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Escape
Let
me introduce myself. I am W. (Bill) Homeijer, 74 years old, and born in
Amsterdam. In this account, please do not pin me down on exact dates. There
are some blank spots in my memory.
In 1943, at the age of 18, I was forced to join the "Arbeidsdienst".
This was a kind of conscription established by the Germans to do forced labor.
Most of this was on the land such as harvesting potatoes and other farm work.
I did not want to go but my parents were afraid. I went but escaped
a few days later to return to Amsterdam. As they say, I went 'underground'
by staying with friends, but not for long. I assume someone tipped off the
police. They found me, put me in jail and brought me back to the barracks
in Diever (Holland). The Commanding Officer again put me in jail for 14 days.
After being released, I escaped the Arbeidsdienst for the second time.
I left during the night accompanied by two other boys. One
of the boys named Timmermans, who came from Delft, had told me he wanted
to go home the next day and that was that. We never heard of him anymore.
I had told the other boy, Jan ten Hove, who was 17 at the time, that I could
not go back to Amsterdam. It was my in-tention to go to England however silly,
foolish or thoughtless the idea was. Jan stayed with me and after a lot of
tension and adventures we arrived in the north of France.
We had been very lucky during our journey which had taken weeks. Another
bit of good luck was being picked off the street by the French Underground
movement, the FFI. They eyed us with suspicion until we were screened and,
after a while, approved.
The
French Resistance
The FFI talked the idea of going to England out of our heads. They
said too many dangers made it not possible. They advised us to stay with
them in the woods of northern France in the vicinity of the villages of Cousolre
and Hestrud. We stayed and much later I realized that our staying was better
for them. They had recruited two new members.
Deep in
the forest they had camps from where they (we) raided and assaulted German
convoys. In the camp lived men and women and even German POWs. Some German
soldiers defected to the French and were treated rather well. These defectors
were usually older soldiers who no longer agreed with the war. They worked
in the camp cleaning up and such. However, when SS soldiers were taken prisoner,
they were shown no pity. For someone like me who was still in high school
and had lived a sheltered life, it was a different world.
Our daily
routine included protecting our camps. We walked on patrol with 1 or 2 others.
Sometimes we went with more into the hills and watched the roads. When German
trucks or other vehicles approached they were fired on and, if possible,
they were destroyed. German vehicles tried to pass through our area as fast
as they could. However, they sometimes found trees downed across their path.
Drivers who left their car were taken prisoner. But when the numbers of cars
were to big, we let them go. Also, tanks never were attacked.
The Germans knew there were French partisans in the woods and sometimes
tried to enter with greater numbers. But they never went in too far. I guess
they did not have troops enough in that part of Northern France and there
were more of these French units in the surrounding places.
So what did we do to the Germans? We tried to do to them as much as harm
as we could. This was guerilla warfare. The weapons we had were light. I,
for example, had a double-barreled shotgun, others had Stanley guns, and
others had German arms. It was really a mixture of all kinds of weapons but
we had no heavy guns. No artillery or such. That's why we never attacked
tanks or armored cars. We lay in ambush, fired and withdrew.
Another FFI routine was to acquire provisions. The FFI went into the villages
to (voluntary) force the farmers to help and supply the men and women with
fresh meat, eggs, milk etc.. Food and weapons were air-dropped by the British
R.A.F to supply the main camp. As I recall, there was no shortage of either.
When we heard about the invasion, crates of champagne
appeared.
Joining
the GIs
Then
came June 1944, the invasion. We all followed what happened, then the
breakthrough. Allied troops were moving forwards, nearing Paris. Suddenly
we heard that U.S. troops were in the neighborhood. At that moment we told
our commander we wanted to leave and if possible wanted to go with the American
army. We wanted to go up north, back to Holland, back to our families. So
we did.
A US convoy arrived in the village of Cousolre, I think, with tanks,
trucks, jeeps, and all kind of stuff we had never seen before. We asked for
the CO. Someone took us to a colonel. He looked at us and was not surprised
at all. We were dressed in all manner of uniforms. Around our left arms were
bands of blue, white, and red with the Cross of Lorraine on them.
The colonel asked what we wanted. We told him we were Dutch, and what
we had been doing. We asked per-mission to join the army because we wanted
to go home and to fight against the German troops. Believe it or not, he
said without hesitating, "Sure, why not?"
When I write this down now in 1999, it seems so unbelievable. Was
this really me? Did all this really happen? Yes it did happen. And it was
not the end. We were given an outfit, weapons and supplies. There was no
difference to see between the regular soldiers and us. We were sworn in!
The only thing we did not have was our dogtags. Therefore we wrote our names
and date of birth in our leggings. On the 21 of August 1944, we suddenly
became soldiers of the US First Army, 9th Division, 47th Infantry Regiment,
D Company.
Into
the Battle
Our outfit moved out and crossed the Belgium border on the 1st of
September. At the border we liberated the little town of Beaumont. Then we
moved on. A few days later, near Dinant, we crossed the river Meuse in wooden
boats. Forwards we went with practically no resistance from the Germans.
They moved faster then we could follow.
In the middle of one night, we halted in a town called Ciney. It was
very quite. No one was in the streets. Suddenly, a window opened and we heard
a shout, "Les Americains." Within a second, hundreds came out of their houses
and there was a feast. We were sitting on our trucks but had to move again
towards Luik (Liege).
We arrived in Luik on the 12th of September. From there, we went a
few miles back to Jupille. We were in a park eating chicken out of tins when
we were suddenly attacked by a single German Messerschmidt. He came over
a few times while we stood behind trees. We changed positions every time
he made a pass.
We went through Verviers, Eupen, then crossed the German border near
Roetgen. We took the small towns of Mausbach and Zweifall and some other
villages.
The night before I got wounded was a night I never will forget. The
place we were in that wood had been shelled by the Germans for hours with
their 88mm guns. That 88 was feared by the allied forces. It was first meant
to be an anti-aircraft gun, but it could be lowered and then they could use
it as an artillery weapon. We had dug our foxholes and there was rain and
rain and rain. We had to cover our foxholes with our panchos that were a
part of our outfits. You could hang the panchos over your shoulders but also
you could build a shelter with them.
It was too dangerous to walk during the night, the Germans were close
by. Those who were ordered to keep watch that night were told to stay awake
in their foxholes for 1 hour and then wake-up their buddy to take the next
watch. My turn was from 3 to 4. The guy who woke me up in my swimming pool,
the water stood about 10 cm high, gave me a watch, whispered something, and
vanished in the dark.
And dark it was. One could not see his hand before his eyes. After
an hour it was the end of my turn and I had to wake up a fellow we called
Red whose foxhole was close to me. The strings holding my shelter straight
caused me to climb out at the end of my foxhole and I lost my orientation.
I did not know anymore where Red's foxhole was.
I made some steps, hit my head against branches and as inexperienced,
wet, and frightened as I was, I decided to stay at the spot and stay awake
rest of the night. I felt a tree and sat down. I heard a soft snoring sound
just beside me. I felt with my hand and found a body. I shook it softly,
and asked him, "Where is Red?"
"That's
me," was the answer. I gave him the watch and then asked him where my own
foxhole was. He told me, I found it, went in and tried to sleep.
This all
may sound like a silly story, but it made such a deep impact on me that I
will always remember it like yesterday. I believe only soldiers who experienced
war can understand.
End
of the Fight
On Monday the 18th, I was hit by shrapnel in my chest at a place called
the Hürtgenwald. For me the war was over.
It happened at 11.00 hours in the morning. I was brought to a field
hospital where they tried to get the shrapnel out. During the following week
I was transported from hospital to hospital. Sometimes by ambulance, sometimes
by jeep. On Saturday the 23d of September I found myself in a hospital near
Namur where a selection took place. Some were selected to go to Paris, others
to go to the UK. I was lucky again, I found a label pinned on my blanket
with the letters UK on it.
The next day, Sunday the 24th, I was taken into a plane (the famous
Dakota) and flown to England. That was my first air trip. After a week I
was removed to an English hospital, Mount Vernon in Northwood on the Hills,
just above London. There I had a second operation to remove the shrapnel,
but again, the doctors did not succeed,. And so, I still live with a small
piece of a German 88 in my chest. It has never caused me any trouble.
In that hospital I had the honor to be visited by HM Queen Wilhelmina.
A week later, (that must have been around the 20th of October) HRH Princes
Juliana also came to visit me.
A
New Career
In December, after my full recovery, I was screened by the intelligence
service in the Royal Patriotic School. I then signed into the Princes Irene
Brigade at Arlington House in London and was transferred to Wolverhampton,
and later, in July 1945, back to Holland to Bergen op Zoom.
When the Irene Brigade was liquidated in September 1945, I was transferred
to an infantry battalion, 1-3 R.I. On November 6, 1945 we left for England,
and then in December 1945 we departed for Indonesia. We first spent three
months in Malaya because we were not allowed to land on Java. We stayed in
Indonesia until June 1948, returned to Holland, joined the army again, got
married and left in March 1949 for Indonesia again. My wife came a couple
of months later. The KNIL (Royal Dutch Indonesian Army) was liquidated. I
was send back to Holland, July 1950 to be kicked out of the Army, just as
so many others.
I became a civil servant and was pensioned in 1981. For a long time
now I organize the reunions of my old bat-talion 1-3 R.I., but we all grow
old. Don't forget we are an endangered species! As there were 600 members
in 1980, at this moment there are about 180 of them left. All the others
passed away or are not able anymore to attend. This old battalion of mine,
1-3 R.I. was formed October 5th 1944. Men who were in France, Switzerland
or Belgium during the war and also in the already liberated parts of Holland
who wanted to join, signed a long or short-time agreement in St.Nicolaas
in Belgium. They were put in uniform as a part of the British 21st Army Group.
This completes my writing, however it is not the complete story, there
is much more to add. I suddenly realize that I'm telling my story to a lot
of people unknown to me. Even a lot of my next of kin are unaware of my war
history. Some of the young ones are interested. But the majority are not
interested and know little of the war.
Copyright
1999 W. Homeijer |
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