Six Sacks of Potatoes

After we had been on the water for more than two hours we finally pulled into shore on the island called Strono [MAP]. It was about five kilometers long by three kilometers wide.  Disembarking we stretched our legs and surveyed our surroundings. We were told by the Norwegians that we had arrived at our interim destination, a boathouse, which they advised had at one time been used by the Germans. We also learned that some 400 meters across the channel at Rottingen was a large German garrison. We climbed up some outside steps to the loft and entered a sparsely furnished room with two windows. After making sure the blackout curtains were securely closed our helpers lit a coal oil lantern and we had our first real look at our new friends.

After shaking hands and introductions all around Einar, their leader, advised us that this was to be our home until further notice. He instructed us to leave the boathouse before daybreak and climb back up into the hills and remain hidden until darkness when we return for the night. They left us with an old canvas cover which we were to take with us as a shelter from the weather. when Einar mentioned that the boathouse was part of a camp previously occupied by the Germans and that there was a large garrison of them across the strait, we, for a moment, wondered if they were really trying to help us. However, they said that they thought it would be unlikely for the Germans to look for us in this location, at least for the next few days. Before leaving Finar told us someone would try and return the following night, hopefully with some food.

After the Norwegians left we took a closer look at our new home away from home and although pretty austere it had two small beds which really looked inviting considering none of us had slept in over forty hours. We decided that each of us would keep watch for one hour. I remember Gord had a tough time trying to wake me up for the last watch. During my period I sat in a rickety chair by the window and looked out into the darkness, all the time reviewing in my mind the events which had transpired since we took off from Wick.

At about 5 a.m. we left the boathouse and followed the path as instructed. We saw up ahead that the path crossed in front of a large barrack type building and although we didn't think it was occupied we were not 100 % sure so we passed it as quietly as possible, and then followed the pathway again as it turned into the heavy underbrush. A short distance later the path petered out and we had to climb over rocks and heavy foliage for about half an hour until we came across a small clearing which was well concealed with heavy brush on all sides. There we made a lean-to with the canvas and stretched out on the ground under it.

In the next few minutes it gradually became lighter and through the trees we were able to see Rottingen across the water. There were several wooden barrack buildings as well as a parade square and recreation area. We were quite high up the hill, probably 300-400 meters above the water and we could watch the activity on the other side of the channel with very little chance of being spotted due to the dense woods.

A little while after dawn we were startled by the noise of gunfire. It seemed to be quite close and was like the sound of heavy artillery. Later we found out that the German garrison on Rottingen consisted of both anti-aircraft and coastal defences and it was their custom to have gunnery practice in the early hours of each morning.

For the rest of the day we stayed in the clearing, doing some exercises and trying to get our clothes dried. We were all extremely hungry having not eaten for nearly three days except for our escape kit tablets. we hoped our helpers would bring along some food that night as they mentioned. We knew that the Norwegians were on strict rationing and anything which we might receive would come out of their ration allotment. After dark we slowly made our way back down the hill to the boathouse, arriving without incident. We then sat around in the darkness waiting anxiously for the return of one or more of our new found friends.