To call it a passageway is probably to elevate it to an idea of something built in stone or prettily ornate, which it was neither. Yet when it's history became understood it took on far more significance than the cathedrals of Rome. The passageway was under the floorboards of an old run-down farmhouse, it was really just a tunnel hewn from the rough clay-type mud and leading into a windowless subterranean room. The old man farmer had been a hero in the war, dug the room out himself, toiled night and day. At great risk to himself he'd hidden whole families until they could be smuggled abroad. Now he was ninety with wrinkles on his wrinkles and hummed to himself all the day long. All the reward he wanted in the world was the freedom to sit on his porch listening to birds.