My grand-mother (who passed away last month) was the last surviving member of the network Comet, that tried to find, host and help British, and later American and Canadian, pilots out of occupied Europe into Spain. She had incredible stories about how to clothe the pilots: the vest, borrowed from that my then-slim great-uncle, with the button that popped in the Pyrenees, never to be found; hats and shoes were really hard; the cello box with a priceless cello in, shot by a patrol.
In one instance, it was really difficult because one of the pilots was so tall. The only way they could find something that barely fit was a cassock, the long black dress a priest would wear. (How my furiously anti-religious grand-mother, my Protestant grand-father and their best friend, the son of the Pastor from the Church of Sweden, found a Catholic cassock was never part of the story.) They did agree that he was too young, and had to be a seminarist -- therefore couldn’t celebrate sacraments, and had to stay quiet. Once again: they probably should have known the cassock had to be different than a priest’s. That was less a problem than the two inches missing at his ankles. Late growth spur was anyone’s guess.
The problem was: he had giant feet and no one could find shoes that fit, so he had to keep his Air Force issued shoes. They didn’t seem to look out of place, as the story goes: one day, to keep the cabin-feverish pilots busy while waiting for the green light from the coyotes, they all went to Montmartre. My grand-mother wanted to pretend they were friends visiting, and tried to take a photo of them on the steps. A German officer, willing to oblige, apparently suggested that my grand-mother stand with them while he took the photo. Thank God he never noticed the shoes: not sure my grand-mother would have found the inspiration to explain why the US Armed Forces was the appropriate source of footwear for freakishly tall seminarist.
My grand-mother only regret: that she didn’t dare ask the officer to stand with the “priest” and keep the photo for historians to admire the shoes.
--- Epilogue:
I later found a store selling replicas of WWII memorabilia and I checked to see what the shoes looked like (the German officer was a terrible photographer and had framed the photo below the stem, showing some leg but without the feet). I expected something very distinct, like ranger boots: check for yourself, US Air Force officers’s shoes would not look out of place on any civilian in 1940.
I read somewhere a while ago that pilot's boots were specifically designed so that they would look similar to civilian shoes for the exact reason that they'd be able to blend in better.
The RAF had escape pattern flying boots[0] from from mid-war. Looked like a normal shoe with sheepskin lined legging attached. You cut the top off with the included penknife to leave a normal looking shoe[1]. The leftover bits were designed to reassemble as a waistcoat if you needed to sleep rough.
Wouldn't be surprised if USAF had similar or maybe he was issued an RAF pair for having difficult feet. :)
Fabulous story and inspiring bravery. Comet was huge, by the end of the war they'd got thousands of airmen out. Needless to say the Germans were particularly unpleasant to any they found helping the escape networks.
The oddest part of all that: my grand-mother was far more concerned that, if they found her, they would check my grand-father’s ID and potentially the whole group of residents at the hospital.
My grand-father was born in Strasbourg in 1919, the capital of Alsace, one of the two disputed areas between France and Germany. He was born in what was then France, but would have been considered German by the Third Reich. With his medical training, he would most likely be sent to the Eastern front, or worst.
The residents would have been even worst: they had found a way to use hospital resources to host one of their resident friend away from German attention, a Polish jew named Minkowski. He later became a key figure in neonatalogy (and his son is a well-known orchestra conductor). Any time I hear about a baby being born early, I feel something odd.
The only person in the family suspected was my great-grand-mother. She spent some time being interrogated in Fresnes, the nearby jail, with the bulk of the network. She was told that her name was on a notebook; she knew that it was crossed out. She testified that “that man” did knock on her door, asking about her political affiliation and she asked him to leave a widow alone; and that she remembered seeing him striking her name. Truth was: she knew very well this was the whole cell. Her name was stroke out because she did agree to host pilots, but the list was for food (which was rationed) and she said that she didn’t need extra.
Based on my grand-mother’s cooking skill, I think those pilots probably went quite hungry, but dodged a bullet.
All her stories have those incredible near-miss and I learnt a lot about OpSec from her.
That's awesome. My grandfather was a US pilot whose plane went down over then-Yugoslavia and who was smuggled out of Europe, by your grandmother's network or one like it.
I remember seeing it, but a while ago. It's in my grand-mother's stuff and all that is going through notaries because of succession red tape, so not anytime soon. I know she ended up friending one pilot who came back years later, but not this one.
As I understand it, when the Germans occupied Paris, they saw it as a key prize and were keen to keep its culture alive, at least superficially. There was a fair amount of prestige in sending home something refined. Imagine--if the city lost its luster, the perfume and garments the soldiers sent home to their sweethearts wouldn't seem quite so special! The fashion industry continued to operate, with styles changing seasonally, another thing besides regional differences for the SOE to contend with. Only a spy would sport last month's hairstyle!
It also meant an opportunity for Section F members operating in France. At home in Britain, clothing was rationed, but as recounted in "Carve Her Name With Pride" (about Violette Szabo), "Out shopping by herself the next day, she went to Molyneux, the famous couturier in the Rue Royale, which, despite the German occupation, was still carrying on.... Here she bought, as her bill dated April 28th, 1944, shows, three dresses and one very attractive jersey. The bill, made out to Mademoiselle C. Leroy, states that one of the dresses was of black crêpe de chine--it was draped with a lace neckline and cost 8500 francs.... Another of the dresses is set down as 'en écossais': it was a red plaid dress. The third was of silk print. The jersey, described as a golf jersey, was yellow in colour. The total bill, with a purchase tax of 11 per cent, a municipal tax, and a 'Taxe au profit du secours national' of 5 per cent, came in all to over £200."
It's strange to think that between blowing up bridges (probably not literally in the case of spies in the city), the agents could go on a shopping spree in Paris's posher establishments.
Just walking down the street in London, it's usually possible to tell tourist from local by clothing. I doubt I could express it in detail but Northern europe has still fairly distinct tops that younjust don't see much.
i imagine in 1940s it would have been glaringly obvious.
You can tell where someone is from just by looking at them, facial proportions, bone structure, and thats before you even get into clothes which mimic social conformity aka dedicated followers of local fashion.
yes, but that does not mean they are a local (ie live here, shop for clothes here) or not.
But someone who dresses in Carrefour looks different to someone who dresses in Lidl, BIM or MARHNT (cannot find russian letters easily, but you get the idea)
The book Between Silk and Cyanide had a good bit about clothing including one-time-pads written on silk and stitched into the lining of clothing, and buttons that could do double duty for different disguises (like one side British, one side German). Probably my favorite book so far about WWII and codebreaking (though the Colditz book is a great read too).
What a coincidence, I'm currently reading a book called "Piercing the Reich" [0] about the OSS's missions into Germany itself during WWII. It has a really interesting and detailed description of the process by which clothing was collected from refugees coming into New York, as mentioned in this article.
The OSS officers collecting Old World clothing gave refugees new clothes in exchange and did a full debrief about what had been going on in that person's hometown. They also used the opportunity to screen for potential OSS agents. One very interesting aspect of this was that they were especially keen to find trade unionists / socialists, because this was the most logistically organized anti-Nazi faction under the Reich, and the OSS wanted to send people who had access to and credibility within a broad underground network.
The account of the perfection of forgery techniques in this book is also worth a read. Highly recommended.
In one instance, it was really difficult because one of the pilots was so tall. The only way they could find something that barely fit was a cassock, the long black dress a priest would wear. (How my furiously anti-religious grand-mother, my Protestant grand-father and their best friend, the son of the Pastor from the Church of Sweden, found a Catholic cassock was never part of the story.) They did agree that he was too young, and had to be a seminarist -- therefore couldn’t celebrate sacraments, and had to stay quiet. Once again: they probably should have known the cassock had to be different than a priest’s. That was less a problem than the two inches missing at his ankles. Late growth spur was anyone’s guess.
The problem was: he had giant feet and no one could find shoes that fit, so he had to keep his Air Force issued shoes. They didn’t seem to look out of place, as the story goes: one day, to keep the cabin-feverish pilots busy while waiting for the green light from the coyotes, they all went to Montmartre. My grand-mother wanted to pretend they were friends visiting, and tried to take a photo of them on the steps. A German officer, willing to oblige, apparently suggested that my grand-mother stand with them while he took the photo. Thank God he never noticed the shoes: not sure my grand-mother would have found the inspiration to explain why the US Armed Forces was the appropriate source of footwear for freakishly tall seminarist.
My grand-mother only regret: that she didn’t dare ask the officer to stand with the “priest” and keep the photo for historians to admire the shoes.
--- Epilogue:
I later found a store selling replicas of WWII memorabilia and I checked to see what the shoes looked like (the German officer was a terrible photographer and had framed the photo below the stem, showing some leg but without the feet). I expected something very distinct, like ranger boots: check for yourself, US Air Force officers’s shoes would not look out of place on any civilian in 1940.