Churchill's White Rabbit

by Sophie Jackson

  Forest was at a stage where he didn’t think any new horror could touch him, but this proved to be wrong when he discovered the hospital facilities at Rehmsdorf were even worse than at Gleina. Set in its own compound at the centre of the camp, buildings that were designed to hold 300 now had to accommodate 1,250. Overcrowding was horrendous, internal toilets non-existent (patients had to make do with oil drums arranged by the staff if they could not make it outside). The sick lay three to a bunk, corpses mingled in with the living. It became so hard to tell who was dead and who was still alive that the only definite method was to take temperatures with a thermometer. Even so, starving patients would try to fake the temperature of a dead bunk mate so they could eat his ration.

  But, despite it all, there was still hope. The British POWs had been successfully transferred to Gleina and work parties were being sent from Rehmsdorf to the camp. Forest was not yet on a work party, but he knew someone who was and could be trusted, Hans Gentkow.2 Gentkow replaced Hummelshein in smuggling Forest’s messages and managed to get one to a senior British NCO at Gleina. There was some scepticism among the POWs about Forest’s identity and it took some careful negotiations before they were prepared to believe that here was an RAF man who had served with SOE. Forest was invited to Gleina by the British and Gentkow arranged for him to be placed on a work party due to dig vegetable beds at the camp. Once at Gleina, Forest was pulled aside to the cookhouse by Corporal John Stevenson and treated to a decent meal and mugs of tea with milk. It was like a strange dream being presented before British airmen who stood to attention and saluted Forest in his pyjama-like prisoner clothes. He was hardly the dashing, strong figure of Paris, but something about his presence still impressed itself on these men. There was little they could do for him however, aside from promising to pass messages and reports about his whereabouts to whoever they could, and they swore that if the Allies took Leipzig they would do what they could to take Gleina and rush to Rehmsdorf to help the inmates there.

  It was little, but it was something.

  January brought death transports. Forest saw yet another Nazi evil as those deemed too sick to recover were shipped to extermination camps. What he could not be aware of was that this sudden drive was sparked by the increasing proximity of the Allied advance. The same transports were occurring in many concentration camps, in order to get rid of as many living testimonies to Nazi brutality as possible before the Allies descended. If Forest had known, it may have added macabre hope to the transports, but it was still abhorrent to see the sick and dying herded into train carriages, many to die of cold, thirst or exhaustion along the way.

  At one point the entire hospital was cleared of its patients, but within a matter of days it was filled with new ones again. Some were only suffering from prolonged exhaustion and the hospital offered the bare essentials of respite and recuperation to build up their strength before they returned to work. They were the lucky ones; those that required medication or surgical treatments might as well have been in a medieval hospital and even then they would probably have been better supplied. Gleina boasted the paltry provisions of a few paper bandages, a single pair of scissors and a small amount of iodine substitute. Operations had to be performed without anaesthetic because there was none and the appalling scenes this created sickened everyone except the SS guards.

  On one occasion Allied aircraft bombed the camp and destroyed a prisoner hut. Forest and the teams of orderlies and doctors were helpless to do much. One man required his leg to be amputated and all they had to hand was a surgical knife with a 11/2in blade. He survived several days in agony before succumbing to shock.

  After another raid on a nearby town the camp doctors were summoned to help the victims. They arrived while Allied aircraft were still strafing the area with bullets. A Jewish Hungarian doctor who was a prisoner at Gleina was caught in the crossfire and died several hours later at the camp.

  It was difficult to assess the feelings of the prisoners when they heard the news that they were being killed by the men who were supposedly on their side. Forest, knowing the inaccuracy of navigation and releasing of bombs, could retain the generous view that bombing the camp was an unpleasant accident. He could think of less to justify the gunning down of civilians in the town, but this was war and he knew that such things happened in the heat of the moment. At least he knew the Allies were getting closer, which was some comfort in his current, horrific surroundings. ‘At times, I wondered if I was still alive, or even if I was dead and in Hell. How we managed to remain sane, I don’t know.3

  As April and the warmer weather of spring approached, it also brought rumours that the Nazis had begun to massacre inmates in other camps. It seemed they were determined to wreak as much havoc and misery as they could right until the end.

  Forest was not about to be gunned down at the last moment and set about making defensive plans. He got permission to dig trenches under the pretext of turning them into air raid defences, but in fact he intended them as bunk holes if the guards should turn on them. The prisoners managed to hoard a surprisingly large collection of arms as well, including hand grenades, rifles and pistols. Yet the immediate danger came from their fellow inmates. The various divided groups of the camp were segregating themselves even further to ensure their survival and regular fights broke out, especially over food, which was becoming even scarcer. Forest was barely able to fend them off when he collected the bread ration for his patients. He knew now that the camp was at breaking point.

  At midnight on 13 April the order was issued that the entire camp was to be evacuated. Forest was not surprised at this turn of events, nor was he shocked to learn that even the sick and dying were to be loaded onto trains headed for an unknown destination. He was certain they were headed for a mass grave. As the train seemed to take an almost random route through the countryside Forest predicted they were heading for Czechoslovakia and he warned Dulac that there would only be one chance for escape and when the time came they must take it.

  Two days of travel in cramped conditions was too much for some and over 100 inmates died. The SS guards initially took amusement in simply throwing their bodies off the train, but this soon became tiresome. An SS commander had the train halted in a clearing in a large expanse of woodland and ordered the healthy prisoners to climb down and dig a mass grave. Forest knew that this was their chance; there might be no other on this transportation to death. He arranged things as quickly as he could among his resistance comrades. They would carry bodies to the grave then pretend to turn back to the train before making a dash for the woods. With luck the SS guards would be busy watching the remaining inmates on the train and would take a moment to realise what was happening. It was risky, they could be gunned down easily and they were not men in their prime, sickened by illness and deprivation, but it was better than just sitting and waiting to die. Those that were chosen agreed eagerly.

  Chances were still slim though, and Forest hoped to even the odds by speaking with one of the few SS guards who had shown a modicum of sympathy and consideration for the prisoners. Otto Moller was a low-level SS man who had not been of the same cruel and brutal calibre as his cohorts. Forest later said about him: ‘This German SS NCO was one of the very few Germans who did not deliberately ill-treat prisoners, and prior to my escape I had him under my thumb… He is the type of man who will give everything away to save his skin…’3

  He approached Moller and put his own safety on the line. He explained he was actually a British officer in the Secret Service, there was no time to explain his identity change, but he assured Moller that he had managed to smuggle reports to his superiors about life in the camps and the treatment by guards. However, he had noted the kindness Moller at times had shown and his restraint, so he would be prepared to make a statement on his behalf expressing this. Unfortunately if he was executed that could not happen and nothing could be done to put a barrier between Moller and the wrath of the Allies when they saw what had been going on. It was in Moller’s
own self-interest to see that Forest escaped.

  It was a dangerous ploy, as Moller could so easily have remembered his SS oath and turned the whole escape party in, but for some reason he didn’t. It was obvious at that point to all but the most deluded of Nazis that Hitler’s regime was doomed. Some might contemplate slipping away and working towards World War Three, but others were in too deep and their retreat was all about the simplest motive – survival. It seems likely it was this thought that swayed Moller, in any case he agreed to help Forest.

  Thus twenty brave souls carried bodies to the mass grave then turned and, on a shout from Forest, ran as fast as they could into the woods. It was not the most athletic of escapes as the men were too worn down for that. Even Forest, who had so prided himself on his physical fitness, was appalled to find himself stumbling from a run to a trot as he reached the treeline. It was not a mad dash, it couldn’t be, and they were fortunate that the SS had been distracted and their gunshots wide.

  Forest threw himself into the first bush he spotted and landed on another resistance man. Panting and gasping, they huddled into the foliage, listening uneasily to the sound of German voices coming closer. Then there was a shout, which Forest knew was Moller. He tensed, knowing he was doomed if the SS man broke his word. The shout was followed by a shot and then Moller was calling his men off in the wrong direction. There was little time for relief. When everyone was rounded up there were only ten remaining of the twenty who had fled. Forest had no idea what had become of the others. In fact, nine had been easily recaptured and swiftly executed. Pierre Kaan was the tenth, but he was lucky to be found by Moller and escorted back to the train without anyone knowing. He would die in hospital a few weeks after being rescued by the Allies.

  For those that had got this far the next step was vital. Along with gathering arms the resistance men had made a conscious effort to gather whatever civilian clothing they could. Forest had spare clothing that was given to him by his friends at Buchenwald and had smuggled it off the train during the escape. Now everyone removed their inmate clothing, which would have given them away in seconds, and pulled on a mismatch of clothes. Forest wore grey trousers and a corduroy jacket and boots that the strange character Dietzech had given him. Nothing fitted properly and at any other time he could have been mistaken for a tramp or vagrant, but the war had gone on for a long while and the countryside was littered with displaced persons, few of whom would look any better than he did. Slowly the men regained their bearings, waited 3 hours in case Moller took the opportunity to join them, and then split into three groups. Forest teamed up with his old friend Dulac and a Belgian named Georges Piot5 and they set out mid-afternoon.

  No one was entirely sure where they were, nor the best direction in which to head. The Allied advancing lines were their best bet, but even so, finding them was a matter of stumbling on them in the dark. They walked through the woods slowly, conserving strength and only resting when it was too dark to navigate. Forest’s dysentery was playing up again. He was frequently cramped with agonising pains in his guts, any food he ate tended to make it worse for the next few hours, so perhaps it was just as well he had only brought one piece of bread with him (he had sacrificed a second piece so he could bring Hubble’s chess set, which he intended to return to Desmond’s family).

  Every step of the journey was fraught. They came across a woodcutter’s camp and were challenged, but managed to get away. When they came to a river they discovered the bridge too well guarded and had to wade across, Forest in the lead. He stumbled in a hole and was almost swept away, but was saved by Dulac. At another point they reached a road guarded by the German Home Guard, who had been created to supplement the rapidly diminishing home forces. To make matters worse the three escapees heard footsteps behind them and assumed they were trapped between two German forces. It was some relief when the approaching footsteps proved to be another of the escape parties. Individually they made dashes across the road when the Germans had their backs turned and split up again into their respective groups.

  For Forest this victory was a chore and he wondered how much more he could take. His dysentery had become acute, perhaps due to drinking freezing river water, and he was gripped by stomach pains all the time to the point where he had to double up and remain still until they dispersed. He was out of food as well – soon his strength would fail him.

  It was not long before he faced a trial that was too much for him. They reached an open expanse of land with only a small clump of trees to act as cover. They had no choice but to cross it, but their luck had run out: they were some distance from the trees when three men appeared to their left. Dulac and Piot made a dash for the clump and vanished into the trees, but Forest could not run long before his dysentery tortured him and forced him to slow down. He could only make it to one solitary tree that stood away from the rest and there he slumped down on his belly and hoped. What could he do but trust in his luck and hope that the men would miss him?

  He heard them walk past and then, to his horror, they stopped. They had seen him. One called out to him in German. Forest feigned a heavy sleep; perhaps they would think him drunk. They were closer now and someone else shouted at him, but he didn’t move. There was a pause and then one man said something to his friends that made them laugh loudly. Forest had the impression they were commenting on his laziness, and now he just hoped they would move on as if they tried to shake him awake he was doomed. His German was too limited to talk himself out of the situation. He waited miserably.

  The Germans watched him for several moments then abruptly turned and walked away. As soon as it was safe he got to his feet and headed for the main clump of trees, but when he got there Dulac and Piot were gone. He reflected that had he been in Dulac or Piot’s place perhaps he too would have assumed that when he fell he was doomed to discovery by the passing Germans. Still, he liked to imagine that he might have hung around to see what happened. But the end result was simple, he was on his own.

  Now the weather deteriorated. Forest encountered another river but found an unguarded bridge and, soaked to the bone by heavy rain, made it into the refuge of woodland once again. He was exhausted, but there seemed nowhere to settle, then suddenly the world fell away from him. He had stumbled into a pit lined with branches. The fall shook him, but in the next instant he realised that he had found his bed for the night. Thanking his luck he pulled branches around him and doing his best to block out the pain and the cold, he slipped into sleep.

  When he woke it was still raining and he was famished. He found a potato field and rooted around for something to eat without success. He fell behind a woodpile and drifted into sleep again. When dawn came he was at least a little rested and carried on towards a road. He had a vague idea of heading to Chemnitz and reaching the Allied line, but beyond that he was just walking. He was less alert than before and when he reached a road he was spotted by armed Germans who challenged him.

  Some reservoir of adrenaline spurred him back into the trees despite shots whizzing past. He collapsed into the undergrowth – his body was spent. When he tried to lift his legs he simply couldn’t. His head throbbed and stabbing pains shot through his eyes. He wanted to be sick, but retching only hurt his empty stomach. It was then he realised that his dysentery had struck during the run and his legs were wet with his own bodily waste. He confessed to himself that he was in a sorry mess.

  Somehow he eventually gathered his strength together and carried on. He had lost his sense of direction and before long stumbled into another pit. This one was deeper and he panicked when he realised he did not have the strength to climb out. He tried to remain calm, but there was no option left but to sleep and try to conserve his flagging energy.

  He awoke to the smiling face of a Yugoslav prisoner of war. The friendly figure tried to explain something to him, but Forest was ignorant of Yugoslavian. Fortunately the POW knew French and when he switched to this language they were able to communicate. Forest told him he was an escaped prisone
r of war and had to get moving. He endeavoured to stand but his body collapsed in protest. Gently his new friend lifted him up and carried him into the shelter of some woods. Forest sunk into unconsciousness again.

  When he awoke it was to see that the Yugoslav POW had brought him bread and a little wine in a bottle. Forest could not express his gratitude at the small gift, but the first bite of bread on his sick and hollow stomach made him violently ill. Unperturbed, the Yugoslavian offered him the wine and that at least stayed down. The POW had brought some food for Forest, which he insisted he took. He then allowed Forest to rest while he kept a watch for enemy patrols.

  Finally Forest felt strong enough to carry on. He thanked the kindly stranger and walked away, after a short distance he turned back and waved and the POW waved back. He could only wonder where this generous and compassionate man had emerged from: was he part of a working party in the woods or was he an escapee too? Forest had not asked and he would never know. He was just grateful for the miracle of stumbling upon a friendly face in these vast and enemy-filled woods.

  Though he was still ailing and his legs were heavier with each step, Forest felt a new-found hope and decided to push his luck and follow a main road for a time in the hope of finding a signpost to give him a clue where he was. It wasn’t long before he came upon a crossroads and, to his amazement and joy, he discovered he was only 2km from Chemnitz. The elation of seeing the town, despite its bomb-damaged buildings and ruinous appearance, was over-whelming for the footsore Forest. Better still, he realised that the Germans were using French POWs and civilians to clear rubble and carry water, so for the first time he was in no danger if someone heard him speaking French. His luck seemed eternal when he even managed to hitch a lift on a horse and cart driven by a French POW. It was the fastest 25km he had travelled during his entire escape and now he was on course for the Allied lines.