every day). Beyond them lay the brick foundation of the North Compound theatre (where a fourth tunnel, “George,” has just recently been unearthed). And finally, on the surface of the still very sandy soil, I walked along a walkway of crushed stone with wooden borders, just twenty inches wide (the same width of the tunnel), showing above ground where tunnel “Harry” had stretched under ground—some 336 feet—from the concrete pad beneath Hut 104 to beyond the Stalag Luft III fence, but just short of the woods.
I imagined about eighty POWs who had all served in one capacity or another in the manufacture of the tunnel excavation and its ancillary requirements (sand dispersal, security, intelligence, forgery, document production, tailoring, language study, compass manu facture, ration supplies, et cetera) making their way from inside the North Compound. I visualized one POW disappearing into “Harry” every three minutes through the night of March 24–25, travelling along the trolley way northbound (beneath where I stood in 2010), and then popping up from the other vertical shaft beyond the prison camp wire. This was the home of the Great Escape, or at least an attempt to cause enough havoc behind German enemy lines to suck away valuable manpower in the search and recapture of the escapers.
A few thousand feet away, I came to the cemetery of those who’d died in captivity during their existence at Stalag Luft III. Next to the individual tombstones, I found the stone memorial to the fifty Commonwealth air force officers murdered by the Gestapo after the breakout. Here, too, I sensed the blood of six Canadians, or at least the ashes in urns buried there during a ceremony on December 4 , 1944 (the ashes later exhumed and reburied in the military cemetery at Poznan, Poland). This was the home of the Great Escape. This was the place where myth and reality had inspired books, documentaries, and Hollywood movies. Arriving there, walking there, remembering there in 2010, moved me emotionally, and moved me professionally to fulfill a longtime promise to my veteran friend, RCAF fighter pilot Charley Fox, to tell the story of the Great Escape the way it could and should be told—as a Canadian story.
Not only have I chosen to write this story as an homage to Charley Fox, who died in 2008, but here also I want to offer my gratitude to others who have assisted this labour of love both recently and over many years of preparation and research:
Among other veterans and their families, I want to thank George and Joan Sweanor, and their daughter Barbara; Albert Wallace and his daughter Barbara Trendos; Don Edy and his daughters Barb Edy and Jane Hughes; John R. Harris; Vicki, Stephen, and Glenn Sorensen, who gave the gift of their father Frank Sorensen’s corre spondence; David (and Cathy) Pengelly for remembering brother Tony Pengelly; Chris Pengelly, Tony’s son, for the treasure trove of his father’s personal records of Stalag Luft III; and friends Mary and David Ross (and their trusty Facebook account), who helped track down the Pengellys; Fran Weir for letters written home by her husband John Weir; Margaret Bartlett, and her daughter Anne Dumonceaux and grandson Nick Dumonceaux, for remembering Dick Bartlett; Don McKim, with the assistance of son Al McKim, daughter Wendy Johnson, and friend Bernice Marsland; Catherine Heron, sister of Wally Floody, for the scrapbook and photo files of her brother Wally Floody’s career, and son Brian (and Lorraine) Floody for their interview collections of Wally; Ethel Alle and Kingsley Brown Jr. for access to their father Kingsley Brown Sr.’s memoirs; Barry Davidson Jr. for access to his father Barry Davidson Sr.’s logs; Fred and Susan Bendell, as well as daughter Katie Bendell, for mate rial from Gordon Venables’ experience in the prison camp; Nancy Buckham for access to her husband Robert Buckham’s diaries and sketches; Marjorie Acheson (with help from Kitchener Public
I imagined about eighty POWs who had all served in one capacity or another in the manufacture of the tunnel excavation and its ancillary requirements (sand dispersal, security, intelligence, forgery, document production, tailoring, language study, compass manu facture, ration supplies, et cetera) making their way from inside the North Compound. I visualized one POW disappearing into “Harry” every three minutes through the night of March 24–25, travelling along the trolley way northbound (beneath where I stood in 2010), and then popping up from the other vertical shaft beyond the prison camp wire. This was the home of the Great Escape, or at least an attempt to cause enough havoc behind German enemy lines to suck away valuable manpower in the search and recapture of the escapers.
A few thousand feet away, I came to the cemetery of those who’d died in captivity during their existence at Stalag Luft III. Next to the individual tombstones, I found the stone memorial to the fifty Commonwealth air force officers murdered by the Gestapo after the breakout. Here, too, I sensed the blood of six Canadians, or at least the ashes in urns buried there during a ceremony on December 4 , 1944 (the ashes later exhumed and reburied in the military cemetery at Poznan, Poland). This was the home of the Great Escape. This was the place where myth and reality had inspired books, documentaries, and Hollywood movies. Arriving there, walking there, remembering there in 2010, moved me emotionally, and moved me professionally to fulfill a longtime promise to my veteran friend, RCAF fighter pilot Charley Fox, to tell the story of the Great Escape the way it could and should be told—as a Canadian story.
Not only have I chosen to write this story as an homage to Charley Fox, who died in 2008, but here also I want to offer my gratitude to others who have assisted this labour of love both recently and over many years of preparation and research:
Among other veterans and their families, I want to thank George and Joan Sweanor, and their daughter Barbara; Albert Wallace and his daughter Barbara Trendos; Don Edy and his daughters Barb Edy and Jane Hughes; John R. Harris; Vicki, Stephen, and Glenn Sorensen, who gave the gift of their father Frank Sorensen’s corre spondence; David (and Cathy) Pengelly for remembering brother Tony Pengelly; Chris Pengelly, Tony’s son, for the treasure trove of his father’s personal records of Stalag Luft III; and friends Mary and David Ross (and their trusty Facebook account), who helped track down the Pengellys; Fran Weir for letters written home by her husband John Weir; Margaret Bartlett, and her daughter Anne Dumonceaux and grandson Nick Dumonceaux, for remembering Dick Bartlett; Don McKim, with the assistance of son Al McKim, daughter Wendy Johnson, and friend Bernice Marsland; Catherine Heron, sister of Wally Floody, for the scrapbook and photo files of her brother Wally Floody’s career, and son Brian (and Lorraine) Floody for their interview collections of Wally; Ethel Alle and Kingsley Brown Jr. for access to their father Kingsley Brown Sr.’s memoirs; Barry Davidson Jr. for access to his father Barry Davidson Sr.’s logs; Fred and Susan Bendell, as well as daughter Katie Bendell, for mate rial from Gordon Venables’ experience in the prison camp; Nancy Buckham for access to her husband Robert Buckham’s diaries and sketches; Marjorie Acheson (with help from Kitchener Public
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