One of the questions that crops up in connection with my period with the Free French Army is whether the Germans respected the rules laid down by the Geneva Convention concerning the Red Cross. The answer depends on what is meant by "Germans". Most of my contact with the enemy was with the Wehrmacht, that is the German Regular Army. The forces that tried to halt our inexorable progress eastward across France were almost solely divisions comprised of regular soldiers commanded by career officers. They observed the rules very carefully. I was never conscious of any German deliberately shooting at me or my vehicle provided the Red Cross markings were clearly visible. I do not believe that other sections of the German Army, such as the S.S. necessarily behaved so correctly. That the Germans ahead of us were acting in a very professional way became even clearer as our contact with the opposing units was prolonged. In a letter home I mentioned that, at the time of writing (about a month after the liberation of Paris) 80 per cent of the casualties that I dealt with were German. The Germans were very well aware of this, and in many ways positively assisted us.
Often one of the most difficult of our tasks was to find the way back to the field hospital with a load of wounded men. Being a fast, highly mobile unit meant that we were sometimes twenty or more miles ahead of the main battle area. Frequently we had passed through or round villages during the day to which the Germans returned as soon as we were out of the way.
Our problems were increased because on occasions we were guided, when going forward by members of the Resistance. They knew all the by-roads, lanes and even cart-tracks that finally took us to our objective. To expect the ambulance drivers to remember the way back was not feasible. Such maps as we had were unreliable and, in any case there was usually a reasonably good road going back if we were prepared to risk it. Such Germans who had crept back to the villages for the night soon learnt either to ignore us, or, more usually, to stop us and examine our load. More often than not they were greeted by their wounded compatriots with angry demands to get out and let them be driven to hospital. I well remember one occasion when I had a very senior German officer on board. He was a lesser sort of General, very badly hurt but quite conscious. It was 2 am on a very nasty dark night when we entered a small town where the Germans were evidently intending to put up some resistance. There was a formidable road block at which we were stopped and several Germans clambered into the back of the ambulance. The injured General then spoke up in that voice that high-ranking officers keep for such occasions. The Germans immediately froze into "attention" and there was much clicking of heels. If it had been possible the other, unconscious casualties would have been lying at "attention" too. My spoken German is virtually non-existent but I think the intruders were being told that the speaker wanted them out, an escort provided to see us through the town, and I was to be treated with the utmost respect. I am fairly sure about the latter instruction because an English speaking, very junior officer was produced who asked, in frightened tones if there was anything I needed - even a quick drink of something warming? I refused the latter offer, I was already fairly full of "something warming"! Thereupon we were rapidly passed through the road block at the other side of the town and sent on our way.
One of our ambulances made rather a habit of being stopped in German-held villages. On one occasion they returned bearing a letter addressed to Lieutenant Woodcock. I learnt later that it is correct German army etiquette to use a rank one above that probably held by the addressee. The letter, in perfect English, from a German infantry Captain, begged me to teach my drivers to read a map as he had captured these two on three occasions already and if it happened again he would have to keep them.
This episode had a sad ending. Some weeks later as I was making my way back to the tanks, through an apparently unoccupied village, a German Sergeant stepped into the road and waved me down. He put his head in through the window and said "Kom". I had little option but to "Kom" but I had already guessed by his attitude that this was no ordinary occasion. In the house was a German Captain lying on a stretcher. He clearly had little time left. "Hello English" he said "I think I know you". It was, of course, my pen-friend. He asked if I would take him to a nearby monastery. He knew he was dying and pointed out that it would be almost on my way. It was a place I had noticed, an attractive building small for a monastery, standing in very well cared-for grounds. I agreed to take him and, with the assistance of the Sergeant, loaded him on board. I read the Sergeant's thanks in his very distressed eyes.
I knocked on the vast outer door of the monastery and, after a long wait, a nun appeared. I explained the situation and the nun, having not spoken a word, disappeared. There followed another long wait and then the Mother Superior came out. To say she was impressive was an understatement. She was one of those characters who carry saintliness about with them. She motioned to me to come in and the nun and I carried the Captain through the door. The Mother Superior bent over him and they exchanged words I did not hear. She then turned to me and, in perfect English, said that I could, of course, leave my patient who would be cared for. She thanked me at some length and the Captain, who had brightened a little, called "Thanks English".
The Mother Superior accompanied me to the door, repeated her thanks and added "Bless you, my son". I do not set much store by blessings as a rule, but that one I did.