Peter Bartleet looking out of the cockpit window of Lancaster PM - T, LM243 Note the unofficial insignia " Tantalising Tommie "

As a consequence of our aircraft LM 243 'T' being out of service on which we had carried out 9 operations, we were allocated ND 613 'R' for the raid to Fontaine-Le-Pins in the Battle Area, on 14 August 1944. As the target was German troops facing a Canadian division advancing to Falaise the importance of map reading and bombing accuracy was stressed at briefing. On nearing the Normandy coast it could be seen that a fierce bombardment was taking place. With the Battle Area covered by haze and smoke we dropped height drastically by shoving the nose down on the. run up to the target. On releasing the bombs, Peter our skipper called out "Good Show we went in at 2100 ft". However, within seconds all hell seemed to be let loose, flak was coming up in all directions and Kenneth, our MU gunner, announced that the starboard wing and engines were on fire,. It was immediately evident that the situation was hopeless and the skipper gave the order to "bale out".

I was still in the bombing compartment and on baling out (after some difficulty with the hatch blowing back). I just recall pulling the ripcord handle and then landing close to the exploding aircraft. Not knowing whether I was in allied or enemy territory, I ran to a nearby hedge, where the owner of the land, Monsieur Marischael of Logis Du Bas Hamel, and his nephew on hearing me whistle to them, attempted to cover me up. However, the Jerries were searching for me and on being spotted it was a case of "Hands Hoche". Sadly, the rest of the crew did not survive, They are buried at Bannerville La Campagne War Cemetery, Calvados, France.

"For you the war is over" one of my captors greeted me, little did I realise that the coming months would be adventurous. (My captors, being near the front line and encircled in the Falaise gap by the British and Canadians to the north and the Americans approaching from the south, possibly thought that they themselves could be captured showed no emnity towards me.) Having burns on my left leg and right hand, I was escorted to a First Aid post at a chateau owned by Madame Focault where I received treatment from a Wehrmacht MO.

My first night in captivity was spent in a bedroom of the chateau. Initially, I felt quite calm but reaction set in and I stood in front of a wardrobe finding difficulty in convincing myself that it was not all a bad dream. What do I do now? Nothing, was the answer, except attempt to eat the black bread and sausage (it tasted awful!) given to me by my captors and watch the Spitfires with guns blazing flying overhead. War is strange - in the next room, Jerries could be heard singing and playing accordions and violins. From time to time a Jerry would visit me and whilst one would tell me they had a secret weapon (V2) which would bring them victory another would delve into his pockets to show a leaflet saying to surrender to Allied troops.

The following morning, the Jerries were preparing to retreat and after some days travelling in different directions and never far from the sound of gunfire on a truck along with their wounded, I was eventually taken to a large makeshift hospital in Bernay. I met up here with five Allied servicemen including Squadron Leader, Tommy Brannigan an RCAF Spitfire pilot who crash landed and suffered injury to an arm. The stench of mutilated bodies pervaded the air and with a shortage of medical supplies and anaesthetics, screams could be heard from the Jerry wounded. Those with leg wounds could be seen hobbling with broken chairs serving as crutches. We were not being guarded closely and Brannigan and I explored the roof space of the building with a view to hiding and possible escape.

However, we decided to stay with our fellow POW's hoping that we would soon be overrun by the Allies. That was not to be! Within a couple of days the Jerries had broken from the Falaise gap and about a dozen of us, including recently captured Canadian soldiers, were on the move. Not long after leaving Bernay the convoy of armoured vehicles and trucks which we joined was strafed relentlessly by RAF rocket firing Typhoons. It was a terrifying experience lying in ditches as rockets whistled through the air. In the aftermath wreckage was strewn for miles and cattle lay dead at the roadside.

After breaking away from the convoy we spent the night along with our guards sheltering in a small barn on the banks of the River Seine which we had crossed on a barge. Thereafter, we went on to Mons and then to St Catherine's Hospital in Brussels. ( I am not sure of the name of the hospital.) We were closely guarded here along with other captured servicemen in a timber building close to the hospital and under the care of German medical staff. The conditions here were good and after a couple of weeks on the road and sleeping rough it was wonderful to have a proper wash. Even in adversity there is always someone to help keep the spirits up and I recall a wounded American GI (I think his name was Fillipo) who would sit up and sing the popular hit by the Inkspots -'I am going to buy a paper doll that I can call my own' etc.

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