Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

A good Second War ‘Escaper’s’ M.M. group of three awarded to Driver F. Simmonds, Royal Engineers, who was taken Prisoner of War near Dunkirk in 30 May 1940, and, on his third escape attempt, reached neutral Sweden on 2 January 1944

Military Medal, G.VI.R. (2069923 Dvr. F. Simmons. R.E.); 1939-45 Star; War Medal 1939-45, light pitting to War Medal, generally nearly extremely fine, the MM extremely fine (3) £1,400-£1,800

M.M. London Gazette 27 April 1944:
‘In recognition of gallant and distinguished services in the Field.’

The original Recommendation, dated 26 March 1944, states: ‘Sapper Simmons was captured near Dunkirk on 30 May 1940. He escaped with a companion from a work party at Bethune in March 1941 and was recaptured after five days on a goods train. He made a second attempt in May 1942 to escape from a work party at the paper factory at Krapitz, hiding in a wagon loaded with paper, but was recaptured at the first junction. He escaped from Arbeitskommando E117 at Oppeln on 20 December 1943, and went by train via Breslau and Berlin to Stettin where they spent several days in a boarding house. In Stettin they got in touch with Swedish sailors who took them on board their vessel, hiding them until their arrival in Swedish waters.’

Frederick Simmons, a native of Theale, Berkshire, was born on 9 December 1918 and enlisted in to the Territorial Army on 26 April 1939, his civilian trade being a lorry driver. He served during the Second World War with 226 Field Company, Royal Engineers, as part of 48th (South Midland) Division, with the British Expeditionary Force, and was captured and taken Prisoner of War midway between Cassel and Dunkirk on 30 May 1940.

The following account of Simmons’ first two unsuccessful attempted escapes is taken from his M.I.9 debriefing questionnaire:
‘I was captured on 30 May 1940 midway between Cassel and Dunkirk with a party consisting of an officer and nine other ranks who were trying to reach the coast.

I got away on 29 March 1941 from a working party at Bethune where I was working in the mines. I was accompanied by Sergeant W. Taylor, R.T.R. We hid in a wagon of coal and were taken to Dresden. The Germans started unloading the coal and knocked off before completing the job. We moved to another train which took us about 50km back the way we had come. We changed into another train and got as far as Weiden, south of Plauen, Saxony. In Weiden we were discovered in a box wagon by railway officials on 4 April 1941. We were sent back to Lamsdorf, where I received 14 days in the cells. My feet were frostbitten in this attempt.

On 30 May 1942 I escaped from a paper factory at Krappitz near Oppeln with Q.M.S. Wetton, Sherwood Foresters, and Corporal T. Walker, Dorset Regiment. We hid in a wagon loaded with a paper consignment to Graz, Austria, in the hope of being able to get to Yugoslavia. We had food, but no civilian clothes. We were caught at the junction at Krappitz near the factory. I got six days in the cells for this attempt.

Escape from Arbeitskommando E117 at Oppeln
On 20 December 193, Simmons, together with two New Zealanders, Corporal Phelan and Private Silverwood, both of the 4th and 6th Reserve Mechanical Transport Company, New Zealand Expeditionary Force, escaped from their billets at Arbeitskommando E117 at Oppeln. The History of the 4th and 6th Reserve Mechanical Transport Companies, by Jim Henderson, takes up the story:
‘Before leaving the Stalag they had all been individually in touch with the escape committee and had been supplied with an Ausweis and a permit to travel by Schnellzug. These were type-written documents. In the case of Corporal Phelan a photograph was attached to the Ausweis. A few days before Christmas, disguised as foreign workers, they escaped from the compound for prisoners stationed and working at the cement plant in Oppeln. They safely boarded a crowded train at the local station. At Breslau Simmonds, speaking fluent German, bought tickets for Berlin. Their papers were checked carefully by the station police and then stamped, saving further explanations along the line. On the way to Berlin the three women in their compartment started deploring the blitz on Berlin. One woman was particularly vehement. Her first boarding house somehow had been ruined in the First World War and now the R.A.F. had obliterated her second. “We sat tight and sweated it out,” said Silverwood.
The three had a good mental picture of Berlin, thanks to accounts from prisoners who had been at large, but they were not prepared for the enormous devastation, made even more confusing now that all street signs had been removed. They took the underground to another station and asked a minor official how to get to Stettin. He, very decently, bought the tickets for them. The Christmas spirit, and the Christmas crowds, were spreading.

“About halfway to Stettin,” Phelan recalls, “the railway guard came through inspecting everyone’s tickets and express travel warrants. He asked us why we were travelling, and we replied that we were on our way to an arms factory in Stettin: we'd been transferred from a similar factory in Oppeln. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘The Fatherland has need of all good workers now. I hope you find this work to your liking.’”

At Stettin they dodged the station barrier and went out by an unguarded back entrance for employees: no German, apparently, would consider using an unauthorised exit. They found Stettin's wharves fenced and closely guarded, made for a Belgian labour camp, were refused shelter and, tired and depressed, “walked the streets until we found a hotel sign and risked applying for a bed. The lady of the house said we could stay only one night, and collected our passports to enter full particulars in the house register. We agreed one night's rest was all we wanted: we had to report to the Arbeit Offizier (officer in charge of foreign workers) next morning. In the morning our papers were returned. The woman appeared more amiable, and remarked that since we were quiet lads we were welcome to stay a little longer if we wished.” The hotel served no food, the three had no food coupons for café meals, but managed with “wicked bowls of watery cabbage soup” distributed at a welfare centre. Without interference, they independently searched the waterfront for signs of a Swedish boat or Swedish sailors.

Phelan found a sailors’ brothel, confided to a Czech girl that he was an escaped prisoner of war, and convinced her when he identified the raucous ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’ (and the swing band) playing on her gramophone. A rendezvous was arranged with a Swedish sailor. That night, Christmas Eve, somebody knocked on the door of their hotel bedroom. As arranged, Simmonds opened the door while Phelan and Silverwood stood poised by the open window, ready for a sudden leap. The landlady entered with a tiny Christmas tree, three slices of Christmas cake, and three apples. She wished them a good Weihnachten (Merry Christmas). Leaving the hotel they found the Swede and went by tram to the waterfront, Silverwood still has the large black and white tram ticket. The Swede, knowing the ropes, got them past one remote and carelessly guarded entrance to the wharf. A long train was parked by the ship, SS Brage. Crawling from wagon to wagon, the three neared the gangway. The Swede coolly led the German soldier guarding the gangway off for a quick cup of coffee in the galley, and ‘we up that gangway very smartly indeed’. They raced into concealing shadows in the little deck at the stern of the boat. Here came a bad fright when someone kicked a piece of coal across the steel deck. Phelan and Simmonds destroyed their papers on the spot. The guard appeared out of the galley, probed around, muttered something about ‘bloody cats’, and disappeared.

They made for the boiler room and hid under the boilers, an almost unbearable spot. The friendly Swede appeared saying the rope locker aft would be more comfortable. On the way to the locker Phelan blundered into the captain’s cabin, saluted, and withdrew. The other two, following a little later, opened the wrong door and fell 14 feet into a coal bunker. Eventually they found their way to the rope locker. Phelan describes their cramped and bitterly cold refuge:
“It was a small cabin-like place partly filled with masses of ropes, netting, canvas and other odds and ends. This material we built into a wall across the entrance in such a way that a casual sailor looking in would see nothing but the normal jumbled contents of the locker. For five days we lived in this locker, suffering a good deal from the cold, and not daring to sleep at night for fear a snore would inform the German picquet, who paced up and down just above our heads. Our Swedish friend continued to look after us [bringing ham sandwiches and beer, and using his only English phrase: ‘Take it easy.’] and when the ship was due to sail we were provided with kerosene which was liberally sprinkled about. Our rope barrier was perfected and kerosened. These preparations proved most necessary, for the Germans searched the ships with Alsatian dogs before they sailed. We had an anxious moment as the guards and dogs looked into our locker, but they went away quite satisfied.”
Nearing Sweden, the stowaways were brought out, cleaned, spruced up and fed by the delighted sailors, who then suddenly realised that trouble might start if the three were not ‘properly discovered’. Accordingly, Silverwood, Phelan and Simmonds were hustled down to the coal-bunkers, where they smothered themselves in coaldust. Reappearing with a flourish, the sailors escorted the grimy trio to the English-speaking captain.
“How many more down there?”
“No more, sir.”
“Hell! I could have taken a battalion!”’

On 2 January the three escapees were landed at Oxelösund, where they were handed over to the Swedish authorities. They were sent to Stockholm on 4 January, and after a month in Sweden under British protection were flown to Scotland in early February. For their daring escape all three were awarded the Military Medal.