with the farmer. Even though Neave knew not a word of the language, there was no mistaking the tone of disquiet. He wrote later that ‘a great feeling of guilt ran through me as I witnessed their terror. Was it to destroy these simple lives that I escaped? Was it not better to endure the bitter frustrations of the Fort … all the degradation of being a prisoner? What did it matter whether I escaped or not if others were to die?’
This dilemma would confront every man who managed to get away from a German camp. As the war progressed, they were increasingly sited in Poland. Many – perhaps most – attempts required the assistance of Poles. Polish workers smuggled escape materials into camps and provided vital intelligence. Polish families gave food and shelter. All risked death by doing so and many paid the price. Most of the helpers were ‘ordinary’ people. Their fundamental motivation was decency and humanity. The question of whether these humble heroes and heroines should be put in mortal danger by the imperatives of the escapees was one that even the most thoughtful were never able to resolve. In the end, they could only comfort themselves with the thought that the assistance was freely given, in full knowledge of the deadly consequences.
Neave and Forbes were spared further agonising when the Polish farmer told them to sleep in the barn, asking them to be gone before dawn. The visitor had warned him that the local German settlers were looking out for them. The next afternoon they reached the large town of Wloclawek on the banks of the Vistula, about a hundred miles north-west of Warsaw. It was the day after Hitler’s birthday and swastikas and bunting fluttered over the streets. As they slunk along, Neave saw an old man with the Star of David ‘painted in yellow on his back’ walking slowly along the pavement. At the same time, a small detachment of SS men came marching by. They were singing, ‘their arrogant young faces scorning all around them’. Poles and Germans alike raised their hands obediently in the Nazi salute and Neave and Forbes quickly followed suit. The old man failed to see the Germans in time and ‘a fair young thug stepped from the ranks and struck him on the head. His hat spun in the wind and rolled across the road.’ The SS man pushed him off the pavement and he stumbled in the gutter and lay there moaning. No one dared to go to his aid.
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