We Die Alone: A WWII Epic of Escape and Endurance by Stephen E. Ambrose, David Howarth Read Free Book Online Page B

were German, the man was too weak to get away. But slowly his
dim enfeebled brain began to accept a fact which was unforeseen and
strange on that day of death and violence. They were children's
voices. There were children, coming along the beach and chattering
in Norwegian. And suddenly they stopped, and he knew they had
seen him.
    He lifted his head, and there they were, two little girls, holding
hands, wide-eyed with horror, too frightened to run away. He
smiled and said: "Hullo. You needn't be afraid." He managed to turn
round and sit up. "I've had an accident," he said. "I do wish you
could help me." They did not answer, but he saw them relax a little,
and he realised that when they had seen him, they had thought that
he was dead.
    Jan loved children; he had looked after his own young brother
and sister after his mother died. Perhaps nothing in the world could
have given him strength of mind just then, except compassion: the
urgent need to soothe the children's fear and make up for the shock
which he had given them. He talked to them calmly. His own self-pity
and despair had gone. He showed them how wet he was, and made a
joke of it, and they came nearer as their fright gave way to interest
and wonder. He asked them their names. They were Dona and
Olaug. After a while he asked if their home was near, and whether
they would take him there, and at the idea of bringing him home and
showing their parents what they had discovered they brightened up
and helped him to his feet. The house was not far away.
    Two women were there, and the rest of their children. They
exclaimed in horrified amazement at the frozen, limping, wild dishevelled man whom the little girls led in. But the moment he
spoke to them in Norwegian their horror changed to motherly concern and they hurried him into the kitchen, and took him to the fire
and brought him towels and put the kettle on.

    Of all the series of acts of shining charity which attended Jan in
the months which were to come, the help which these two women
gave him on the first night of his journey was most noble, because
they knew what had happened just across the sound, and they knew
that at any moment, certainly by the morning, the Germans would
be pounding on their door. They knew that their own lives and the
lives of all their children would hang on a chance word when they
came to face their questioning. Yet they opened their door at once
to the stranger in such desperate distress, and cared for him and
saved his life and sent him on his way, with no thought or hope of
any reward except the knowledge that, whatever price they paid,
they had done their Christian duty. Their names are Fru Pedersen
and Fru Idrupsen.
    The first thing Jan did was to warn them all that the Germans
were after him, and that when they were questioned they must say
that he came in carrying a pistol and demanded their help by force.
He brought out his pistol to emphasise what he said. As soon as he
had made quite sure that they understood this, and that even the
children had a clear idea of what they should do and say, he sent two
of them out as sentries, and told them to warn him at once if they
saw a boat coming into the sound.
    Fru Idrupsen, it turned out, was the woman from Toftefjord. She
had run to the hills with her children when the shooting started, and
she had seen most of what happened from the top of the island. She
had rowed across the sound to take refuge with her neighbours. Fru
Pedersen had a grownup son and daughter and two young children.
Her son was out fishing, but she expected him back at any minute.
Her husband, like Fru Idrupsen's, was away for the Lofoten fishing
season and would not be home till it ended.

    All the time Jan was talking, the two women were busy with the
practical help which he needed so badly. They gave him food and a
hot drink, and helped him to take off his sodden clothes. They found
him new dry underclothes and socks and