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[Page 51]
Territory. I noticed a boy open a door so straight away went up to him and asked for a drink. He referred me to his father, who was not satisfied with giving us water, but took us into his kitchen and gave us a drink of good Coffee, which although cold was to us most delicious, it being the first drink of real coffee we had tasted for 17 months. I then asked him if we were in Holland? "Yes" he said, and asked, "Have you come from Germany?" I replied in the affirmative, and said "We are English," at which he grasped our hands, seemingly over-joyed that we had been successful in our escape. My next question was in regard to the distance of the nearest town where we would be able to obtain food, and a clean up, for we were rain-soaked, muddy footsore and weary. Just after leaving him for town, we both stood in the middle of the road in another shower of rain, facing dear old England, and shook each others hands, with our thoughts running back to the awful place we had just left and the encouraging realisation that we would soon be in a position to get a bit of our own back again once more joining our mates in France, no longer seemd to feel our weariness or that we were wet through and shivering, my mate and I on our success, feeling as happy as "Mud Larks", which we certainly looked like as far as outward appearances were concerned. Our Dutch friend said the town was about an hour's distance away. I thought it meant by train journey, and was picturing myself six hour's walk on foot but on asking him again he said it was "6 kilometres," an hour"s journey on foot. I noticed afterwards that all Dutch people measured distance by the time it takes to walk it. I then asked how far away the Frontier was and which direction it followed, so as to be sure of not crossing it again. He also told me that the road on which we were walking ran parallel to the Frontier at a distance of from one to two kilometres or ¼ of a mile, but although we were still so close to the Frontier we were on the right side of it and knew that our foot slogging was finished, and at last we were free. Oh the realisation of being free defies all attempts of describing our feelings & suddenly our extra amount of loathing for the hun.
This was on the morning of the fourth day, after escaping from Dusseldorf, and the realisation that our greatest perils were over seemed to bring home to us the need for sleep and rest. On coming into the town, it being Sunday morning we found that the Churches were all open and carrying on services, but as it was our bodies that needed succor and rest, the open church doors did not appeal to us A little further on we noticed a Café so we knocked and went in, but the Proprietor must have done a long night on Saturday, and was having the usual allowance of extra hours in bed next morning, or even better solution still he may have been in church. Anyway we could not get an answer to our vigorous knocking so had to go further into town, where we eventually lighted on an hotel, going inside and ordering a light breakfast each.
Of course the little Dutch waitress soon picked us out as escaped prisoners and the news that two Australian escapees were there, soon went round the town. The Proprietor came in and welcomed us to Holland, our conversation being carried out in German. He went away saying he would bring in a man who could speak our language the better to get our descriptions, for my German was anything but fluent, and did not allow me to put much detail into my talk. The man he brought proved to be a Belgian, who had a very pitiful tale to tell which he gave to us without the asking. He was at his home in Brussels when the German hordes overran his country, carrying on his business as