Arnhem

In any fighting retreat, there has to be a rearguard, who risk being overrun or left behind. In the evacuation from Oosterbeek, that precarious role fell to the Polish Brigade, who had crossed over from the south bank two nights earlier and taken up defensive positions at the bottom end of the perimeter. Lieutenant Albert Smaczny was ordered by a retreating British officer, a major, to stay in place with his company of twenty men – all that was left of the thirty-six he had had when he arrived – until 12.30 a.m. at the earliest. He was to withdraw only on specific orders from the major, brought to him by a runner. Smaczny sensibly asked if one of his own men could go ahead with the major now, just to make sure that the message to withdraw got back to him and he and his men would not be left stranded. His request was refused. Not necessary, the major told him as he departed. He would come back for them himself if need be. As he watched the Englishmen slip away into the darkness, Smaczny was not happy that this was going to turn out well. He kept from his men his fear that what they had just been given was ‘a virtual sentence of extermination’.¹

As the hours rolled by and no messenger came, he worried. It was past midnight, and they’d seen the last of the British soldiers pass them en route to the evacuation beach some time ago. But he stuck to his orders, despite knowing that every minute he waited was precious time lost. Eventually, with the first vague hint of light in the sky, he sent out a scout to check on what was happening. The man came on a British command post, deserted except for some wounded and their orderlies, who were staying behind. The rest had left more than two hours ago, he was told. Discovering that, for whatever reason, he and his company had indeed been left in the lurch, Smaczny led them off to the river.²

As they neared the polder, they heard rifle fire and terrible screaming. Reaching the beach, they were in time to see the last boats leaving. There was now only one way over the water, and the lieutenant told those who felt up to it to swim. He opted to stay with the non-swimmers and those who could not face the dangerous waters. In the early morning light, one of his men saw what happened to bobbing heads out there, caught by the current or by bullets, and decided: ‘I would rather die with a gun in my hand than drown.’ With decisions made and the last of the swimmers either over on the other side or lost, a stillness settled over this reach of the Lower Rhine. The men now marooned on the wrong side, British and Polish alike, settled down where they were, concealed as best they could be on the flat and soggy meadowland. What would happen now? There was firing coming from the woods and from behind the dykes on either side, but the Germans made no attempt to advance or attack. An hour went by. No one moved. Then one British soldier rose to his feet and hung a white rag at the end of his rifle – until a furious sergeant crawled over and ordered him to put it down, ‘or I’ll shoot you’. The sergeant’s action was a defiant gesture, pure Red Devil, but only delayed the inevitable. There was an exchange of fire. More casualties. Not long after, the senior British officer among them accepted that their position was hopeless and ordered the white flag to be raised again. German soldiers stepped from their defensive positions and came forward to disarm and take charge of their prisoners. Smaczny saw a chance of escape and edged his men away and back towards the woods. Two tanks emerged to stand in their way. At bayonet point, the remnants of the Oosterbeek redoubt were marched away, back into the smoking ruins of Oosterbeek and captivity.

Poles and British stuck together, despite German attempts to isolate the Poles, some of whom they had already taken away and shot. Now an SS officer stopped the column of prisoners and demanded that the Poles step forward. Not a soul moved. The tense silence was broken by a British officer, who called out: ‘Don’t do it. We fought together and we’ll go to prison camp together.’ Another took off his red beret and put it on Smaczny’s head before telling the fuming German officer, ‘There are no Poles here.’