Loyal Unto Death
Antis
A Short Tale from BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY
Heart-warming stories of canine devotion and bravery by Isabel George
Dedication
To my parents who showed, by example, that courage, loyalty and love really can conquer all
Epigraph
‘There is an old belief
That on some solemn shore Beyond the sphere of grief Dear friends shall meet once more.’
(Inscription on the grave of Antis at the PDSA Animal Cemetery in Ilford, North London, by John Gibson Lockheart)
Contents
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1: Antis – Loyal Unto Death
Afterword
Bibliography
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter 1
Antis – Loyal Unto Death
As friendships go, there are few that could rival the mutual devotion of Czechoslovak pilot Václav Robert Bozděch and his dog, Antis. It was a relationship born out of war, strengthened as a consequence of war and one that came to rest in peace beyond war. The Alsatian had spent eleven of his fourteen years on Air Force bases in France and Britain and if a dog is capable of storing memories he would have recalled the happy days he spent with No. 311 (Czechoslovak) Squadron and how he saved Bozděch’s life a thousand times over in so many ways.
Born in Bohemia in 1912, Bozděch had a happy, though poor, childhood. He excelled at every level of his schooling and went on to perform well at technical college. Here he was heavily influenced by the Czechoslovak emphasis on physical fitness. An eager and dedicated student, Bozděch selected athletics and handball as the sports he would excel in and in his spare time, to satisfy his love of music, he learnt to play the accordion. By the time he graduated in 1929, he was a well-rounded young man with many prospects and a bright future. His technology-based course had given him all he needed to begin working as a locksmith but the obvious limitations of the job soon began to frustrate this intelligent young man and he was relieved when his call-up papers arrived for his two years’ compulsory military service. All young Czechoslovak men considered it an honour to serve their country in this way and the timing was perfect for Bozděch. For him, the time away from normal routine was an opportunity to reassess his future. He had never considered a career in the military but now he could see how his technical know-how could be advanced in this environment. The experience also came at a time when he was becoming more aware of his country’s politics and the fragility of Czechoslovakia’s independence in Europe. The way he saw it, if his country was destined to be an innocent pawn in a political power struggle between France, Britain and Germany then there was probably only one way he could defend and serve his country and that was in uniform.
Two years’ compulsory service gave him an opportunity to test the military waters. Following basic training, Bozděch decided to put his technological knowledge to good use and became a mechanic in the Air Force. Two years later, after demobilizing, he went to work for the car manufacturer Skoda but thoughts of his time in the Air Force stayed with him. In October 1937, unable to ignore these thoughts any longer, Bozděch rejoined the Service and trained as an air gunner.
Adolf Hitler had made no secret of his desire to occupy Czechoslovakia and the same year Bozděch joined the Air Force, Germany’s leader prepared to invade his homeland. Although Hitler had assured the Czechoslovak people that he would protect the German-speaking regions of Bohemia and Moravia, President Beneš was not convinced his country would survive the might of the Third Reich. As an insurance policy he had built up the Czechoslovak Air Force and looked to his allies for reassurance that they would stand shoulder to shoulder against the German threat. Czechoslovakia’s primary protection was her pact with France but there seemed little confirmation that the terms of their agreement would be upheld if the threat of invasion became a reality. And how would Britain react if France went to war with Germany?
The threat to Czechoslovak freedom had become universally apparent. In an attempt to resolve this territorial tug of war, a meeting was arranged between Italy, Britain and France and Adolf Hitler’s Germany. Munich was selected as the venue to reach a settlement. Ironically, Czechoslovakia was informed it would not be required to attend. On hearing the news, the Czechoslovak Minister, Dr Jan Masaryk, commented to British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, ‘If you have sacrificed my nation to preserve the peace of the world, I will be the first to applaud you. But if not, gentlemen, God help your souls.’
The Munich agreement failed. Czechoslovakia was alone. On 1 October 1938, German troops entered the Sudetan area, commandeering over 1,600 Czechoslovak Air Force planes and sending the country’s army into withdrawal. By 13 March 1939, Hitler was threatening to bomb Prague unless his Third Reich was allowed to take over Bohemia and Moravia as Protectorate. By 15 March, as the snow fell in the early morning, a convoy of German armoured vehicles snaked through these long-defended communities and by evening Hitler was in Prague. President Beneš had already left for Europe with a plan to set up a democratic government in exile. Even though Germany had jackbooted all over the democracy he had cultivated over the previous twenty years, the defiant President would not accept that it was over.
For Bozděch, it was time to leave his homeland and, with his typical dignity, strength and belief in truth, secure a plan to win it back. Alongside thousands of other army and air force personnel, Bozděch began to plan his escape route. So far, the West had failed to show itself to be a trustworthy ally. The allegiance was there on paper but France and Britain had failed to come through for the Czechoslovak people when they needed it most and Germany had them backed against the wall. Action was required but it was not provided. But who else was going to be in a position of strength and capable of stopping Hitler in his tracks? Only Western democracy was in a position to do that and had any chance of achieving success. Now it was just a matter of being in the right place should war be declared on Germany, which to many people war looked inevitable.
Bozděch, like many others, chose Poland as his destination and plotted a journey through northern Moravia and on to Ostrava. His home in Bohemia would be the start of his 300-mile trek on foot and he planned to set out once the harsh winter had passed. He applied for leave, rather than just disappearing which would have attracted the attention of the Gestapo. The last thing he wanted was to have them hot on his heels. Leave papers in hand, he travelled on public transport to his home in Soběkury, to say goodbye to his family.
He had very little money and what he had paid for food and public transport only when it was absolutely necessary. It took him ten days to reach the border and by the time he reported to the reception camp in Male Bronowice – where all Czechoslovakian airmen were directed – he was penniless. Once there and amongst Czechoslovakian friends who had also run the gauntlet to escape German rule, he was able to talk freely, bathe and feel easy taking financial help.
Poland was a stop-gap and not the place where Bozděch and many of the others planned to stay for long; they were welcomed but there was no great call for air force recruits. He heard that the French were happy to absorb the men and so on the last day of July 1939, with a visa issued by the French Consulate in Krakov just three weeks earlier, Bozděch arrived at the port of Calais.