Description
Once on the ground, Mr. Robertson relates his experiences of assistance and interrogation!
William “Bill” Robertson
Mr. William “Bill” Robertson was born June 13, 1921 in Toronto, Ontario. He was raised in a family of five with three brothers and one sister. Growing up in the province of Ontario, Mr. Robertson received his grade 12 education and with the awareness of war, had a keen desire to join the Air Force. In 1942, he attended observer training and in April of that year received his wings. He held the rank of navigator with the RAF 158 Squadron. On May 13, 1944 during a routine flight towards Belgium, his aircraft was shot down and he and the surviving members of the crew spent many months in hiding from the Germans in the hopes of one day being free. As freedom became a reality, Mr. Robertson returned home to Canada with his wife Violet. He and his family reside in Belleville, Ontario.
Transcript
I saw a kind of skimpy looking little woods in the distance so I headed for it. Got in this little woods as I said, it was not dense at all, but there were two young boys there, I’d say they were about eight or nine years old and I told them I was with the RAF, didn’t mean anything, RCAF didn’t mean anything then I told them I wanted a drink in my best French, I asked for “l’eau” and in my best French “du lait” for water and milk and they didn’t understand it. So, I took a little branch, I picked a branch up and in the dusty ground, I put the letters R A F and right away, they said something like “Aviator? ” and I said, “Yes.” And so they, through just signs and that, they said they were going away to get somebody. So off they went and I waited there and I take it it was their uncle or father or someone. He came back and when he came back, he brought a. oh, what do you call it, like a farmer’s working outfit, you know, it fits over the whole body and it’s all buttoned up, right to the chin, right down to the feet, I can’t think...Interviewer: CoverallsCoveralls that’s it, coveralls. And he brought them and told me to put them on and I went, I don’t remember but they must have fed me. Like, when you go through these traumatic experiences, sometimes there’s glitches in your memory. And I think it was the next day, or might have been the same day, they brought two fellas to interview me. One chap spoke a bit of English and he sort of interrogated me, wanted to know my squadron, who my crew were, what were their names and quite a few questions, eh. None of them ever told your name, maybe a first name only, and they wouldn’t tell you address or where you were. So, if you were caught, like if I was caught, I couldn’t spill the beans on them because I didn’t, all I knew was this name was Jacques and that was Pierre or I didn’t know what town it was or anything else. And it was for their own safety and my safety, I guess. Like, if I was caught, I might have been shot but most likely, I would’ve ended up being a prisoner of war.