• Home
• Squadron News
• 427 History
• ROAR
• News
• Membership
• Remember
• About Us
• Links
• Biography

As we left the village, Parky said, " You know what's going to happen, the Russian driver is going to point to a field of cattle and say, there is your meat supply." And it pretty much happened that way. We drove into a farmyard and in a field just beyond the barn was a herd of livestock. The German farmer came out to see what was going on and was confronted by our Russian driver waving his Tommy Gunn and our interpreter told the farmer the purpose of our visit. The unfortunate farmer was obviously distraught but didn't protest. We climbed out of the truck and walked to the field nearby to begin the spring round up. We managed to chase a couple of animals down a laneway into a corner but then what do we do with our catch. Being a farm boy I knew that we needed halters and the farmer produced them on request. We then attached the halters and with much tugging and pushing we managed to get the animals to the truck. Then came the next problem, how to get them aboard? I suggested building a ramp using a barn door supported by a couple of oil drums nearby. And that's what we did, and as Winston Churchill would say, we had the tools to finish the job.

We loaded the first two animals with a lot of pulling and pushing and then proceeded to chase cattle all over Germany for the next hour. It was exhausting work since we were not in great shape physically, however we kept at it and gradually added to the total‐ all were full-grown animals. A one point, Al Langille chased a young calf into a corner. It started to dart away and was going to slip past when Al siezed a club and hammered the poor unfortunate beast over the head. Down it went in a heap with four legs in the air. The calf was probably only stunned and could not be loaded by the tugging and pushing method, Al hit upon the idea of killing the calf which he proceeded to do by decapitation using an illegal knife he had in his possession. It sounds gruesome and gory, which it was. We then loaded the calf by hoisting it aboard by the feet. In all we liberated twelve head of livestock including the calf which of course had no head. It was getting late in the afternoon and the camp several miles distant.

As we pulled out of the yard I felt badly that we had rustled half of the farmers herd. I have wondered many times if he ever received compensation from the occupying authorities, or from the German government for these and other losses. Somehow I doubt it. Another memory I have is the dead German soldier we saw lying in a corner of the farmer's field. We did not move or touch the body but it brought a feeling of sadness that this young life had been snuffed out in the closing days of the war.

We returned to Luckenwalde along the same route but this time we shared the truck with a dozen smelly, dirty animals. It was dusk when we arrived in camp and drove directly to the cookhouse where the cattle were turned over to the staff, some of whom had been at Belaria. We cleaned up as best we could and got rid of the worst of the cow dung and mud. We returned to our quarters and learned that the rest of the foraging party, all 14 of them, had been back for hours. And sure enough their only task was to load bags of potatoes and they didn't have to leave town. It had been an interesting experience and a dangerous one. Our only reward was a notation in the daily camp bulletin which stated that, "six British officers returned with a load of cattle." We had meat and potatoes next day and for once the meat didn't come back from some race track.

Next day heavy fighting broke out west of the town. It was very area we had twice passed through on the cattle drive. There must've been hundreds of German troops in the woods and any of them could have peppered the red Army truck in which we were riding. The fighting continued for two more days but other than a few mortar shells exploding in the outer compound, we were not directly affected. Russian intelligence reports stated that remnants of four German divisions were eliminated.

As soon as hostilities ended in the immediate area, some kriegies got itchy feet and decided to head for the American lines on the Elbe. This was contrary to the warning given by Wings Collard. In his position as CO it was his duty to point out that it was much too dangerous away from the security of the camp. Small groups in nondescript uniforms could be mistaken for the enemy by either the Russians or the Germans. There were the hazards of ambushes, land mines and snipers. This did not deter many of the guys some of whom had been cooped up a long time. From our group Johnny Fraser and Bud Gillis took off and Linc Torrance too, I think. I remember for sure that nine of us decided to stay put. Those leaving made armbands displaying a hand‐ painted Union Jack. This proud symbol was easily recognizable by the Russians and the Americans, and the Germans too for that matter.

About this time we moved to the German barracks where living conditions were somewhat better. Most of the remaining Commonwealth kriegies made the same move and our former huts were immediately taken over by refugees. I well remember the gratitude from the refugee women with small children when we gave them portions of our food and pieces of soap. Of course anything we could do was a drop in the bucket but it was a touching experience nonetheless.

We were now receiving regular BBC news broadcasts, no longer by secret radio. Also Russian news bulletins were posted throughout the camp. From all sources it was clear that it was the beginning of the end. Hitler was holed up in Berlin and the Russians were already well inside the city. The Americans stopped at the Elbe which we learned later was by prior arrangement. The Canadians had liberated most of Holland and along with the British were moving into Germany in the northern sector. On April 30 the German radio announced that the Fuhrer had died in action in Berlin. This must have been a shock to the German people although there were none of them now in our immediate vicinity. History revealed that Hitler did not die in action but took his own life in a Berlin bunker.

In the days following liberation we visited the Russian compound. The Russians were no longer there but we could see the dreadful living conditions that existed. In marked contrast there was a small chapel displaying beautiful biblical murals painted on sackcloth. The paintings were in vivid colours and I especially remember THE LAST SUPPER as an artistic masterpiece. It was a total surprise to see these biblical works of art in the Russian compound since it was the belief in the Western World that religion and the church had no place under the Stalin regime.

A few days after liberation, and after the Exodus of scores of POWs to the west, the Russians clamped down. They ruled that we must remain in camp except for a sector one mile to the south and one mile to the east. We could wander around the camp at will and within the limited zone set aside and that was all. We begin to feel like prisoners again. The bosses in Moscow had decided they wanted to detain our group of POWs for whatever reason. We later learned that we were being held until an agreement was reached with the British and American governments regarding final demarcation lines for the Armies of Occupation. There were other political factors too, such as the return of Russian prisoners still in the Anglo – American zone.

On May 5 the Germans capitulated in Holland and three days later German resistance ended on all fronts. The High Command accepted the terms of unconditional surrender demanded by the Allies and the war in Europe was over. May 8, 1945 would forever become a memorable date in world history. We were estatic, however there was no special way for us to celebrate ‐ strangely not even one drop of vodka from the Russkies came our way. On the radio we heard them whooping it up in London's Trafalgar Square and that didn't help. From this point on, the Russians were even more vigilant in keeping us confined.

Around May 10 we received the wonderful news that a convoy of American trucks had arrived and were parked outside the camp area. At last we were on our way and we quickly gathered together are a few personal belongings and raced out of the camp and down the road. Sure enough there was a long line of American trucks (Studebaker's) and the drivers were GIs ‐ all of them were black (or Negro in those days). We exchanged handshakes with the Yanks and were happy beyond belief. Just when we were ready to climb aboard, a squad of Russian soldiers appeared, all heavily armed. Through an interpreter we were told we were going nowhere since there was no clearance from the authorities in Moscow. It was the old political game all over again. After an hour or so the Russian in charge said that the seriously ill could leave and no one else. No amount of pleading by Wings Collard could sway the Russian commander. And that's the way it was except for Cy Grant my friend since our days in Amsterdam jail. The drivers couldn't understand what a black guy was doing in an RAF uniform but that didn't stop them from finding a G.I. shirt and jacket and they had him in one of the trucks in nothing flat. Sitting in the cab between two coloured GIs Cy looked legit and off he went as the convoy of trucks pulled away with a line of Russians holding us back. I never saw Cy again until a reunion in London in 1977. In the late 80s he visited our home in Etobicoke where we had a mini‐ reunion with 10 Belaria kriegies.

As we wandered back to camp we were not only disappointed but plenty worried. Here was transport right on our doorstep and the Russians would not let us go. What was going on? We learned after the war that the arrival of the American trucks was due to the personal intervention of General Eisenhower. An American war correspondent name Beatty who had been a POW at Luckenwalde left camp in the days following liberation. He arrived in the American lines and was taken to Paris where he reported that several hundred allied POWs were being held against their will south of Berlin. The 'liberation' convoy was sent but Joe's Stalin's boys said "Nyet".

For the next two weeks it was a waiting game and while there was no panic we wondered what was in store for us. There was no way of communicating with our folks to let them know we were okay. Keep in mind that my parents hadn't heard from me for months and I hadn't heard from them since October. The war was over and they had no idea where I was even if I was alive. All of the other camps were liberated and most of the POWs were already back in England, and a few back in Canada. I can't recall now what we did to fill the day in those post ‐liberation days. There were no sports and no entertainment of any kind. I do remember watching some Russian soldiers fishing in a small lake near the camp. It was simplicity itself. They would throw a live grenade into the lake and when the stunned fish came to the surface, one of the Russians would wade out and scoop up to catch. I suspect there were rules about that sort of thing but nobody was going to argue.

Every day there was a new rumour. Once we heard we were going all via Odessa on the Black Sea. That didn't make any sense travelling hundreds of miles whereas the Americans were on the Elbe not far away, but the story was fed into the rumour mill with all the others. There were daily reports that we were leaving for the west tomorrow – it was always tomorrow. On May 20 the same report made its way around and we paid little attention. Sure enough the next day at noon there were shouts of joy when someone spotted a line of Studebaker trucks outside the camp. The CO sent an officer to each hut to confirm the good news that we were on our way. We walked out the main gate for the last time and felt certain that this time Parky would indeed be Bala by Labuor Day.

When we arrived at the trucks there was one difference. This time they were driven by Russians but we didn't care as long as a knew where the Elbe River was. We set out early afternoon and the torturous trip began. There were few good stretches of road with evidence of bombing and shelling everywhere. We passed through the town of Treuenbrietzen which we had seen the B‐17s clobber a few weeks before. The biggest problem was the river crossings. I did not see one bidge intact, there had been such a thorough job of demolition. By now there were pontoon bridges in place, however sometimes the riverbanks were very steep. This didn't bother the Russian drivers as they drove down the incline at quite a clip, cross the narrow temporary bridge and up the other side. We did this several times. I wish I had plotted on a chart the route that we followed but it was generally westward. It was dusk when we arrived at the Elbe, one of the major rivers of Europe. Ahead of us were stretches of Baillie bridges spanning this famous waterway. It was a beautiful piece of work constructed by US Army engineers. We bailed out of the trucks, waved goodbye to our excellent Russian drivers, grabbed our belongings, and crossed the Elbe on foot. By now we felt we were on our way for sure. Waiting on the other side was another long line of Studebaker's with GIs in the cabs. In minutes we were rolling down an autobahn in the direction of Halle. An hour later we arrived at an airfield which turned out to be a large peace time base. It was the headquarters of the Timberwolf division, the US outfit that captured the bridge at Remagen before the main crossing of the Rhine.

We were a few miles northwest of Halle but for the purpose of this story I'll refer to this place as Halle. On arrival at the base we were taken to a delousing tent where medical orderlies dusted us from stem to stern with a strong yellow powder that was heavily laced with sulphur. We also had a hot shower for the first time in six months. We were then taken to a large mess hall and after two years it seemed strange to see the cooks dressed in white waiting to dole out the mounds of food from the steaming trays. I can't remember much about that first meal except the bread‐ the white bread. Even now I savour the taste‐it was like angel cake. We had been eating black, sour bread for so long we had forgotten how sweet tasting and wholesome white bread could be. I must have eaten other good chow but all that I remember 58 years later is the first slice of bread.

After supper I left my name with the Red Cross so they could inform my parents I was okay. They agreed to take care of it right away. We were then allocated sleeping accommodation around the base and I got separated from Don, Ditch, Al, Parky and the rest. I found myself in a stone building containing several large rooms ‐ it might have been an administrative building or even officer's quarters. There were single tier bunks set up and the place was comfortable. I remember we had a red haired RAF Squadron Leader Oliver and a Canadian fighter pilot named Riley (not Jack Riley mentioned earlier). I didn't know any of the others.

We expected to stay only a day or two while waiting for a flight to Brussels via C‐47's (Dakotas or DC ‐3s) flown by US Army Air Corps. pilots. Next morning we learned that the flights out of Halle were backed up and we would wouldn't be leaving that day. I didn't mind as it gave me a chance to explore the base. The first thing I did was to go to the laundry set up by the Americans in several trailers. I was able to get my laundry done properly for the first time in months. They dry cleaned my Air Force battle dress that by now was well worn but it looked and felt a lot better. My one and only shirt was in sad shape and the American in charge of stores gave me a brand new GI khaki shirt.So I had a RCAF blue battledress and a khaki shirt ‐ quite a combination but I was happy as a clam.

In walking around I found we were on a very large prewar Luftwaffe airbase. The Americans as the occupying forces were a spit and polish outfit and wanted to show the Germans that they were an elite unit, which they were. Their uniforms were neatly pressed, helmets and boots gleaming and white scarves stuffed inside their blouses. Howitzers and other artillery pieces encircled the feel in perfect alignment and they too were glistening. It was power, prestige and pride on display by this fine Timberwolf Division. They were one of the leading elements that crossed the Rhine via the Remagen Bridge before it collapsed and had every reason to be proud.

We were at Halle airbase for four days. The delay was mainly due to weather conditions. Every day the fog rolled in and the DC‐3s were grounded. We were with friendly, generous American friends and knew they would get us out as soon as possible. I had time to do more exploring and was attracted to a beautiful church on the base. It was much more than a chapel and had been constructed during WWI or shortly afterwards. There were bronze plaques throughout and stained glass windows commemorating the feats of the war aces Baron Richthofen, Ernst Udet, Herman Goering and others. It made one realize that even in Nazi Germany the church still had a place.

In the early afternoon of May 25 the skies cleared and we soon heard the roar of aircraft engines ‐lots of them. Dozens of DC‐3s appeared in the circuit and in very short order were on the ground and lined up on the spacious tarmac. We were told ahead of time by the RAF leaders to be prepared to travel in groups of 26. Those in charge organized the groups in a way that seemed confusing. I suppose it would have sorted itself out eventually, but just then a squad of US Army sergeants appeared. Each one went into a building and as they walked through said, " twenty&dsah;six of you follow me." That is exactly what we did and the Sergeant led us to a waiting aircraft and we were on board in about five minutes. It was so delightfully simple that it left the RAF leaders speechless. We arranged ourselves in the fuselage section of this reliable transport aircraft and strapped ourselves in‐ I was all set to be airborne for the first time in 23 months. As we rolled down the runway and lifted into the air it was an exhilarating feeling to know we were one step closer to home.

In the flight to Brussels we took turns peeking out the small side windows and got a good view of the forests of central Germany. As we neared the Rhine it was a different story. The towns and cities are much more concentrated around the Ruhr and the area to the north and had been targets of countless bombing raids. I remember seeing the towns of Aachen and Cleave on the German border and they were absolutely levelled from the bombing and shelling. Germany had paid dearly for the unprovoked attacks on Rotterdam, London and Coventry. It was a reminder to all of us that war is a brutal business. We landed without incident at a large airport in Brussels. We were no sooner out of the aircraft then the delousing squads appeared with the spray guns at the ready loaded with dusting powder. The Belgians weren't taking any chances with cockroaches or whatever.

Our destination for the night was a large estate on the edge of the city taken over by the Canadian Army. We were ushered into a large dining room which may have been a ballroom in peace time. I was seated between two Red Cross girls and what a thrill it was to hear Canadian female voices again. The Red Cross ladies wanted to hear about my POW experiences and I wanted to hear news of Canada. They were surprised and puzzled that it had been more than a month since liberation and we were only now arriving in Brussels. It was a pleasant dining experience for a young guy off the farm dressed in well‐worn battle dress and a brand-new G.I. khaki shirt (minus a tie) seated between two attractive and well groomed Red Cross gals. I have long since forgotten the hometowns of the girls but they were typical of the fine young women volunteered for the auxiliary services.

Every kriegie was issued 250 Belgian francs ‐ I have no idea where the money came from or the rate of exchange. A lot of the guys decided to go into Brussels to kick up their heels. I was standing outside the main building with the francs (paper money) in my hand considering what to do. Just then along came Mike Walsh, a Fleet Air Arm pilot whom I knew very well. Seeing the bills clutched in my fist, Mike whipped the money away without breaking stride and said, "thanks Whitey." He was off like a shot and I never saw Mike again. He must've had a good time in Brussels with the extra money to spend. As it turned out I probably would have stayed on the base anyway. Parky got absolutely sloshed in the wet canteen and wasn't in any shape to go anywhere. I helped him to bed and made sure he didn't get into trouble. Next morning when we went out to the airport there was no sign of Mike Walsh. I guess the good natured Irishman was still having a good time. He was a not alone. I know one Canadian who stayed in Brussels for more than a week and very nearly acquired a Belgian war bride who had designs on him.

Around noon we left Brussels this time via the famous Avro Lancaster. It was a RAF squadron that transported our bunch back to England. At one time or another almost all of the Bomber Command squadron's were involved in the massive POW airlift inluding my old squadron 427. It was a short flip across the English Channel and what a beautiful site lay ahead ‐ it was the white cliffs of Dover and the lovely green fields of the English countryside. There is no place in the world quite like England. Our Lanc touched down at a drone in Oxfordshire and what a thrill it was to be back in the British Isles. That night we stayed in a village nearby and next morning left by train for Bournemouth the seaside town where I was first posted 32 months before. Immediately upon arrival, arrangements were made to send official advice to next of kin that I was safely back in the UK (my folks already knew I was okay from the message that was sent from Halle a few days before). The following is the cable (I still have the original) that my folks received on May 27, 1945 from the Canadian National and Cable Company;

T.R. WHITE PORT HOPE ONT

PLEASED TO ADVISE YOUR SON FLYING OFFICER VERNON MOORE WHITE PREVIOUSLY REPORTED PRISONER OF WAR ARRIVED SAFELY IN THE UNITED KINGDOM TWENTY-SIXTH MAY.

RCAF CASUALTIES OFFICER

Although I remained on active duty in the RCAF for another three months, this casualty report ended my official status as a Prisoner of War.