| Family and Childhood
In 1915 Erling’s father Jacob, obtained
a coveted spot as a traffic trainee with the Norwegian National
Railway (NSB). He was an apt pupil and in 1917 he started
his railway career that took him and his family to many
locations, and many interesting challenges, up and down
the valley. In those days railway personnel were often the
only public servants in the community. Their varied tasks
brought them in contact with most of the local inhabitants
and Erling’s father became a popular figure. In 1935,
after stints at several railway stations, he was promoted
to Lillehammer; first as dispatcher, later as freight manager
and finally as deputy station manager. It was in this capacity
that, in 1942-44, he was able to register, and send to London,
lists of German field post offices– information that
was of invaluable assistance to the Allies.
The move to Lillehammer was an important
step for twelve year old Erling. At his new school he met
boys who would become friends for life – in some cases
life cut short by war. He joined the boy scouts where he
formed friendships and learned practical things, both of
which proved helpful later. Home life for Erling and his
sister Inger was happy and secure. Their father was a respected
figure in the community and his mother spent much time visiting
patients at the nearby hospital that served the medical
needs of the entire valley. Erling calls her “the
hospital angel and many of these patients, who had been
neighbours in earlier years, found a warm welcome at the
new Storrusten home after they left hospital.
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His mother also kept
“open house for the children and their friends.
Later, during the war, she supported them in their
in their ideological and moral opposition to German
occupation. Erling writes: “She was, without
a doubt, one of the Fatherland’s unsung heroes
in those critical times.”
Erling helped his father at the railway
station: carrying mail bags, packages of newspapers,
and small goods parcels. The conductors called him
“Junior station master” and it seemed
certain that his future career would be with NSB.
A career in a three lettered transport company it
turned out to be – but on wings rather than
rails, and SAS rather than NSB. |
Lillehammer Station
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In high-school it seemed natural for
Erling to join a Christian youth group – the only organised
activity in the school at that time. He remembers it as an
inspiring period, somewhat at odds with the conservative leadership
in Oslo but: “…my goodness we had great debates
on philosophy, science, politics and attitudes.”
It was while he was at high school that he first met
Aase-Berit, who became his wife in 1950. He used to
watch the two year younger student as she walked by
his house on the way to school – wearing a red
bonnet – a sign of opposition to the German occupation.
Then it was just a question of “happening to meet
her at the next corner and walking to school with her.”
Remembering the good times at home in Lillehammer with
his friends, the friends of his sister, and his always
supportive parents, Erling sums up: “All in all
we thoroughly enjoyed our life at home and had a good
upbringing.” |
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Erling’s
home |
Invasion
The good times ended abruptly one April
day in 1940. Erling writes: “On the evening of April
8th, a hand-written notice reporting that a fleet of German
ships had steamed through Danish waters, appeared outside
the offices of the local newspaper. Shortly afterwards came
the news that a German troopship, “Rio de Janeiro
had been sunk outside Lillesand, and that some of the rescued
had claimed that they were “…on their way to
Bergen.” Erling remembers clearly that he and his
friends agreed: “…the Germans will be here tomorrow.”
In Erling’s opinion the Norwegian
High Command knew nothing and did nothing until early hours
of April 9th. Thirty years later the two officers who exchanged
duties at 4 pm on the 8th told him that they did so without
having received reports of any special incidents. “Hitler’s
attack was a perfect example of well-planned surprise and
unbelievable good luck”, is his summing up.
After listening to the radio next morning
Erling woke his parents with the news of the German invasion.
His father realised that the railway would be an important
element in the new situation and left for the station. His
mother took things calmly and got the children off to school
as usual. But they found that school was closed for the
day. The older students were put to work preparing shelters
by protecting the basement windows with piles of firewood.
School didn’t open again that spring and grades for
the final exam of Erling’s graduating class were based
the results of previous tests. This arrangement had been
planned by the Education Department earlier in the year
– a department: “…much better prepared
for war than Halvdan Koht’s ‘farsighted’
Foreign Department and Commanding General Laake who, on
the morning of April 9, had to leave his command in order
to go home for his uniform.” (sic!) On the other hand,
he writes: “We should be thankful for the few clear
heads that morning: C.J.Hambro, Colonel Eriksen, and Capt.
Welding Olsen in his light craft ‘Pol III’ patrolling
the outer Oslofjord.”1
Storrusten apologises for his crass personal
characterizations but does not rule out further outbursts
because; “I become so furious both with Hitler and
Koht that reasoned writing is impossible (…) April
9th 1940 is the bitterest day in my life.”
The next day Erling’s scout troop
was ordered to gather at the railway station in the afternoon
to meet the arrival of the train from Oslo. By now they
knew that the Germans had taken Kristiansand, Egersund,
Stavanger, Bergen, Trondheim, and Narvik. They were unsure
about Oslo. While they waited for the train, a heavy truck,
loaded with an impressive anti-aircraft cannon, pulled up
in front of the station. An old friend from high school,
now in uniform, sat astride the weapon and waved to his
friends. “This was my only encouraging experience
on that black day.” is Erling’s comment. When
the train arrived from Oslo it was practically empty and
the chief of police told the boys they could go home. Before
the day ended they heard about what Erling called: “The
most grotesque example of treason, namely Quisling’s
impassioned appeal to all troops and seamen to desist from
all resistance to the Germans.
What they didn’t know was that Parliament
and Government had already reached Hamar and were sitting
in a joint emergency session in the cinema there. The continuation
of that story is told elsewhere in this web-site but Erling
writes of his experience exactly 50 years later, in 1990,
at a large meeting organized by the local college to celebrate
the historic event in the same cinema:
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“I was invited
to speak at the meeting and I criticised the publication
of a book, based on German sources and biased in favour
of Germany. I presented a list I had compiled of German
violence and ‘murder’ during their advance
up Gudbrandsdalen – actions that were in breach
of the Geneva Convention. Afterwards, after all these
years, I enjoyed meeting an XU colleague from Hamar.
Less enjoyable was coming face to face with a well-organised
group of old Nazis who used their freedom to try to
prove that they were not traitors because Norway, in
reality, hadn’t been at war with Germany: The
King, the Crown Prince and Government had fled to England,
the Elverum Mandate was illegal , and Norway had made
peace with Germany when she surrendered on June 10.2
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Elverum Mandate |
In the days immediately after April 9th
the atmosphere was tense, not only in Lillehammer, but throughout
Norway. Rumours were rife, mostly because of the uncertainty
surrounding the events in Oslo, the fate of the King and
Government and, especially, the question of whether the
Allies would come to Norway’s aid.
The order to evacuate women and children
from the towns came on April 12 and Erling’s father
had his hands full at the railway station. Under ever increasing
low-flying reconnaissance flights from German aircraft,
Erling’s mother took the two children to relatives
in peaceful Tretten, a small town north of Lillehammer.
The German hunt for King and Government had, however, intensified;
Elverum and Nybergsund had been destroyed by bombs but the
prey escaped again and the chase continued ever northwards.
Erling remembers seeing the Minister of Defence in the street
– Tretten was now in the danger zone. Erling’s
mother thought it would be safer to stay with relatives
who lived in Fåvang, so they moved again – much
against Erling’s wishes. He would rather have stayed
with the Red Cross group at Tretten. He writes: “However,
as a sixteen year old, I was tied to mother’s apron
strings.”
In the next part of his manuscript, Storrussten
tells of his experiences in Fåvang as he watched ebb
and flow of battle until the main action moved away and
everyday life resumed. After a short stay helping his aunt
and uncle on their farm he returned to Lillehammar in time
to see the Germans marching victoriously through the streets
singing “Now we’re on our way to England.
School started again in August and, although
the Germans had requisitioned many school buildings, and
sent many teachers as forced labourers to Kirkenes, the
quality of the teaching didn’t suffer and Erling writes:
“Time and again, throughout my life I have thanked
my lucky stars for the theoretical groundwork we got at
school - in History, Geography, Literature, English, German,
and a smattering of French. This allowed me to absorb and
understand the world in which I have lived and worked. And
I have enjoyed being able to talk and connect with interesting
people all over the world. The fellowship between the students
in our class was excellent, there were no Nazis…and
the bond between teacher and student was strengthened by
their opposition to a common enemy.”
In spite of a positive scholastic record
Erling had to forgo a university education. The costs were
too high for the family and anyhow, the practical challenges
of a new growth industry – Air Transport – called.
The foundation of the Resistance Movement
The story continues in Erling’s own
words:
There is no doubt in my mind that when the
history of the occupation is written, the ideological foundation
will emerge to have been its most distinctive feature. It
is the civil, and not the military resistance that has truly
influenced Norwegian history. The contribution of our merchant
seamen was important from a world-wide perspective. Milorg
was important as a force against the Germans but also because
it gave Ola Nordmann the chance to obtain military training
to help drive out the enemy.
The MILITARY victory was won for us by the Soviet Union,
the USA, and Great Britain.
The CIVIL, IDEOLOGICAL victory, however, was ours alone.
I understood the importance of this when
the Supreme Court resigned in 1940. But what concerned us
more was the Nazification of the population that Hitler
had ordered Terboven to implement.
We were a true, Aryan, Germanic race and would be the showplace
in a Jewish-free, greater Germanic Europe under Hitler’s
leadership. If the generals had been allowed to run the
occupation without political interference, collisions between
the civil population and the occupying powers would not
have been so frequent. Hitler’s wild idea of turning
us into passive, Germanic, elite with Nazi ideology was
the true focal point of our resistance. In this confrontation
hundreds of thousands, more or less, were active. Without
this confrontation I’m afraid there would have been
many more Nazis in Norway.
Athletics was the arena of our first fight
against Nazification. The Nazi authorities demanded that
Arne Saatvedt, (Later to become a leading member of the
Gestapo and after the war, sentenced to death.) should be
appointed chairman of the football club “Fremad, After
the war I read the correspondence in the possession of my
good friend Steinar Aasen, who was chairman at the time.
The result was a resounding rejection of the Nazi demands.
Similar unsuccessful attempts were made against other athletic
clubs and organizations. Finally the Nazis dissolved the
old organizations and formed new ones. In response, the
‘old’ organizations arranged well-attended ‘illegal’
sports competitions. The ludicrous Nazi directive of ‘forced
participation’ in football matches and other sports
competitions strengthened resistance and made us all laugh
– something we sorely needed to balance the bad news
from the battle fronts at that time.
The attempt to force all teachers into a
Nazi ‘Teachers Union’ had more serious consequences.
The stakes were higher too: The Nazis demanded that their
ideology be an integral part of all teaching. They backed
this up with threats of loss of salary and pensions, and
the actual deportation of hundreds of teachers to forced
labour in Kirkenes. But the answer was a unanimous ‘NO’
from teachers, students, and parents alike. After the war,
the teachers’ leader, Kåre Norum, told me how
he had organized his members by summoning one representative
from each school to meet him separately in Oslo. As they
walked the streets together, he brainwashed them with the
‘free’ Union’s viewpoints and arguments
so that they could return to their schools well-prepared,
but without any compromising documents. Finally the unbelievable
happened: At a mass meeting in Oslo, the Nazi’s teachers’
leader, Orvar Sæther, abandoned the whole project
with the words: ‘You have ruined everything for us.’
This was a great victory – and proof that resistance
paid off. Without any intervention from the military, Terbovens
power had been reduced.
The clergy were next in the line of fire.
Quisling’s Interior Minister began to interfere in
church affairs by forcing a change in the liturgy that included
a prayer for ‘King and Family’ and ‘Sons
of Israel’. At first the Church appeared to comply
but soon made an about-face. The Church Elders wrote a ‘Pastoral
Epistle’ which was to be sent to every congregation.
Distribution was a problem because the letter had to remain
a secret until it was read simultaneously from the pulpits
of all churches at High Mass. Sturresten remembers his part
in the distribution and the aftermath:
“I had the honour of taking the train, (illegally,
without a travel permit,) to Otta. At Øyer, Ringebu,
Harpefoss, and Otta stations I gave the letters to railway
employees whom I could trust and they delivered them to
the local pastor. I took the bus to Follebu and continued
on skiis to the church at Gausdal. All went well. Aase-Berit
and her parents were in Gausdal for their Easter holiday
and they were in the church when the letter was read.
Today it is almost impossible for people
to grasp the importance of what happened next: In spite
of the economic consequences, the entire clergy resigned.
Churches were closed, Bishop Berggrav was confined to a
cabin in Asker, and many pastors were sent to Lillehammer
to live with private families where they received money
and food collected in their respective congregations. The
clergy became an active army of ‘jøssinger’3
, spreading anti-nazi propaganda among the population. Later
they were sent to Helgøya where they were easier
to control.
Terboven’s planned to put Bishop Berggrav
on trial and have him condemned to death. This plan was
thwarted when the influential Graf Moltke came to Oslo to
meet and talk with his old friend Falkenhorst, (Military
Commander in Norway) and Lt. Col. Steltzer, who was, unbeknownst
to the Germans, in contact with resistance leaders. The
German need to avoid disturbances was the deciding factor.
I emphasize this case to illustrate the moral power evidenced
by the clergy’s attitude to the German nazification
efforts.
One of the few pastors who fell in line
with the Germans was appointed to Lillehammer. The poor
fellow preached to practically empty pews. The ‘illegal’
pastor, however, gave his well-formulated theological and
political sermons to packed houses in the large assembly
hall of the local bank.
Again, the examples of athletes, teachers,
and pastors show that moral courage is more than a match
for military might.
The Illegal Press
The story of the illegal press is a chapter
on its own in the history of civil resistance. The regular
newspapers and news-bureaus were thoroughly censored, radios
forbidden and the cinemas showed only pure propaganda for
‘the new era’. Where could one find ‘free
speech? The answer: in the free, illegal press. Many, many
men and women were arrested in its cause. Punishments were
hard, death often followed. But the price was worth it.
Editing, printing (often with evil-smelling chemicals and
poor quality machines), packing, and distributing were all
important links and all were vulnerable to German control.
It is hardly surprising that things went wrong now and then.
At home, the highlight of the week was when a man arrived
with a package full of ‘newspapers’. The package
was given to me to distribute as I liked and I must have
been smart enough to pass them on, preferable via several
channels.
My last contact with the illegal press was
the evening I escaped to Sweden. I was to spend the first
night in the cabin where the author Hans Heiberg edited
the local illegal newspaper. As he was busily digging his
typewriter from the snow he gave me his ‘Sweetheart’
(a British mini-radio) and asked me to listen for any last
minute news that should be included in the latest edition.
The newspapers of course, contained much propaganda, but,
with information folk could trust, poems, and satirical,
anti-nazi jokes, they were an important support for the
population for more than 4 years. I calculate that in Lillehammar
and Gudbrandsdalen alone there were a couple of hundred
active distributors. In addition there were those of us
who had illegal radios. We passed on news to those we could
trust and they passed it on again. I bless every one of
the thousands of creased, often soiled new, and not so new,
illegal newspapers that circulated before being burnt under
close security to ensure that no trace remained.
The Compulsory Labour Service
Another subversive aspect of the ‘new
order’, the Compulsory Labour Service (CLS), was especially
important for me personally. We knew from ’moles’
in the Nazi administration that those drafted into the service
could, in time, be used for more important military purposes
than merely digging ditches. I had no intention of joining
such a group, putting on a green uniform and possibly being
forced into war service for the enemy but it was not easy
to convince others of the danger. Many thought that the
dangers connected with NOT complying, of being ‘on
the run’, were just as great. Due to my position in
XU 4 it
was arranged that I should get a medical certificate to
exempt me from the CLS and when the order came to boycott
the CLS I began to recruit my trusted friends into the official
Norwegian military resistance movement (Milorg). Some accepted
immediately but others wanted to know who the leader was
in Lillhammar. To this I replied that they knew him but
that I couldn’t tell them his name.
Several of the new recruits did a good job
in Milorg but they were raw and lacked experience. One of
them broke-down under interrogation and mentioned my name,
something he aught not to have done (!) Another was shot
when, under torture, had disclosed the location of a hiding
place where a German had been killed. Under similar circumstances,
the name of a Milorg leader was uncovered and he was later
‘murdered’ at home. Some of those who survived
the imprisonment and torture suffered for the rest of their
lives from physical and mental problems.
In 1990 I took part in an official meeting
and during a break, almost by accident, I met a man who
had been a ‘general’ in CLS. I said that it
was interesting to meet a man who had been such a bitter
opponent during the occupation. He thought that I must have
been dumb to believe that the leaders of CLS, who were all
‘good’ Norwegians, would have transferred us
to German military service. I asked him who he thought had
most power: The German ‘Wehrmacht’ or the insignificant
officers in the CLS? I also told him about the document
from the Nazi department that outlined the possible changes
in the labour services. I asked him to understand that it
was impossible for us to believe that he could have guaranteed
that we would avoid military service for the Germans. This
seemed to give him food for thought and that strengthened
my convictions that we had been right to boycott the CLS.
But this is highly hypothetical – the actions of the
Hird and the police, both civil and military, against their
defenceless countrymen are real proof that we were right.
Resistance
Much of my work for Milorg was as a courier
for the head of district 23 (D23) which covered the entire
Gudbrandsdalen. The district was divided into sections:
231 for Lillehammer, Fåberg, Gausdal, and Øyer,
and 232 from Tretten to Ringebu. The section leader in 232
bred foxes on a farm high up in the mountains. I can’t
count the number of times I cycled up there with mail and
smaller pieces of equipment. On the way north I peddled
as if the devil himself chased me. I did have an alibi for
my frequent trips because an aunt and uncle lived in Tretten.
However, the material I carried was extremely compromising
and would have been impossible to explain away. Luckily,
I was never stopped. The 30 kilometer northbound trip took
only 75 minutes but southbound, I could take it a little
easier because there was less risk involved. Late one evening,
cycling southbound, I sensed something in front of me. I
slowed down and in the light of my bike-lamp I saw four
Capercaille: a male and three females, in the middle of
the road, pecking at the gravel to help their digestion
– a special, peaceful experience in the midst of strife
and terror.
In section 232 I restricted my contacts
strictly to the section head, the stationmaster, and a woman
who was the last link in the escape route from Tretten,
via Østerdalen to Sweden. The staff of D 23 in Lillehammer
was larger and my contacts here were the heads of communications,
engineering, health services, and supplies.
“Section 231 was divided into groups
and each group comprised several teams. As courier, I shuttled
back and forth with materials to all these and thus was
known to more contacts than strict rules of security required.
This was unfortunate, especially for me, but what were the
alternatives? On my many expeditions again, I was lucky
and avoided any kind of control. I continued my impassioned
discussions against the Compulsory Labour Service with my
friends and others – especially among workers on the
railway. This, too, put me at risk but there were no negative
consequences.
Being a courier was only one aspect of my
work for Milorg and here are two special episodes that I
remember well.
In the large, uninhabited woods north of
Lillehammar we had built a solid weapon depot with log walls
and a floor covered with heather. The cabin was built over
a natural depression in the ground. The final touch was
a small fir tree with a good clump of earth that we planted
on top – the perfect cover. Apart from weapons, this
was the home of ‘Snekkeren – our expert radio
operator. He was from the UK and maintained regular radio
contact with London. I had been sent up to “Snekkeren
with a message and while we sat there the radio broke down.
We decided that I should take the faulty part down to the
radio workshop in Lillehammar so I set off over the marshy
woodlands. ‘Snekkeren’ had fixed times for his
transmissions. The Germans knew these times and they tried,
unsuccessfully, to zero in on the transmitter. Just when
a transmission should have been in progress I found myself
in wide opening in the woods. Suddenly a Storck aircraft,
(a German reconnaissance plane) droned above. I stopped,
almost froze, but then waved frantically with both arms.
The two men in the cockpit waved back and I thanked my lucky
stars that they were not sitting in a helicopter. The damaged
part was replaced, I took it back, and ‘Snekkeren’
continued his transmissions, from diverse locations, for
many months. He was a good chap.
Our hideout soon became full of equipment
dropped by British aircraft Later the hideout was discovered
by the Germans from information extracted during the torture
of one of our men.
The next episode was
more dramatic:
Two of ‘my’ CLS men were apprehended
by group from the Gestapo on a country road shortly after
an air-drop. One of them was the infamous Arne Saatvedt,
who knew the men from their schooldays. Immediately Saatvedt
began to beat and torture the men most violently. One of
them managed to tolerate the torture – and suffered
from it for the rest of his life. The other, finally, broke
down and whispered some apparently innocent, but in reality
fateful, information. The Germans drove straight down to
Otta and to the home of the Milorg section head. He had
just received a visit from one of our railway contacts who
had delivered a large ‘post package. ’Saatvedt
shot the Milorg man to death through the door but the ‘postman’
jumped out of the window, ran away alongside the river,
and into hiding. The Germans went through the package in
which there were a couple of intelligence letters from me
to my contacts. But the letters contained no identifiable
sender or recipient – only our ‘aliases’,
or organization names. What they did find was a luggage
ticket for a dispatch from Lillehammer to Otta. There was
no name on this either but by presenting the ticket at the
railway station they received a bicycle and this they could
trace back to Helleberg’s sports shop in Lillehammer.
They raced to Helleberg’s. ‘Who had bought the
bicycle?’ An employee who was a Milorg man heard the
question and immediately disappeared into the men’s
room, out of the window, and over the street to Odd in the
radio shop. Odd dropped everything and ran down to the Clothing
Factory where his brother, Torleif, section head of 231,
worked. They saw the Germans drive into the factory yard.
While Odd walked calmly out of a side door, Torleif grabbed
his revolver and sped up to the loft where he hid in an
air ventilator. Shortly afterwards a German came into the
loft with a watchman as hostage. ‘Was ist das?’
he asked. ‘Das ist varmluft’ answered the watchman.
The German slammed down the hatch in front of Torleif’s
startled eyes. Torleif knew the watchmen and their routines
so he waited until the midnight change before banging on
the door and being released by a nervous and agitated night
watchman
The brothers had agreed that they should
meet at their cabin outside the town. In the meantime I
was innocently on my way to Torleif’s home with the
‘post’. I leaned my bike against the steps and
climbed up to the door to ring the bell. Just then the daughter
in the neighbouring house opened her door and hissed: ‘It’s
full of Gestapo in there.’ Back to my bike and as
I pushed it through the gate, and was about to mount, a
Gestapo car screeched to a halt, two men jumped out and
ran towards me, pistols drawn. I thought I was done for
but they raced right past me, up the stairs and into the
house. I must admit that I was shaking like a leaf as I,
as calmly as possible, cycled slowly, yes slowly, up the
street before hurtling full speed down the main road.
I went to my father who was at the railway
station, told him that something was wrong, and that I would
probably have to ‘disappear.’ He than said something
that burned deep into my soul and made me realize the depth
and importance, of family love: “If I should be taken
as a hostage for you, the worst thing you could do to me
would be to come out of hiding to get me free.’ He
was, I didn’t, and he suffered terribly.
Then I was told to meet Torleif and Odd
at their cabin. Torleif gave me a letter for his mother
and the task of telling Peder at the factory to remove,
piecemeal, all the secret documents he knew about. Peder
was a leading member of the Inner Mission and father to
several children. In the course of three days, in his briefcase
between his thermos and sandwiches, he delivered everything
to me. He greeted me by saying: ‘If Torleif gets caught
he would be shot immediately.’ He wasn’t far
from the truth.
The next task was to get someone to take
over Section 231. I asked one chap I knew, an adult, experienced
man, but almost tearfully he said that he simply didn’t
have the nerves and that, anyhow, he was to be married shortly.
The offer then went to the area head in Nordre Ål
who took the job but who shortly afterwards had to flee
to Sweden with the Gestapo on his heels.
One night I guided our head of supplies,
Tønnesen, over ice-crusted snow in majestic moonlight
to the farm where Torleif and Odd were hiding. The next
time we met was in the Hotel Omnia, Stockholm.
XU- The Secret Intelligence Organization.
One day early in 1944 Eivind Esp, Inspector
of Schools and leader of ‘Sivorg’5
wished to speak to me. He knew us all from our time at senior
high school. He told me that it had been decided to release
me from my position in Milorg and transfer me to Military
Intelligence. The leader for Lillehammer and Gudbrandsdalen
was reduced by illness and needed a young, fearless assistant.
The leader’s organizational name was Dale-Gudbrand.
He was a prominent athlete and a well-known vocalist. Most
important of all: he was employed in the council Building
Engineers office where he had access to all maps and the
opportunity to reproduce them.
I had to learn all about codes, coding and
decoding – using Hitler’s masterpiece, ‘Mein
Kampf’ – and other equipment, including secret
(invisible) ink and a typewriter. Most important of all
was a list of the agents, both in town and in the valley,
with their aliases and passwords. I had to dig a hole in
the garden lawn, bury a box containing all this equipment
and replace the turf. The box must never fall into the hands
of the enemy.
My first mission was in connection with
rail transport. Two trackmen, on separate shifts, reported
the number of trains, the number of soldiers, artillery,
tanks, etc. that passed through Lillehammer. Nobody knew
that Dale-Gudbrand also received information about the German
field post numbers from my father. This was routine but
one day one of the trackmen telephoned, saying that he wanted
to speak to me – urgently.
In the station a heavily guarded train stood
at the northbound platform. I bought a ticket to Tretten
(within the 30 kilometer limit), and walked along the platform
after asking in a loud voice where the passenger carriage
was. A Nazi guard followed me towards the front of the train
but I was able to study the tarpaulin-covered flatbeds.
Afterwards the trackman and I agreed that the objects on
the train must have been one-man submarines, probably intended
for use against the Murmansk convoys. He reported his findings
in the routine way but later, behind a closed door he was
interviewed by a technical expert. The sketch that accompanied
the reports was graphic enough. The torpedoes never arrived
at their destination.
I visited Dale-Gudbrand one day in 1944
and found that he had had a stroke and was in hospital.
The doctor-in-charge had arranged for a private room and
on my first visit D-G told me to advise one of his colleagues.
This unmarried man, also a prominent athlete, was deeply
involved in our activities and was reckoned to be Dale-Gudbrand’s
successor. When I told him what had happened, and that he
was to take over, he said that he didn’t have the
courage to take the job. He resigned on the spot and gave
me all his equipment. Dale-Gudbrand, sick as he was, almost
jumped out of bed in anger when I told him the news. ‘Now
you have to take over’ he shouted. I told him that
this would be difficult because I had been drafted into
the Labour Service and without a doctor’s certificate
to exempt me I would have to go under ground rather than
work for the enemy. ‘I will fix that’ said the
doctor who stood nearby. He sent me to a TB specialist where
I was transformed to a coughing, barking, weakling who looked
as though he had seen his last days – totally unfit
for Labour Service.
 |
Now the tide
was turning against the Germans. After their defeat
in Finland they retreated into Norway. Gen. Rendulic
(known as the ‘fire-starter’ because of
the scorched-earth policy decreed by Hitler) was appointed
C in C Norway. He moved his entire headquarters to Lillehammer
Tourist Hotel and its surrounding forests.
Our mission was to gather information and sketches –
something one didn’t learn at school. How could
I, newly graduated from senior high school, pry military
information from the world’s most professional
military power since Napoleon? |
Lillehammer Tourist
Hotel (old photo) |
|
The answer was what I later called ‘The
Gudbrandsdal Method’ – in other words, the simplest
way. My greatest fear was that if I should be caught I would
break under torture and inform on my colleagues. Furthermore,
if I were caught, too many members of the resistance movement
would feel insecure and afraid of being unmasked. Thus I
had to find a way to operate that would arouse no suspicion
of my being in collaboration with others.
Apart from the hotel building and some requisitioned
houses, the new German headquarters had to be built from
scratch by slave-labour POWs. The prisoners were constantly
hungry. In the evenings they carved or fashioned small articles
from the trees and materials they found on the ground. At
home we had a small potato patch in the garden. Mother cooked
some potatoes, which I put a brown bag and went to find
an unguarded opening through the woods into the camp. Once
inside, I wandered around, coughing and spluttering, a crumpled
brown bag under my arm and a blank, idiotic expression on
my face. The German guards scarcely noticed the obviously
half-mad youngster who was trying to exchange his potatoes
for the small articles the prisoners had made. But all the
time I was observing the lay-out of the huts, the bunkers,
the bomb-proof command post, and the defences – trying
to fix them into my memory. I even managed to stumble up
to the officers’ houses and read the names of the
occupants on the doors. Of course I couldn’t speak
German!
After each tour I wove my way haphazardly
through the woods again and, making sure I wasn’t
followed, entered the main Post Office in the town square.
Upstairs was the Building Engineers’ office where
experts positioned my observations on their detailed maps.
 |
I and my guardian angel,
continued thus for several days. The resulting map showed
every single building in the area, the pipeline down
to the electricity generator, and of course, all the
military installations. We sent the map via our ‘post’
route to the XU office in Stockholm where, months later,
I was highly praised and paid double daily allowance
as a ‘thank you.’ Reportedly the map was
sent to London with a copy to the Swedish Army Staff.
After the war a copy turned up in the effects of the
XU Leader but it had been so heavily micro-filmed that
most of the details had disappeared. I am almost ashamed
of the reduced map that appears in’Norges Krig’.
I remember the original as being much more impressive.
|
The Bank building
that housed the Post Office |
Dale-Gudbrand had been released from hospital
and was at home but in poor shape. One day I came to visit
him and found him dead. Our first task was to inform all
our contacts and advise them that the new Dale-Gudbrand
would take over where the old one left off – with
the same address and password. Our man in Dombas was afraid
of reprisals. Dombas was a German garrison town so reports
from there were important to us. The reports continued to
come.
One day a message arrived: “The bear
is coming. This was code telling us that an important person
from London or Stockholm was on the way. I didn’t
know that the person in question was known in the neighbourhood
and arranged to meet him at the bridge in Søndre
Ål, He was to stay in the ‘safe house’
of a neighbour who was absent.
’The
Bear’ turned out to be a man that the whole
family knew from Lillehammer. He was accompanied by
a radio operator. Because he was so well known in
the district we had to find him a new safe house.
The XU staff in Stockholm decided that the perfect
replacement for me in Lillehammer would be the son
of the owner of the Tourist Hotel. This decision was
both smart and timely because things were getting
too hot for me.
So hot, in fact, that I dare not sleep
at home. Aase-Berit’s parents let me sleep on
a sofa in the living room. It had an escape route
down to the basement. They thought I was hiding to
avoid the ‘Labour Service’ and didn’t
know about my resistance activities. Fortunately the
Gestapo didn’t know about my friendship with
Aase-Berit either.
|
|
Erling Storrusten
in front of his boyhood home.
If the narrow window at the on the right side of the
door
was open, he was not to enter. |
One evening my sister Inger and I were
on our way home from a party. I had intended to pick up
a radio and the organization’s cash box at home but
I didn’t want to wake up Mother – she was worried
enough. I said ‘good night’ to Inger, strolled
to my hideaway and slept innocently while a drama unfolded
at home.
Earlier that evening a young Norwegian had
come to our house and asked for me. He used an alias of
one of our men in Milorg. Mother said that she didn’t
know where I was but that I might be home later that evening.
A couple of hours later the same boy returned, this time
with his hands in the air and Gestapo soldiers pointing
machine guns at his back. My parents were pushed into chairs
in the dining room and left with the ‘prisoner’
while the Germans ransacked the house.
The ‘prisoner’ said that if
only he knew where Erling was he could, perhaps, warn him.
Father saw through this play-acting and gave a sign to mother
who remained silent. When Inger came home one of the Germans
knocked her down and threatened her with strangling. But
she absolutely denied that she had any idea where I had
gone after she parted from me. One of the Gestapo men (previously
a YMCA member from Hamar who had been in to scout camp with
me), forced her up to my room at gun point where he found
my radio and a small roll of kr50 bills. Then he went through
a photograph album of mine and ordered Inger to point out
my girl-friend. Fortunately, Aase-Brit’s photo hadn’t
found its way into my album yet so this trail was cold.
Other photos led them to friends of mine but none of them
could give the Gestapo any information. The Gestapo waited
all night hoping, in vain, that I would come home.
In the meantime Kiri, who lived in the next
house, came home with her boyfriend. Before going in, they
went alongside the house to take down some washing. In our
house, mother, with the Germens standing threateningly over
her, realized that someone was outside so she started coughing
violently. Outside, Kiri listened and heard Inger’s
voice: ‘I don’t know, I don’t know’.
Kiri guessed what had happened. She knew my hideout and
was afraid Inger would reveal it under the violent treatment
she was getting.
Shortly afterward Aase-Berit’s mother
woke me and said that somebody had rung the doorbell. I
rushed down to the basement but quickly came up again when
it turned out that the caller was Kiri’s boyfriend.
Kiri was with him and they told us what had happened. I
flung on my clothes over my pyjamas, my rucksack was ready
packed, but I had only a pair of thin street shoes to wear.
My walking boots were at home.
Escape
With Kiri and friend well in front, to give
me a chance to split if any patrols came along, we walked
through the dark streets. We headed for a path through the
woods but before Kari and friend left me we burned the compromising
documents that I had received that day from Dombås.
Then I set off alone towards Sollia where my good friend
and compatriot the area leader for Sør Ål lived.
I had to take off my shoes because of the deep snow. At
Sollia, the house stood alone where the road ended and all
was quiet. A light shone from the window and I was afraid
the Gestapo had already arrived. After a while I sneaked
up to the window and saw that the room was empty –
they had simply forgotten to draw the blind. To avoid waking
the family I spent the night in my sleeping bag close to
the barn and an escape route into the deep woods. Next morning
Anna was surprised when she came out to feed the animals
and found that she had a visitor.
Aase-Berit and Milorg friend Steinar arrived
next morning with my walking boots and a report on the situation.
Father had been arrested but otherwise it seemed as though
the search for me was an isolated episode resulting from
the arrest of the two Labour Service boys. After a couple
of meetings we agreed that, because of my courier activities,
I had become too great a risk to remain in the district.
All my official equipment was handed over to my successor.
Then, in the moonlight outside the house, it was time to
say farewell to Aase-Berit. I admired her for her inner-peace,
her judgement, and her willingness to continue as ‘girl
friend’ for a Milorg member away and on duty. We knew
that we might never meet again but we chose to be optimistic
and to be happy that the war was obviously coming to a close.
Norway needed girls like this! And I needed a girl like
this too!
Skiing conditions were good. I was in fairly
good condition but since I mostly had to travel at night
I slept little – and ate less. The guides
6 were unbelievably selfless and they took great
risks. The routine was to give the first guide an envelope
containing kr.50 for each leg of the journey. The envelope
I handed over contained kr.350.
My route:
From Lillehammer to Mesnalia (Spent the
night at Heibergs cabin, described earlier) - Sjusjøen-
Birkebeiner trail to Skramstadsetra.
The guide here later told King Olav that he had been given
orders to shoot me rather than let me be captured alive
– this provoked a headline in the newspaper Dagbladet
in April 1995.
 |
At Skramstadsetra the new guide advised
that the route was blocked at Ossjøen where two
men had been shot. He gave me his Border Permit with
a photo that wasn’t so unlike me and made me learn
by heart the names and birthdates of his wife, children,
parents and grandparents. German patrols often asked
such questions and if there was a discrepancy in your
answers you could end up in an interrogation room.
A nervous driver took me on the next leg of my journey
to Stai. The car had a gas generator on the back but
this was camouflage – it had a petrol engine.
He assured me that he had checked and confirmed that
the Germans were not patrolling the neighbourhood that
night. |
“Erling,
I would have shot you!” |
|
At Koppang a light shone through the window
of the Gestapo office where one of my ex-schoolmates worked.
The road alongside Mistra had not been cleared so the going
was heavy, then down Elvdalen, through Engerneset, and into
the forests framing the border. As we approached Pelle Anderrson’s
cabin on the Swedish side, my guide lost his way in the
dense fog. But, like all good boy scouts, I had a compass
in my rucksack, we found the right track, and when we parted
the guide was a compass richer for future trips.
Pelle Anderson lived the simple life on his modest mountain
farm but he was warm-hearted and generous to his Norwegian
friends. Bad weather forced the guide and me to sleep on
the floor in front of the fire while Pelle and his wife,
Grandfather, several children, and three dogs shared the
few remaining square feet of the inner room of the cramped
living quarters
Next day Pelle led me eastwards to the road
between Særna and Gørdalen. I left my skis
with Pelle and began walking, in my white camouflage overall,
along the snow-decked road. Before long a military patrol
appeared: ‘Halt, where do you come from?’ From
Norway I replied. ‘From Norway – without skis?’
was the sceptical response. I showed them my student identity
card: ‘Oh yes, student – we’ll write saboteur
in our report.’ Thus I became Norwegian refugee number
53000 (or thereabouts), to be registered in Sweden.
Sweden
Gørdal Customs post was a friendly
place but the atmosphere had been much more reserved earlier
in the war. After being thoroughly searched I was given
some food and a sofa in the office to sleep on. The bad
weather continued so the trip to Særna was postponed
until next day.
The magistrate at Særna wanted to
know why I had come to Sweden and I replied that it was
because I was wanted by the Gestapo in Norway. ‘But
why’ he asked and I replied that it was because I
listened to London on my radio and relayed the news to my
neighbours. With this in my report I was to be sent by train
next day to the central refugee reception at Vingåker,
Kjesæter. But first, behind bars, arrested! Still,
it was a better alternative to the Gestapo prison Trararo
in Lillehammer. How strange, to be free, and yet happy to
be in prison, to have food and to be able to sleep.
The refugee senter at Kjesæter was
crowded. Columns of refugees from Finnmark came marching
in to be welcomed by family and friends. Everybody was waiting
for something: interrogation by Swedish or Norwegian representatives,
clothes, travel orders, or documentation. I got special
treatment: a visa to Stockholm and the address of the XU
office in Jongfrugatan. I was told to hurry. In Stockholm,
XU feared for the Lillehammer organization because I had
reported some arrests a couple of weeks earlier. I calmed
them: These arrests were of Milorg members, XU was intact
– and it remained so until the end of the war. Then
praise for our map and information about its distribution
which is described earlier. I worked in the office for a
while but was not happy. There was too much talk of money
and houses. After the active life in Lillehammer, Stockholm
was too static for me.
I lived in the small Hotel Omnia in Kungsgatan
together with my old Milorg friends Odd and Torleif and
several other refugees. Behind locked doors we worked on
our weapons and studied my map in preparation for the time
we could return to Lillehammer.
We often had dinner at Berns Restaurant in the evenings
– what a difference from the Germanic ‘paradise’
in Norway. But I couldn’t wait to get away from the
XU office. One day I discovered that London had seconded
some men to jobs in the Air Force. This was for me and I
made the necessary applications. In what seemed like no
time at all I was sitting in a civil BOAC Lockheed Loadstar
bound for Scotland. After about an hour the plane made a
turn and an hour later we landed – back at Bromma
airport. A Norwegian secret service man had reported that
a German fighter had taken off from the airport at Gardermoen
because a German spy in the tower at Bromma had radioed
our departure and destination. Full speed into the world
of spies!
Next day we tried again. I knew none of my fellow passengers
except for a Milorg man from Lillehammer and the LO Leader,
Konrad Nordal. The windows were blacked out and we were
given strict instructions not to show any light. However,
I couldn’t resist taking a peep and below, bathed
in moon-light, I got a farewell glimpse of Norway. For the
remainder of the trip I slept. I awoke to the blinking of
runway lights through the darkened windows – we were
over Leuchars airport north of Edinburgh.
Perhaps it will be difficult for my descendants
to understand the unreal feeling of sitting in a civilian
English aircraft, flying over our own country, with German
fighter planes chasing us. But now I was about to attain
the dream of thousands of Norwegian young people: to be
in England and perhaps join the fight against the Germans.
For me, this reality had come so quickly, and so unexpectedly,
that it was almost unbelievable.
England – Symbol of Freedom
The Scottish police apologised for having
to arrest us – since we came from enemy territory
– but consoled us by saying we were of the same race
with a similar language. One of them pointed to a house
and said that in Scots the word was ‘huus’,
church – ‘kirke’, etc. After a short interrogation
at the police station we boarded the famous ‘Flying
Scotsman’, our train to London. We felt strange sitting
in a guarded compartment with strict orders against outside
contact. We offered to give our seats to some ladies standing
in the corridor, but oh, no.
The next day we found ourselves in London
at a place called ’Patriotic School’ where we
were to go through a security control. Conditions were fairly
primitive, there was not much food, and we were surrounded
by barbed wire. Suspect Frenchmen had previously been interned
here but now it housed a hodge-podge of impatient young
Europeans waiting for security checks. I was surprised when
many of the Norwegians went through the process quickly
and were released – some to join the coastal artillery.
Their connection with Milorg or military intelligence had
been small and their identities had probably already been
checked by the police in Sweden. I was not among them.
For me, the stay here was an endurance test.
Interrogation
The first hurdle was my identity. The interrogators
said that they knew me but that they must be convinced that
I was not a double agent working for the Germans. They questioned
me exhaustively on my escape and on the organization. Where?
How? Who? When? I answered openly as far as security considerations
allowed but I used exclusively our official aliases. When
they demanded real names I refused for the simple reason
that it would be a breech of security to allow these names
to appear in a report. The men behind the names were still
active in enemy territory. And besides, how could the interrogators
be sure that there were no enemy spies in the camp? They
went so far as to threaten me with imprisonment until I
became more co-operative. To this I replied that I would
rather stay in prison for the remainder of the war than
put my colleagues in danger.
Parallel with these tough sessions on identities,
they asked about the military details of the German Headquarters
in Lillehammer, the German troops in Gudbrandsdalen and
details of rail transport up and down the valley.
At last they must have been convinced of
my trustworthiness and I was transferred to the Royal Norwegian
Air Force Headquarters in Kingston House, near Hyde Park,
in central London.
I got an apartment in Highgate and nobody
could possibly imagine my boundless exhilaration as I walked
through the streets – a free man in a free country.
London was the only capital that had withstood the German
onslaught of Europe – the single hope that victory
would come. I saw with my own eyes the price that London,
and Londoners, had paid in destruction and death. But even
the V1 and V2 rockets with their random terror couldn’t
break their spirits and now, with the capture of the rocket-launching
pads by the Allies, uncertainty and fear had disappeared.
People roamed the streets, the double-decker, red busses
roared by, and the extensive network of trains rumbled underground.
I saw, with great satisfaction, that everything we had heard
from the BBC on our illegal radios was true.
Each evening we heard the heavy drone of hundreds of bombers
as they flew eastwards. Next morning they returned, after
giving the enemy Germans a taste of his own medicine.
Kingston House
Kingston House was a large, attractive
office block. How encouraging it was to see all those Norwegian
uniforms. I was enrolled in the Royal Norwegian Air Force,
Transport Command, AC2-ACH (Aircraft man and Aircraft helper,
lowest rank,) No. 5582. Before I could start, however, an
officer from the General Staff came to me with a list of
people who wanted to interview me. I had, after all, recently
been inside the headquarters of the German High Command
in ‘Fortress Norway.’ Again, before I could
begin, another officer came – he had parachute wings
on his uniform – and said that they urgently needed
to drop an Intelligence operator in Norway. ‘Was I
willing?’ I replied that I could neither operate a
radio nor handle a weapon, and that he, as a trained spy,
must be more suitable for such a job than an overgrown schoolboy
from Lillehammer. I’ll never forget the answer he
gave: ‘Yes, technically I am a better spy than you.
But, number one, I have lived here in a free society for
so long that I would be unmasked by elementary mistakes.
Number two, you have proved that you can manage very well
in an enemy environment, and finally you have just come
from there so you will manage much longer than I could.’
I asked if I could take a trial jump but there wasn’t
time for that. (It is twice as dangerous to drop twice as
it is to drop once!). Finally I had to say ‘OK’.
However, the captain postponed the drop
when he saw the list of people who wanted to interview me,
Good intelligence officer that he was, he knew that cancelling
the interviews could look suspicious and may have been correctly
interpreted by German spies. So off I went, wandering along
countless corridors and into numerous offices.
One evening, in the canteen under Hotel
Shaftsbury, I met my dear YMCA friend Fredrik Grønninsæter.
What a coincidence: we had spoken together in Lillehammer
the day he had to leave for Stockholm. There he had volunteered
for the RAF, flown to England, been on a crash course to
be an aircraft mechanic, served in Belgium and was now on
a short leave in London. It’s a small world.
When I finally completed the interviews I reported to the
captain. He raised his eyebrows and said: ’No, the
need for spies is over, – Hitler shot himself earlier
today, – you are a civilian now. Actually I was still
in the Air Force and could proudly wear my new uniform with
the Norwegian-flag shoulder patch.
Peace – and the celebration in London
VE Day in London was incredible and I was
all over the place, beginning with Buckingham Palace where
King George proclaimed the total victory over Germany and
its European allies. We sang our way through the streets,
comrades for the evening of all nationalities. The pubs
were sold out of beer early, only a few in the crowds had
a bottle or a glass in their hands. All the singing, shouting
and cheering played havoc with our vocal cords. That night
I slept on the floor in the apartment of a chap from Hamar
I had met by chance - our world had changed radically. Our
dreams that had lasted five long, dreary years were suddenly
a reality -soon we would be home!
Farewell to London
Of course soon could not be soon enough.
There were not enough planes or ships to get all the Europeans
home immediately. Besides, there was work to be done –
the offices had to be cleared, documents packed, and equipment
returned. We joked about bringing educated men from Stockholm
to London just to be packers. After two weeks of working
and occasional sightseeing our humour began to wear thin.
We didn’t know what was happening at home. Through
a programme on the BBC I was able to send a message that
I was in London and all was well. But when the first priority
of passengers for Oslo was posted AC2-ACH 6682 Storrusten
was not on the list.
However, I had other priorities –
and another alternative. I took the night train to Edinburgh,
sleeping on the floor under a newspaper. At Leuchars airport
there was nothing to do but wait for a last minute cancellation.
I waited 4 days before the miracle occurred and I boarded
a Loadstar. Over Lindesnes the clouds cleared and a summer-decked
Norway unfolded beneath us. As we flew above the coast people
in boats waved up at us. Many of the returning service men
and women had been away much longer than my paltry two and
a half months. I don’t think there was a dry eye amongst
us when we landed.
Oslo
The girls at the housing office probably
thought that I was an officer because they gave me a single
room at the Mission Hotel instead of a bunk at some out
of the way barrack that I deserved. The first thing I did
was to ring home and was relieved to hear that all was well.
Nobody told me about father’s critical operation at
Grini. I said that I would come home as soon as possible.
That evening the streets of Oslo began to fill with people
preparing to welcome the King and family next day. In the
middle of these crowds, I met, wonder of wonders, Kiri –
the girl who saved me from the Gestapo and gave me the chance
to escape. Talk about a re-union! We danced the night away
and as there were few in Air Force uniform I found myself
a popular figure. I missed my Aase-Berit of course but there
hadn’t been time for her to get to Oslo after my arrival.
The Royal Family landed next day and drove through the streets
in triumph – with Milorg men as honour guards in each
car. Nobody seemed to notice the members of the Government.
I know what I would have liked to have done to Mr Koht!
The festivities ended for me that evening when, without
a leave permit without money, and without a ticket, I stowed
away on the train to Lillehammer.
Home Again
“It was unbelievably wonderful to
be back with my family. My pitiful soldiers pay in London
hadn’t stretched to more than 3 aprons adorned with
allied flags that I had bought for the three women in my
life: mother, sister, and girl-friend. Father looked like
the starved concentration camp victim he was but he was
not in too bad a shape. The day he came home from Grini
he, normally a tight-lipped man, had talked to Inger and
Asse-Berit for more than two hours. For the first month
of peace Aase-Berit and Inger took turns at the Gestapo
HQ Trarar, guarding the arrested Norwegian Nazis.
Lillehammer had never looked as attractive
as in those balmy June days. But I didn’t see many
of them – duty called.
| Erling’s
‘duty’ for the Air Force took him to Fornebu
Airport, Oslo, where his English and German came in
useful. Traffic between Oslo and other European capitals
was brisk, with both civilian and military personnel.
Dakotas (later DC3’s), Lockheed Loadstars, Catalinas
and Sunderlands were all put to use – the latter
to coastal towns with no airports. To modern travellers
some of the procedures seem pre-historic, the problem
of balance, the Lockheed Loadstar was the worst because
it easily became tail-heavy. The solution was simple:
passengers were lined up, the heaviest first, the
middleweights next and the lightest at the end. They
then boarded the plane and sat from fore to aft in
the same order. |
|
| |
Gestapo Headquarters |
One day we used balance was used as an instrument
of revenge when a group of German officers arrived to board
two Dakotas for their journey to British imprisonment. They
carried large, heavy bags which, to Erling and his colleague
from Bergen, were full of stolen property. I told the pilot
to fill the tanks with extra petrol and then, when the officers
came to weigh their bags, my colleague carefully put his
foot on the scale and added an extra 20 kilos. Each man
had to leave one bag behind: This was the only act of revenge
against the Wehrmacht that I can remember But my ‘finest
hour’ came when I had completed the instructions on
use of the life jacket on the plane. I then said: “Und
jetzt meine Herren fahren wir gegen Engeland. (A reference
to the song German troops sang as they marched through the
streets of Norway during the invasion.)
Similar invasions throughout Europe, concentration
camps and war devastation had uprooted millions of people.
Some came through Fornebu. Daily we saw poorly clad, sallow
faced, thin, shadows of men and women limp down from the
planes. They had little or no luggage, no money, and nobody
to meet them. A reception committee took care of them until
they could make contact with family or friends.
Sometimes the duties were of a more personal kind: Some
of the smart Norwegian officers who had served abroad had
married, now their Norwegian girlfriends were waiting for
them, laughing and cheering – ignorant of their ‘boyfriends’
new marital status. “What should we do?” they
asked.
Erling writes that he had always been thankful
for “…the hard work, and diet of corned beef
and tea that he experienced at Fornebu in the tropical summer
of 1945.”
When traffic slowed down at Fornebu, Erling
was transferred to the travel office in Oslo He tried to
get his ‘demob’ from the Air Force to continue
his studies but no, he had to remain until the new, private,
DNL (The Norwegian Air Transport Company) could take over.
He thought he could continue his studies while working and
took several preparatory semesters without attending lectures.
But finally he had to choose: study or employment?
On March 1 1946 he was finally discharged from the Air Force
and employed by DNL 7.
His career in the airline industry had begun.
_________________________________________
1
Capt. Leif Welding Olsen warned
that enemy forces had entered the Oslofjord. Welding Olsen
sent up a warning flare that was observed by two coast batteries.
The German MTB ‘Albatross’ fired on Pol III,
wounding Welding.-Olsen. Later, when the ship had to be
abandoned, Welding-Olsen drowned and was thus the first
Norwegian to lose his life during the German invasion.
2
This claim was rejected by
the Supreme Court judgement of March 6th 1948. (Andenæs-Riste-Skodvin
p.136)
3
Jøssinger – the
popular name for anti-nazis., from ’Jøssingfjord’,
scene of the Altmark affair.
4
XU – An independent Norwegian Secret Service organization.
5 Sivorg
– the non-military- Civilian arm of the Resistance
6 Guides
(los) Recognized guides on both sides of the border helped
refugees to safety.
7 DNL
was one of the founding companies (together with companies
from Denmark and Sweden) of Scandinavian Air Services (SAS).
|
