doubts. “All right young man, I’ll tell you the truth. But you breathe a word to anyone, and we are all dead! He is a Norwegian commando soldier, the only escapee from the battle in Toftefjord.”
“Wow! Why did he come here? How long will he stay?” Alvin found this exciting.
“I am afraid I can’t answer any of your questions. You must understand that we can’t talk about this, not even to your best friend. It might mean the soldier’s and our lives if word gets out. Do you promise not to tell anyone?”
Alvin thought for a long time. Though he was young, he grasped the severity of the situation. Should the Germans come, there were no possibilities of escape and the adults would be shot. The women would probably also be shot or sent to a concentration camp.
Alvin looked into Anatona’s unyielding eyes and knew this was serious business. He feebly reassured himself that the Germans probably would extend mercy to him because of his young age and because he really did not belong to the family.
“What is your answer, Alvin? You must not reveal this secret to any other human being. Do you promise?”
“Yes. You have my word,” vowed Alvin.
On Sunday afternoons, Alvin’s friends from neighboring farms came over to play with him. Today was different.
“You must keep your friends away from the farm today. You go to one of their homes.”
Alvin understood and did as he was told.
Intent on continuing his escape, Jan hoped to leave Løvli farm within a short period of time. The fear that innocent people would be harmed or sent off to a concentration camp because of him was ever in his mind, and it made him uneasy.
“It means a lot to me to be on the mainland at last,” Jan said happily. “I’m impatient to put my new skis on and begin to climb these forested mountains. I want to head eastward en route to Sweden.”
“Jan, you don’t have any conception of what the terrain is like out there. It is not a good idea,” said a skeptical Alfred. “I’ll find you a better alternative.” The older man produced a map and spread it out on the table. “Look Jan, this is Løvli farm.” He pointed on the map. “Right here, at the outermost part of a huge peninsula, there are miles of steep, precarious Alpine mountain terrain, beginning just to the back of the farm with cavernous clefts. There are no natural paths for a skier to follow. And the weather is unpredictable. Masses of loose, deep snow, and nowhere you can seek help or shelter from the storms.”
Jan listened intently, following Alfred’s finger on the map.
“The southern part of the peninsula tapers to a narrow neck of land where the German watch posts are strategically stationed,” Alfred continued. “On either side of the peninsula, the fjords cut deeply through to the innermost part of the region. If you attempt that route, Jan, it’ll all end tragically for you.”
Jan relaxed somewhat with this new information. The Lockertsens wanted him to have some rest before he continued onward and showed him up to an attic room, with a window toward Grøtsundet Sound, where he could get some sleep. This room belonged to the Lockertsen’s married daughter and son-in-law, but both she and her husband were away. The husband was fishing in Lofoten, and the daughter was in the hospital. From the Cape Cod window in the attic Jan had a splendid view of Grøtsundet Sound, which unfolded before him like a rich blue carpet. He sank down on the bed, and watched as
a German patrol boat, probably the same boat that the Sørensens and he had outsmarted the night before, moved unmenacingly past.
The wintry weather had been cold and nasty for some time, but today it had dawned with a bright Northland sun and azure skies. The view from the attic window blessed Jan with peaceful moments while reclining on the bed, though the burden when recollecting the fate of his friends was a hurtful memory he was unable to erase.
Sunday dinner at the Lockertsen’s home was always at 12:30 p.m. sharp, and this day was no exception. Jan had been invited to join them. He savored every bite. Jan couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed food to this degree and such a large, warm meal.
The Lockertsens had locked the outer entrance door, just to be sure of no surprises today. Jan looked handsome dressed in his Navy uniform with the Norwegian flag on his shoulder, the pistol by his side. The German patrol boat was returning and everyone thought it came conspicuously near, but it glided past on its way northward.
The Lockertson Family
Save for the patrol boat and Jan, the afternoon was like any other Sunday at Løvli farm. Every now and then it was difficult to remember the war was raging all around, yet in this home, this afternoon was peaceful and consoling, almost serene.
Astrid, the Lockertsen’s younger daughter, had done her best to care for Jan’s wounded foot. She washed it with tender care, and applied salve and a new bandage. Her experience in such things was minimal, and she worried that with its appalling coloring, the foot was infected. The nearest doctor was in Tromsø, three hours away by motorboat. The Lockertsens had a boat, but there was no way they could bring a doctor to Løvli farm without someone prying and wanting to know why, not to mention the risk of being stopped by the Germans.
Jan returned upstairs and fell into bed following dinner. Although the Lockertsens had made him extremely comfortable, his mind was ever rehashing the harrowing experiences of the last few days. When sleep finally came, he slept well for a few hours.
The 12th Man Page 13