by Matthew Hall
The man who had guided them there left for a short while and then returned saying the Germans on the edge of village were just about to move out, but that he would show them the start of the route they must follow to the Rhine. They bade farewell to their hosts and followed the man out into the heavy rain along a muddy track to a main road which they had to cross. There was a stationary German lorry several yards away which appeared to be loading. He told them he would go and distract them and that they should take their chance to cross. With that, he left them. Moments later they heard him laughing and sharing a joke with the soldiers. Herford and McGowan slipped across the road and found the track which their guide had told them would lead them the remaining 8½ miles to the Rhine.
In the excitement of their encounter at Otterlo they had not had time to look at their map! They couldn’t risk striking a match, so had to recall what they could from memory. They set off at a quick pace, but must have taken a wrong fork because they ended up at another major road, which could only have been the main route from Arnhem to Otterlo. They proceeded cautiously along the verge for some way but there were far too many German vehicles for comfort. At one stage a German soldier riding a bicycle without lights almost knocked them over. Only his whistling gave them enough forewarning to dive into the ditch. Deciding this was far too dangerous they struck out west hoping to find the correct route. After another mile or so they found what they thought was the right track. It was heading due south which was at least the right direction.
By now McGowan was suffering from mild dysentery and becoming increasingly exhausted. They stopped for a few minutes every hour during which they dozed fitfully, barely able to keep awake. After one rest they saw flares lighting up the sky to the south and heard salvoes of gunfire and mortars. They were obviously close to the front line.
By 3am they were in a wood and fit to drop. They were sorely tempted to stay where they were for the rest of the day, but decided that another day spent in wet clothes in a sunless wood would only sap them of what little energy they had left. They pushed on until 5am, when they found themselves in a big pine wood, knee deep in undergrowth and then suddenly came upon another major road – the Ede–Arnhem road. On both sides the Germans had dug slit trenches. Tiredness compounded their anxiety. They were desperate for a safe place to conceal themselves for the rest of the day.
Walking south they ran into the tail end of a German vehicle patrol. They waited for it to pass and then crept along the roadside only to come upon some camouflaged German vehicles. There were sounds that the men inside were beginning to wake up. They managed to slip past and into some more woods. They had still been proceeding in single file, but at this stage McGowan suggested that as they were likely to encounter many more Germans the closer they came to the front lines, they should walk together in order to attract less attention. Herford agreed that this was the most sensible course of action.
As dawn approached the track took them close to some huts in the woodland. A German soldier came out from one of them about 100 yards away. He looked closely at them, but seeing the rain he thought better of investigating any further. As they continued through the trees they came upon more and more huts, from some of which smoke was rising. At the edge of the wood was a wide open area dotted with wrecked RAF gliders shot down in the Airborne landing. They stuck to the edges of the wood and tried to keep out of sight of the huts. However, at one stage the track forced them to walk directly past a front window where a German and a woman were preparing breakfast. They exchanged looks with the occupants, who fortunately seemed more interested in their food than in dashing out into the cold wet dawn to tackle two passers-by.
The number of Germans they were encountering was beginning to feel excessive. They could not rely on their flimsy disguises for much longer so decided to hunt around for a hiding place. They passed a number of other wrecked gliders and finally came upon a thicket of dense oak scrub and undergrowth. When they had crawled into its midst they could not possibly be seen, even from the air. They offered up a prayer of thanks and spent an almost reasonable day sleeping fitfully and absorbing as much of the autumn sunshine as they could. They opened the remains of McGowan’s rations and ate well, storing up energy for the final 2-mile trek leg down to the Rhine.
At intervals throughout the day they heard the sound of building hammering and voices coming from the far side of the wood. They also spotted a battery of guns due west. They were clearly in an area of much military activity and decided not to risk making the final approach to the river until it was completely dark. As twilight gave way to cloudless night and their eyes acclimatized to near blackness, they moved off. They had an unpleasant surprise when they almost crossed paths with a German patrol, but had sufficient time to duck into the trees while they marched past. Desperate not to be captured so close to their objective they decided to stick to the middle of ploughed fields.
Crawling through dry bean plants was back-breaking and noisy, but luckily there was a fair amount of shelling coming from the other side of the river which was occupying the enemy’s attention. They only hoped that it stayed to the east and did not switch to their direction. The shells were landing near enough for them to hear them crashing into the ground followed by the thud of falling earth.
About a mile from the river they came to the edges of the Heelsum swamp. From their maps they knew that the area was low lying between two stretches of higher ground. The firmer areas of ground were sticky, water-logged turf; the rest was a watery morass. It was uncomfortable to cross but ideal cover. They could hear voices coming from either side, but none in the swamp. They half crawled, half swam through the seemingly endless banks of reeds and pools, concentrating on nothing except getting to the river. The bombardment seemed to be increasing. The sky was constantly being lit up by flares, forcing them to crawl on their bellies. About 500 yards from the river they stopped in cover just in time to see a German, patrol marching across a marsh. They waited for what seemed like an age before they were happy that the coast was clear. They didn’t want to lose it all now.
They followed over the marsh crossing and then headed for the river. Herford was convinced they would find British or Americans almost immediately on the opposite bank. They stopped and packed their boots and heavier items of clothing into their gas capes ready for the swim, but kept on their camouflage smocks.
As they waded waist-deep through a flooded area in the direction of Renkum very close to the river, it seemed best to head towards some rising ground to their left. It turned out to be the bank of the river, which they were approaching at a very oblique angle.
Not being able to see over the rise of the dyke and down to the river below it was impossible to assess whether this would be a safe place to attempt the swim across. Because the river was swollen and fast moving from days of heavy rain they would be swept a considerable distance downstream. It was therefore critical that they found themselves the clearest possible stretch of bank. They decided that Herford should go ahead and recce while McGowan waited.
Herford crept slowly forwards maintaining absolute silence. He looked over the dyke to the Rhine below. He could not see any Germans. He knew that the grey light of dawn could not be far away so it was critical that they make their move. He retraced his steps but McGowan was not there. They had agreed that in the event of a separation each should continue. Herford thought that McGowan might have gone over to the riverbank to look for him there. He climbed back up the dyke, bitterly disappointed that they should have become separated at this vital moment. He dropped down to the river and searched the bank but his companion was nowhere to be seen. Later Herford learned that McGowan had gone into the woods on the left and had walked straight into a hornet’s nest of Germans on the edge of an area of woodland which extended down to the riverbank. At dawn he was recaptured.
Herford looked up and down the bank for his friend in desperation, but there seemed to be nothing to do except go on. Almost opposite on the souther
n side of the river were some smouldering buildings. The light from the fires lit up the swirling surface of the river. It looked to be 50 yards across, but was perhaps much more. The water was freezing.
Working quickly he took off his smock and left it on the shoreline as a sign to McGowan that he had crossed there. The remainder of his clothes he bundled in his gas cape with his boots, being the heaviest items, at the bottom. He then secured the waterproof ‘Airborne bubble’ with his boot-laces. This arrangement would allow him to keep his clothes from being soaked as well as providing extra buoyancy.
He waded into the freezing water, the mud oozing around his toes, and uttered a silent prayer. He held the gas cape bubble under his chest and kicked out hard with his legs, knowing that he had to swim as fast as he could to avoid being swept too far downstream into the line of German machine guns. Within moments he was in the fast-moving water which carried him along with alarming speed. He used every last ounce of energy, kicking until his legs burned with the effort. The water was so brightly illuminated with flares and exploding shells he felt it must only be moments before the sound of Spandau fire was ringing in his ears. But no fire came; the only sounds were the rush of water breaking around his neck and his heart pounding.
Suddenly he realized that he had cleared the strongest part of the current, and with this realization came a welcome extra burst of energy which pushed him on to the far side. He grabbed hold of the bank. There was no sloping shoreline here; he had to heave himself out of the water with an almighty effort. He lay at the water’s edge catching his breath, wondering what had happened to McGowan. He looked along the bank then out across the water but there was no sign. The relief quickly gave way to the realization that he was extremely cold. He hastily unwrapped the gas bubble and dressed. He was glad to find his battle dress no damper than it had been on the far side.
His next thoughts were of making contact with someone who would not shoot first and ask questions later, but he had no time to make plans as almost immediately several figures in tin hats appeared at the top of the riverbank. Fearing they might shoot, Herford straight away challenged them. The answer came back, ‘Sergeant Butcher, 101st US Airborne Division, and who the hell are you?’ Herford gave his name, rank and unit and was told to stand still. The patrol approached him with raised rifles and demanded to know what he was doing wandering around in their sector. He explained that he was an escaped POW and that he was looking out for McGowan, but they did not appear at all convinced. They marched him off to their HQ, treating him just like a prisoner.
On arrival Herford was warmly received by a young American officer who took down his details and made some telephone calls to corroborate his claims. His credentials established, he was given some food, his clothes were dried and brushed by a batman and he lay down to sleep in the luxury of dry blankets. The Americans promised to keep a lookout for his missing companion.
Several hours later Herford was taken to 101st Airborne Division HQ and then on to XXX Corps HQ where he reported to a young intelligence officer for de-briefing and handed over the lists of POW casualties he had brought with him. The intelligence officer appeared most unimpressed and distinctly bored by the lack of logistical information Herford was able to provide about the other side. Herford was reunited with his unit later that day where he was warmly welcomed, but whereas the members of the Airborne who had escaped and made it back had been given six weeks’ leave, he had to struggle to get two!
Johnny Johnston’s earlier predictions proved correct. Herford did escape and was duly awarded the Distinguished Service Order. ‘What a man!’ Johnston wrote to Herford’s father. ‘They probably let him go to get rid of him! I bet he was the biggest headache they’d had in the POW line for a long time. Your faith in him and our optimism has been more than justified with a bit to spare!’
The lengthy citation in the London Gazette of 29 March 1945 gives a more or less accurate account of the achievements which merited this high honour:
On 23 September 1944, 163 Field Ambulance was moved to area Valburg MR 660690 to act as evacuating medical unit for casualties of 1st Airborne Division from the North bank of the river Neder Rijn in the event of the relief of that Division being successfully accomplished. Reports stated there were 2000 British Casualties in the area north of the river in urgent need of assistance and Medical Supplies. The Medical Personnel of the Division was reduced to 18 officers and 120 Other Ranks.
It was planned that 163 Field Ambulance would accompany a Force across the river on the night 23/24 September and would take across medical personnel and stores, but this plan had to be abandoned owing to the non-availability of sufficient craft.
At 14.30 hours 24 September 1944 Lieutenant Colonel Herford on his own initiative organised a party consisting of one Medical Officer and four Other Ranks and crossed the river to the north bank in a boat loaded with medical equipment. The boat displayed the Red Cross Flag.
Lieutenant Colonel Herford was aware that the north bank was held by the enemy and that all his movements might be under direct observation. On reaching the North bank he ordered his party to remain with the boat while he alone proceeded forward with a view to making contact with the Medical Services of the 1st British Airborne Division or making arrangements with the enemy for the completion of his mission. However, after leaving the bank, he was made prisoner. He requested to be taken to see a Senior German Officer and after some considerable time his request was granted. The result of his interview was that he was permitted to contact the head of German Medical Services in the Arnhem area and arrange for the organisation of a hospital for all British casualties. This hospital was established in Barracks near Apeldoorn. Into this hospital 1500 British casualties were collected and most of the remaining medical personnel of the 1st British Airborne Division were set to work.
Lieutenant Colonel Herford was largely responsible for the organisation of the hospital and treatment of the casualties.
When he discovered it was proposed by the Germans to evacuate the serious cases in ordinary freight wagons he protested in the strongest possible terms and succeeded in ensuring the provision of a properly equipped ambulance train. When all the serious cases had been evacuated from Apeldoorn he decided to make his escape. In this he was successful after an arduous and dangerous journey and he returned to our lines, bringing with him a nominal roll of 1500 British casualties remaining in enemy hands. He was, in all, 26 days within enemy lines.
In carrying out this most dangerous and difficult task Lieutenant Colonel Herford displayed complete disregard for his own personal safety. His unshakeable determination resulted in adequate treatment being afforded to the British Casualties in enemy hands and their evacuation to enemy hospitals under the best possible conditions.
His conduct all through was up to the best traditions of his Corps.
Despite the praise, there is one major inaccuracy in this citation. Herford was not responsible for the ‘organisation’ of the hospital at Apeldoorn (the administration of which was handled by the Airborne staff), but was entirely responsible for its establishment.
CHAPTER 11
INTO BELSEN
Following his escape from Apeldoorn, Herford’s unit was withdrawn to the port of Antwerp. Fighting would continue in the Arnhem area throughout the winter until a large spring offensive finally broke the German front and brought them into submission. Herford gratefully accepted his two weeks’ leave and sailed home to be greeted by his overjoyed wife and relatives. His phone call to them just before he left for England was the first news they had had that he was alive.
Two weeks later, on 10 November, he returned to Antwerp on a dull motionless sea. He had still not received news of Dan McGowan and thought of him constantly. He had been unable to enjoy the triumph of his escape while not knowing what had become of his companion. In fact he didn’t find out that McGowan was a POW until the end of the war.
Herford had comfortable lodgings in a flat in Antwerp, but th
e relative peace was soon shattered by bombardments from VI and V2 rockets. Antwerp was a vital supply point for the Allies and it suffered even heavier bombardment than London. On the night of 22 November a V2 exploded in the street outside Herford’s flat, shaking the whole building, smashing the windows and throwing him out of his bed. It was one of the closest shaves he’d had during the whole war. Three days previously the welfare centre near which his unit was based was destroyed in an air raid, and in the following weeks they prepared to move to three new locations, but each time the buildings were destroyed.
By mid-December the unit was beginning to feel they had suffered more than their share of bad luck. Herford added to their grumbling by insisting they pack up for another move on a Saturday afternoon, a time when most of them would have been out at the cinema or in a cafe. As they worked there was an almighty explosion nearby from a lone V2. The news came quickly that the Rex cinema had suffered a direct hit in the middle of the afternoon matinee. There were nearly 200 casualties, most of them British soldiers, and the rescue operation continued for well over 24 hours. Half the men in Herford’s unit had intended being there that afternoon. Their narrow escape was the subject of much discussion for several weeks.
The relentless bombardment of Antwerp throughout the winter was especially depressing as the Allied soldiers had entertained high hopes of overrunning Germany before Christmas. Instead it felt as if the pendulum was swinging back the other way. Herford’s unit spent most of January, February and March 1945 retrieving and treating the casualties of the air raids. Antwerp was effectively reduced to a dead city, a barren shell of its former self.
Then came the great breakthrough and the crossing of the Rhine at the end of March. A simultaneous thrust by the Second British Army and the Ninth US Army in the North of Germany and by the First and Seventh US Armies in the south brought a rapid advance into Germany itself.