The Islanders

The quartet of Einar Evensen, Hans H. Holmefjord, Torvald Jakobsen and Magnus K. Røttingen all lived in the western part of Os in the area known as Øyane (the islands). Like other young people from that area, they were referred to as øyaguttene or “Islanders.” The sea is an essential part of life in Øyane, and the four had spent much of their time in boats so they knew every nook and bay and fishing hole for miles around.

In the hectic days of the German invasion in April 1940, Evensen, Holmefjord and Røttingen went to Voss to fight the Germans. They were assigned to Skjervet, where the Norwegians tried to stem the enemy advance from Granvin to Voss. Both Evansen and Holmefjord were machine-gunners. When the Norwegians could no longer resist the ferocious attack, Holmefjord was one of those who remained and covered the retreat. He was taken and held in Voss for a few weeks before he was released and returned home.

The four young men joined Jakob Hjelle's underground group early in the war. Their initial tentative contact with England eventually developed into full-scale weapons smuggling through Austevoll on dark nights. Both Evensen and Jakobsen were team leaders in the underground. Several of the Norwegian workers who built the German base in Rottingatangane provided information to Røttingen, who passed on the information to an underground courier.

Earlier in September 1944, Evensen, Jakobsen and Røttingen went to Austevoll where they hoped to buy a boat. They were looking for a boat that was seaworthy enough to reach the Shetland Islands if the Germans learned of their underground activities. But they were unable to find the right boat. That night, an allied ship managed to sink a German vessel in Korsfjord, and the three could see the confusion in the German forces as guard-boats chased back and forth. On the way back, they were hailed by a German patrol boat. When Røttingen discovered that he had forgotten his pass, he swore up a storm.

As the guard boat glided up along side, Evensen said: “Can you check the engine and see what's wrong?” Røttingen dropped down the ladder and turned a valve which caused the engine to hammer something terrible. A German dropped down on their deck.

Jakobsen was forward on deck and was checked first. Then Evensen offered the boat's papers and his personal pass. The German muttered, “Alles in Ordnung” then came to the door to the engine compartment and peered down. Røttingen grinned at him, going two steps up the ladder and moved a sweater that had been hiding a poster that said, “Collaborating with the enemy is punishable by death” and showed the poster to the German. He then turned back to the valve again as if it were a magnet pulling him. Evensen caught a glimpse of Røttingen's face and he had never seen anyone look so innocent.

“Papers? Pass?” asked the German.

“No, he is “kaputt” said Evensen, pointing his finger at his head.

“Kaputt, ach so.”

The guard boat backed away, and the Germans left Røttingen in peace.

Evensen lived at Bjørnarøy, a small idyllic place where only a few families lived. He was the person that Ingeborg Bjørnen's father had decided to approach.

On the morning of September 26, a few days after the unsuccessful boat-buying trip, Evensen sat at home reading a two-day old copy of a German propaganda newspaper. It talked about strategic withdrawals on the Eastern Front, which Evensen interpreted as meaning that the Russians were on the offensive. He sipped a cup of ersatz coffee, but puffed on real tobacco, which had been smuggled into Austevoll along with explosives.

Suddenly he heard an airplane. Seconds later, he was able to make out an allied bomber rocking inward from the sea as it passed overhead and then disappeared. He could tell both by the sound and by the motion of the aircraft that something was wrong. It flew like an overloaded barge. With the low-hanging grey cloud cover, it was amazing how low the plane was, barely scraping over the hills. Even more amazing was that with all the German targets, it did not fire a shot.

The big question that morning was what had happened to the plane. If it landed in the sea, the crew would have little chance, and its chances were not much better in the forests. The likelihood of a successful landing was slim in any event. Evensen spent the morning wandering around, up in the hills and down again, around the boathouses and up and down the beach.

New of less important things traveled fast around the islands, so he expected that sooner or later someone would show up with some news. He looked around in all directions, hoping to see a boat approaching. But he cursed softly to himself because there was no way to get even the slightest bit of information, even if the plane had crashed almost within arm's length. The only thing he saw was a patrol boat with a swastika on its stern that came inland from Bjørnafjord, rounded Bjørnarøy, and then headed out again.

After two hours of searching, he turned homewards, hungry and looking for some food. When he got home, he saw two people he knew from Bjørnen and as soon as he saw them he knew why they were here.

They had told Einar's father what had happened. The crew had been incredibly lucky to land on a tiny strip of grass. The crew had then moved south to Bjørnatrynet, where they had contacted Ingeborg Bjørnen. It was pure chance that she was at home; she traveled a lot and had been gone until the previous evening. Now the crew was hiding in the woods, but needed to get further away that night, if not sooner.

Hans Bjørnen asked if it would be possible for the foreigners to take Evensen's 30-foot boat so they could return to England in it. Einar's father had responded that they were welcome to the boat, but he was afraid that the engine was too unreliable to take into the North Sea, especially now, just a few days before October, when high seas and heavy winds were common on the North Sea. It would be especially risky because it was unlikely that any of the aircrew would know anything about marine engines.

Einar confirmed what his father had said. Even if Evensen went with them, they would not make it far past the Marstein light into the North Sea. Hans Bjørnen looked discouraged, but then straightened his back and said that if he had anything to do with it, the crew would be saved, because they had come to his door and were his responsibility.

Usually, it was absolutely forbidden to let outsiders know that you were a member of an underground organization. But Evensen had no other choice, and he let it be known, very vaguely, that he had connections. Because the crew had been fugitives for a good part of a day, something needed to be done soon. Evensen asked if they would let him take over. If they did so, he would do everything in his power to prevent the Germans from getting them.

Both men heaved a sigh of relief. “I knew you wouldn't let us down.” Before the two men left Evensen, they all agreed to a time when Evensen and some of his people would be at a particular creek at Bjørnatrynet to pick up the crew.

Magnus Hauge was in charge of the resistance company west of the Oselva river, while Jakob Hjelle was in charge of the teams to the east. Hauge was responsible for collecting and distributing the weapons landed at Austevoll. He was the contact person among the various teams who organized the distribution of guns and supplies. His farm was very close to Osøyri. Between Magnus Hauge's farm and Osøyri was Mobergsvika, where the Germans had guns and bunkers. Ragged Russian prisoners worked long and hard on the German installations there.

The incident with the plane had not escaped Magnus Hauge's attention – the plane flew right over his house, just a few meters over his roof. As he ran out, the sound was so close that he thought the plane would take out his chimney.

He soon learned about the crash-landing and that the entire crew has made it away from the landing site. His farm lay on a slope just below the road, and throughout the morning he noticed one vehicle after another heading south loaded with soldiers. He was so excited about the events that he did not notice he was hungry until his wife called him to his midday dinner.

While he was eating dinner, the phone rang, and when he lifted the receiver he immediately recognized the voice of Johan Viken, the XU courier.

The telephone was a risky instrument of communication about sensitive topics – under the occupation the dreaded Gestapo frequently listened to conversations. Members of the underground avoided the phone as much as possible. When the phone was needed to convey urgent messages, they spoke in code and never called anything by its real name.

They used agricultural terms that people could have taken literally, but Viken made it clear that it was vital that they get hold of the crew before the Germans caught them. He said that it had been very difficult to find potatoes, and he hoped that the farmer could help him solve that problem.

Hauge replied that there were not many potatoes available, and that he himself had very few. There were so many restrictions on agricultural production these days, and mandatory delivery to the Germans, that there was little left for sale. But he would go to his cellar and check what he had. If he could spare a sack or two, he would call back. It was a serious Hauge that hung up the phone.

He had just finished dinner when the phone rang again, seemingly even more loudly than normal. He heard the deep bass voice of one of his men, Einar Evensen, asking to talk with him later in the day. “I need advice from a farmer,” Evensen growled, adding a comment that he had asked before and that he needed an answer now. Hauge said he was sorry and promised loud and clear that he would not have to wait longer. “I am sorry that I have made you wait so long,” he said.

Evensen often said things jokingly, as he did with Hauge in that conversation, but Hauge had heard the serious undertone in Evensen's voice.