An Eyewitness Account

Introduction

My Grandfather’s name was Theo Janku. He was born in Czechoslovakia and trekked across Europe before World War I.  On his way he learnt the languages of the countries he passed through.  This is why, when he was dealing with the German airman, he could speak to them fluently in their own language.

Westfield is a farm between Studland village and Corfe village in the Purbecks of Dorset and is where my grandparents went with my aunts for summer holidays.

The Eyewitness Account

About mid-day on Wednesday Sept 25^th Mrs Janku and I as well as several others stood in the farmyard at Westfield, Studland, listening to the drone of enemy planes heading inland.  The A.A guns of Brownsea Island put up such aa perfect screen of “archies” that the whole formation turned tail and fled backover the downs , lower this time, so that the Purbeck Hills hid them from the A.A guns.

Spitfires and Hurricanes then took up the fight, two harassing a Heinkel III, whose rear gunner was firing back at them evn as his pilot with both engines disabled, was planning down trying to land.  He would have landed in the near field but, striking a power cable which sheared off his wing tip he slew round and made a good belly landing, coming to a standstill against the gate-post of a turnip field.

Mrs Janku was half way across the first field before the plane ceased slithering along and as four Germans scrambled out of the machine, she met them at the fence some fifty yards from the plane.  They were holding up their hands when I came up, fifty paces behind.  I had stopped to pick up a Horse Guards rifle, empty by the way.  One of the Germans who had hurt his spine collapsed on the field.

I told them to hand over their revolvers, which they did readily, but when I told them, again in German, to sit down and take it easy, they stood dumbfounded at hearing their own language in rural Britain and I had to order them to do as they were told.

All relaxed then, except the pilot.  Calling out to me that he had left a badly wounded man in the the plane he tried to get back to it.  Covering him with my empty rifle, I ordered him back.  I would have no tricks with the plane and we would lift out his mate, if there was one.

About a dozen workmen then came running down the hill brandishing spades and picks which they dropped when they saw that two Germans were hurt and did their best to make them comfortable.

Handing the rifle to Mrs Janku I got two of the workmen to help lift out the rear gunner from the bottom of the plane where he had been thrown from his high seat on landing.  His thigh was torn up and the bone shattered by that last burst from the Spitfire.  After some agonising work we got him out and made him ready for the M.O. who with the ambulance were not long incoming.

The air force men who took over the plane now called out to us that there were live bombs on board.  This made us move our patient faster than otherwise would have been the case but he died half-an-hour later.

End of eyewitness account.

Two or three days after this incident my Grandparents were at their home in Parkstone between Poole and Bournemouth.  From where he was sitting Granddad could see the police arrive at their gate.  At the time he was making a pen and ink sketch, from memory, of the crashed Heinkel III.  With collective presence of mind Grandmother kept the police engaged in conversation at the front door to give Granddad a chance to cover up the sketch with a newspaper and put his drawing equipment away. According to family legend he was questioned for quite a while by the police about how he came to be able to speak German.  Eventually the police left leaving my grandparents in peace.

In March 1974 my mother received a letter from ‘Cliff Vincent’ which I have transcribed below.  His writing was not as clear as my Grandfather’s so readers will have to be forgiving if parts do not read as good English.

Dear Mrs Russell

I am writing to you as a result of seeing Mrs Marshallsea at Studland on Friday last.

(Note: Mrs Marshallsea was the lady who owned Westfields Farm between Studland and Corfe where the Heinkel III crash landed.)

I am in touch with (ex Hauptmann) Karl Kothke who was the observer and only officer in the rear of the German plane which came down at Westfields on 25.9.40 and was the man who your father, Theo Janku dealt with (mainly) on that day.  I am very sorry to hear that your father died – not so very long ago.

Is it possible that your father left any reference to the incident with his effects and possibly a painting he did of the crashed aircraft – Mrs Marshallsea remembered that he did one at the time?  Or did he ever tell you about the incident?

One last thing is it possible that you may have a photograph of your parents of that approximate time 1940 which I could borrow – I would try to get one taken off and send it to Karl Kothke.

I trust that you will not mind my writing to you in this way.  Perhaps I should tell you that my brother in law Ken Wakefield hopes to write a book about the German air offensive over the west ountry.  I am helping him with research and this is how I came to be in touch with Kothke and later Mrs Marshallsea.

In case you are able to help I enclose a stamped addressed envelope for your reply.

Yours sincerely

Cliff Vincent

Having found these documents I then checked for Ken Wakefield, the author, and in the lists of his books I could not find one directly related to the air war of the West Country.  There is one book Ken Wakefield has had published titled ‘Somewhere in The West Country’ but that is about the history of Bristol Airport for the period 1930 to 1957.

In My Own Opinion

I don’t know why my Grandmother was so far ahead of Granddad when the plane came down.  Perhaps she just happened to be that much closer by chance during a walk in the sunshine picking blackberries from a hedge.  Or, perhaps Granddad had gone back to the farm to find the Household Calvary rifle?

What was most revealing from the eyewitness account was that the workmen, as described by Granddad, were full of anger directed at the German airmen when they came into the farm brandishing their spades and forks.  Yet, the depths of humanity and all of its inherent decencies wiped that mood out once they realised the downed airman were injured, in a bad state of shock and compassion took over.  They were all equal; no longer enemies but fellow human beings swept up in events that they could not control.

I would like to think that when my Granddad was helping with the fatally injured airman that he was able to speak the final words he would hear in his own language.