Writing for Fun
Captured - Janice Osborne
April 2014
Sarah linked arms with Ernest and fairly frog marched him back to his ground floor room in Sunnyside Residential Care Home. Bristling with outrage she harangued him. 'It was very unkind of you to give Matron the Nazi salute and call her 'Herr Commandant' like that, just because she saw you pocket cutlery from the dinner table. No one is going to dig their way out of this home. You know this is not the famous Stalag of your beloved Great Escape film and you are definitely not Steve McQueen!'
Ernest said nothing but gripped his tennis ball and glove all the tighter. Well it was his duty as a POW to harass the enemy and to try to escape at every opportunity. He must try another breakout soon. In the meantime he must suffer the boredom again of solitary confinement in his cell.
Sarah opened his bedroom door, thrust him inside and left. He slumped down into his chair and began bouncing the ball from floor to wall and then catching it using his woolly gloved hand. Over and over again until an exasperated Sarah rushed back into his room and, deftly intercepting his throw, confiscated his ball. 'You know you annoy Mavis in the next room with that racket. You won't get it back this time.'
Ernest sighed. The Germans never took away Steve McQueen's baseball and catcher on recapture even after being insolent to the Camp Commander.
Wandering over to his window he gazed out longingly over the grounds to the iron gates and freedom.
He had never wanted to come and live here but after the death of his beloved wife Elsie, his son, in collusion with his GP, had decided that he was no longer capable of looking after himself and had placed him in this hellhole. He did not suffer delusions or behave badly. He was just a little eccentric that's all.
Looking out of his cell window his eyes lit up. He saw what could be his next means of escape. There was a powerful motorbike against the railings of the basement steps leading to the boiler room. The keys were still in the ignition. In his mind's eye it was a Triumph 500. Like Steve McQueen, in his younger days, he had fancied himself on his own Triumph Thunderbird and had won many a trophy for motor bike scrambling.
The vision slid out of focus. Perhaps he needed a quick nap to allow him time to formulate an escape plan that would take him to the Swiss border. Coughing weakly and feeling very hot and quite unsteady Ernest made his way to his bed pulled back the covers, climbed in, and closed his eyes.
Sometime later a harassed Sarah looked on as old doctor Morris straightened up after administering an injection of antibiotics into Ernest's emaciated buttocks. 'You will have to keep an eye on the old boy. He has a bit of a chest infection and although the antibiotics will soon clear it up he will be even more delusional than ever. He may even start to wander. I'll call in again tonight after surgery to see how he's getting on.'
After seeing the doctor to the reception area Sarah rushed back to Ernest's room and peered round the door to reassure herself that he was still asleep. It's all very well for the doc to say 'keep an eye on him' but he doesn't have my workload. I'll try to look in later after tea . . .
Two hundred and fifty men planned to escape Stalag Luft 111 that night through a tunnel that would exit in the woods beyond the clearing around the camp. In reality the tunnel exit fell twenty foot short of the cover of the trees and within the sweep of the powerful searchlights of the German lookout towers. Only seventy six made it through the tunnel and into the woods before the alarm went up.
Steve McQueen dressed in civvies, but with his officer rank insignia sewn to the inside of his vest, made his way through the forest and onto a main road. His trip wire across the road unseated a German soldier from his motorbike as he had planned. Dressed in the enemy's uniform he donned the metal helmet, sat astride the machine and, opening the throttle wide, roared off down the road that would ultimately lead him to the Swiss border and freedom. If he did not make it then he meant to give the Germans a good run for their money!
Ernest still in his pyjamas crept from his room and shakily climbed down the steps to the basement. There in the corner was a coat peg with an old grey boiler suit hanging upon it. He dressed in the enemy uniform as quickly as he could and looked round for the German's helmet. Ah, there it was. Grabbing an old handle-less saucepan from a pile of rubbish in the corner of the room he rammed it on his head and stumbled up the short flight of steps into the cool morning air. Hastily checking that the coast was clear he flung himself upon the mobility scooter. Turning the ignition key he gripped the handlebars and opened the throttle wide. The scooter lurched forward and sprayed gouts of gravel as it sped down the drive carrying the prisoner towards the open gates and freedom.
Once on the dual carriageway Ernest rode for his life. Unfortunately he was in the outside lane and had to battle the oncoming traffic. Cars swerved, horns blared but with head down and body hunched low over the chassis of his throbbing Triumph he held the throttle open and prayed for deliverance.
CCTV captured his headlong flight and news of the mayhem he was causing was soon passed to the police who, although in hot pursuit, were on the proper side of the road and waiting for backup to set up a blockade further ahead to force him to stop safely. In the meantime all they could do was to keep pace whilst trying to think of any other options that could be employed. In the end Ernest made the decision for them. Hearing the sirens and flashing lights he realised the enemy was in pursuit and that in order to remain free he had to leave the road and go across country. The problem now was that instead of outwitting sentries at a road blockade at the Swiss border he had to find a way to clear barbed wire fences to reach no man's land and neutral Switzerland.
Veering right he mounted the pavement scattering pedestrians left right and centre. He looked round desperately for open ground. At last he saw a rolling vista of lush green grass ahead. Turning through the park gates he once again hunched down over his machine and pushed the throttle to the limit. The police car had stopped and two uniformed policemen raced across the road and into the park in hot pursuit. Looking over his shoulder Ernest saw the uniforms in the distance but closing fast. It was decision time. Stopping the bike he stood astride assessing the lay of the land. Ahead and slightly to the left he saw a grassy hillock just in front of the barbed wire fence guarding the strip of no man's land and the second barbed fence of the Swiss border. He had no choice, he had to try and jump the bike over the fence. He knew his chances of escape were slim. Death or injury, a strong possibility and capture almost inevitable, but he must try. Stripping off his uniform and helmet he threw them to one side. To be recaptured out of uniform meant he could be shot as a spy. Jumping back on his Triumph he gunned the engine and turned to face the slope. Turning the handlebars quickly he met the hillock at a sharper angle than expected and the machine careened out of control and overturned. Ernest was flung against the ferocious barbs of the wild tangle of briars covering the fence. Dazed he lay there as the uniforms ran to a stop before him. They could not believe their eyes. One policeman pulled out his radio to report that the old man was captured. Seeing the black weapon Ernest raised one hand in defeat and slowly began to extricate himself from the barbed wire. He stood up slowly and cautiously turned back the collar of his top to show his officer's stripes then raised both hands in the air and grinned insolently. Blood oozed from myriad pinpricks giving him a ghoulish aspect. The police swiftly moved in and relieved to see Ernest was unhurt apart from a few bramble scratches escorted him to the police car that had just arrived in answer to their call.
Police guided Ernest through the front door of Sunnyside Nursing Home. On cue all residents who could walk, limp or shuffle, crowded into the hallway to form a guard of honour to welcome the safe return of the escapee. To the background music of the film 'The Great Escape' being played in the communal lounge the residents began to clap, cheer or whistle and Mavis shyly stepped forward and gave Ernest his tennis ball and glove. With quiet bravado and a smirk of insolence directed toward the staff, he stood and waited until Sarah came forward and, linking arms with him, began to steer him towards his room.
'Poor old soul, there will be no tea for him after these latest shenanigans,' whispered Mavis conspiratorially to her friend Dorothy. 'Still, on my way to bed, I'll sneak in a bag of goodies for him and say it's a Red Cross parcel!'
