night_walk

NIGHT WALK TO GUIGNICOURT

(Revised October 2006)

by Virgil R. Marco Sr., 366BS Tail Gunner, 305BG

We were about an hour’s walk from Aubenton when we saw lights of a vehicle at a distance. To our right, about fifty yards from the road were several haystacks scattered about the adjacent field. We ran across the field where we took refuge behind one. The cows had eaten a channel deep inside the stack where we huddled until the car had past. We rested for a few minutes and then continued our journey.

We walked continuously all night. When daylight arrived, we left the road and began looking for a good place to hide. It was a cold, cloudy, depressing morning. Our morale was low. We wondered how much more walking would be required to reach Rozoy, the first circle village on our map. We found a secluded ravine hidden by trees and vines just off the road. This was a good place to rest and plan what to do next. After resting for about an hour we decided to scout the surrounding area. Walking up the side of the ravine and looking beyond the vines through the trees, we saw something resembling a man. Walking cautiously in that direction we found the object to be a concrete telephone pole. On higher ground we saw smoke. A man was burning small limbs that had fallen from the surrounding apple orchard and was raking them into it. There was a wire fence separating us from the stranger. We stopped short of the fence and began to stare at him, waiting for an acknowledgment of our presence. The unshaven Frenchman spoke, waving his right hand then putting both hands up to the fire. We interpreted this friendly gesture as an invitation to come warm ourselves. We climbed through the wire fence, joining him at the fire. He spoke again. As we could not understand his language, we handed him the card with the French and English phrases, "I am an American flyer. Will you hide me?" Our new friend became alarmed by what he read. He dropped the rake and nervously pointed to a hedgerow, motioning for us to lie down out of sight. Then he ran toward the farmhouse some distance away, partially hidden by trees and overlooking the orchard. Had we made a mistake by contacting this man? Was he now our enemy instead of a friend? We had been warned to avoid farms appearing “prosperous”, as the owners were most likely Nazi collaborators. This farm did look prosperous. We were speculating on whether to run or wait when we saw the two men returning. The stranger was well dressed, wearing riding pants and black knee boots. He was a large man with a "Hitler" type mustache. A person with this appearance surely had to be a Nazi sympathizer. However, much to our surprise, the man extended a friendly handshake; pointed to the phrase on the card, which the farm hand had given him "I am hungry". We motioned our head, yes. The two men returned to the farmhouse. About twenty minutes later the man with the "Hitler" mustache returned with a young woman about our age, twenty. He let us know that this was his farm and the young lady was his daughter. She carried a basket from which she gave Gene and I a plate of scrambled eggs and a slice of buttered bread. We were now content that we were among friends.

After eating, we were taken to a dense growth of bushes and vines where we crawled inside out of sight. We spent the rest of the morning sleeping, feeling safe for the moment. At noon we were awaken by a young priest crawling through the thicket to where we were now sitting. In good English he asked our names and how we got to Rozoy, France. This was the first time that we learned that we had reached the first circled village on our map. Our friend of the cloth brought a basket containing a dish of baked rabbit with potatoes and other vegetables, bread and butter and a bottle of wine. The lunch was delicious. While eating, the priest informed us that he would be back after dark at which time he would take us to the farmhouse for supper. (Years later, June 2000, I learned the Priest's name was Father Able Nicolas Ledoux and that we were at the farm of Louis Moncrette in Mont St. Jean not Rozoy)

We had a very enjoyable meal at the farmhouse that evening. This was my first family style meal since a furlough home in November 1943. The pork chops were excellent. After dinner we sat at the table for at least an hour talking and sipping cognac. The priest was our interpreter. This evening was a boost to our morale. We were beginning to feel that some unknown force was leading us to safety, not realizing that a well organized French Underground network was guiding us to an unknown destination.

It was after midnight when the priest had us follow him home. It was very dark outside. We climbed one wire fence after another, apparently a short cut to his home.

When we arrived at his home, we were greeted by his eighty year old mother who was still very active. The priest pointed proudly at his picture on the fireplace mantle, stating that the picture was made a few years back when he was an officer in the French army. We spent the night and all the next day at his home in Rozoy. I remember the stack of magazines similar to our "Life" magazine that he gave us to browse through. There were some interesting pictures of the early days of the war while France was still fighting the Nazi invasion. The priest gave us both a collar-less white shirt to complete our wardrobe and a blanket for our journey to Guignicourt. Other items given us for our trip were a flashlight and a satchel containing food, a bottle of wine and a small bottle of calvados. We called it white lightning. After dark the priest led us to the highway and bid us farewell. We were on our own again walking in the darkness of a lonely road.

During the next several days we walked at night and slept out of sight in the woods along the highway during the day. We took advantage of the nighttime travel to avoid being seen. There were many places to hide along side the road when we heard the sound of a vehicle. However, when the road brought us inside a village, we found it difficult to hide if pending danger required it. This created the constant fear of being stopped and questioned by enemy authorities. We watched every doorway for someone hiding in the shadow of darkness. For all we knew these shadows might be hiding Gestapo agents ready to jump out and challenge us.

Alcoholic beverages tended to make Gene sick and he would not drink the wine or calvados, which the priest had given us. Therefore I had it all to myself, quenching my thirst when necessary. This led to several arguments, as Gene was afraid that I would become intoxicated and become a problem.

One night while in the middle of a small village, we found a water pump, apparently used to fill the horse trough next to it. This was Gene's opportunity to quench his thirst and fill the now empty wine bottle with water. The bottle was only half full when the squeaking noise of the pump disturbed the occupants of the house across the street. Light from within the closed shutters outlined several windows. There was no way to pull down the pump handle without making more loud squeaking noises. When we saw that the occupants were now awake, we left in a hurry, running until we were out on the highway again. No one apparently followed us.

At my young age, it was easy to imagine all sorts of things walking through an old village during one of our nightly travels. A few years earlier, I had seen the horror movies, "Frankenstein" and "Dracula". This village reminded me of one of the villages portrayed in one of those movies with old gray stone, tenement buildings with their storefronts on the ground floor and the apartment dwellings on the second and third floors. They lined both sides of the cobbled street, winding through the town. Chimneys staggered about the rooftops giving the impression of strange beings looking down on us. The only sound heard was from my hobnailed shoes. It seemed like forever, traveling through this old, silent mysterious looking town, all the while, expecting someone to jump out in front of us ending our trip to Guignicourt.

Late at night in another village the road led us by a church where we stopped. The map given us by the priest in Aubenton had this village circled as a place where we could get help. We were having delusions of receiving another delicious meal and more encouragement to continue our trip. We found the front door locked. The back door was also locked. Turning to return to the front, we noticed large shadowy tomb stones of the church cemetery. For some reason this frightened us and we ran to the highway as fast as we could and out of the village. It was a wonder that we did not wake everyone.

The stiff leather of the hobnailed shoes continued to gnaw my raw bleeding heels. This made each step more and more difficult for me. I told Gene that I could not walk any further. But each time I tried to stop, Gene made me go on. We were out of food and water. Daylight had arrived and we could see a large village with a church steeple in the center ahead. This had to be Guignicourt.

This was the first time we entered a village in daylight where everyone could see us. The young priest in Rozoy had said that the people would probably think we were immigrants from Yugoslavia or some neighboring country looking for work. By now we certainly looked like poor immigrants.

As we entered Guignicourt, we found a water pump and horse trough beside the road. I cranked the handle as fast as I could as Gene stuck his head under the spout drinking until he was full. Then he cranked the pump handle while I drank. Looking up we saw a boy popping his whip until his two horses pulled the empty, bouncing wagon faster. He looked at us with an unwelcome stare as he rode by. Later we realized the boy knew that we were foreigners, as Frenchmen do not drink water, usually wine or cider. We filled our empty bottles and started down the street leading to the church. Suddenly after walking a short distance, we were startled by a German soldier in uniform walking out of a building in front of us. He looked in our direction as he continued his walk to the street where he emptied a pan of water. For a minute I thought he was going to speak to us, but he ignored us and returned back to the door where he came, not realizing we were American flyers. Gene later said "Thank God he didn't notice my GI shoes". I began to forget my painful heels, walking faster until we reached the church. People were all around us entering the church. We were in time for church services.

The church was a beautiful old structure, built of white brick and stone that had turned gray from the many years. We waited until everyone entered. Then we opened the large majestic doors. The church was only half full. We took a pew on the last row to our right. Looking up and around at the beautiful sanctuary, we felt protected and relieved from the past tension. We had finally made it to the last town circled on the map. Assuming the kneeling position like everyone else we began to pray. We stayed in this position throughout the service, never moving from our pew.

When the services were over and after everyone left the church, the priest approached us. We were still in the kneeling position. He began talking to us. I handed him the card with French and English phrases, pointing to the phrases "I am an American flyer. Will you hide me?" With a surprised look the priest motioned for us to follow him quickly to his office, a short distance from our pew. After rushing into his office, he shut and locked the door. With the card still in his hand he pointed to the phrase "I am hungry". In sign language, we said yes. Returning the card to me, he left the office locking us inside. About fifteen minutes later, he returned with a large chocolate bar and two raw eggs, which he gave us. He then motioned to follow him out across the large sanctuary to a stairway leading up to the belfry. At the top of the stairs the priest opened the door. A large number of pigeons flew away. The priest let us know that he would return later that evening as he left us alone in our new hideaway. After he left, Gene looked at me and said, "You can have the raw eggs". I replied "No thank you, I'm not that hungry yet. You can break the chocolate bar in half". Gene put the eggs on the floor and we ate the chocolate.

While we were eating, the pigeons began to return one by one standing on the ledges at a distance, making their low soft cooing noises as if they were talking to each other saying "Who are these strange people in our home?"

A Large bell hung in the center of the church steeple. There were openings spaced evenly around the steeple. Down below through these openings we saw the village people caring on their daily routine. Gene said, "Look over at the square, a German sergeant drilling his squad of recruits". "There must be more German soldiers around here" I countered. However, no further enemy soldiers appeared the rest of the day.

Later that evening the belfry door opened with the priest and an attractive woman standing in the doorway. We were surprised to hear the woman speaking good English telling us that she was going to lead us to her father's home who was the Mayor of Guignicourt. We later learned that he was an important person in the Allied Airmen Escape Network. We had unknowingly made contact with this organization.