He survived the war because of kindness, but suspicion followed him home.
Across eight decades and thousands of miles, a quiet act of wartime courage on a Nazi-occupied island has finally found its answer. In 1943, a Soviet prisoner named Bokejon Akramov fled a brutal labour camp on Jersey and was sheltered by farmers John and Phyllis Le Breton, who risked their lives to hide him for over two years. When he was repatriated to the Soviet Union in 1945, his letters stopped, and the family who called him Uncle Tom was left to wonder. BBC journalists, working through archives and spelling variations and the faint coordinates of a diary, traced his descendants to Uzbekistan — closing a circle that war, ideology, and silence had kept open for a lifetime.
- For 80 years, a 90-year-old woman kept a wartime photograph by her bedside, not knowing whether the man in it had survived the peace that followed the war.
- The Soviet state greeted its returning prisoners not with relief but with suspicion — interrogations, blocked careers, and lasting stigma that quietly punished men for the crime of having been captured.
- BBC journalists combed hundreds of archival spelling variations and cross-referenced diary details to isolate a single likely identity: Bokejon Akramov, born 1910, Namangan, Uzbekistan.
- When a BBC team knocked on a door in Namangan, a grandson opened it and wept upon seeing photographs his family had never known existed.
- A video call bridged Jersey and Uzbekistan, allowing two families separated by war, ideology, and silence to finally speak — and the government of Uzbekistan posthumously honoured the Le Bretons with its Order of Friendship.
In 1943, a starving Soviet prisoner of war knocked on a farmhouse door on Nazi-occupied Jersey. John and Phyllis Le Breton took him in, hid him from German forces for more than two years, and let him become part of their family — reading to their children, playing with their daughter Dulcie. The risk was real: another Jersey resident, Louisa Gould, was deported to Ravensbrück and murdered in a gas chamber for doing the same thing.
When the Channel Islands were liberated in May 1945, the man the Le Bretons called Uncle Tom was repatriated to the Soviet Union. He sent three letters as he crossed Europe. Then silence. For 80 years, Dulcie Le Breton — now nearly 90 — kept his photograph by her bedside and wondered.
The silence had a reason. Soviet authorities treated returning prisoners as potential traitors, subjecting them to interrogation and filtering camps. Many were blocked from skilled work for the rest of their lives. Bokejon Akramov, despite his evident intelligence, spent years working as a factory gardener in Namangan, Uzbekistan — his captivity a shadow that followed him long after the war ended.
A BBC Russian team began searching archives, working through hundreds of spelling variations of his name, cross-referencing details from his diary — his age, the region of his capture, hints of Central Asian origin — until they found a match: Bokejon Akramov, born 1910, Namangan. A military honour record included a home address.
When BBC Uzbek arrived at that address, a man opened the door and asked how they had his grandfather's photographs. His name was Shamsutdin Akhunbaev. As he heard the story, he wept. Bokejon had rarely spoken of the war, but his family had always wondered why such a capable man had been denied so many opportunities.
Bokejon Akramov died in 1996. The BBC arranged a video call between his family in Uzbekistan and Dulcie in Jersey. His grandson thanked her: her family's courage had allowed his grandfather to survive and give them life. Dulcie replied that her parents had simply done what was right — and that dozens of others on Jersey had done the same.
The government of Uzbekistan posthumously awarded John and Phyllis Le Breton its Order of Friendship. The medal was presented to Dulcie — a recognition, across eight decades and thousands of miles, of a debt that had never been forgotten.
In 1943, a Soviet prisoner of war named Bokejon Akramov knocked on the door of a Jersey farmhouse, starving and desperate after escaping a Nazi labour camp. John and Phyllis Le Breton took him in. For more than two years, they hid him from German occupiers, fed him, and let him read to their children and play with their daughter Dulcie. When the Channel Islands were liberated in May 1945, Akramov was sent back to the Soviet Union like the other surviving Soviet prisoners. He wrote three letters home as he travelled across Europe. Then nothing. For 80 years, the Le Breton family wondered what had become of the man they called Uncle Tom.
Akramov was one of roughly 2,000 Soviet prisoners and forced labourers brought to Jersey to build Nazi fortifications. The camps were brutal. In his diary, he described digging stone from dawn to dusk on meagre rations of soup and bread, beaten for the smallest infraction, starved if he fell ill. The risk the Le Bretons took in sheltering him was not abstract. Another Jersey resident, Louisa Gould, was deported to Ravensbrück concentration camp and murdered in a gas chamber for hiding a Soviet escapee named Fyodor Burriy after neighbours reported her to the Germans.
When Soviet prisoners returned home after the war, they faced a different kind of danger. The Soviet authorities treated them with suspicion, subjecting them to interrogation in so-called NKVD filtration camps. Capture itself was seen as a possible sign of disloyalty or collaboration. Some were eventually allowed to resume ordinary life. Many others were branded unreliable, blocked from advancement, and lived under lasting suspicion. Some were sent to labour camps inside the USSR. Even after Stalin's death in 1953, the stigma did not lift.
For decades, the Le Breton family knew Akramov only by his first name and the signature on his letters: Bokijon Akram. They did not know his full name or where he came from. Dulcie Le Breton, who is turning 90 in June, kept his photograph by her bedside. "Our dear Uncle Tom, we loved him so much," she said. "He is my main memory of the war. But I am still mystified what happened to him after the war."
A team from BBC Russian began searching Soviet and wartime archives, working through hundreds of spelling variations of his name as it might have appeared in official documents. From details in his diary—his approximate age at mobilisation in 1941, the territory where he was captured, hints of Central Asian origins—they narrowed the search to one likely match: Bokejon Akramov, born in 1910, mobilised from Namangan in what is now Uzbekistan. A record showed he had been awarded the Order of the Patriotic War decades later, and crucially, it included a home address.
When BBC Uzbek travelled to that address in Namangan, a man opened the door and asked: "How come you have my grandfather's pictures? Where did you get them from?" His name was Shamsutdin Akhunbaev. As he listened to the story of the wartime photographs preserved by the Le Breton family, he wept. According to his family, Bokejon had rarely spoken of his experiences in World War Two. But one thing had always puzzled them: despite being intelligent and capable, he was repeatedly refused skilled or sensitive jobs. For many years, he worked as a gardener at a factory in Namangan. It now seems likely that his wartime captivity cast a shadow over his entire working life.
Bokejon Akramov died in 1996 after what his family described as a long and happy life. The BBC arranged a video call between his family in Uzbekistan and Dulcie Le Breton in Jersey. "Dear Dulcie, we thank your family for your courage and kindness," Shamsutdin Akramov told her. "Our grandfather survived the war and gave us life only because of you." Dulcie replied: "My parents did what they did simply because it was the right thing to do. And they were far from the only people in Jersey who helped Soviet soldiers. There were dozens of such stories, and I would very much like people to know and remember them all."
The authorities in Uzbekistan decided to posthumously award John and Phyllis Le Breton the Order of Friendship, one of the highest state awards, for their courage and compassion. The award was presented to Dulcie Le Breton on behalf of her parents—a recognition, across eight decades and thousands of miles, of a debt that had never been forgotten.
Notable Quotes
Our dear Uncle Tom, we loved him so much. He is my main memory of the war, and his photo is still by my bedside.— Dulcie Le Breton, daughter of the family that sheltered Akramov
Our grandfather survived the war and gave us life only because of you. We are so happy that we found you.— Shamsutdin Akhunbaev, Akramov's grandson, to Dulcie Le Breton
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did it take 80 years to find him? Couldn't the Le Bretons have tracked him down after the war?
They tried. He sent three letters as he was being transported back to the Soviet Union, and then silence. Once he crossed into Soviet territory, he disappeared into a system that didn't welcome inquiries from the West, and that viewed returned prisoners with deep suspicion. There was no internet, no easy way to search across Soviet archives.
What happened to him when he got back to the USSR? Was he punished for being captured?
Not formally punished that we know of, but something worse in its way—he was marked. The Soviet system treated captured soldiers as potentially disloyal. He wasn't sent to a labour camp, but he was blocked from better work. He spent decades as a gardener when he was clearly intelligent enough for more.
So the Nazis didn't destroy him, but the Soviets limited him anyway.
Exactly. He survived the war because of the Le Bretons' kindness. But the suspicion that came with being a prisoner of war followed him home and shaped the rest of his life.
How did the BBC actually find him? The name was spelled differently in English and Russian.
They worked through hundreds of spelling variations, cross-referencing details from his diary—his age, where he was captured, hints that he was from Central Asia. Eventually they found a record of an award with an address. When they showed up at that address in Uzbekistan, his grandson answered the door.
What was that moment like for the grandson?
He was stunned. His grandfather had never really talked about the war, and suddenly here were photographs of him from 1943, preserved by a family he'd never mentioned. When he heard the story—that these people had risked their lives to hide his grandfather—he wept.
And now the Le Bretons are being honoured by Uzbekistan.
Yes. It's recognition that arrived very late, but it arrived. Dulcie Le Breton will receive the Order of Friendship on behalf of her parents. She said they did it simply because it was right, and that there were dozens of other stories like theirs in Jersey that deserve to be remembered too.