Gösta Hallquist EGösta Hallquist E
18 april

A Bomb Shelter

Delayed orders. Nonsense. At 5:30 p.m., my motorcycle orderly Sven Nilsson and I are lying in our tent resting when enemy aircraft suddenly come in for a low attack on our camp. Gravel and stones fly around us, there’s a terrible roar, rattling and explosions. A flowerpot standing on the tent chest is hit and shatters. The upper part of the stove pipe is struck as well. We throw ourselves into our deeply dug latrine, which has been in use for more than a month—Sven Nilsson first, and I on top of him. It’s the only place where we can get proper cover.

When the raid was over, we clambered up.
I had only a little dirt on one boot.
But Sven Nilsson! That’s how it is with superior and subordinate.
After we had washed off the mess, I was invited up to the castle to drink a cocktail with Prince Georg.

Photo with Red Cross staff and Prince Georg in Padborg. Swedish Red Cross archive.