LETTER FROM MAX STADLER
CAMP No2 GLEN MILL
It is now 2 months since that fateful day on 2 Sept that I was shot down and captured.
I am in good health generally, and although I was wounded, I have recovered after a three week period in hospital.
Since then I have been on lighter duties and have not been required to work in the fields.
I am taking this opportunity to write and give you a short account of why I am here... there is talk of moving us to Canada soon and I am not sure when I will be able to do so again.
The mood is not good in the camp... no one is looking forward to being sent to Canada on a long voyage across the sea.
Locked up down below with the obvious dangers that lurk out there... I'm sure you understand what I mean.
There have already been a near riot and protests but it looks like the British will send us.
Anyway, let me return to my account of my last mission.
We were escorting bombers to Swingfield airfield... the weather was again stormy with heavy cloud.
Again, watching the large force heading over the channel, I could not help but think how much longer the English could endure this kind of punishment.
It was an impressive sight.
As we ran into the target area, there were calls of a large force of enemy fighters approaching, and very quickly we were mixing it with them.
I was with my Rottenflieger, Quant... but lost sight of him and ended up in the fight of my life with a Hurricane pilot that was no novice.
Three times I had my sights on him and he seemed to know just when I was about to fire, then he was gone...
I was on him again, climbing hard and I did register hits on his port wing on the third attempt, but again he evaded.
Me... I stalled out!
I was at 4000m and spun through the clouds and only got control again at 1500m...
Unfortunately, I had fallen through the cloud base and immediately became visible to every #%&*$# AA gunner on the island!
Flak was bursting all around me and my aircraft was hit...
I looked around the cockpit, I knew I was wounded, my head hurt, everything was muffled...
My instruments and cockpit were spattered with blood.
I was wounded, loosing power, something electrical was burning somewhere, also loosing height....
I didn't need to think twice, this time there would be no chancing my luck over the sea... time to get out!
The next thing I knew, several angry looking civilians with shotguns and pitchforks were grabbing hold of me.
I'm not sure what might have happened, I certainly was in no shape to resist, but a policeman turned up and took control, and now here I am!
Good wishes to all!
If you get a move on and finish the job, you just may stop me going on a little trip to Canada.
Hals und Beinbruch!