They had kept the enemy busy on the east whilst we were moving up. It was like the meeting of many friends who had come through adversity together.
I can only picture one simile. I remember a story of two miners imprisoned in a mine. They were cut off from all help and separated, but began digging to meet one another. After many hours they cut through the wall of clay that stood between them. Their hand-grip must have been as ours was on that wonderful day in August.
It would take three days for all troops to detrain, so I sought the earliest opportunity of finding Miss Goche. Nap came with me. The only clue I had was that she had been removed to a concentration camp at Berlin. I found that camp. A military officer who could speak English saluted as we approached and informed us that all foreign military prisoners had been transferred to Belgium and given their liberty.
"Was a Miss Goche among them?" I anxiously asked.
"I cannot say," he replied.
My heart sank. I felt that it was a difficult task for a stranger unacquainted with German and a former enemy to attempt to trace the information.
Nap tapped me on the shoulder, and in order to cheer me said: "You've got a friend here, come and look him up."
There would be little difficulty in finding Wilbrid, he was now a public character. So we took a car for the Humanist headquarters and there we found him seated at a large desk in his shirt sleeves. On either side of him were two dictaphones, and into the cylinders he was alternatively dictating his correspondence. As one cylinder would fill it would automatically ring, and he would turn to the other, an assistant removing the filled cylinder.
We stood behind him at the end of the room afraid to interrupt, but he turned and, seeing me, rose and came with outstretched hand.
"My brother Jefson," he said. "I know your first desire. You have been to the concentration camp. I found your friend there. When I returned to Cologne I found she had been arrested for assisting your escape. I traced her to the camp, gave her your letter and saw much of her for your sake. But she has gone—to Belgium. She was high-spirited. I talked much to her of the Humanist creed, but she would have none of it: so on her release she left for Belgium and she joined the woman called the Belgian "Joan of Arc."