13 Days: The Chronicle of an Escape from a German PrisonCaunter, John Alan Lyde
History
13 Days: The Chronicle of an Escape from a German Prison
Caunter, John Alan Lyde
Prisoner-of-war escapes; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, German
This seemed to me a good opportunity, and I quickly put my pack into a
large wooden box, nailed down the lid, and carried it to the parcel
office.
The Germans were far too busy thinking about the dust in their eyes to
wonder why a box was being carried into the parcel-office, whereas
boxes were always carried "away" from there. I passed several Germans
without any trouble and got into the tin room, where I deposited the
box on the floor. I now had twenty minutes in which to hide. While
pretending to be extremely interested in what I was going to have for
my meal that evening, I looked round, and saw at once that the best
hiding-place without doubt was on the top of the pigeon holes in which
everybody kept their tins. These pigeon-holes, about two feet square
and two and a half feet deep, were made of wood and were ranged along
each wall, tier above tier for about twelve to fourteen feet. There
was a ledge at the top about two feet below the level of the roof. I
decided to get up onto that ledge, knowing full well that nobody
looks round a room at a much higher level than his own eyes, and that
a hungry German gaze would never wander farther than the level of the
nearest food.
This was a good start, but unfortunately there was a Boche painting
numbers on the lockers within six feet of the spot from which I should
have to climb up to my hiding-place. However, he did not look
intelligent, wore spectacles, and was very engrossed in his work, so I
thought I could risk his not seeing me. I had rubber shoes on, my
boots being in the bag, so I was not afraid on the score of noise.
I was lucky in choosing the right moment, and succeeded in climbing
slowly and quietly up and then putting myself into a lying position
along the ledge without either the Boche or three other English
officers getting out tins near by, being aware that anything strange
had happened.
I lay there hardly daring to breathe, with four slats of wood fixed
cross-ways in a vertical position, so that the sharp edges were
uppermost, catching me at various unprotected and tender points of my
body and legs. However, it did not last for ever. The officers left,
and no more came in; and then the German soldier packed up his tools.
He left, and very shortly afterwards in came the under-officer in
charge. He looked at the windows, walked round the office and then,
quickly slipping a tin from a handy pigeon-hole into his pocket, left
the room, locking the door after him.
I was locked in and was able to breathe again.
After giving my pilfering friend another twenty minutes in case he
should have under-estimated his appetite and should return for more, I
got down and rubbed my cramped legs. This done I had a meal and then
settled myself down to wait till 11 o'clock, which I deemed the
earliest hour for commencing operations with safety.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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