Reports from the Trails

Some ELMS members who have walked the Trails have written about their experiences, and the importance of the trails to them. Click on the names to read their reports:

• Elizabeth Harrison Comete Trail – 2002
• Stephen Sims San Martino Freedom Trail – 2003
• Roddy Langley Comete Trail – 2005
• Phil Douglas Comete Trail – 2006

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In a number of books about the Comete Escape Line  you may have noticed the faded photograph of Francia Usandizaga, the Basque widow and mother of three young children, and of her isolated farmhouse near Urrugne, in the Pyrenees close to the border with Spain. It was here, on 15 January 1943, that Dédée De Jongh, Francia and her Basque farmhand, together with three RAF evaders, Stan Hope, George Ross and Bill Greaves, were arrested by the Nazis. The airmen ended their war in German Prisoner of War camps but the three civilians were deported to concentration camps – only Dédée De Jongh survived.

And there we were on 14 September 2002, in the courtyard of poor, courageous Francia’s house, enjoying a copious lunch laid on by the present owners. Sixty-seven walkers, among them Francia’s daughter Marie, only nine years old when her mother disappeared to Ravensbrück, together with Marie-Christine and Beñat, grandchildren of Kattalin Aguirre, another of the moving spirits of this end of the Comete Line.

The oldest of the walkers were Paul Broué, a 79 year-old passeur from Seix near St Girons and his wife Marie, and the youngest just 17. We ‘non-walkers’ were led by Nadine (Andrée Antoine-Dumon, OBE), accompanied by Lulu Dassié, herself a helper and survivor of Ravensbrück, André de la Lindi, son of Belgian agent Paul Henry, and his wife Lydie, and Kattalin Aguirre’s high spirited daughter Fifine, mother of walkers Marie-Christine and Beñat. From Great Britain there were Gordon Mellor, Maurice Collins and his wife Dot. Sixty years earlier almost to the day, Gordon had been hidden on the first floor of this very house whilst Maurice had walked into Spain via Andorra just a few months later. Both veteran RAF evaders from enemy occupied France had crossed these mountains to fight another day. Then there was myself – formerly secretary of the RAF Escaping Society that had been founded at the British Embassy in Paris on 15 September 1945, the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Britain, persevering with its charitable work for 55 years until the end of the last century.

Who can guess what thoughts, what memories, were going through everyone’s minds?

Warm camaraderie and adrenaline were in parallel flow, the whole atmosphere between walkers and non-walkers, British, French, Belgian, American and Spanish, competing with the perfect weather. We laid wreaths at the graves of Kattalin and of Florentino, the most famous ‘passeur’ of them all: his last surviving brother was there, on his 85th birthday. We met many local veteran helpers, their children and grandchildren; among them were Yvonne Lapeyre (who made an impressive speech at the end of our last meal together) and her husband Robert, both key helpers in the Comete network. Guy Barletta, a Frenchman living in Biarritz, always a great help in the planning of these annual events, had welcomed us at Biarritz airport: he had joined the RAF in 1940 – in Singapore! – a faithful member of the RAF Escaping Society who had been shot down over his own country, evaded capture and escaped into neutral Spain like so many others.

The walkers left the cemetery at Ciboure and headed towards Urrugne where we met up again at the town hall for a wreath laying ceremony and where refreshments had been arranged. Then the walkers continued to Francia’s farmhouse at Bidegainberri and more food and drinks appeared. Our next meeting with the walkers was late afternoon at the crossing point of the River Bidassoa. Eight non-walker veterans were crouched on boulders beside the fast flowing river. At about four-thirty the first walkers were seen scrambling down the steep, densely wooded hill towards the river from the French side. Most walkers stood for a moment to take stock of the situation. Boots were removed and in most cases trousers came off too, then espadrilles or the modern equivalent put on to protect the feet from the rocky river bed and, to the cheers of the non-walkers, the crossings began.

Amongst the walkers was Scott Goodall, taking his time crossing with a Union Jack tied to his walking stick, held high as he crossed the river, carefully wading waist deep without his stick for support to an explosion of laughter, pride in achievement and delighted applause. After the crossing there was a never ending supply of cider, with local supporters cutting dozens of baguettes and grilling several hundred fat sardines to welcome the walkers after their safe arrival in Spain – there was plenty for everyone. As in WW2, the main obstacle had been crossed and the walkers were now in Spain.

Later that evening we returned to St Jean de Luz leaving the walkers in Spain. We met up again late the next day when they arrived at Sarobe Farm, the former first safe-house in Spain for the Comete Line evaders. After a short stop the walkers continued on to Renterria, the Town Hall and then a traditional Basque restaurant for the final celebrations. Walkers and veterans signed the Freedom Trail visitors’ book as the Basque walkers sang their traditional songs for their appreciative guests and toasts and promises were made for the following year

True memorials need not be made of bronze or stone. This trail is a ‘living memorial’ to the helpers and their evaders.

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On the evening of the 10th of September 1943, the word finally got through to the occupants of PG 59 Servigliano in the Marche area of Italy. After various discussions a group made a hole in the perimeter brick wall and so the walk to freedom began.

On the evening of the 10th of September 2003, in the comfort of a nearby restaurant, the participants of the San Martino Freedom Trail – veterans, families of veterans, walkers and an Italian film crew gathered with local residents and a convivial evening of recollections began. Personal stories were related to the audience and the film crew, working with Denys Symmonds, a former Chieti camp resident, quietly recorded interviews with the veterans present. Keith Killby, Bernard Collier, Jim Bourn, Mick Wagner and Lawrence Bains, all made significant contributions for an Italian documentary.

On the 11th a bright sunny and warm morning everyone gathered at the entrance to the ‘Parco della Pace’ in Servigliano – a sports complex and public park set within the walls of the former POW camp, and now also home to the Cassa della Memoria Project. Keith Killby, attired in his original sand coloured beret, began to relate how the exodus from the camp was achieved to an enthralled audience. The Mayor made a speech and a poppy wreath was laid at the gates to the park near two memorial tablets.

The assembled company, including the British Consul from Florence, Moira McFarlane, local dignitaries and members of the veterans association, processed into the main square of Servigliano, where a formal wreath laying took place followed by a blessing by a priest and the walk began. It was led out via the main road, to a railway bridge that afforded access to the ‘white road’ that led west towards the Sibillini Mountains.

The veterans, non-walkers, had an hour or two to stroll around the medieval heart of Servigliano and the back-up team moved on, collecting meals. Then everyone met at the house of the Barchetta family where Keith Killby first received assistance.

After a ‘sack lunch’ – the local name for a pre-packed meal – and some home grown ‘vino cotta’ (cooked wine) everyone gathered at the old farmhouse and Keith continued with his narrative. The walkers then got under way and, after a morning of relatively level ground, the first steep incline was on them. They all made it up to Monte San Martino (from where the Trust derives it name) where a private viewing of the Crivelli altar pieces had been arranged. This was followed by a fabulous tea organised by the Nuns of the convent and a talk on the history of the Order.

We then all paraded in the main square of the town for the formal speeches of the Mayor, Provincial Representative and others. Next, everyone headed for dinner at the Lago san Ruffino, which with the aquatic display accompanied by thunder & lightening was quite spectacular – al fresco dining with running water across the patio. Then it was back to the Hotel Montanaria (4 star) for a well-earned rest.

Friday morning saw the walkers on an early start and a return to Monte San Martino, for a route that would take them back down the hill to the Lago San Ruffino, a rest stop with the rest of the travelling party, and around the lake via more white roads (good Landrover driving) to Amandola and a short ceremony at the local War Memorial and lunch. Under the watchful eye of local guide, and one of the planning group, Guiseppe Millozzi and walk leader Brian Lett, the happy wanderers headed for Sarnano. They arrived to a well organised civic memorial celebration and refreshments stacked in the back of the Landrover. The walkers and all were shipped back to the hotel, for another marathon of good food and other regional produce.

Saturday morning started overcast with rain about, but with the assistance of a local Club Alpino Italia guide they all decided that it was walking weather, so the intrepid group were conveyed up to a higher start point and left in the care of the guide for the day. The veterans began a tour of local places of interest with personal recollections from those who had travelled these hills 60 years before.

Saturday evening saw the whole party gathering for a formal dinner. We were privileged to be addressed by Carlo Orlandini – a past President of the British chamber of Commerce for Italy – on his own experiences in the locality during the War, as a guide to the SAS. Many personal discussions took place in the relaxed atmosphere. Not a very early night!

Sunday dawned and saw a walking group set off again for another challenging day, with a rendezvous with the rest of the group just after midday, at a memorial to 13 partisans at Cessapalombo. The support team then travelled on to Sulmona.

There we met up with James Williams and his sons Ed and Henry who were following up leads on James’ father, Brig. Stephen Williams RA, who had been a resident of Villa Orsini in Sulmona. Bernard Collier was able to provide a lot of history of the area for the family.
Assistance was also at hand from Ann and Nino Fontecchio who had helped in the tracing of Williams’ ‘helper’ family. A reunion was planned for the Monday afternoon, as the rest of us departed. Tony and Louise Woods were also in the area, having travelled down from the celebration at Fontanellato.

We returned north and had a very enjoyable dinner with the remaining veterans, who had managed to re-establish contact with their helper families and visit various places of significance to their own stories.

The event marked the date of the 60th Anniversary of the Italian Armistice, the start of a huge humanitarian episode where so many were helped by a lot of very ordinary people who themselves had very little – nationality, creed or colour was no bar – pure Christian charity was given to those who needed it. This help allowed many to return to Allied lines and then their families. In my case it allowed my father to return to New Zealand and eventually meet my mother. The whole event was the culmination of an idea expressed several years previously and the plan was put in place with the assistance of the Millozzi family and Luigi Pighetti who acted as local co-ordinator (and demonstrated to all that wished to see at first hand, Italian driving techniques!) and proved yet again that friendships forged in times of adversity prevail.

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“Pugna Quin Percutias” (fight without arms), the motto of the Second World War escape line Comete, looks at first glance to be an oxymoron. But there is nothing contradictory about the achievements of the Belgian-run organisation which ensured that over 770 people – some say more – mostly aircrew, were returned to Britain to fight another day. Having been shot down over occupied Europe and evaded capture, the airmen were spirited away and passed down the line by Comete helpers from Brussels, through France and over the Pyrenees into Spain, a distance of nearly 700 miles. British consulates in Bilbao and Madrid then arranged for the airmen to be transported to Gibraltar, where the Royal Navy or RAF ferried them home.

My mother, Peggy van Lier, was 24 years old at the outbreak of war, and joined Comete when she met Baron Jean Greindl (codename Nemo). He secretly used his job of running a Swedish Red Cross canteen as cover for the Brussels end of the line, and she helped bring airmen into the capital from outlying places before taking them by train to Paris.

Comete blossomed – from July to October 1942 they brought out 54 airmen – but its success could not last. Word had reached German air force chief Hermann Goering, who knew only to well the value of returned airmen, and in November 1942, the Luftwaffe police infiltrated Comete and made numerous arrests. My mother was among them, but showing signs of innocence and speaking excellent German, she won over her Luftwaffe Police interrogator and was released.

While fiercely independent, Comete had contact with MI9 in London and Nemo informed them that the Luftwaffe police might still suspect Peggy of involvement and that she must flee immediately. MI9 concurred, and with two other Belgians, cousins Georges and Edouard d’Oultremont, she left for Paris, continuing along the same route the airmen took with Comete to St Jean de Luz, a small fishing port in the shadow of the Pyrenees. It was here that Comete had secured the services of a tough Basque smuggler called Florentino Goicoechea, who was to become their most trusted and resourceful Pyrenees guide.

(After the war, when he was awarded the King’s Medal for Freedom at Buckingham Palace, King George VI asked him what he did for a living, “I’m in the import-export business”, Florentino replied).

Overnight, without any lights or hiking equipment, only espadrilles on their feet, Florentino took my mother and her companions up and down the French side of the Pyrenees, guided them to wade across the freezing cold River Bidassoa into Spain, up another steep climb before descending to a safe farmhouse were they collapsed, exhausted.

I had always wanted to retrace my mothers footsteps and research on the internet led me to the website of the ELMS who organise the Comete walk as one of the Second World war ‘Memorial trails’ that they run every year. So with my friend Ian Harrison, and 106 other walkers from seven nationalities, nearly all family members of helpers or escapers, watched over by a handful of RAF veterans who had done the walk for real over 60 years ago, we laid our first wreath at the grave of Florentino (who died in 1980) in a beautiful ceremony overlooking the sea. Then the walk began in earnest, 26 miles over the next two days, led by Basque guides chirping away in their unique language, up and down 1500ft twice, blazing hot weather the first day as we climbed the ‘broad sunlit uplands’, to almost monsoonal the second.

A tap on my arm at the first lunch stop organised by our brilliant Basque hosts, an introduction, and I was embracing fellow walker Brigitte d’Oultremont, daughter of Georges, who had accompanied my mother in 1942. We walked the rest of the day together, wondering aloud how our parents would have felt, and crossed the river to be greeted by a white suited RAF veteran on the Spanish side. The delicious barbequed sardines and potent local cider lifted our spirits further.

At the end of the two days, everyone gathered for a final celebration lunch in a restaurant in the Spanish town of Renterria. The Basque contingent sang after the meal. Prompting one of our RAF veterans to lead some British singing in a slow, faltering voice:  “Daisy, Daisy”, “Bless them all”, and a “Long way to Tipperary”. I am certain if he had sung anything by Vera Lynn, there really wouldn’t have been a dry eye in the house.

It was for me, a defining memory to the courage and spirit of Comete. This is what they fought for, without arms. But not without cost. Recorded total Comete losses during the war were 216 people executed, died under torture or in concentration camps. A fairer estimate, perhaps, is that for every successful evader, a Dutch, Belgian, French, or Basque helper gave his or her life.

Peggy van Lier reached Gibraltar, and was flown back to England by the RAF. She was met off the plane by the man destined to become her husband and my father, an MI9 officer from Room 900, the small unit responsible for escape and evasion lines in occupied Europe. He was ex-Coldstream Guards officer Jimmy Langley, who had himself escaped from France after being wounded and captured at Dunkirk in 1940.

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As a ten year old, Phil Douglas was captivated by the BBC television drama series ‘Secret Army’ about a secret escape line in WW2. Years later he chanced upon some ‘repeats’ which whetted his appetite to find out if there was any truth in the series. On discovering that the series was based upon a real escape line – Comete – Phil began serious research. He started with the book ‘Little Cyclone’ by Airey Neave and then began visiting Brussels to find the locations associated with the Comete Line. In the Koekelberg Basilica he found a wreath, which had been laid by ELMS at the Comete stained glass window in the RAF Chapel. So, Phil joined ELMS and embarked upon his first ‘Comete Trail’!

Rather than travel direct to St Jean de Luz, Phil decided to follow in the footsteps of the Comete couriers, starting his journey in Brussels.

On Friday the 01 September I spent the day visiting many locations in Brussels including the de Jonghs former home in Ave Emily Verhaeren, the building that housed the Swedish Canteen that became Comet’s headquarters in the Rue Ducale, and Nemo’s grave in Zellick.

The next day I left Brussels by train to the Belgian border town of Quievrain. The station is all boarded up now; the train does not now run to Valenciennes, so I caught the bus.

On day three, en-route to Corbie, I broke my journey at Arras, and took a day out to remember the sacrifice two of my uncles made during the Great War where they lost their lives, and to learn a little about the conditions they must have endured by making a tour of the local battlefields, which ended with a visit to Thiepval.

At Corbie on the River Somme, I stayed overnight, and took a small stroll at night to the south side of the river to the hamlet of Hamelet. I had set myself the mission of trying to find the safe-house where Dede and her evaders rested after the crossing of the River Somme. I knew that it was owned by a lady called Nenette. I did not hold much hope of finding it, but after several enquiries, the house was finally pointed out to me by an elderly lady walking her dog. Although Renee Boulanger (Nenette) died in the eighties, her daughter and granddaughter were still living in the same house. A very pleasant hour was spent talking to Nenette’s daughter, Jean Skibinki about her memories of the evaders that would arrive after nightfall and leave early next morning.

The following morning I walked as Nenette’s evaders would have done from Hamelet to the railway station at Villers Bretonneux, before catching the train to Amiens, and on to Paris Gare de Nord. Looking up at the station’s great arched roof, I remembered that it was here that Frederick de Jongh, and his friends Robert and Germaine Ayle were betrayed to the Gestapo while waiting to guide a group of evaders across Paris. I now found a map, and visited Rue Oudinot and Rue de Babylone where Dedee and her father Frederick de Jongh made their Paris headquarters.

Next it was the Gare d’Austerlitz, and the overnight train to Irun. For Dedee, this must have been a major worry. Gestapo and plain clothed police were all over the station. As dawn broke, I awoke, and left the train at Bayonne to find the station café in which Operation ‘Water Closet’ was carried out by ‘B’ Johnson and Janine de Greef to avoid having evaders passing through the ticket barrier. Although the station had been renovated, I found the station café, and the Gents, with the side door through which the evaders would emerge to be greeted by Tante Go, who would be sat in a café opposite the station. From here the evaders would now make their way to St Jean de Luz by cycle. I now made my way to the Villa Chagrin, the prison in which Dedee was first kept after being arrested in Urrugne. Arriving in St Jean de Luz on Wednesday, I explored this delightful fishing town, but could not wait to meet up with other ELMS members and start the final journey over the Pyrenees.

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On the Thursday I spent time chatting with ‘helper’ Andre Dumont (Nadine), at breakfast in the hotel. Other members arrived during the day, and a pleasant evening was spent in one of the many roadside restaurants enjoying a wonderful meal and a few drinks with members.

Friday was official receptions, starting at St Jean de Luz War Memorial, which was followed by a reception at the Marie hosted by the Mayor. Although made very welcome at the Marie, I thought it ironic that the reception was held above the very cell that Andree de Jongh had spent her first night in captivity after being arrested in Urrugne. The Marie being above the Police Station. During the afternoon we were driven to Bayonne and Anglet, and the former home and safe-house of the de Greef family, before attending a wreath laying at the Anglet War Memorial with Resistance members, followed by another wonderful reception. Early evening and we were on the move again to Urrugne, and another splendid meal organised by our Basque friends. I now felt I would not need to eat for a week.

Saturday started with the laying of wreaths on the graves of Kattalin and Florentino at Ciboure, after which our memorial walk began. I had been warned over the previous couple of days that I may find the trek difficult, but to be honest, until we reached Francia’s farmhouse at Bidegainberri, I found it rather easy. I now looked up at the mountains around us and realised that they were our goal. From here the real walk began. Until now I had kept up a good pace, but soon, the frequent breaks I took to get my breath landed me amongst the stragglers. The weather did not help. A blazing sun and temperatures in the thirties sapped my will to continue, together with my distinct lack of training made every step an agonizing chore. I now questioned the wisdom of embarking on such a trek, I continued, eventually hearing the sound of the River Bidassoa, and after wading through icy cold water, reached Spain and the welcoming smiles of our veterans and helpers, and bottles of water.

On Sunday I awoke feeling fresh and full of energy, but within ten minutes of starting our second days trek, all up hill, tiredness had returned, and I was again gasping for breath. I did not think anything would be as hard as the trek on the Saturday, but if anything Sunday was worse. A heartfelt thanks must go to our Basque guides who kept me going to the farmhouse at Sarobe, with the infamous ‘just 200m more’.

The journey from Brussels to St Jean de Luz was a great experience. To visit the safe-houses and locations of Comete brought Comete alive. To re-trace the steps evaders took between St Jean de Luz and Sarobe farm, although difficult, and at times painful, was an honour and a privilege. Fellow walkers like myself undertook this trek during daylight, in good weather, and over two days. How the evaders, together with Dedee, Franco, and Florentino ever completed the entire journey in one go, in darkness, and in all weathers will never fail to impress me.

The warmth and loyalty of our hosts, and the friendships made with everyone from ELMS combined to make this one of my most enjoyable holidays to date. But my overriding memory will be the quality time I was able to spend listening to the stories of the veterans and Andree Dumont.

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