Creeping among large rocks, bushes and scraggly trees, they hurried downward to the sea. The chill wind swept over them unnoticed. Though the darkness shielded them, their senses stayed alert to any hazard.
Two places along the route were particularly dangerous: the school where the German soldiers were quartered, and the warehouse near the local road, guarded by the Germans. Key pieces of apparatus, machinery and snow removal equipment were kept safe in the storehouse. The narrow two-lane country road that snaked its way along the water through Furuflaten was the Germans’ main supply route to Finland and the Eastern Front. It had to be kept open; therefore, they guarded the snow removal equipment very protectively.
Marius had surveyed the escape route several times in advance. He knew every foot of it, and what he and his friends faced. They had met and worked out detailed plans.
Artur Olsen had been sent out in advance to stand guard on the moraine hill north of the river. The river ran underneath the road bridge and spilled out into the sea. The bridge was near where the German guard was stationed. Artur’s exact position had been carefully chosen. An armed soldier kept watch down on the road, walking between the bridge and the store at Hamvik. From his lookout point, Artur could see the bridge. When the German soldier turned by the bridge to go south, Artur was to strike a match as a signal.
Johan, Hanna’s son, had been eager to help Jan in some way. He was proud that his Uncle Marius had asked him to be part of this effort. Uncle Marius had loaned his flashlight to him. And to have a flashlight - with batteries - was something unusual in war-torn Norway of 1943. Johan was excited to be on a par with the adults.
Quietly, the young man trudged through the snow. Johan crawled up the moraine hill to his appointed place on the south side of the river. His heart pounded as he peered into the darkness, alert to danger. Johan felt the tension more than did the others, perhaps because of his youth. He kept looking behind him. Unusual noises seemed to come from everywhere.
All was quiet.
The small country store a little further down was a sociable place. Friends and neighbors met and chatted about happenings in their village. These days, the havoc the war caused always crept into their conversation. Before the war, the men-folk centered their conversation on fishing vessels or their latest catch important to their livelihood. They focused on the success or failure of their crops and livestock, weather being all-important here in the Arctic. The latest news of world or around Norway was also important to them.
The women looked forward to gathering at the store. They discussed new ideas on homemaking and rearing children. These were women of substance for the most part. By and large their men were fishermen, often spending weeks or months away fishing, while the women cared for children and attended to farm duties.
Most walked to the country store, though some bicycled. In the wintertime they used kick sleds or skis. The country store was their meeting place, a place for sharing the latest goings-on in their lives, stories they were bursting to pass on, joyful tales.
Closed tonight, the townsfolk safely home, the country store lay quiet.
A shadowy figure stood near the store. Wearing a leather cap with earflaps tied underneath his chin, a homemade knitted sweater and scarf, teacher Longva kept his hands warm inside knitted mittens. Standing guard with matchbox in hand, he would strike a match to signal danger to the five pulling Jan.
Gudrun Grønvoll
Marius had placed teacher Longva by the country store because it gave a good overview of the paths on which they were transporting Jan. Marius, Olav, Alfon and the girls neared the end of the hollow. The land spread flat at the bottom of the moraine riverbed. The closely guarded school where the Germans slept sat on top of a ten-foot embankment. A soldier kept watch close by. All they could see of him was the upper part of his rifle and his helmet moving along the snow mound.
The five crept gingerly along the riverbank below the soldier, all hoping that the sound of the rushing river drowned out the scraping of the sled. Marius had described the escape to Jan in detail. Jan knew their location, and he wanted to assure the girls. It was clear they were nervous by the way they looked around, glanced up at the snow bank and at each other.
Ingeborg Grønvoll
“We are almost there, girls. They cannot hear us because of the river,” said Jan, though he was not totally convinced of that himself.
The off duty soldiers in the school were lethargic and heedless. None of them had any idea of the daring activity playing out below them. Raucous laughter erupted from the school and over the snow bank. It jolted Marius and the others. The German soldiers were enjoying their time off.
Carefully, Marius’ group distanced themselves from the school, and when they neared the county road, they stopped in a thicket. A German soldier a short distance away was guarding the warehouse.
Gudrun and Ingeborg parted company with the others. They walked boldly out into the road and conversed loudly as if sharing an exciting experience. They headed straight for the soldier with the machine gun.
“Guten Abend,” good evening, they smiled.
The soldier was somewhat surprised that the two Norwegian girls would talk to him. He was pleased with this interruption, breaking the monotony of his watch.
“Guten Abend,” the soldier smiled broadly. “What are you young girls doing out so late at night?” he continued in German.
The girls shrugged their shoulders and laughed.
“Ich nicht verstehen,” We don’t understand. Ingeborg tried out the few German words she knew.
“Aah!” the soldier nodded and eagerly labored to make himself understood in his broken Norwegian.
The girls kept him busy pretending they had a difficult time understanding him. Slowly they turned southward. The soldier accompanied them. They chatted as they distanced themselves and the guard from the sled. Reaching a narrow path, they stopped and talked a few more minutes.
The soldier by the bridge had turned. Artur lit the match. Marius hardly saw the weak flame north of the river. Gudrun and Ingeborg turned off on the side road.
“Auf wiedersehen.” They waved.
“Auf wiedersehen.” The soldier saluted the girls.
Marius checked the road. Clear of Germans, it was time to pull Jan across. The men crouched around him.
“Let’s go!”
They darted across the road and rushed down the embankment on the other side into the safety of another thicket, stopping only momentarily to catch their breaths. The boat lay ready by the shore, oars, sail and mast tucked away in the bottom. Jan was freed from the sled and lifted into the boat. Like Viking king Olav Tryggvason’s warship, Ormen Lange, The Long Serpent, the boat carrying Jan headed into the wind, swallowed by the darkness.
Ingeborg and Gudrun turned to go home. The wind played with their hair. Gudrun brushed a few strands away from her face with a mitten-covered hand. Ingeborg pulled her knitted cap further down her face. She could not bear to look at her sister.
“Did you see how careworn and sad Jan looked?” ventured Ingeborg.
“Ja.”
“I hope he will make it.” Ingeborg sniffled.
“He will.”
In their sadness it was difficult to find words. They walked on in silence, the snow crackling underfoot. In the short time Jan had been at the farm, he and the girls had grown very close. The girls’ deep love for Jan had grown out of the care they had given him. They admired his strength and courage and they had suffered with him in his pain.
Jan, on the other hand, loved the girls because of their wholesome youthfulness. When he needed tenderness and a listening heart, one or the other was there. When he needed care it was offered to him. During the brief moments they shared, the sisters helped Jan forget his ordeal and he loved them for that. The girls reminded Jan of his family and happier times.
“Do you remember how emotional Jan was when he said, ‘I have ruined everything for all of you?’”
“J
a.”
“I don’t think he did; do you, Gudrun?”
“No. We are Norwegians and we must help each other.”
The tears that had been brimming spilled over and flowed in a steady stream.
“Why does it hurt so much, Gudrun?”
“Because we love him.”
They went home to an empty barn.
The tragedy of war is that
it uses man’s best to
do man’s worst
— Harry Emerson Fosdick
HOTEL SAVOY
APRIL 12, 1943: Thoughts of the farewell scene at Furuflaten filled Jan’s mind as they crossed the Lyngenfjord. The tender moments stayed with him and made him melancholy.
When the boat was pulled up over the small rocks on the east side of the Lyngenfjord, new hope filled him. Freedom was one step closer.
His eyes were slowly healing. They did not water as much anymore, the swelling was nearly gone, and the redness was beginning to disappear. But the shooting pains in his feet made it impossible for him to walk or stand, even with help. The men lifted him out of the boat. Jan wanted to help.
“Relax Jan, we’ll handle this.”
“This is no problem. You’re not that heavy!” They chuckled.
Olav pushed the boat back in the water and rowed away from the hut. He would wait further south by the Innerelva River until the men returned. They did not want someone discovering a boat lying at the very door of Jan’s hiding place.
Marius and Alfon were careful not to cause Jan additional pain. They carried him the short distance up toward the old log hut and paused by the door. Jan was placed in a sitting position on a knapsack.
From the snow pile where they stood to the threshold of the entrance, it was another couple of feet. There were no steps. Marius stretched to remove the bolt and the door squeaked open. The darkness made it impossible to distinguish any contours. Marius climbed up and crouched to get through the door. The small door opening only reached to the top of his chest.
With outstretched arms he felt his way around the room. On the south wall his knees bumped into something resembling a small cot. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he made out the outline of long narrow boards with a slight edge. It could be used as a makeshift bed. Several articles, some of them farm implements, lay strewn around the floor. The wood cot was much shorter than was Jan, but Marius was sure it could be used. Jan’s helpers added a couple of the wooden planks which lay on the floor and gathered some loose hay stacked in one corner of the hut. They lifted Jan into the cottage and up into the makeshift bed.
His friends at Grønvoll farm had packed a knapsack with food, some alcohol and a small kerosene burner so he could heat his food. The men laid it all out neatly within easy reach of his bunk.
Marius and Alfon were troubled over leaving him. Jan reassured them he was comfortable and would be fine until they returned.
“Take care, Jan. We’ll be back in a couple of days and bring you a little extra food.”
“Ja, takk for alt,” thanks for everything. Give my best greetings to everyone.”
“So long, Jan.”
By the water’s edge they signaled Olav to come pick them up.
Jan felt good. He was happy with his new living quarters and expressed his gratitude to Marius. He was dry and he had a roof overhead, food, and clothes, even a kerosene burner. Most important though, he knew he had good friends that would stand by him no matter what. And he was nearer to the Swedish border than he had been yesterday.
Jan moved the planks beneath him a little and felt rather contented. Far away from the Germans, he could relax a little and again reminisce over the happy time he had spent in Furuflaten.
Jan expected his feet to improve quickly. Before long Marius would return, as he had promised, and with his help he would climb the mountain behind the hut toward the east. When he reached Sweden, Jan knew his suffering and fear would be a thing of the past.
Hour after hour he philosophized in the dark. The sharp light that forced its way through the cracks between the logs and around the ceiling told him that a new day had dawned. The details in his surroundings became more visible. On the floor and in the corners there were thick layers of dust, hay and cobwebs. The wall planks were carved into square beams by ax. The workmanship varied, allowing the daylight to break through the large cracks. Moss had been stuffed into the larger cracks, but even at that, the hut was far from being well insulated. About four feet above his head there was a heavy crossbar between the walls. Jan could not figure out its usefulness. The ceiling was made from flat, wide boards.
The hut was about nine feet long and six feet wide. As Jan lay there, hour after hour, he discovered new details of workmanship. It gave his mind something to mull over. Every board and beam had different size knots and patterns as he compared them with each other. Soon he knew them all. As he familiarized himself with the hut he felt more at home and he began to feel safe and comfortable.
Jan kept his mind busy learning all about his surroundings. His thoughts also wandered back to his earlier life and the happy times he’d experienced as a youth in Oslo with his friends and family. Reliving these scenes of happiness calmed him, and at the same time, infused him with a longing for home and family. Often he reviewed the reasons for ending up in this hut and he rehashed every detail of how the war had come to Norway.
Past midnight, April 15, 1943: As promised, the men from Furuflaten returned to the hut two days later.
“Hallo Jan, how are you doing?” Their cheery voices greeted him before the door was fully open.
“I am doing great. It’s like living at Hotel Savoy!” They all shared a hearty laugh.
Jan felt good, and he was happy and expressed gratitude for his new living quarters. His foot still bothered him, but it was nothing he could not live with. He expected it to keep improving.
Marius had attempted to reach the doctor in Lyngseidet to learn more about frostbite, but the doctor had been away. Instead, the bus driver, Lars Utgård, drove to Tromsø in an unsuccessful effort to get professional advice.
“Let’s wait a few more days, Jan.”
Hoping that his feet would continue to heal, they agreed to return in another few days with more food and provisions. The plan still was that Jan, with Marius’ help, would make it over the mountains on his own two feet.
Once more they said goodbye, but seeing how well Jan was doing, it was easier for them this time. They had to cross the fjord and return home before the people in Furuflaten began their day.
ANOTHER DAY forced its light through the cracks in the hut. Jan’s legs suddenly hurt terribly. The burning sensation and throbbing increased at a startling pace, and did not let up. Never before in his whole life had he ever felt such terrifying pain. An unexplainable inner alarm took hold of Jan. Within an hour pain and fear wholly overpowered him. He groaned. Jan pulled up to a sitting position, then laid back down, turned over, rolled from side to side and back again. He cried out for relief, but the pain only intensified.
Hotel Savoy stands close to Lyngenfjord.
Grabbing his legs just below the knees he squeezed hard. It gave him slight relief. He pulled the bandages off his feet. Horrified, he saw his toes were a dark grayish-black. When he stroked them he could not feel his own touch. The large toe on his right foot was pitch black and the skin was cracking. Fluid trickled out, some clear, some yellowish and thick.
“Oh my - my feet! Gangrene! No! Yes - it is gangrene!”
He knew the consequences of gangrene, but at that moment he did not want to believe it. He knew how quickly it could spread, and that it could end in death. Alone in this dim place with not a friend to turn to for help or comfort, he panicked. Even his trusted friend Marius would not be back for another couple of days.
For three days Jan suffered through agonizing pain. Sleep was impossible. As the minutes turned to hours and the hours into days he could only lie there and struggle with his pain.
Surely
Marius would come soon; did he not promise he would be back in three days?
No one came.
A new day dawned and dragged on, then night came; Jan’s suffering continued. Another new day and another night came and moved onward. Five days had passed since Marius and Alfon’s last visit. Jan gave in to his fate. For him all hope was gone. He assumed the Germans had arrested his friends, and no one else had any idea of his whereabouts. He would die here in this little hut, a slow painful death.
AMANDUS LILLEVOLL returned home to Furuflaten from a fishing excursion in the Lofoten Islands two days after Jan had been taken to Revdal. He ran into Marius and two other men on his way home.
“Amandus I need to talk to you. It is a rather serious matter.” Marius looked earnest.
“Go ahead, I have time.” Amandus studied Marius as he explained about Jan.
“Frankly, dear friend, I am in desperate need of help. Would you be able to help us get him to Sweden?”
But Amandus had heard of the happenings in Toftefjord and felt that it was too risky.
“I have to think about this Marius. This is not child’s play.”
“Take your time, it might mean our very lives,” said Marius.
Amandus pondered the pros and cons, and what to do.
“I’ll take the risk. I’ll help you,” was his final answer.
Furuflaten, April 20, 1943: A dreadful spring storm made it impossible to cross the Lyngenfjord. Finally on April 20 the weather eased. Alfon and Amandus packed their knapsacks. They would have to cross the fjord in daylight; they needed to get food to Jan. At Røykeneset, straight across from Furuflaten, was a German guard post. From there they could observe the whole fjord. Even Revdal to the north behind Foraneset was in their field of vision. The men were uneasy; there was no place to hide.
The 12th Man Page 18