CHAPTER V

GUNFIRE was heard during the night. There was nothing unusual in that. We often heard gunfire. Almost every day a few salvos of a mortar or field gun were to be heard in the distance. Sometimes a few bursts of machine-gun fire or odd rifle shots. Little or no notice was taken of such things. But last night it was the long, persistent ringing of the telephone that startled us. The familiar voice of the operator was soon heard, and a moment later he was hurrying to the Commandant's room. As if he had been lying awake, fully expecting the call, he came instantly to the telephone, announced himself and listened. In his characteristically sharp manner he uttered one or two words, hung up the receiver, gave an instruction to the orderly and returned to his room. Commandant Rukavana was a man of few words, but quick and decisive in action. Within a few minutes we heard two horses cantering away from the door of our hut.

It was not until the following day that we heard the enemy had launched an attack to the north of us. They had pushed forward across country a few kilometers, until they encountered strong Partisan resistance. They continued pressing all that day and the following night, but made little progress. The Partisans countered with an attack a few kilometres away against a section of a certain railway line. With this the enemy called off the attack and withdrew to his former position. Two railway bridges and two embankments were wrecked with explosives by the Partisans, who also destroyed a train with two locomotives, thirty-two wagons, including two armoured units, and killed all personnel: seven Italian officers, Chetniks and Domobranci — over two hundred in all. Before the enemy withdrew he had suffered heavy casualties in killed and wounded, and in his retreat left behind quantities of arms and ammunition. These facts are all on record. Commandant Rukavana returned to his Headquarters a few days later and reported the situation fully restored and completely under control. It was just another failure of the enemy in his effort to remove a constant and worrying menace to the few railways that were still possible for him to use.

But the record of the People's Liberation Army was a running account of such incidents. Operations, both large and small, ambushes, raids and full-size attacks were organised and maintained wherever the enemy was to be found throughout the country.

<>The quality of that army was reflected in these innumerable wide-spread operations. Its spirit and determination, fired by conviction and unity of purpose, its excellent leadership, bold and fearless, the high moral quality of the men, their eagerness, their thorough knowledge of the country, their confidence, made this army the invincible force that it was and the potential factor that would defeat the enemy in the Balkans.

The situation was fully appreciated by us. That great force of fighting men and women must be Supplied with arms, clothing and equipment in large quantities before its potential strength could be brought to register fully against the enemy. Everything it possessed had been gained in battle at a great cost in life. There were thousands still in need of arms, uniforms and clothing, and this, with the need for heavy weapons and aircraft, offered a problem of first magnitude.

In the course of duty it became necessary for us to spend a week or so in an area many kilometres away from headquarters. Several villages were in that area, and our visit brought us into touch with many people — peasants, tradesmen and a few professional men whose homes were quite near.

We arrived by truck at one of the villages, and at once set out for the home of the president of the local committee. Within a very few minutes we were all comfortably settled in various farmhouses. Our party consisted of two of our British Mission, a Commander and six or seven Partisans.

We explained to the president what it was that we had come to his village to do, and received his assurance that everything possible would be done to assist us. We at once organised a local party of eight or ten people, with a team of horses, and gave them instructions to report to us daily at the same hour.

As had always been our experience, wherever we went, so it was when we visited the several villages round about — we found many English-speaking peasants living there. Our interest was even more aroused when we learned that there were one or two gentlemen living in that area who had spent several years in Toronto, Canada.

We had not been in Croatia very long before, as a result of moving about and meeting people, we discovered to our pleasant surprise that very many of them could speak English fluently. Thousands of citizens of that country and from all parts of Jugoslavia had lived for as long as twenty-five and thirty years in the United States and Canada. They left home when they were quite young, often leaving their wives and families behind them. They worked, usually in the mines, factories, in the woods, then returned to their homeland, hopeful of living comfortably for the rest of their lives on their small farms, aided by their hard-earned savings. We were frequently told by the peasants that, were it not for the liberal remittances of those loyal sons who had ventured abroad, the standard of living at home would, indeed, have been very low.

It was inspiring beyond all words to visit the houses in that neighbourhood, and to see the way everybody was working. From early dawn until late at night the herds of sheep and cows — there were many in that area which was quite safe from enemy molestations — were seen on the hillside, being watched by the children. Women and girls were busy washing and mending, tilling the soil, cutting wood, knitting and tending the children. The men were out with their horses and oxen, working in the fields or drawing lumber, hay and material of mixed variety along the roads.

In the evening, just at dusk, as the herds were on their way to the barns, we saw a large group of women, about seventy-five in number, gathered together by the roadside. They were all carrying home-knitted packs on their backs. These packs, with their variegated brilliant colours and adorned with horizontal rows of coloured tassels, were filled to the top with food, clothing and the weekly laundry, which these women were about to carry to their menfolk, several kilometres away on the wooded hills. It was an impressive sight to behold these women stream away in a long file and to hear the distant fading of their song. If not intercepted and delayed by the enemy they would return at daybreak — otherwise they would remain concealed until the following night.

Bands of women such as this were very often seen by us on their way over hills and through woods. The women were truly the Army Service Corps of the Partisans. Once or twice a week they made their way to the woods to feed the men who were protecting them.

We hope it will not be disclosing anything to the enemy if we say we were anticipating the arrival of an aeroplane or two from the Royal Air Force with general stores and two, or three extra men to assist us in our work. These men and stores were to be dropped by parachute to the spot which we would indicate by bonfires.

It was hopeless, of course, to keep such a secret from the villagers who lived around about, and knowing them as well as we did, we failed to see any good reason why we should not take them into our confidence. We made a family compact with them, and never once had occasion to question their good faith. They themselves decided what precautions should be taken to guard our secret, and they put them into effect. For instance, they decided that nobody living outside their own neighbourhood should be told of what was going on; that sentries should be placed about the area by night; that nobody should visit the drop area until after dark; that no rumours should be passed (the latter, we found, was everywhere observed, unless, perhaps, the one exception — "The English are here").

Quite late each evening at the first glow of the bonfires we would see dark forms approaching across the fields from all directions, in ones, twos and small groups. Quietly they came, suppressing all excitement, though fairly bursting with it. Among them were the many English-speaking men, who naturally became the idols of eager groups of listeners. They would ply their questions to us, and then hold forth in long harangue, the listeners never tiring. Other bonfires were lit, and each fire would soon have a dense circle about it of laughing, talking, singing folk. Groups among them sang in chorus, with all parts beautifully blended and balanced. These groups, we noticed, had various combinations of singers, which changed from night to night.

We learned later that each village had its different groups of singers, and that friendly competitive singing was a general practice throughout Jugoslavia.

Those nights were unpleasantly cool, and at different hours during our vigil each night heavy ground fog would come and go, which would normally have made our task quite disagreeable. But sitting there in the open meadow about our bonfires in the presence of such friendly company all thought of personal discomfort was dispelled.

The magnificent songs, with their endless verses, the recitations, merrymaking and laughter, the bright, hopeful faces, the instant hush and breathless listening when someone would announce the sound of an imagined 'plane, the expectation in the minds of all that Allied relief was now surely coming, filled every moment of those chill hours with delightful entertainment.

And then, as the dead line approached, the time after which we knew no 'plane would arrive that night, the waning hope, buoyed by an understanding and patient trust expressed in someone's remark:

"The weather must have been bad over the Adriatic; they will likely come to-morrow night...." and unfailing expressions of gratitude, as: "... We hope nothing has happened to the pilots ..." would cause the fires to dwindle and suggest the warmth of home. After a bright, cheery "Laku noc" the crowd would disperse.

From three to four hundred peasants would assemble, night after night, women, older men, girls and young children; the hope of an aeroplane arriving, their only contact with the outside world. The evidence of hardship, the horrible, bloody existence of the past two years, with its never-to-be-forgotten memories of torture, mutilation and butchery at the hands of merciless, barbarous foes — Italians, Germans, <>and their bands of wicked gangsters, the Ustachi and Chetniks, was all to be found there in those people. The mutilated children, the tales of mothers who had to abandon their children (not being able to withstand the child's last stare of piteous appeal for that which she could not give), when the Italian chased them from their homes in midwinter, through deep snow, into the woods, with nothing but their children hanging to them and the scant clothing they wore.

How they were kept for long cold days and nights in the woods, not even daring to light a fire lest the evil pursuer butcher them, as he did their old folk who could not run and any who were caught before they could escape. The memory of their menfolk being enticed to the local church by appeals for labour from Italian officials, and there locked in, petrol poured in through the windows and the church set on fire, with machine-guns surrounding the pyre that none might escape.

We have talked to two of those unfortunate men and a young boy. The three of them managed to escape. They bear the imprint of flames, and the boy a bullet wound in his leg, which will ever testify to the fate of their comrades. One mother, with tears and sobs, explained how desperate she was, "insane," as she said, "when she flung a dead child from her arms into the snow." These incidents took place before the men in that area had resolved to fight the occupier.

Those folk who watched with us showed the strain of such an existence. Ill clad, many with nothing but a single garment — and it mended and patched beyond all recognition. Bootless and definitely under-nourished. Only a few who had weakened under it all were willing to recall it to mind.

<>Those people had now risen in the strength of a new life. They had already tasted freedom. They were organised and united. They had learned the secret of achievement and success. Their faith was fundamental and was inspiring them on from day to day.

In our long daily walks we made a practice of seeing all we could of the country. Between our nightly watches on the drop area we often journeyed over the hills or to neighbouring towns and villages. Whether it was among the beautiful wooded hills or the settled cleared areas, we never failed to see evidence of the unity and effort the people of that country were making for freedom. Carts, drawn by horses or oxen, laden with lumber, food, leather, machinery of various kinds, logs on the way to a saw-mill, crates of goods being taken to a hide-out, rifles and ammunition destined to fighting units, the teamsters and any who might be accompanying them armed with rifles and a few rounds of ammunition, indicated united purpose and readiness to defend.

We visited saw-mills, tanneries — where we saw quantities of hides in the process of being tanned into leather, to supply the boot factories concealed in other areas, and textile factories, where dozens of girls were working at their rows of sewing machines, piecing together the queer shapes of cloth that would one day become the pride of a worthy Partisan.

On another day, much farther away than usual, we climbed a high peak. There, with the aid of binoculars, we could see the area beyond for several miles. A certain village, or perhaps a small town, not more than two or three miles away, held our attention. We watched with great interest the movements of what appeared to be a battalion of German infantry. They were moving about the fields and along the road in Company units. Then they came together, milled about in close formation and dispersed to the houses. We learned that the Germains maintained a garrison in that town of two or three thousand troops. At any rate, they appeared to be quite content to remain there, and little interested in what was going on on our side of the hill. Very likely the Partisans' Brigade, whose headquarters we were quite near, discouraged any attempt of the Hun to penetrate into the hills.

At one of the villages, as we were passing, we observed more people than usual working about the barn of a farm, a hundred yards or so from the main road. Our curiosity led us into the midst of many men and several girls busily engaged in cleaning, washing and cutting up the quarters and entrails of a pig.

It was the day for killing the next week's supply of meat. Two butchers did the actual killing and cutting. This was the ninth pig they had killed that day, besides killing three or four sheep. Those animals had been selected by the local committee as the next to be killed, and help was organised to perform the task. Every part and particle of meat was being carefully prepared for eating. Not a scrap was wasted. Some other village in that area would do the same thing the following week.

The fifth night of waiting and watching by our bonfires was rewarded by the arrival of two aeroplanes. Like magic a dead silence interrupted the song, chattering and laughter of the people, until they could believe their own ears. It was, at this time, without a doubt, the long-expected sound of an aeroplane. One great burst of joy went up from that crowd, fully five hundred voices. Bonfires were made to burn brightly and eyes scanned the cloudless sky. On came the winking 'plane. The people, having been cautioned beforehand, moved off to a point of safety near the road.

The three new arrivals were all Jugoslavs. One Montenegrian and two Croats. The people were delighted. One of them had found relatives among those joyful peasants. The other two shared the same warm welcome. All three of them had been away from their homeland for many years. We shall leave it to the imagination of the reader to fill in all details. They were carried body-high off the field.

By daybreak all stores, which had been dropped with the men, had been salvaged from the field and were being carried by a truck to the depot. We returned to our billets for a few hours' sleep.

All village houses in Croatia were very much the same. Some, perhaps, were cleaner than others. Our billet was no exception. A one-storey building of heavy wooden beams, lath and plaster. The long thatched roof afforded a loft in the peak over the front part of the house, accessible by ladder from the kitchen.

The kitchen, as wide as the house, and half as long, possessed the only door to the outside, had a rough-trodden dirt floor and open space to the rafters of the roof. One-quarter of the floor was covered with brick, on which an open fire burned. The smoke drifted to the roof, through which it escaped. A bench, piled high with iron pots and pans, a spit, and chain from the roof to hold the pots over the fire, a few pails and tubs conveniently near the door, ears of yellow corn hanging from the rafters, and a tub of drinking water comprised the equipment of the kitchen.

The front half of the house was divided equally into two rooms, which were entered from the kitchen. They had two windows each and a floor of wide oak boards. Each room had a plain wooden bedstead, a small beech table, two or three chairs, and occasionally a chest of drawers.

Not infrequently a picture of some American (Canada is still a part of America) city, industrial plant, or perhaps a calendar, not to mention its date, occupied a prominent place on the wall, the treasured gift of an absent loved one. In every house, without exception, pictures of Biblical characters, texts, in Catholic homes the Crucifix, occupied a corner of the living-room.

The living-room, one of the two front rooms, was also the bedroom for the parents of the family or the visitor. There in one corner always stood the characteristic Balkan pec.

The pec was a cement oven, upper half tiled, four or five feet tall, with a narrow form or bench fixed against it. Poles for drying wet clothing were suspended above it. The pec was stoked from the kitchen. This interesting object, so economical where wood cost little or nothing, used for baking, drying and heating, was ever the retreat of family and friends during the long winter evenings. Some would perch upon it, where many a romance began, so we were told, others sat back-up against it — father, mother, grown-ups and children — often as many as nine and ten would manage to squeeze about it — and there remain for hours in a dimly lighted room until bed-time. The pec had attained such a prominent place in the life of Jugoslavia it had become a veritable institution. Its congenial effect, however detrimental to health, was seen in the unity and affection of the people.

By the kind insistence of the parents of the house where we were billeted, we occupied the living-room, while they slept on loose straw in the loft above. They fed us, sharing what simple, meagre, but no less delicious, food they had. This was usually a mixture of cabbage and potato, boiled together in a liberal supply of water, flavoured with a few scraps or the bone of a smoked ham, and served in a large common wooden dish, placed in the centre of the table. All sat about the table with a spoon or fork and partook of the contents of that hospitable dish. Individual plates or dishes were luxuries in the homes of the villagers. A piece of dry corn bread completed the meal.

A few hens busily pecking about the hard floor of our room awakened us late in the morning. We had slept soundly, following the arrival of the 'planes the night before. Cautious of step, we dressed while shooing our feathered friends from the house, and appeared in the farmyard. There we found the villagers dressed in their Sunday best. It was a warm, sunny day.

Men in characteristic jacket and skull caps of black facing, bright red top and black main hanging behind, women in clean apron and coloured kerchief about their head, were sitting on fence or log, or were standing about in pleasant conversation. Most of them had attended service that morning at the ruins of the old church.

All members of our party were now up and about, doing their best to appease the curiosity of the people. Quietly the president of the local commitee suggested that we enter one of the homes. There, to our complete surprise, we found a long table with large wooden dishes of mutton which had been roasted on spit, chunks of newly-baked corn bread and litres of wine. The people of that village, on behalf of the other villages in the area, had prepared that food in their several homes and arranged the spread as an added touch of hospitality and appreciation. <>It required nothing but well greased fingers and mouths to recompense their efforts. The Partisans of our purty were as grateful as we were.

Cigarettes and beer were seldom used by the civilians. They denied themselves these things for the sake of the troops. The bulk of the output of cigarettes of the factory in Croatia, like the bottled beer produced at a brewery a few miles away, was given to the Partisans. The production of these articles was in no sense equal to the demand. Comforting as they were to the Partisans, they were never regarded as essential to the war efiort. Tobacco came from Hercegovina, or was captured from the Italians. Wine and rakja (the equivalent of brandy) were products of the home in any grape-producing area of the country. They were generally available to both civilians and army.

In free areas commerce was, of course, practically dried up altogether. There was just little or nothing to sell. It was a case of making what there was available go round so that all would share alike and nobody should starve. In a few of the larger towns, and in areas within the proximity of enemy held country, currency had value. Lira, kuna and dinar would purchase articles which could be obtained from occupied areas. This was a sort of black market, but one not altogether to be discouraged because it obtained goods from enemy sources. It was encouraged where profiteering was not the motive. Elsewhere money was of little or no use.

Bread, which was the chief item of diet of all people in free areas, was made from corn, wheat and maize. These were produced along with potatoes, cabbage and onions as the main crops of the country. Grist mills operated along the many streams and milled the flour for local use. Practically every house baked its own bread, and central bakeries supplied the army. Yeast, or the lack of it, was a grave problem in all free areas throughout Jugoslavia. The only leven available was a portion of the old batter, which was always retained to mix with the new.

Fruits — strawberries, cherries, apples, plums and grapes — in season were plentiful in some free areas. Though sugar was seldom avail-able (except when captured from the enemy), jam was manufactured in limited quantities for the army. Honey, which was used for sweetening, was plentiful in season.

The food situation was ever subject to sudden and unexpected disturbances by enemy action. His raiding of crops and animals from time to time, on a large scale, would cause real hardship in local areas. Distribution overland was frequently most difficult and sometimes quite impossible. The dread season always was during the summer months before the new crops came along.

The army, very often reduced to two meals per day, was on the whole very well fed in these areas. That this was so was due to the self-denial of the civilians, who were not always so well fed. Such items as salt and sugar were extremely scarce, and in certain areas just not available. Though the conditions of health, not taking rheumatism into account, were extremely good where all circumstances were considered, the accumulating effect of a prolonged unbalanced diet, with many essentials missing altogether, no doubt had a long-range effect of undermining health and lowering vitality. This was most apparent among the civilian population.

Troops passed through our village by day and night. They rode on lorries, horseback, wagons, and frequently marched. Once in a while they would halt and billet for a day. Whenever they did this they cooked the food they brought at their own central fireplace. The troops would parade for their meals, as they do in most armies. If the village committee had food to spare, the command of the unit passing through would replenish his stocks before moving on, giving the committee in exchange a credit note, money or national bonds, according to whatever previous arrangement had been made between the committee and the Quartermaster Branch of the army.

It was our duty to keep in constant touch with Headquarters. This we did by either walking to the nearest telephone, which was eight kilometres away, or all the way — twenty kilometres — whenever our presence was required there.

Motor vehicles were never used, except for duty of top priority. Petrol was meted out very carefully, as it could only be obtained from enemy sources. Traffic routes were organised where movement of stores and troops would justify them, and vehicles made regular trips. Horses were ever in demand for reconnaissance and operational duties. We usually walked as a matter of choice. We could see so much more of the country, and invariably came into contact with many people.

On one of our walks to Headquarters we passed through quite a large town, important as a road junction and command centre. In the basement of a large building we noticed, peering through the iron rods of the low windows, many human faces.

When we called on the Commissar of that Command, whose office was upstairs in the same building, he informed us that the men whom we had seen in the basement were prisoners recently captured in battle and brought in for questioning.

<>We were allowed to see and question them, which we did with the aid of our own interpreter. There were sixteen prisoners in all: seven Italians, three Ustashi, four Chetniks and two Domobranci. They told us that they had all been fighting together under Italian officers in defence of a section of railway which the Partisans had recently attacked. The Italians were in full uniform, the Ustashi, Chetniks and Domobranci in part uniform, some with tunic, others only puttees or a pair of Italian pants; their old civilian clothes completed their attire. All were without headdress when we saw them. The Ustashi and Domobranci claimed Pavelic as their leader, and the Chetniks declared themselves to be followers of Draca Mihailovic. All except two Ustashi appeared to be of a mild nature, and seemed to be quite relieved that they were captured. Two Ustashi were definitely of a surly disposition and resented being retained.

It was the practice of Partisans to question all prisoners, and any who were found to have bad records and guilty of atrocity were immediately shot. Other prisoners were kept under observation for a short period, were well treated, and after a good strong talking to once or twice, were relieved of their uniforms and sent home in their underwear. A few from time to time would remain and serve with the Partisans. We know several men who had once been fighting the Partisans, and who later were fighting with them, among them a few Italians and the odd German. It was impracticable for the Partisans to retain large numbers of prisoners for any length of time. We always thought their treatment of prisoners to be very fair, and in many cases most generous, especially when considered in the light of their own experience and treatment. Two of the sixteen prisoners we learned were shot. The others were given their freedom.

As a general rule, all stores brought in by the R.A.F. were automatically handed over to the Partisans. Because of the scarcity of most things and the worthy effort being made to share things fairly, we refrained from indulging in any privilege whatever. All members of our Mission were quite unanimous in this respect and scorned privilege of any kind. What was available to the Partisans was good enough for them. All surplus personal clothing was given in to the central store. It was impossible to carry surplus kit in any case. On the other hand, whatever we required in the way of clothing — boot repairs, food, laundry, bedding and the many amenities necessary to keep body and soul together — were generously supplied by the Partisan Quartermaster. We lived no better than the Partisans themselves.

We found ourselves to be in a bit of a quandary once. We wished to express our gratitude to the people of the village, who had been so very kind to us. We gave our hostess a silk parachute to divide among her neighbours. She thanked us, and was obviously delighted. But the next day she explained to us that her neighbours felt it would not be fair for their village to benefit in any way just because it happened to be near the drop area, and that perhaps we had better give the parachute to the army or to some other village. It was not until we had obtained the assurance of the quartermaster that they should have it that they finally accepted it. When we later visited that area we observed several little tots in motly green dresses.