through the German forests for days, living off whatever he could salvage
from the land. Exhausted, he was on the point of giving up when he realized that the American lines were only a few miles away, so, tearing off a strip from his camp uniform to make what he hoped
would look like a white flag of surrender, he managed to stagger towards them. The guards were about to fire upon him when he put up his hands and shouted, ‘Don’t shoot. Escaped British
prisoner of war.’ They didn’t shoot. But neither did they believe him. The story of his escape was so incredible that they thought he was a German plant. He was arrested, and taken to a
cell to await further interrogation. But on the way there, someone recognized him and exclaimed, ‘Why, it’s the White Rabbit!’, whereupon his handcuffs were removed and he was
given a huge meal. After months on a starvation diet and five days living off berries and grass, it proved too much, and he was violently sick. All he could manage to stomach was an orange.
When he was repatriated, shortly before the end of the war, Buck was waiting to greet him, together with Barbara, the young WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force) officer he had met just
before his first mission and with whom he was to spend the rest of his life. When Barbara saw him descend from the plane it was lucky that Buck was there to steady her, because she staggered and
almost fainted. He was so haggard and ravaged that the shock at his changed appearance was almost too much for her. Shortly afterwards, his father was heard to say: ‘My son has returned. But
he looks like an old man of seventy.’ He was forty. I’ll always remember Yeo-Thomas. I admired him not only for his amazing, dogged courage but also because one evening he taught me to
make ratatouille – without the ingredients! After all, how on earth could one get hold of courgettes, much less aubergines or tomatoes, in wartime? And onions were so scarce one almost had to
go down on bended knee to persuade the greengrocer to part with a couple. Always supposing he had any. Instead, Yeo-Thomas explained the procedures with gestures, a pantomime using phantom
ingredients and a non-existent
cocotte.
I tried his ‘recipe’ after the war when goods began to creep back into the shops, and it was remarkably good! I wouldn’t say he
was a brilliant conversationalist, but he certainly had a sense of humour and fun. Perhaps it was this that kept him going during his captivity. He spent a great deal of time in F Section’s
corridors, being great friends with SOE’s brilliant cryptologist, Leo Marks. When they were together, if one passed Leo’s half-open door, great gusts of laughter always seemed to be
billowing out.
During his debriefing, Yeo-Thomas said that the first fifteen minutes of torture were the worst. But he also said that if an agent could manage to get through the first five minutes, he had it
made. The most terrible torture always happened at the beginning, but after three days even that became easier to bear: the body seemed to become accustomed to it. I’m not sure every agent
would have agreed with him. But it seemed to have worked for him, at least. Others told me that they recited poems to themselves, lines they had learned years before in school, Shakespeare’s
sonnets or verses from the Bible, or counted up to one hundred and then started again. Anything that might take their minds off what was happening to their bodies.
Prospective agents were aware of all this before they left. They were warned. And they were afraid. Brave men are always afraid, otherwise they tend to do foolish things, taking unnecessary
risks which endanger not only their own lives, but also the lives of others. Courage is not the absence of fear: it is the willingness to do the thing one fears. And they all did, leaving for their
missions regardless. They were frightened, of course they were. But they faced their fear.
And left.
Chapter 3
I
from the land. Exhausted, he was on the point of giving up when he realized that the American lines were only a few miles away, so, tearing off a strip from his camp uniform to make what he hoped
would look like a white flag of surrender, he managed to stagger towards them. The guards were about to fire upon him when he put up his hands and shouted, ‘Don’t shoot. Escaped British
prisoner of war.’ They didn’t shoot. But neither did they believe him. The story of his escape was so incredible that they thought he was a German plant. He was arrested, and taken to a
cell to await further interrogation. But on the way there, someone recognized him and exclaimed, ‘Why, it’s the White Rabbit!’, whereupon his handcuffs were removed and he was
given a huge meal. After months on a starvation diet and five days living off berries and grass, it proved too much, and he was violently sick. All he could manage to stomach was an orange.
When he was repatriated, shortly before the end of the war, Buck was waiting to greet him, together with Barbara, the young WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force) officer he had met just
before his first mission and with whom he was to spend the rest of his life. When Barbara saw him descend from the plane it was lucky that Buck was there to steady her, because she staggered and
almost fainted. He was so haggard and ravaged that the shock at his changed appearance was almost too much for her. Shortly afterwards, his father was heard to say: ‘My son has returned. But
he looks like an old man of seventy.’ He was forty. I’ll always remember Yeo-Thomas. I admired him not only for his amazing, dogged courage but also because one evening he taught me to
make ratatouille – without the ingredients! After all, how on earth could one get hold of courgettes, much less aubergines or tomatoes, in wartime? And onions were so scarce one almost had to
go down on bended knee to persuade the greengrocer to part with a couple. Always supposing he had any. Instead, Yeo-Thomas explained the procedures with gestures, a pantomime using phantom
ingredients and a non-existent
cocotte.
I tried his ‘recipe’ after the war when goods began to creep back into the shops, and it was remarkably good! I wouldn’t say he
was a brilliant conversationalist, but he certainly had a sense of humour and fun. Perhaps it was this that kept him going during his captivity. He spent a great deal of time in F Section’s
corridors, being great friends with SOE’s brilliant cryptologist, Leo Marks. When they were together, if one passed Leo’s half-open door, great gusts of laughter always seemed to be
billowing out.
During his debriefing, Yeo-Thomas said that the first fifteen minutes of torture were the worst. But he also said that if an agent could manage to get through the first five minutes, he had it
made. The most terrible torture always happened at the beginning, but after three days even that became easier to bear: the body seemed to become accustomed to it. I’m not sure every agent
would have agreed with him. But it seemed to have worked for him, at least. Others told me that they recited poems to themselves, lines they had learned years before in school, Shakespeare’s
sonnets or verses from the Bible, or counted up to one hundred and then started again. Anything that might take their minds off what was happening to their bodies.
Prospective agents were aware of all this before they left. They were warned. And they were afraid. Brave men are always afraid, otherwise they tend to do foolish things, taking unnecessary
risks which endanger not only their own lives, but also the lives of others. Courage is not the absence of fear: it is the willingness to do the thing one fears. And they all did, leaving for their
missions regardless. They were frightened, of course they were. But they faced their fear.
And left.
Chapter 3
I
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