Into Captivity: Five Years as a German Prisoner of War Stan Johnson (1920-2003), 1/8th Lancashire Fusiliers

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Introduction

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For five years between May 1940 and April 1945 my grandfather Stan Johnson was a German prisoner of war. He was captured early in the war during the Battle of France, in rearguard action on the day the Dunkirk evacuations started. At age 19, having joined the Territorial Army, he was one of around 40,000 allied solders holding back the German army's rapid advance through the low countries in order to give the rest of the British Expeditionary Force a chance of escape.

He was only able to fight for a couple of weeks before being driven from the middle of Belgium back to France by an overwhelming enemy. In France he was lucky to escape with his life - at one point his truck was shelled having just left it to fetch tea, several soldiers fighting close by are killed, and very close to where he was captured, 97 men of another battalion - the Royal Norfolk Regiment - were killed by SS in the Le Paradis massacre. By late May the 8th Lancashire Fusiliers and several other units were surrounded, with no choice but to surrender.

Those captured were mostly transported east to Poland in what he describes as a 'nightmare journey' - forty or so men in each hot cattle truck with very little food and no toilet, lasting nearly week. They were then put to work for the next five years, essentially used as slave labour for the German war effort.

Although millions experienced much greater hardships at the hands of the Germans, this was still an arduous existence: constant hunger, hard physical work, lice, disease, boredom, zealous discipline from the Germans and even, in one episode for Stan, fellow British officers. Being a prisoner must have also been psychologically tough: most of them must have shared a sense of helplessness - one cannot fight or do anything to help the situation, indeed one is perversely forced to help the enemy through work.

However, towards the end of his imprisonment Stan did endure one of the greatest hardships of the Second World War that I know of: As the Red Army advanced from the east in the winter of 1944-45, nearly all German prisoners, including those in concentration camps, were forced to march hundreds of miles west away from the front. For the tens of thousands of allied prisoners scattered over eastern Europe making their way on foot to central Germany, it became known as simply "The March". It seems the Germans were adhereing to the Geneva Convention in moving the prisoners away from the danger of the Russian Front, but they were surely moving them into even greater danger by forcing thousands of men through the middle of nowhere in deepest winter: For over three months at the peak of the Eastern European winter, with temperatures well below freezing, these men endured twenty- or thirty-mile daily marches, dysentary, typhus, frostbite and starvation with only a barn to look forward to at the end of the day. Sometimes they simply slept in the open. The Germans were supposedly picking up stragglers in a cart if they fell by the wayside, but many were surely left to die, as Stan witnessed with a young soldier, and to which he himself almost succumbed on the very first day. I'm astonished any of them made it through the march at all given the demands on the body - just staying warm enough in temperatures of below thirty should require far more food than they were given.

The "frightening nightmare" of The March, as he describes it, was finally over by the spring as Stan arrived in Hagenow, northern Germany. The worst was over, but the situation was still grave. Temperatures were still below freezing and there was so little food that at one point a stricken horse is quickly dispatched among the prisoners and refugees. The German army were still fighting tenaciously and now there was also the added danger of allied bombing raids. From the air it was difficult to discern a target from a prison camp, especially when these were the the makeshift camps of railway wagons in which Stan and his inmates were kept. There seem to have been some close calls, and somewhere near Hagenow Stan witnessed the power of these air raids - a party of prisoners was sent to clear up after British bombers struck an ammunition train, finding total destruction with body parts littered around the site. There is also still danger among the camps - despite the war being clearly over for the Germans, the guards seem to have maintained an enthusiasm for discipline and at one point Stan is nearly shot while sneaking off to find food in the woods. Being so close to the end, he says you had to be careful.

The end did eventually come when suddenly one spring morning the guards are gone and the Americans arrive. The relief and joy must have been overwhelming, and are palpable in Stan's description of Germany immediately after the end of the war. The prisoners go on boyish scavenger hunts for souvenirs, finally filling their bellies with good food along the way. They are rehabilitated back into civilisation with simple comforts such as a wash and clean fresh clothes. There's a sense of fun as Stan and his friend take a look inside a German tank and watch the Americans take advantage of their total control as they hunt for Lugers and cameras. Once the Germans capitulated, the PoWs could get close to both the military and civilians as the roles of prisoner and master were temporarily reversed which can only have driven home that it was really over.

Of course, the end of the war was less than joyful for the millions around them as Europe learned of the Holocaust and millions of 'Displaced Persons' - refugees and people from all over the continent also put to slave labour - were left without the support of an army or even a country to return to as they knew it. Still, there is time to celebrate with some Russians who get very drunk on vodka and an unidentified fuel.

Luckily for Stan and his compatriots they were able to escape the devastation; he and a few others were given a lift home in a B17, described like a fairground ride. More relief came when the PoWs were re-trained for an invasion of Japan but were not not needed after the war abruptly ended with the dropping of the atomic bombs. He settled in the North-east of England until his death in 2003.

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Stan's full movements in the course of the war: Green - The Battle of France; Black - transport; Orange - The Long March (Danzig to Hagenow). Click blue circles for place names and dates.

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The Battle of France, May 1940

By May 1940 the German army had conquered Poland, Denmark, and Norway, and annexed Austria and Czechoslovakia. The next target was France, and with it Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands. By the end of June, in just 46 days, the Germans had accomplished their goal - Hitler was pictured in front of the Eiffel Tower and the Allies were defeated.

At Dunkirk, 338,000 soldiers were rescued. This was made possible in part because of the rearguard action of around 40,000 men, including the 1/8th Lancashire Fusiliers. They would nearly all be captured, sent East to prison camps, and endure a similar story to that told here.

On the 27th May Operation Dynamo began. This was the same day Stan was taken prisoner, and the same day of the Le Paradis massacre, which he mentions took place just a couple of miles away. The massacre is assumed to be a rumour, however it turned out to be true - "The 3rd SS Division Totenkopf machine-gunned 97 British and French prisoners near the La Bassée Canal. The British prisoners were from the Royal Norfolk Regiment. The SS men lined them up against the wall of a barn and shot them all; only two survived." - Battle of Dunkirk

German advances May 1940

The Battle of France until capture

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Germany enters Belgium and France

My recollections begin on the 9th of May 1940, when we were stationed on the Belgian border near Lille. I was detailed to take the 'D' Company cooks out for the night. The sergeant directed me to drive them to Orchies for a drinking session. In the town, one of the cooks fell down some stairs with an armful of beer bottles and had a nasty gash in his arm. By the time we got him bandaged it was midnight so we set off to return to camp. All the cooks were singing in the back of the truck. Standing in the middle of the road waiting for us was Cpl Doyle who he gave us a real rollicking.

All hell had broken loose at the camp. Everyone was packing up and busy loading trucks. My platoon set-to loading my truck while I got tea and rations. The news was that Jerry was into Belgium and we were to move off at 02:00 hours, so it was move at the double. At the set time the trucks got into convoy, and we trailed behind, a white tape had been laid along the route. Lights were blackened and slits scraped in the middle, rear lights were fixed under the body casting a red glow. This was very tiring on the eyes but we were on our way.

As dawn came so did the German planes - bombers and Messerschmitts. We passed a number of bombed villages as we headed for Brussels and Waterloo. Finally we arrived at a place called Wavre and crossed the canal. The roads were full of fleeing refugees, and now at last we could hear field and machine gun fire.

French refugees, Battle of France

'D' Company took up position on the fringe of a wood, and Ltnt. Taylor detailed me to take him across the canal to a signal position. After a few hours there he jumped in and said we had to return to the Company as fast as possible. When we got back to the bridge , it had been blown up by the RE's [Royal Engineers], so Ltnt. Taylor directed me to drive to the next bridge. This had also been blown; by this time he was sweating, and so was I! The next bridge was a couple of miles away and by now mortar fire was dropping around us. I was flat out at 40mph. This bridge was also set to be blown. Luckily the engineers told me to roll over dead slow and then they blew it. From now on it was all go so I got loaded with ammo and petrol. We had had our first contact with the Jerries. I remember seeing a German observation plane flying so low that I could see the white scarf the pilot was wearing.

It was now the 12th May. The French were on our left flank and the machine gun battalion, the Cheshires, on the other. They had Vickers, we had Brens, some Vickers and Boys anti-tank rifles. That day and all of the night all hell was let loose as Jerry tried to throw a bridge across. It simmered down as dawn came (the 13th, my birthday!). We got some grub and I fell dead asleep. The next night the French Moroccans left their positions, leaving a gap in the line.

The Germans managed to put a bridge over and were attacking in force, but they were driven back as some Bren gun carriers went to the positions the Moroccans had left. The Moroccans were eventually sent back by the French command. When they returned they thought the Bren carriers were Germans and opened fire on them; eventually they realised their mistake.

The next night it got so bad that we had orders to withdraw - we were in danger of being surrounded. This was the pattern, fighting all day and withdrawing at night, there was little time to wash or sleep. Once, when we had a lull in the fighting, we were issued with a new battledress. Just as we stripped off in a farmyard, over came the Stukas and literally caught us with our pants down!

British troops, France 1940

Narrowly escaping a shell

About the 23rd we crossed the La Bassee canal and into a first-aid post amid a lot of confusion. Here were stragglers who had lost their Battalions. Capt. Sillar had his arm in a sling and the floor was full of wounded so we were ordered out of there. Our Corporal Doyle told us to speed as fast as possible for a mile down an open stretch of road. There was no cover so I was out of the gates like a shot. As I turned we were under fire - I could hear pinging on the truck. I was hoping that the ammo in the back wouldn't get hit. There was no time to think, and I ducked down as I drove. I had seen too many bullet holes in windscreens.

About halfway along I heard a sudden swish like a zip and I was in a sweat when I finally got to a farm. As I came into the yard I saw a building that had already been shelled and parked next to it. I had remembered my dad's advice that they never shelled the same place twice. Mortar fire was all over the place and as I jumped out of the truck, I saw that the front tyre had been hit by shrapnel which had vulcanised the rubber. As I stood there looking at it I heard a welcome shout of "tea up" by the cooks who had set up their dixies in a pigsty. I grabbed my tins and rifle and ran over. Just as I got there the place started getting shelled and, guess what? My truck got hit smack on and blew up. All the grenades, petrol and ammo tracers were flying all over the place. So much for my dad's advice!

Everything was happening now. Fusiliers Bookman, Neal, Brown and myself stationed ourselves in a ditch to cover the road. Our Bren carrier had been knocked out and we saw three armoured cars coming with their machine guns firing . One of the armoured cars stopped near us. Ammunition was getting low but we had picked up some grenades earlier so we tried to throw one underneath but it rolled into the ditch on the other side of the road.

The machine guns poking out the side were firing but we were so low that we were under its elevation. I thought we were finished but the ditch went right up to the yard where another platoon covered us. Smoke was everywhere which helped as well. I remember someone shout "there's no H.E. left sir" and the reply "well bloody well fire smoke" - this was for the mortars. We withdrew to a yard; Second Ltnt. Spiers was there with a group of others. The whispering of bullets in the grass was terrible as we ran for cover. As I got round the corner of a wall the bricks shattered. As we stood firing, more armoured cars appeared in a wide circle in the fields. I remember our camp bugler John Haggerty shout that he could get away. He ran out and three lads followed; the three lads were killed but I saw Haggerty jump a stone wall but I don't know what happened to him.

Eventually we were forced out of the yard and took up positions behind a hedge. The lad lying next to me got it in the stomach and was dead. It was really hectic now. Our RSM [Regimental Sergeant Major] was firing his revolver and Neal, Bookman and myself jumped into a zig-zag trench. We were told that Sgt. Peace had been killed; we had all looked up to him as a first-class Sgt. Finally our ammo ran out and we were told by our RSM that it was all over and our officers gave themselves up.

Capture

The Germans were shouting from one of the tanks through a megaphone that we had five minutes to make up our minds. It was the 27th or 28th of May. In five minutes we were POWs as we removed the bolts from our rifles to make them useless and buried them in the soft soil. We had heard that the Norfolks had been caught a couple of miles away at Le Paradis and had been shot by the SS, but there were so many rumours around. Before coming out of our positions we were told to drop our weapons. As we came out we were surrounded by German infantry armed to the teeth, and tough-looking troops they all were. We were told, by signs and shouting in German, to line up and sit down on a grass bank. With rifles and bayonets pointing at us we quickly did as we were told.

Site of the Le Paradis massacre where 97 men of the Royal Norfolk Regiment were shot by SS soldiers, 27th May 1940. Two survived. The Royal Norfolks, along with the 8th Lancashire Fusiliers, were holding the Allied line at Riez du Vinage, Le Cornet Malo and Le Paradis. The battalions were ordered to hold out for as long as possible against the Germans to give time for the BEF to evacuate from Dunkirk.

I was sitting on the end and two mates were next to me. During the excitement I had grabbed four grenades and put them in my Bren gun pouches . I had forgotten about these, and we were going to be searched. The German standing in front of me was a vicious looking brute and wasted no time in searching. When he found the grenades I thought my number was up. He pointed his rifle and was shouting in German. Just then, a group of German officers came from the farmhouse and spoke to the soldiers. They drew back but still kept us covered. The highest ranking officer spoke to us in perfect English: "For you the war is over. I suppose you have all wanted to see Berlin, well you will see it but as POWs. You will all be transported to a camp. Now pick up your wounded men and take those who can walk to the road".

There was white smoke and burning vehicles all around the nearby farm. We tended to the wounded who we carried or dragged. Stan Bookman, who was a Jew from Cheetham Hill had buried his dog tags just before he was taken. He and I carried a wounded Corporal ; his legs were full of holes. We were all taken to where German army ambulances were lined up. There were many other trucks and tanks moving along the road and troops marching forward. When we got there, the wounded were put in the ambulances then we were lined up and marched away. We went over the La Bassee canal as tanks and troops surged across in the opposite direction.

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"A nightmare journey": France to Poland, June 1940

Prisoner transport to Poland

This was the start of a long march to Cambrai. We slept in fields at night where we were given soup. I had picked up an old enamel jug and I kept this tied to my belt. Others had tins or anything else that would hold soup. At Cambrai we stayed at a goods yard for a day or two. We had not had any food, except what we had scrounged, and were all weary and hungry. The guards marched us (we weren't really marching but straggling along) to a big deserted landing bay. We all flopped down with our backs against the roller doors of some cattle wagons.

Of course, we were always on the look-out for grub. I wandered over to the wagons where there was lots of rubbish lying around. Then Vinnie Neal and Stan Bookman came over and found some big drums full of some kind of oil, like coconut oil. The guards were watching but they just let us mooch around. Later we found something like wheat or bran in the corners where it must have spilled. I soon had my jug filled, then we went back to the oil drums and mixed the oil with the wheat, scooping my fingers into the jug. It was just lovely, we all had a feast.

We were soon on the dusty road again. We used to dive off the road into farmhouses for food but the guards soon chased us out. After a few days, we eventually arrived in Luxembourg where the Maginot line ended. As we marched down a long road I noticed all the trees had "V" cuts on the side facing the road. They must have intended to fell them across the road to stop the Germans.

We came to a rail depot and at last we scrambled onto a train. I managed to get in a luggage rack and there I stayed until we arrived at the German town of Trier on the border. The guards threw open the doors and rousted us out - they were shouting and poking us with their rifles if we were a little bit slow. It was scorching hot and we were marched to the middle of the town. We could see swastika flags all over the place, buildings were draped with them from roof to ground. The pavements were crowded with German civilians, spitting and calling us names. We didn't know any German then so we didn't know what they were shouting.

After marching in humiliation we climbed a steep spiral road. At the top there was a camp where we were given half a dark brown loaf and a ladle of good soup. It had cubes of white fat floating in it and it was lovely. By now we were really hungry though. Vinnie and I wandered around to find our Company but it was hopeless. There were thousands of faces, all dirty, British and French. We slept outside that night and thought we were going to stay there, but we were mistaken.

Next day we were marched back to the trains where a long line of wagons were waiting. We were issued with a loaf of black bread*, some margarine and a piece of cheese and were told that this would have to last us for five or six days. Then the guards started counting us in, 30 or 40 to a wagon, and the doors were closed and locked. Soon we were on the move but we had no idea where we were going. I started to get toothache for the first time.

German 'Kommisbrot'

This was a nightmare journey, cramped up together with no toilet, and a few had diarrhea. We had a preacher who got us to sing songs and one of the lads had a mouth organ. This went on for four days and nights, rattling along and sometimes being shunted into a siding. You could only see out at each end of the wagon where some boards were missing, covered by barbed wire.

The time was spent sleeping, waking, standing up, sitting down, singing a bit and wondering where we were going. We passed Berlin on the first day and soon we were hungry because all the bread had gone. On the fourth day we began to slow down into a place called Stettin [now Szczecin, Poland]. There was a German red cross woman on the platform and soup kitchens. As the train stopped, the guards jumped off , and we heard shouts of "Rouse! Rouse!".

One wagon at a time was allowed to get a ladle of soup and a piece of bread. Everyone had their tins or bowls ready and when our turn came we all queued up. The smell of the soup was driving us all crazy. I held up my old enamel jug and got my ladle full and bread, then we were all hustled back and locked up to enjoy our soup. Three days later we eventually arrived at our destination, a place called Thorn [now Toruń] in Poland on the banks of the Vistula.

* "In World War II, Ersatzbrot (substitute bread) made of potato starch, frequently stretched with extenders such as sawdust, was furnished to soldiers as Kommissbrot, a dark German bread baked from rye and other flours used for military rations, and also to prisoners of war. One recipe discovered in the Food Providing Ministry in Berlin … contained 50% bruised rye grain, 20% sliced sugar beets, 20% 'tree flour' (sawdust), and 10% minced leaves and straw."

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Arrival at Stalag XXA, Thorn, Poland, June 1940 - September 1940

We were glad to get out of that sardine tin of a wagon. It would now be about the 8th or 9th of June. We were lined up on a platform and counted before a short march brought us to two huge open gates where we were halted and counted again. Inside were more gates covered in barbed wire. We were allocated a room with straw on the floor, so we picked our places and got together with our mates: Vinnie Neal, Stan Bookman, Reg Stott, F.Woodcott, Rigby and a few more. Everyone started hunting for mates: "Anyone seen any Argyles? or Cheshires? or Royal Artillery?". Eventually we began to settle down and a routine began.

The man who took overall charge of us was an Regimental Sergeant Major Homer. Standing 6'6" tall, a real tough nut out of the King's Royal Rifle Corp . Our ration was five men to a black loaf and a ladle of soup. We were now in Fort 17, Stalag XXA. As the days went on we were fingerprinted, names taken, and photographed with a numbered card around our necks. Mine was 7451. This took a long time, the Germans were very thorough.

One day a notice was pinned to a big board saying that France had capitulated. Then the Germans posted up lists of numbers for working parties; I was on one of about 40 men, digging trenches for drains. Some numbers were on this board for a "transport" to a labour camp, if your number was on one of these you had to be ready at 6am the following morning.

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Stalag IV-C - Wistritz, Sudetenland (now Dubí, Czech Republic) - September 1940 - November 1940

To Wistritz

Smashing a jewish graveyard

I stayed at Stalag XXA until September when my number came up for a transport to a place on the German border called Wistritz. As usual we were put into cattle trucks, and arrived after a few days. An old factory had been made into a camp. It was a cold, tall building, the doors at the entrance were huge and the windows went from the floor to the roof. All the machinery had been stripped out and replaced with roughly-made straw-lined bunks, with 20 men on each tier.

The day after we arrived we were marched down into the town where there was a jewish graveyard next to a potato field. We were given picks, shovels and 14lb hammers and made to smash all the marble tombstones and load them onto a truck. It took us about four or five days and the next time we marched past it was ploughed over as if there had been nothing there. Our next job was pulling down some old buildings and chipping all the mortar off the bricks then stacking them. Another was building a Roman-style open air theatre on a hillside, with the town like a backcloth.

"A big surprise"

It was at this camp I got a big surprise. When prisoners became ill replacements were sent. Well, one night I was standing near the gate when guards came up the road with some replacements . I shouted to one who looked familiar. It was a lad called Harold York from near Eccles, my home. The last time I had seen him he was on a scaffold laying bricks for the houses I worked on. When I was called up two weeks before war was declared I had said goodbye to them all and I never expected to see him in this place. Well, it cheered me up no end! Plus, I had a good friend, and believe me you needed them here. We got on very well and worked together and killed lice by the thousand. Of course, we had been crawling with lice since we were first captured, but in this place they seemed to bite even more. We used to sit cross legged on our bunks and see who could kill the most, but we never won the battle. They stuck with us till the end of the five years.

By November it was so cold in our camp that the Germans decided to move to a large house in thick woods, so we were marched over each day to prepare it. We made bunks in the rooms, the Germans put barbed wire round it, and we moved in. It was great compared with the other camp. But as we were just getting settled I was told I was being sent back to Thorn. I had developed bad feet and was unable to work, but I wasn't alone - others were were sick. I was really down in the dumps. Harold was too, but we were good mates.

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Return to Stalag XXA, November 1940 - January 1942

Back to Stalag XXA

Stealing 'swill'

We left at 5:30 in the morning with all our belongings, such as they were - a bowl, a tin for drinking, my army boots which were worn out with all the foot-slogging, and that's about it. I wore my clogs as it was bitter cold but they made it hard going on the frozen cobbled road. My feet were killing me and I had a job to keep up. We were going to travel in a carriage for a change. I took my clogs and foot rags off. It was heaven to sit.

After settling back in at Fort 17 we did various jobs - mucking out stables and sweeping yards. Of course, our bellies were nagging. We had eaten our 5th of a loaf long ago but we always carried our tin cans tied to our belts. While a guard was occupied two of us went round the back of the stables and just over the road was an army kitchen.

Outside were three large barrels about four foot high. A big fat cook came out and emptied a bucket into one of them. When he went back inside we were over the road like a shot. I looked in and there was the swill. It looked lovely. I couldn't reach so I let myself drop on one hand into the swill and I picked out the potatoes and bits of meat and cabbage. Before I could get out, the guard came over and he could just see my feet sticking out. He gave a roar and grabbed my feet, booted my behind and chased us back to the stables. I still had a tin of stew, the other lad and I soon made short work of that, and it was worth it.

Work in the snow

Another job we started was in the heavy snow at Thorn Aerodrome. It was a seven kilometre march and it was very difficult to walk on deep snow. I only had my wooden clogs because the stiff leather German boots used to cripple me. It was warmer to my feet, but the snow would pile up and we had to pick the hard ice off. The Luftwaffe guard took over, and we were each given a snowboard to brush all the deep snow off the runways.

It snowing heavily, so we had to go back and forth all day, but we got a good meal afterwards in the Luftwaffe canteen. They took us there after the Germans had finished and we got what was left. It was great. I would fill my tin for a mate who was on a 'low grade' job. The guards let me keep it, by the time I got back to Fort 17 it was frozen solid. We on this job about the time Coventry was heavily bombed. The Luftwaffe used to show real photos to prisoners from Coventry. Some of them took it hard.

The next job was a right swine. Four hundred of us were detailed with unloading and spreading Dolomite stones for a new railway line next to the Vistula. It had started to freeze very hard.

One week I was on the 12am-8am shift. It was so cold. The Germans had fires in big oil drums and let us stand by the lines, a few at a time for half an hour, and we were given mittens to keep the frost off our hands. We also cut three holes in the empty paper cement bags and put them on as pullovers. I had a thin French greatcoat, but it was so big I could have got two in it and the buttons were about 3ins apart!

We would shout to our mates passing as they came onto the next shift. When we got back to the fort we just dropped onto our bunks. There were two hundred men in each hut and the body heat kept it sort of warm. The bunks were four tiers high with six headboards and straw. I used to drag myself in and kick my clogs off. But we never took our clothes off - it was too cold, and they might be stolen.

First letter from home

When the bread was issued it was six men to a loaf. We gathered round tables and one of the six had to cut it into even pieces, and it had to be dead straight. We took turns for the ends where it sloped away. Some would halve the ration and save one for the morning but this was risky as it could get stolen in the night. Most just gobbled it straight away. I was so hungry I could have eaten the whole loaf. The bowl of soup was issued shortly after. It would be be potato soup for a month, then barley soup, then vegetable soup. Sometimes the rats used to come out of the walls and get in the straw. Sweat seemed to attract them. I often found my bed dragged away to the hut walls.

It was getting near Christmas, and in November I got my first letter from my dad with two crumbled Woodbines in it. I was not a smoker then, but I had started picking up dog ends whenever we went to work. You had to be real quick as everyone was after them. So I enjoyed those Woodbines - it took away the craving for food for a while.

Christmas rations

By now it was bitter cold and a rumour went round that Red Cross parcels would be issued at Christmas, just before we were told that it would be one parcel between 64 men. We were then told to get into a group of 64 and each group was to decide how it was to be split up. In the end we split into two groups of 32, then one man would pick the highest card and that group got the parcel of goodies. I wasn't in that group.

Red Cross Parcel

What a shambles - with everyone just about starving we ran around watching every move. Some groups separated the things even further, such as a small tin of jam - each man got a spoonful and so on. When Christmas Day came we didn't go to work and the Germans gave us three men to a loaf, some sausage and soup, mash, cabbage and a slice of pork, and the dinner was on a tin plate. Wow! were we blown out. Still, some men went round shouting "five cigarettes a bread ration!".

Eighteen days in the bunker

The sores on my ankles were getting worse. The German boots I wore was very stiff. My name was down for a working party and it was a 6km march, but a good one for getting food off the Poles. The Poles were great - they used to risk being shot when they threw small parcels of food to marching POWs and run like hell, even when they didn't have much themselves. So I cut holes in my boot to miss my sores. A lad told me that Sgt. Major Calver had been on inspection and had seen the cut boot. The lad told him who the boot belonged to. He had taken the boot with him and I had to go to the Commandant's office

It was snowing heavily as I stood outside. Shortly, RSM Homer, in charge of the whole fort, came out. He stepped in front of me and said "Well, you made a right mess of the boot. Did you think you would get away with doing what you did?" You see, a new consignment had arrived a few days earlier of British army boots but I didn't know this. Then he said "I'm sorry lad but I can't do anything now. You had better go in."

I knocked on the door saying "Commandant". Sitting at his desk was a young Feldwebel [non-commissioned officer], and standing in the middle was our Sgt. Jansen. He was well-known as a bastard. He was holding my boot in his hand and I marched up to the desk and stood at attention. The Feldwebel said in English: "Why did you cut your boot?" So I told him I had sores on my ankles, but Jansen started yapping in German. I understood some words - he kept repeating "sabotage", his voice rising to a shout as he was walking up and down. At the back of me he lashed out with the boot across my ear and it caught my right cheekbone. The outcome was that I was sentenced to eighteen days in the bunker.

The Feldwebel said he would give me five minutes to get back up to my hut, get my belongings, and get back down here or he would send guards up with fixed bayonets. Well, I shot out of that office and ran as fast as my clogs would let me. When I got back to my bunk, the lads said "what's up?" I told them I got eighteen days and had no time to explain. I grabbed my blanket, tin and gas mask bag and dashed back down to the gate. When I got there the big fat jailer was waiting for me. He always carried a thick stick and a big steel ring full of keys. He gave me back my boot and told me to follow him.

We went along a corridor into a stone room. He made me take my belt and braces off and he kept my boots there. He unlocked a padlock and a door opened. As it opened he gave me a push into a long narrow room with an arched ceiling. There was a long wooden platform sloped towards the wall, this was to stop you sliding off. There were sixteen men in the room and it was stinking. In one corner was a jam tin for us to use as a latrine, and it was full to the brim.

We were taken out in the morning after the other men had gone to work, had a wash with no soap, and emptied the jam tin. We got six to a dry loaf, water only, and a ladle of soup every three days. The big fat guard watched us all the time, until we got back to the pen. Sometimes we had to have exercise, running round the parade ground. My pants were miles too big around the waist so I had to hold them up and, because it was freezing, I kept changing hands so I could flap the other. It was only 15 minutes, but we were just about knackered. I got 18 days but I served 21. Most of the others did more than their sentence - the Germans just forgot to let you out. After I came out, I was very depressed.

Officers' escape attempts

Four hundred British and Canadian officers who had been living in castles were put into Fort 15 as a punishment. They had one batman for every sixteen officers. These lucky batmen had been picked at the beginning and had never been out in the camps or Forts, but instead had it cushy just cleaning up after officers who also never worked. We were sent to help out these batmen as the officers must have been protesting. Well this was OK by me - we got better soup and the bunks were better.

The officers were always plotting to escape (they had all day to do it). They used to plan it like they were planning a campaign, with a proper committee. I'll have to tell you about some of these attempts while I was there. All of them came to nothing because there was a stooge in the Fort passing as an officer, but they never found out who.

We used to load all the swill onto a cart pulled by an old horse, and driven by an old Pole. One day, two submarine officers decided to hide at the bottom of the cart. We covered them over with the sloppy swill (which we would have eaten in the other Forts), and they had cardboard tubes to breath through. One of us kept the Pole occupied and gave him some tobacco. Finally he set off across the drawbridge. At the end of the road was a guard box and a barrier. We went through as the barrier was raised but following behind on a bicycle was a Feldwebel. As he rode alongside he stopped the cart, got off his bike, took out his bayonet and poked at the swill in the cart. Of course, up popped the sub officers. They were quickly returned to the Fort.

Another attempt was engineered by the Canadian pilots. They had made a plaited rope and practised lassoing a peg on top of the Fort. When they were ready, they went to one of the windows level with the top of the wall. After a few attempts they hooked the rope onto spiked rails on the opposite side of the moat. They went hand over hand to the other side, but suddenly all was lit up and a ring of armed guards were waiting for them as they climbed over the rails. Another instance of the stooge in the Fort.

The German Commandant was known as Scarface, because he had a nasty scar on his cheek, but he was pretty good as Germans go. He disliked officers both German and English. He used to call us out each night for roll call. After counting was over he used to stand in front of us like an orchestra leader and we had to sing Abide With Me. Him and the RSM used to drink schnapps some nights (schnapps supplied by scarface).

One day we were all stopped from going to work. Fort 17 was closed, and the Gestapo came in. We were all paraded on the square and the Germans had set a table up at one end. We had to go up to the table and produce our disc, number and rank. They had all our papers, and it was all checked with our files and the photo of when we first arrived. This took all day and all night.

I'll explain the cause of all this: In the working party that went to Fort 15, three officers had swapped places with three privates a number of times. This enabled them to get into Fort 17 and find out where other parties went to. As they were RAF pilots they were interested in a party going to an airfield. Finally, when they had investigated enough, they got onto the airfield job.

All this was unknown to the Germans - there were none missing at roll calls at Forts 15 and 17, and it was kept from everyone except RSM Homer and NCOs who arranged the swaps. It was so complicated that the stooge in Fort 15 never found out. The RAF officers got to the airfield and intended to get away in a plane, even though it was snowing heavily. They chose a Junker but had been spotted by some Luftwaffe security, and of course they were caught.

Another attempt to escape was made by a sergeant and a corporal. The sgt. could speak perfect German as he had worked for a bank. They had planned it all for some time as NCOs did no work, only privates. The plan was for them to be salesmen from Western Germany. They had Ausweises (identity cards) supplied by the Poles. Us ordinary soldiers never knew how this was achieved - you had to be in the know. Anyway, they got out and the story goes that they were about 15 miles away waiting for a train to Warsaw. They were making for Russia since they were not in the war yet.

As they were waiting they had to act as normal - there were German police also waiting for the train. They were standing behind the sgt. and cpl. who by now were beginning to get nervous. So the sgt. lit a cigarette and was puffing away when a tap on his shoulder made him turn. It was a police captain who asked to see their Ausweis. He looked at them and the identity cards but he wasn't satisfied, so he asked them to come with him.

At the police post the game was up. On the cards was a Swastika stamp. But the Poles must have photographed them because the swastika was the opposite way round. What first made the police suspicious was the English cigarette that the sgt. was smoking. When they were returned to our fort, they had been put in an underground bunker for two weeks and badly beaten.

Shortly after, we were moved to Camp 13A It was here I was reunited with some mates from D Company - Stan Bookman and Vinnie Neal, but only for a short while as they were sent away on a work transport. I never saw them again until after the war. We worked on smashing boulders in a deserted wilderness. We were worked hard all day and the 14lb hammers got heavy, then we loaded the stones onto lorries. It was the hot summer of 1941 and each night we all dashed for the shower, which was just a jam tin with holes and a drum of water above. This you tilted by pulling a string which tipped the cold water into the tin with holes.

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Winter 1941-2

Pleurisy

Some weeks later I began to feel bad. I could hardly breathe, I felt terrible. We were on parade one morning and as the Jerries were counting us I just conked out - I saw the ground coming up to meet me and I was out. The next time I woke up I was in a bed. (Yes, a proper bed!!!) I couldn't think where I was. It was a large room with fifteen other men in it, all in bed. The cockney lad in the next bed, a little fellow waiting for repatriation, said it was the POW Hospital. It was the first I knew there was one!

I had pleurisy and it was bad. A French doctor stuck a needle in my back and syringed a bowl of green stuff off me. from then on I slowly recovered. It was here that I found Freddy Stott in a room of his own. He was in my Company and we were in the same Drill Hall. He had dropsy and was due for repatriation, but he died soon after getting home. In this hospital there were lots of wounded men, some with one leg, no hands, blind. Well, I wasn't in long - two weeks and I was sent to Fort 13. It had been a lovely time in the hospital - proper beds and sheets, the soup was much better, and I made friends with the Londoner.

I was in Fort 13, a massive, sombre building, for the summer of 1941. One Sunday I was going over the drawbridge. Suddenly a voice shouted "Johnno!". I turned around and saw a face at a barred window. Well, it was a lad called Len Rigby from Eccles, one of our lads from the T.A. I was surprised to see him as he was at another Stalag. When I asked him what he was doing in the cells he just grinned and told me he was suspected of sabotage.

It seems they were in cattle trucks and another train stopped alongside them. Later the train moved off and after a few miles it caught fire and the POWs were blamed. Of course, it was him that had done it, and he was waiting in the bunker to be taken away. I only had a roll of tobacco, so I let him have it. Then the guard shouted for me to move away, and I never saw Len again.

Poisoned foot

In the winter of 1941-2 I got a poisoned foot and my ankle went up like a balloon, all shiny and puffed up. It was agony even to put a blanket on it. So I was put on a stretcher to hospital again; It was freezing cold with snow on the roads and every time the stretcher moved it jolted. The sky was blue, and I could see the German fighters practising in the sky. But the pain was terrific, and I was certainly glad when we got to hospital and so were the lads who carried me over all that snow and ice. They took me straight into surgery, gave me anaesthetic and said count to ten. The next thing I remember was coming round. The surgeon wore horn-rimmed glasses and when I looked up it looked just like a bicycle. Still under the gas, I burst out laughing, I couldn't help it. He said I was very lucky as the anaesthetic had run out so he would have had to cut it without. I was glad too!

When I awoke the next day I was in pain which lasted for a few days. After a couple of weeks I was sent back to work. My mates had gone, they had been sent to a working camp, but I soon got some other mates.

It was coming up to Christmas now, so we got a whole parcel each and extra rations. It was so cold that we were stopped as the ground was frozen solid. It was great being off work for once. I started to recover. It's marvellous how the body starts to repair itself after a time. I often found this out, that you should keep on and not give in. Some lads let themselves go and they got worse, letting the situation get them down. It was the same with dysentery. I didn't get it as severe as a lot of others, but then there were a lot like me who sort of got used to the rations and work. I think it must be that some are different than others. We used to moan and some of us would predict the end of the war, but no-one was ever right. When the date had passed we just used to say "Oh, it's sure to be this year, next year or never." It sometimes looked as if it would go on and on as the Germans were so confident.

Poles buried alive

Soon after Christmas I was back fit for work. My name came up on a job digging trenches for big concrete pipes with pick and shovel. It was hard work every day. Next morning 250 of us were to parade at 6am with our gear: one tin mug, one mess tin, one pair of wooden clogs. It was freezing and the snow lay about 2ft deep. We were checked and counted five times, numbers and names. At last we were loaded into cattle trucks. It was still dark and started again to snow heavily. It was bitter cold in the truck. I wrapped my thin blue greatcoat around myself to try and keep the cold out. When we got down in the straw it was warmer. We travelled slowly to Bromberg and marched to a camp at Brabur near the Vistula. and marched off to work.

As we dug down in the trenches the Poles put up boards and tree trunk struts. One day we were down to about fifteen feet when suddenly some Poles started shouting and waving their hands about. We knew that something was wrong. We got out of the trench in double quick time and dashed over. Two of them were buried as the sides of the trench caved in. We'd had a lot of rain and the weight of the wet sand and clay had smashed the side. We all dug like mad but it was too late - when we got them out they were dead.

Misbehaviour

We would be taken over for visits to a bigger camp if the commandant felt like it. We'd would put on boxing gloves and some of the regular army boxers used to teach us. I remember being taught by a wonderful man named Harry Nicholls V.C.. He won the V.C. in France but no one knew about it until the Germans called a parade and officers read the citation with some picture post cuttings. I did a pencil sketch of the action copied off a cutting and gave it to him. He was about 6'4" and broad. It was rumoured that at one time he had 36 machine gun bullets in him. When the Germans found him they took them all out except one near his heart. He was an inspiration to us young ones and whenever I thought of what he had been through and done, it helped a lot when I felt down.

Harry Nicholls V.C.

We in the little camp had a boxer called Alf Saunders, a regimental champ from London. He used to lead the Germans a dance. The guards were searching us every time we returned from work, which meant you couldn't get anything in. If you flogged a pair of socks to a Pole for half a loaf of bread, say, it was taken off you. This Alf caused some bother - one day the guards halted us so we stood with our arms on our heads. When it came to Alf the guard gave a shout of glee - he had found a parcel up his back. So he let us go back into the camp, while Alf was kept out. When the gates closed we stopped to watch. The guard unwrapped a mass of paper and string. Saunders was stood there with guards watching him while another was slowly getting madder. Finally he got the paper off and there in the middle was a small piece of coal as big as a walnut.

By now the Jerries were blazing mad. Two of the biggest guards took him into a room to knock him about, but Alf was a good boxer. They were in for a while and when they came out the two Jerries had their coats off and were sweating like pigs. They then made him stand in a small triangle marked out on the ground - he had to stand for three hours and if he moved he was to be shot, so Alf stood.

Another time, in the winter, Alf and some others gathered up all the duckboards in the square. Then they proceeded to smash them up and dished wood around to all the huts. We were warm that night, but we were all woken up to the guards shouting and bawling. They had been put there mainly for the Commandant to walk around the camp. We suffered for a few days by getting searched at every opportunity and worked extra time.

The digging was hard work. One man was digging (taking turns) and the rest of us shovelling it up to the top of the trench. The Germans had a massive old chain bucket tipper but it would only reach ten feet down. When I was resting by this machine I went to look at it. On the side was a brass plate that said "Massey Harris, Manufactured in Trafford Park, 1914". I thought "My God, this was about a mile from my home in Eccles". Then the guards started shouting "back to work Arbiet schnell".

When it was pouring down hard one day, we said we wouldn't go down the trench after what happened with the two Poles. So we argued with the guards until one of them threatened to shoot us if we didn't go down. Luckily the Stabsfelfabel (Sgt Major) came over and played hell with the Unterofficer, saying he was out of his mind, and ordering us all back to camp. Our camp was at the bottom of a steep hill and the path was like a river but was I glad - we were soaking but had the day off.

There was an attempt to escape once in the big camp, a lad tried to dig under the barbed wire fences. They buried the wire about two feet deep and this lad tried to tunnel under it but a guard shot him dead. He was buried in the nearby cemetery, the coffin draped in a Union Jack. We were allowed to line the road to pay our respects. Before this, there were a number of escapes, but they had all been caught. Three men were away for two weeks but had got just a few miles from camp. They had travelled at night and laid up during the day. They thought they were miles away but must have been going round in circles. They were brought back to camp in a terrible state, I don't know what had happened to them.

At Christmas a concert was organised. It was great, some of the lads were dressed up as girls. Where they got the clothes from I don't know When it was over, we weren't allowed to sing God Save the King so we all stood up and sang Land of Hope and Glory instead. We really gave it all we had, just to show the Jerries we were not down. Our Sgt. Major (a Scotsman) was at the front with other NCOs and a Padre. We were just halfway through the song when there was such a roar from the back of the hall. It was the swine of an Unterofficer with his revolver out, he ran to the front brandishing his gun. When he got to the Sgt Major he screamed at him to stop singing and threatened to shoot him, but the Sgt. and the rest of us carried on to the end. The German thought we were singing God Save the King.

The guards at our camp used to get their food from the top of a hill so a few men would be detailed to carry it down escorted by a guard. On the way down with the dixie of soup (thicker than ours) the lads used to spit a few gozzlers into the stew, but it was well shook up by the time we got to the bottom. The guard couldn't see this as he was at the back. I often wonder if it was ever suspected.

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Stalag XXB, Danzig (now Gdańsk), Poland, January 1942 - January 1945

To Stalag XXB

A better camp

We were in this camp until 1942, when we were moved to Danzig. Some of us went to Stolzenberg Camp, some to the railway with its huge set of lines. We were about seventy-five men, and it was the best camp we had been in - it was just one big hut with sixteen to a room. The food wasn't increased but a lot better, the bowl of soup much thicker and jam, sometimes.

In Danzig we marched through the streets to work. The Poles would smile at us and sometimes risked throwing a cigarette. We used to pick dog-ends up as we weren't allowed to march on the pavement. Sometimes we passed concentration camp women going the opposite way. They looked terrible in these dirty long striped nightgowns and shaven heads. But at the time we knew nothing of concentration camps, they were just other prisons to us. After some months we stopped going through Danzig and started work in the railway yards. We unloaded coal - twenty or thirty tonnes working in pairs with big coal shovels - we had to throw it out and over into the coal compound.

Some of us were quicker than others but we all helped each other to finish. The sooner we had all emptied the wagons, the sooner we were taken back to camp but it sometimes took us ten hours. After a while they put me on night shift with a lad called Hawkins from London. This was filling skips with coal and pushing them to cranes. One night, with two old Poles we never stopped. A party Obermeister with a red armband and a black swastika and a big .45 revolver came round every half hour to make sure we were still there.

When it wasn't so busy we would sit in the Poles’ little hut. At least it was warm because it was bitter cold outside. They couldn't speak English but somehow with signs and nods we had some kind of understanding. They didn't have much food for themselves but sometimes they would share a slice of bread with us (marvellous people). Whilst we were sitting in this little dark and gloomy hut, we would plot about escaping. Hawkins, me and the two Poles.

Risking life for records

We got to work one morning, when up comes the boss of the railway depot. He was called "Romart" and wore a black uniform with a swastika, armband and revolver. He called out "You come here", pointing at me. Of course I was surprised and a bit worried, as you never knew what they were up to. As it turned out, it was my lucky day. He took me into an office and there was an old man sitting at the desk. Romart said "This is the prisoner to help you with the heavy work, he is your responsibility. I will check twice a day." The old man said his name was Leo and I noticed he had a Nazi party badge in his lapel. He said, "sit down Johnny". They always called us Johnny. I worked for Leo for a few months. It was great - no more filling skips or shovel work. I got to like Leo. Sometimes he would slip me a slice of his bread at dinner time (now we never got any soup until we finished work). He had two sons in the U-Boats and he would talk about them. He was very worried.

At the end of the day, the guard would come for me and I would join the others back at camp. Our camp was close to another, large camp called Stolzenberg. One day they sent a gramophone down to our camp for a week before it had to go back to Stalag, but there were only a few German records with it. An old woman with grey hair worked in one of the small stores. She was in charge of everything. I was friendly with her and she also slipped me bread or potatoes. When I got to work one day, as there was no one near, I asked her if she knew anyone who had any records. She said she had some English ones. She wanted some coffee and chocolate for them so I said I would see the lads. That night we had a collection, not much - one small bar of chocolate and a packet of coffee!

Next day when we went to work I was ready to make a deal with the woman. But when I talked to her, she didn't have the records with her, and she was being sent out of town. She said that she would go home and bring them back if I could get back out of camp before 10:00pm. This was going to be difficult! I told the lads what had happened. We talked it over and decided that I would have to go out over the wire. I don't mind telling you that I was scared to death. I put the stuff for the swap inside my battledress and buttoned it up. It was 8pm now and dark. We figured this would be the best time to go as the guards would be changing.

Four of us went to the corner of the wire. They helped me up about 12ft high and when I got to the top I parted the barbed wire, put both feet on the top and jumped. I thought I had broken my legs when I landed in the dark. I lay panting in the long grass for a few minutes listening and feeling for the stuff in my tunic. I thought if the guard comes, I'll be caught. After a while, all I could hear was one of the lads whispering through the wire that it was all clear, then I got up and ran, at a crouch, towards the railway lines.

I made for a line of stationary wagons, got under one and waited. Then on to the next line of wagons. I had to watch out for railway police now as they were always up and down with powerful torches. Eventually, I got to the stores only to find there were two drivers changing shifts. I had to hide in a little lean-to in the dark, listening to the woman and the drivers talking. I was shaking! After about fifteen minutes, which seemed like hours, they eventually left. I knew I had to be quick and moved into the office. When she saw me she said "Johnny, what are you doing here?" so I quickly told her that I had the chocolate and some coffee.

She had brought Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas", "September", "An Apple for the Teacher" and "Love in Bloom", also some Joe Loss and Harry Roy. I was in a hurry now to get back so I packed them in my shirt and buttoned up my tunic, then I went out and dropped on all fours like a dog and made for the first line of wagons. I was gasping for breath, so I just lay between the sleepers till I got my breath back. Then I could hear a train coming so I waited until it passed. I ran across, ducking under the other wagons til I reached the camp.

Before I could get close to the wire I had to watch where the guards were. Being in the dark, I had a good view and they must have been somewhere near the gates, talking. I got to where I had jumped over and hid in the long grass again. Two of the lads were waiting for me and I whispered "catch the records when I throw them over". They caught them OK. Now I had to get up the 12ft wire and back in - this was easier than getting out but jumping down was just as bad. Anyway, I made it OK.

When I got inside our room we were all excited. Sam Probin, Johnny Fenwick, Jonesey and Harold Fletcher were all looking at the records. Everyone was pleased that, at last, we could listen to something that reminded us of home. We only had the gramophone for another week so the records were passed on to all the other rooms.

This camp was the best we had been in. There weren't as many fights over stealing, but one bad thing happened. We got Red Cross parcels every two weeks. Our Sgt in charge would draw the parcels until one day they stopped coming through. We were told it was because of bombing around Berlin. He kept the key to the room and he was going in during the day, when we were at work, and helping himself. I don't mind telling you that there was hell on in the camp that week.

Eventually my cushy job ended and I was put on night shift with Hawkins. The new job was raking the fires and cinders out of the engines. One of us went in the cab and pushed the hot clinkers out and one went under to rake the ashes out. The rakes were about seven feet long and very heavy. This went on all night from 10pm to 7.30am. This job went on for many month until we evacuated the camp. We had some good chats to the drivers and would try to get some news about the Russian front. By now it was becoming obvious that the Russians were getting nearer.

Smuggling out an RAF pilot

An RAF Sgt appeared in camp one night, smuggled in by the Polish underground. We were all suspicious the Jerries had planted a stooge on us. He was hidden through the day. It was a big risk as sometimes we had snap searches by the guards. At night we would sit around and talk to this Sgt. Two lads came from the same town and, of course, they would name certain places and streets to try and catch him out. He was only in camp two or three days, then he had to be smuggled out. He mingled with us and when we were counted we assembled in threes. It was tricky to fit an extra man in but we did.

It was planned that Harold Fletcher and me take the airman up the lines towards Danzig where he was to be picked up by the Polish underground. When the guards took us across the lines we all had to duck under the buffers, so it was easy to slide behind some wagons, wait til the guards had crossed, then we took the airman as far as we dared before we would be missed. We said goodbye and wished him luck. We wished we could have gone with him. When we got back the rest of the lads were messing about to delay the count but we were just in time to get in line.

About Easter Sunday 1944, it was our Sunday off (we used to get one Sunday off in four) the air raid siren went; soon after about fifty American Fortresses came over Danzig and dropped bombs. Some were shot down with flak and we could see the crews baling out. Then, at night, the RAF came over but passed our camp and bombed Gdynia, nearly hitting a POW camp there. It was nerve wracking because we were locked in the hut and the flak shrapnel pattered on the roof. But it was the bombs that kept us on tenterhooks until the all-clear sounded.

Witnessing the holocaust

One night in the summer, after we had finished work, we lay on the grass outside the hut getting some fresh air before being shut up for the night. A train pulled up near the camp. It was a cattle truck and heavily armed, a guard was on each truck. As it stopped, the guards all jumped down, each had a Tommy gun. We knew there were prisoners because that was the way we were transported. We all crowded against the barbed wire thinking we would see some new prisoners and get some news. When the guards opened the doors, bawling and shouting "Rouse! Rouse!" there were women and children and old men jumping from the trucks. It was quite high for women and children to jump and most of them fell to the ground.

They were jews and the trucks were packed. The guards were hitting them and poking them with their guns and shouting. Some women had babies in their arms. It was a pitiful sight I can tell you. We all shouted at the guards but ducked out of sight as they let off bursts of fire at us. All our own guards came and shut us in the huts till the jews were marched away. Later we got a real roasting from the Commandant.

By September 1944 there were signs that it wasn't going so good for the Germans. Trainloads of wounded soldiers would pass the camp en route back to Germany and trainloads of tanks and troops passed the other way to the front. They would see us standing near the barbed wire and come over for a chat. Once a group called one soldier over, and it was Max Schmeling, the boxer. He was a PE instructor and had a finger missing. He said he was on his way to Russia. We got cigarettes off them; they were just soldiers and all of them were OK. A whistle sounded when they had to go back to the train. Around November, a Red Cross train stopped right next to the camp. Most of the passengers were frostbite cases from Memel [Klaipeda, Lithuania]; it was some sight. Trains were now coming in with holes in the water tank which were plugged full of wood. They were being attacked by Russian planes each day. We used to have a good snoop around the cabs looking for left over food, but we never found any!

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"A frightening nightmare": The Long March - Danzig to Hagenow, Germany, January 1945 - March 1945

-The Long March - "January and February 1945 were among the coldest winter months of the 20th century in Europe, with blizzards and temperatures as low as –25°C, and even until the middle of March, temperatures were well below 0°C. Most of the POWs were ill-prepared for the evacuation, having suffered years of poor rations and wearing clothing ill-suited to the appalling winter conditions."

Route of the Long March

Stan's own painting of the Long March, done some years later.

Time passed and it came to Christmas 1944/45. For some weeks before the Russian gunfire was getting nearer and louder. At night we could see a half circle of red glow from the Russian artillery. The sky used to glow from east of Danzig. After the New Year things started to get really hot - bombers were attacking the railway sidings and the air raids were getting worse. We wondered if we would be left to the Russians or transported out. We had long since run out of Red Cross parcels and the guards were getting jittery. In January Hawkins and I were working one night and the engines were queuing up for coal and water. One of the engine drivers, a Pole, told us that Danzig was nearly encircled. Little did we know that this was our last shift. When we got back to camp on the 8th January everyone was buzzing around talking about moving out. The lads didn't go to work that day and the swine of a commander came into camp and told us to pack up our belongings and be ready to move off at midday.

We were all for it - Fletcher and I got our gear together. I had an old Polish army pack and Harold one too. We stuffed what we had into the packs. We didn't have much! Harold had more parcels from home, so he had more than me. We put our soup bowls and a tin can, and any Red Cross parcels that were left in the German stores in our packs.

At 11:00 am we were all packed and ready to go. It was freezing cold, the snow was about two feet deep, and it was still snowing heavily. We had a last look around the camp. We were told to take two blankets each, so you can imagine what we looked like. Fletcher and I had railway caps. They were warm and kept the snow off us.

Everyone was excited. The Russian guns were very close now. We all had a feeling it was too late to get away now but the guards started shouting for us to form up outside the camp. There were 75 of us and, of course, we all thought that being near the railway we would be put into cattle trucks. Little did we know at that time that it would be Shanks’s Pony all the way! We lined up in threes, the guards counted us and shouted "March!". We slithered up a steep path to Stolzenberg Camp. By the time we got to the road at the top we were sweating like hell.

There was lots of activity on the road to Danzig, tanks and lorries in convoys and troops going into the city. When we arrived, there was a huge parade ground surrounded by huts and it was littered with discarded clothes, tins and empty Red Cross boxes. By now, it was getting dark and we were all put into one hut, given some soup and locked in.

Next morning, we were all rousted out double quick and lined up in a group of 500. The guards were shouting and bawling and shoving us in line. It was bitterly cold and still snowing, it had snowed for ages and was very deep. By about 9:00am there were three groups of 500, we were all loaded up with our gear, our blankets rolled up, then tied with string and carried over our shoulders.

As we stood there waiting, an officer got up on a platform and made a speech. While the Russian shells could be seen landing on the far side of the city, the German officer shouted through a loudhailer. He told us we were being taken to Germany to prevent us being shot by the Russians. He didn't say how we were going to get there. After his speech the guards once again shouted "March!", and with this we set off on a journey that was to end in Mecklenburg 1,400 miles away. We had no idea that the march would be a detour around towns and lakes that would last for nine or ten weeks walking 20-25 miles a day!

The first day was agony for me. Harold Fletcher and I managed to stay together right to the end. As we neared the end of the first day, it was dark and snowing and we slipped and slithered as we climbed a hill to a small village. We were all bunched up and the ones in front were turned into a worker's camp. I was knackered and dropped down at the roadside in the deep snow. I thought I was going to snuff it but Harold dragged me up and said "only a few yards and we must be stopping for the night". I managed to get to my feet but I thought I was done for. But we managed to struggle through the snow and into the camp.

We were given some thin soup and had some of our black bread. The rooms were packed and you just dropped down anywhere and slept. In the morning, around 6:30am, we were rousted and rounded up outside. The guards, as usual, were shouting "schnell!, schnell!" and pushing us about. We all formed up in the road and off we went. I didn't feel too bad now once we got marching. Funny, I never once after that felt like I did that first night. The pace of the march was forced fast for the first few miles. We were now in Pomerania marching along the Baltic coast.

The bloody snow was terrible, it was packed hard and we slipped and stumbled along. The lads from our camp kept pretty much together but this was every man for himself - 1,500 of us all looking as we went for anything we could find. It was bitter cold, but marching with the gear we had made you sweat. It wasn't long before some began to tire. By the time it was dark (it never really got dark, more like twilight) we were straggling out over a few miles. If you looked back or forward it was like a snake with us somewhere in the middle. Following behind was a horse and cart with the bread ration. It was supposed to call at the towns and villages we skirted to collect the bread, but it was missing most of the time. We stopped at night in huge barns that stuck up in the middle of nowhere.

We were going down a road though a forest. The snow was blown across in ridges and frozen. Trying to walk on it was like trying to walk on a corrugated sheet. We were all just about on our knees, including the guards. Two of them had dropped out and were sitting on some fallen trees by the side of the road. We sat down too. It was dusk and the column of marchers were well spread out. It had been a tough march through the forest. We asked the guards how much further we had to go to the stopping place. They were just as sick as we were but at least they got fed. Taymouth told us we would stop at the end of the forest; when I looked up the road it seemed to stretch for miles.

Finally, the guards got up. We could hardly get going - the more you stopped the worse it was to get up, your feet and legs felt like lumps of lead. I thought the road would never end. Eventually we came out of the forest and saw the barn a couple of miles away; somehow we found the strength. It was always the same in Pomerania, a mad dash to get the last places for the night. The Americans were being marched too but their camps were in the middle of Pomerania and they were a couple of days in front of us, on the same route. They must have stayed in the same barns as us - we found signs of cigarettes stubbed out only half smoked and tins of meat with bits left in the bottom of the tin.

It was still bitterly cold and icicles hung from the inside roof of the barn. We just dropped down and covered ourselves with straw. Every morning when we were roused we would flap our arms and stamp to get ourselves moving. If we had any bread, we would eat it before setting off. We still had no idea how far we would have to march, we kept telling each other that we would be getting in cattle trucks at the next big town. As the days came and went it was the same ritual: march, just keep going.

Harold and I shared everything - if he pinched anything out of the fields or off the German refugees who were now heading west with their horses and carts and all their belongings. While we were marching it was warm but when we had a break we would soon feel the cold. Most of the lads had a Glengarry forage hat, two buttons at the front undid and you could button the flaps under your chin so that it kept your ears from freezing. We wore socks with paper inside to stop frostbite and we used to stuff paper inside our boots. This was OK when they were dry but as soon as we sweated from marching it was useless.

It was now February and we were still in Pomerania. Once we spotted a lad drop down and roll down the side of the road into a field. We dropped out and when we got to him he was frothing at the mouth. He looked finished. I lifted his head up and turned it sideways, and Harold was rubbing his hands. He was blabbering away but he said to leave him. By this time the column had passed and we were near the back. Three or four guards saw us and shouted to us to get back on the road. It was said that all the ones who dropped out were supposed to be picked up by a horse and cart that followed on behind about a mile back, but we never saw it. Like the bread ration it used to go missing for days. We thought it was tough in the camps and forts, but having suffered that and managed to come to grips with it, it was nothing compared with what was to come on this bitter march. With temperatures thirty below at times, we were always scrounging and pinching food to keep going.

We were herded into a farm building with a combine harvester and straw strewn around it. We all made our places for the night, taking off our blankets and our packs. Mine was an old gas mask bag. We had just got sat down and stretched our tired legs when someone outside shouted "Soup's up! Come and get it." There was a mad rush to get our tins and get outside. The people of the village had asked permission from the officer in charge if it would be alright to bring us some potato soup. So they had brought a big pot, like half a dustbin just outside the doors. They were astounded that we emptied it in no time. The sergeant was dishing it out one ladle per man - not much to starving men but it was good of them. We had some bread we had managed to save between us.

When we got back to our places, I noticed the flap of my bag was undone and when I looked in I saw we had been cleaned out by some rotten bastard. One or two of the others had lost stuff as well. We were boiling. In the mad rush for soup we had all gone and eaten it outside. We'd gained a bowl of soup but lost what we had saved. I went outside to ask different blokes if they had seen anybody come in the barn, but there was no luck, so I wandered around for a while.

I spotted two guards near a gate. They were leaning over talking to some of villagers, so I ducked behind a small building and was over a fence and away through some gardens in a flash. I went to a house and knocked on the back door. I put on my downtrodden look as they came to the door - an old woman opened and when she saw me she beckoned me to come in quick. I went in (the first house I had been in for three years) and I followed her into the living room where an old man was sitting in a rocking chair. He got up quickly when he saw me and I said that I was hungry. Luckily I had picked a kind old couple of Germans. They were sorry for me and they said they had two sons and a grandson in the army. Two were POWs in Russia. They were in tears as they said "So young", then they wrapped some bread, a couple of boiled potatoes and a piece of cheese. I stuffed them up my coat, thanked them and went back to the door. When I got out I had to be crafty and careful that nobody spotted me. Anyway, I got back ok. I got down beside Harold and pulled the stuff from under my coat. I said we had better gobble it up straight away in case it got pinched again. It didn't take long. The others asked me where I got it from. I said try at the houses, but too late - the guards came and locked us in.

We were still in Pomerania and heading for Stolp [Słupsk] but we would be skirting it. As usual rumours spread among us, some said we would be getting on a train. The guards were just as bad - after we had done twenty miles or so, they would say that we only had six or seven miles to go to the next barn, when it would be ten miles. After a while we didn't believe anything they said, we knew we just had to keep going whatever. We could hear the Russian guns and as it got dark we saw the ring of red flashes in the sky. Sometimes they would fade as we moved further west.

As we marched (or shuffled) along, I would go in a sort of trance just looking at the bloke in front and thinking of anything like when this was over. It was hard to think straight at times. We were never far from the coast and could see some ships full of people. But our minds were on food - where the hell was that horse and cart with our so-called bread ration? It was supposed to be at the next stopping place but was most times missing.

We seemed to be approached the city of Stolp but we went around it in flat and desolate country. At night we could still hear the guns in the distance, somehow they seemed to be keeping pace with us. By now as we got past Stolp the refugees were getting more and more, the horses and carts piled high with their belongings, buckets, lamps and all sorts hanging off the sides, just like the old Westerns. The guards kept us away from them.

It seemed like everyone was fleeing west. We noticed now that the guards were pulling panzerfausts (anti tanks) and were getting jittery. You never knew when you would get a poke in the back with the end of a rifle. I happened to be lagging behind and this bastard guard came up behind me. The shock of getting an unexpected dig knocked me face down in the snow. I scrambled up in case he gave me another. We all kept out of this guard's way as he had shot some prisoners early in the march. He said they had tried to escape when the officers came along.

At the end of February the snow turned to slush. As we approached the coastal town of Wollin [Wolin] the guards seemed to be uneasy and jumpy. It was getting dark and we were weary as we had done about 30 miles this day. We were on a hill coming down towards the town but still out in the open country when the guards halted us and a car with officers arrived. We watched as the guards and the officers were having a conference. After about 15 minutes, after we had all stood shivering, the guards herded us into a field surrounded by high ground. This is where we were to spend the night. Worse, it started raining. The ground was soon wet and we all huddled together. Six of us hooked our blankets and got down, but it was a sleepless night even though we were knackered. It was terrible and I think this was the worst night - at least the other stops had been under cover.

As the night wore on we could see clearer than ever the red glow and flashes, and the thump of heavy gunfire to the south of us. The guards were silhouetted against the red sky as they took up positions on the high ground. All the lads were up stamping their feet to get them moving, some just stayed down. At daylight the Germans brought a soup kitchen onto the field and, thank God, we all got some hot soup and a quarter of a black loaf or I honestly think we would not have been able to march another step. The rain had stopped and the sun came out. We hung our blankets on the wire fence until the guards started to rouse us, shouting and bawling and getting us out of the fields and back on the road.

Fifteen hundred set off on this march but it looked a lot smaller now. Five hundred had gone towards Stettin. We finally marched out onto the road leading to Kolberg [Kołobrzeg]. As we all got going the guards started shouting and hurrying us; we didn't march we nearly ran. The Germans were panicking. As we came to the town we were hurried down to the dockside where loads of barges were lined up. The town and dockside were teaming with troops and antitank guns were everywhere. This was the front line by the looks of it.

We were packed into these barges until I thought we would sink. Then away we went; at least we weren't marching. . We were packed like sardines, and so low in the water I said to Harold "We're not going to make it, it looks like miles to the other side." We must have been two or three hours in the barge, soaked with sea-spray when we headed for the coast, German soil. We had made it. I think we were all a bit relieved that our feet were on firm soil at last. Fletcher said a little prayer, me too under my breath. We were all glad to get off that bloody barge. Soaked again, we set off straight away trying to get our legs working again. We came to a place called Usedom and we went around its outskirts. The roads were packed with refugees, horses and carts.

It had been hell on Earth this winter of 1945. It had been one of the most savage , and we had survived, but we were marching through minus 30 degrees. With icy winds and snow it became a struggle to survive. Had we known when we set off how far we were to march I don't think we would have done it. We always thought we would get transport at the next town, like the carrot and the donkey. It's amazing what the body can do. This would have been a test of endurance for fit men, never mind unfit.

On about 1st March we marched past Anklam to Murchin. Now we were in Germany the roads seemed better though still as long. It was the snowing less and bombing was frequent in daylight. It was still bitter cold but I think we were getting used to it. We seemed to be getting tougher and harder as we went. The fact that we were heading west and home just kept us going. After going through the Pomeranian blizzards we told ourselves that it could only get better. But more lads were dropping out with swollen feet; our boots were worn down right through the heels through dragging our feet at the end of the day. And lots of lads had dysentery from eating raw stuff out of the fields.

A Red Army soldier dies of dysentery after eating unwashed vegetables. This is a common way of contracting dysentery. From a health advisory pamphlet given to soldiers. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dysentery)

The refugees were still choking the roads, trudging along. Some had come from Pomerania like us, but they moved in their own time, we were pushed. Their horses were struggling and the steam came off their bodies. We were coming down a hill and one of the horse and carts couldn't stop tearing down; the horse just gave up its legs, just spread out apart and fell down gasping for breath. We had all stopped for a break and watched the refugees and some helpers cut the horse’s straps. But by this time it was dead, so they rolled it into the ditch. It was set upon by the lads and we had that horse hacked up in no time. Its throat was cut first and bled, then we had lumps of red horse meat. We soon got fires going and stuck the meat on sticks or anything, bits of wire, wolfing it down because we were starving. It was still steaming. The civilians had their share too. When we had done there wasn't much left. This stopping place was littered with rubbish, old cart wheels, metal boxes, burnt out bullet-riddled wagons. It looked as if there had been an air raid.

The frost and snow had gone, but it was still bitter cold at night. We would wave at the refugees as they passed in the hope they might throw us bread or something. We were on a road that went down into a town called Demmin*, it was about to be bombed - we could hear the sirens going, and the guards made us stay where we were. We were excited. As we waited, we had a great view of this town and it was a sunny afternoon. After about twenty minutes we could hear the drone of the bombers and see the white streamers in the sky, hundreds of them in formation; they looked like silver birds. The guard sitting with us said they were Americans, then they dropped their load. The last time we had seen them was Easter Sunday 1944. This time we had a grandstand view.

Demmin

[* The Red Army "arrived in Demmin on 30 April 1945. During that night and the following morning, Demmin was handed over to the Red Army largely without fighting... Rapes, pillage and executions committed by Red Army soldiers triggered a mass suicide of hundreds of people and nearly all of the Old Town was burned down by the Red Army." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demmin. See also: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mass_suicide_in_Demmin]

There was some German flak, guns, and pom-poms nearby in the trees. The noise was deafening. As the bombs landed, the ground we were sitting on shook. The refugees pulled over and stopped under the trees lining the road. Flashes of fire and dust soon covered the town. Some of the planes were overhead now and banked round in a wide turn. Quite a few bombs were coming down in pairs but none fell near us. By now it was getting dark and the all-clear sounded so we started to move. The guards were bawling and waving their arms about.

Names of towns and villages passed us by until we turned towards Loitz. It was dark now and we turned off onto a beaten dirt road and came at last to a huge barn where we were to stop for the night. As the big doors banged shut, we were all nearly fast asleep - we just dropped down absolutely knackered, hungry and sick. When was it going to end? We had been on the march for two months now. We were now on the west side of the river Oder and the Russians had already reached Stettin and were coming down the east side of the river. We could hear the heavy guns as we assembled outside the barn next morning.

The weather was improving a bit. The snow had gone and instead we got rain and wind. The potato sacks that some had been wearing to keep the cold out had disappeared but we still kept our scarves that had been cut out of blankets around our heads. It was so cold, but I think we were so used to the bitter blizzards by now that we didn't feel it as much. At least your nose and ears weren't freezing.

So on and on we went, westwards. The civilians were still on the same route. We used to walk along next to their horse-drawn wagons and try to put our hands under the tarpaulin to see if we could pinch some food, but it was as scarce for them as it was for us after coming such a long way. Cold and malnutrition had taken its toll on us. The civvies were more able to stand the journey because they rode on their wagons, but earlier in the day we had passed many who were frozen to death sitting on their carts.

Yes, the long march was a frightening nightmare. The guards had itchy trigger fingers and began to get more vicious as they realised that they were nearly finished, but most of them still thought Hitler would pull some secret weapon out and surprise everyone. Harold and I stuck together right through the march. We bumped into other lads from our camp from time to time, but we were straggling out with tiredness and day-to-day worries, and everyone was just struggling to keep going.

As we went on hoping and wondering when it was all going to end, I noticed that the guards at the front of the column had begun to split up. There were about 550 left in our column, the others marched off. We were heading for Schwerin, then changed direction. We marched along a railway and thought we were at last getting a train - there were wagons and a coach standing by - but no. We stopped, it was the middle of the day which was unusual. After some time we were told that this is where we were to stay, forty men to a wagon, so we sorted ourselves out and got into our new homes on wheels. At the time we didn't know - we thought it was just another stopping place - but we eventually ended the march, thank God, in a place called Hagenow.

---

Work around Hagenow, Germany, March & April 1945

Hagenow and the surrounding area

"If we got hit we got hit"

One hour later soup and a piece of bread was issued, so we rested our weary legs. Some of the lads were in a terrible state, the big ones seemed to look worse - dysentery made them look like skin and bones. I never got dysentery, I had the runs sometimes, but I didn't eat many raw vegetables on an empty stomach. So we settled in. The weather was warm now and we would light little fires outside the wagons. In between the wagons was a deep ditch and we used to do all our toiletry here, dysentery mostly. We were recovering from the mad march and there was no work. American and British fighters came over quite often scraping the railway. We were starving, perpetually hungry, and there was nothing to scrounge. The Germans had three guards at the back of the wagons and one at each end. The Stabsfeldwebel in charge was a right bastard, so were the guards, who were all young sods.

We were forty to a wagon. When we settled in we had some straw on the floor, not much, and we hung our bits of things and our tins that we had carried for water or soup on nails knocked into the wall. It was a godsend to rest after the slog, but anytime, day or night, the Germans would suddenly shove an engine onto the end with such a bump that all the gear would clatter and drop onto our heads. There was one wagon full of picks and shovels. Each time the railway line was bombed (which was often) the old engine was shunted on and away we would go, locked in.

One of our first runs like this was to a place called Wittenburg. We used to fill in the bomb holes so the German Pioneer Corps could fix the lines. We did this as slowly as we could. The guards were in no mood for this and we got many a clout. After working until about eight we got soup, a piece of bread and some Ersatz coffee. Anyone who had the runs had to get it done as we were locked in for the night. This became a bit terrifying when the Yanks or the RAF came back: we could hear the crunch of bombs nearby and we would crouch there in the dark listening to the patter of flak shrapnel on the wagon roof. Flak guns were all over the place but I was so tired that I fell asleep easily. If we got hit we got hit, and anyway we wouldn't have known much about it.

"Do you realise I could shoot you?"

Sparks from the engines would sometimes set fire to the dry grass beside the railway lines. We would be taken a few miles to the fires and would have to bat them out with shovels. The Feldwebel in charge was a crafty one: he used to watch us and was always counting us. Harold and I were the only two with railway hats on. I said to Harold that on the first chance I would be away into the woods, which were really thick. So I watched the guards and that bloody Feldwebel. When he wandered to the other end of the gang I sneaked into the woods. I told Harold I wouldn't be long if I found anything. The wood was thick with trees and ferns about waist high. I ducked low until I was well away from the others. It was quiet and I was scared in case I bumped into any of the soldiers in case they shot me so near to the end of the war.

Not far were a farm and some old farmhouses, or should I say hovels. There was a man there who looked like a Pole. I wasn't sure but took a chance and spoke to him. He was terrified when I told him I was an English POW and asked him if he had any food. He took me into a narrow passage and we turned into a doorway that led to some rickety stairs. It was dark in there. Then we came to a room and he opened the door and we went inside. It was a dark room with one little window; the plaster was off the wall showing the bricks. A baby was crying and a young woman nursing it. I sat down, there was just a bed, a little table and two chairs, a little cupboard on the wall and a small gas ring. They were a couple who had been brought from Poland three years before to work on the farm. I felt sorry for them so I said it didn't matter about the food, but they gave me a slice of bread and a few potatoes.

I thanked them and shook their hands, they were taking an awful risk. I made my way down the rickety stairs and back into the woods. I thought I was doing well keeping low amongst the ferns. It was deathly quiet, just the birds singing, so I stood up and just walked a short way. Suddenly from nowhere came that bloody Stabsfeldwebel. He stopped me and had his pistol out, I knew it was no good. He said "What are you doing away from the working party, do you realise I could shoot you, but I won’t. Now move quick." He was behind me all the way and I could feel the back of my neck prickle. I reckon I was lucky to be alive, I knew some guards who would have thought nothing of shooting me (these bastards have a lot to answer for). After going through so much agony, we had to be careful.

When we got back to the lads he just watched me as I went to Harold and Sam Probin. I said "I wonder how he knew that I was missing," and Sam said "It's them bloody railway hats." Harold and I looked at each other and I knew he must have come round checking. I said I was going to get rid of mine when we got back to the siding, Harold said he would too.

As the train pulled back into Hagenow there was an air raid on, the sirens were howling and the flak was banging away, but we couldn't see anything. We just had to sit there and hope we weren't hit.

In charge of all the guards was the commandant - a lieutenant, and a right swine. The guards used to let one man from each wagon get some water. One day it was hot and I took a jam tin to get water for one of the lads who had dysentery; he was just skin and bone. If we weren't free soon he would surely die. When I got there a bunch of lads were there also. The commandant was shouting and bawling and pushing them away. You had to be wary of him because he was handy with his Luger. After a while things quietened down, so I went to a guard and told him someone was sick and needed water. He was just about to let me go when the commandant stopped me, so I told him the same, but he said no. I argued with him and he lifted his arm as if to belt me. I threw my arm up to protect my face and knocked his hat off accidentally. I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel. There were a lot of us milling around and in the commotion I dodged amongst the crowd and disappeared down the line of wagons, helped by the others. The commandant was roaring his head off, but I knew once I mingled with the rest he wouldn't find me. If you were caught the guards used to take you into an empty wagon and two of them would bash the hell out of you, with one guard at the sliding door with his rifle ready.

Sent to search for bodies

One morning about six o'clock we felt the wagons really jump off the railway lines and all our belongings and tins fell off the walls. There was one hell of an explosion somewhere and the rumblings went on for some time. After about an hour we were shook again as an engine shunted into us. The guards hadn't yet opened the door so we couldn't see outside. In a few minutes we were going fairly fast to somewhere.

When we got out, we found that an ammunition train had been blown up, and what a sight. A small town had been hit by Mosquitos. The first thing we noticed was a dozen fuel tankers burning and the smell of cordite and burning benzine. Just beside where we stopped were wagons of spuds. The top layer was roasted by the heat of the burning tankers and we were up at the top shoving them down to the lads. We were issued with shovels and picks and marched to where the explosion had been. There was a crater the full width of ten sets of railway lines. The rails looked like corkscrews where they ended in the hole, which was full of water.

De Havilland Mosquito

The first job was to push some of the burned-out tankers into the hole. We pushed six or seven cattle trucks in as well because it was that deep. The woods were all blistered and burnt. We had never seen anything like this in all our journeys from East Prussia, and believe me we had seen some sights. The locomotive boiler had been blown half way across a field and could be seen sticking up, railway lines as well. Our job was to fill the hole in so that the German Pioneers could lay a line or two.

We got a good look at the houses - the roofs and walls were blown to bits at the back but funnily enough the fronts were still standing. What had happened, according to some civvies we got talking to (when the guards had their backs turned) was that three RAF Mosquitos came over and dropped bombs in the fields either side of the ammo train, then went away. Well, the townspeople fled into the shelter of the woods as they knew the planes would return, and they did. The three planes circled and the flak on the ammo train started firing. Then as the planes started to dive, the gunners panicked and hid under the cattle trucks, but the blast was so fierce that it got most of them. The Mosquitos would dive in lines one after the other; the first two hit the target and it blew up, catching the third plane in the blast.

Now we were sent to search for bodies. We found them still crouched under the bogies of the cattle trucks. Every two men, were given a blanket to collect the burnt bodies. Just a push and they would fall over like burnt pigs. We were picking up arms that had blown off still with their watches on. After we had collected all the bits and pieces up, they were all laid out in the field and loads of officers were organising it. We all had to dip our arms into a barnet of disinfectant after the collection was over. Most of the bodies were unrecognisable; even their dog tags had disappeared or melted. I picked up an arm torn off at the elbow still with the sleeve of his jacket, watch and ring on.

The civvies came back to the houses and our Mosquitos were still attacking the railway. We put a sign in a field saying POW in big letters with pieces of wood or anything just in case they strafed us. We knew they had seen it as they wobbled their wings. We spent about four days here filling in the hole and collecting the burnt bodies. There were 150 of us on one side of the hole and about three or four hundred Pioneers and Arbeitsdienst [Reich Labour Service] on the other. When it was filled enough we went back. Now we could faintly hear the sound of gunfire again but this time it was the Yanks or ours. We packed all our shovels and picks into the wagon and we were herded back into our cattle trucks, the next day we were on our way back to Hagenow.

Hunting for cheese

This was the work we did, but mostly now we did nothing. Harold and I were still keeping out of the commandant's way, but I think he had more worries than to look for me. We could hear the rumble of guns and at night the red glow in the sky was just like the Russian Front. When the guards locked us up for the night we used to listen to the guns. The sound would come and go. We had an idea that it would be over soon, but we wondered what the Germans would do to us.

The sound of gunfire was getting closer but still seemed to be worse at night and if one of us went to the ditch, we would give a commentary of the red sky and flashes of light when we came back. Everyone was excited at the prospect of liberation, but we had learned not to build up our hopes.

It was either the first or second week of April by now. One night we were all talking about what would happen when we were free. Forty men all yapping; one of them was a Scots lad who I had never liked. He said he had seen a "koolwagon" [kühlen Wagen?] a few miles away and that it was full of round, red cheeses. He was willing to go and get some if someone would go with him. I said to Harold that it was worth a try because we were so hungry. I said OK I'd come. We agreed that everyone would get a share if we got them.

This Jock was a braggart, and we said that if he was just shooting a line we would knacker him. "No, it's the truth, I saw them, round red cheeses, piled up high in a cool truck, and the seal had been busted", he said. So, it was all planned - that night someone was to rattle on the door about 12 o'clock; that was the time the guards were a bit lax. Jock and I got ready - we tied our bootlaces together and slung them round our necks so that we would not make any noise. I don't mind telling you that I was a bit nervous, but I wasn't going to let anyone know, especially Jock.

It took a few minutes before the guard slid open the door and one of the lads said he had the runs. He jumped down and we hoped the guard would leave the door open, and he did. It was just about enough for me to slide it a bit more. After standing there for a few minutes, the guard wandered away to talk to his mate. I waited a few more moments as the guns were crumping away, watching the red flashes. We both slipped out under the truck and froze.

I looked up and down the other side but couldn't see the guards. I whispered to Jock: "Let's go now, we'll get across and hide under a line of trucks". We went on all fours, like two dogs, as quick as a flash. If run on all fours with boots round your neck, swinging from left to right, it nearly strangles you. We were panting like hell but we made it. We were fairly safe hiding under the trucks. When we got our breath back I said "which way now?”. Jock said we would have to get across another six sets of lines towards the station. It was a cloudy night and a good job it was dark too!

We made our way across to the next line of trucks. There were loose stones between the sleepers so we had to be wary they made no noise. We checked before dashing that there were no guards up or down the line. We had managed to cross four lines now. The last two lines had no trucks so it was quite a gap to get across, but we made it.

Just as we scrambled under the trucks a troop train came along. It came puffing up slowly and it was coming to a stop right next to us. Jock panicked and left me - he disappeared up the line somewhere. The doors opened and it was full of German troops. I knew they would all jump out to stretch their legs. I climbed onto the axle of the truck that I was under and got right up behind the wheel, against the floor. As the train squealed to a stop, sure enough, out jumped the Jerries. They must have all been busting for a slash, pissing and farting. After a while I could hear two of them stop right next to the wheel. One of them had a powerful torch and he was flashing it all over. You can imagine, I was shaking and hardly daring to breathe. My boots were digging into the back of my neck and I was pressed up against the floorboards as far as I could go. Suddenly I heard shouting and a whistle coming from the direction Jock had taken.

Eventually the troops got back in and the train started moving away. God, I was glad. I waited for a while until all was quiet. I eased my cramped legs and loosened my boots off my neck. I sat down on the sleeper, still behind the wheel.

I wondered what had happened to Jock. After waiting to see if he would come back I thought "to hell with the cheeses". I didn't know where they were so I started back. I counted five trucks from the end, then looked up and down for the guards. No sign of them so I got under our truck and tapped on the underside of the floor, keeping behind the wheel, then I heard the tap back. One of the lads inside started to bang on the door for the guard. It took him about ten minutes and he was cursing like hell for being disturbed. At this stage of the war the guards were getting sick of it and some of them couldn't care less. He slid the door open and the lad got out and went to the ditch. The guard shouted to ask how long he would be. No answer so he slid the door back but didn't pull the lock over.

As soon as he had gone, I opened the door and collapsed on the floor. They all crowded round me whispering "where's Jock?" and "where's the cheese?". I just lay there for a minute til I'd recovered then I told them I didn't know what had become of Jock. I told them about the troop train. Everyone had heard it pull in - they make plenty of noise.

I slept sound after that, even squashed as we were. Next morning when the doors were slid back it was a lovely day, but Jock was missing. It turned out he had been caught by the railway police - that was the shouting I had heard. He told me he had run right into the police who were waiting for the troop train to arrive. They had taken him to a room, and an officer interrogated him. But when Jock showed him his POW disc and told him he was looking for a way back he got a pasting off them and a good bashing from our underofficer too. So it had been a failure. We got no cheese!

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"Free at last!": Liberation, April & May 1945

It was now getting to the end of April and we could see that the war was closing in but you never knew for sure, even as the guns were getting closer. One day all the guards and that bastard Stabsfeldwebel had been changed to old men with patched-up uniforms. The others must have been sent to the front. The day after, a large convoy of trucks appeared full of SS soldiers. We thought he was going to move us, but he changed his mind. These old guards were great - they couldn't care less whether we went away or not but they told us it would be better to stay where we were as our uniforms were unrecognisable, being so filthy.

We must have looked a right rabble, unshaven and all sorts of hats on. Harold and I had gotten rid of our bloody railway hats but we still had the lice. We got jobs to do, cleaning the trucks. There were many trapped in the sidings as the lines had been bombed so many times that they could go nowhere. The Yanks were coming from the south and the Russians from the north so we were in a bottleneck, but we didn't know this at the time. We never got told anything. While we were so-called cleaning we pinched all sorts from the trucks: spuds, carrots, anything that was edible. But we never did find those cheeses. When we got back to our truck, we would light fires and roast spuds and anything else.

One morning we woke up to find that the sliding doors had not been locked. One of the lads slid it back and looked up and down the line of trucks. He said "there's no guard". Of course, we all scrambled to the door. Someone else said: "Hey, look over at the houses across the fields, they've all got white sheets hanging out of the windows".

We were all excited and everyone jumped down. We didn't know what to do, it was unusually quiet. All the guards were standing together at the end of the trucks. We all started hunting - I went into one of the guard's trucks and grabbed one of their packs. It had brown fur on the back, inside were his socks, a shirt, letters from home and a parcel with a few slices of bacon, some dark chocolate and a third of a loaf. I also grabbed a Schmeisser submachine gun. Gangs of us were wandering round, everyone was looting all sorts.

God, we were free at last! It was a queer feeling at first being free. Harold and I kept together - we wandered about the railway tracks but we still never found that blasted truck with the round cheeses. All the civilians were looting the cool wagons - they had little carts and bags and were taking all sorts of food. Sacks of flour had busted open and there was flour all over the place. Anything that could be taken was grabbed; we got our share. I got an officer's map case and binoculars, but I was really after food.

The next day someone shouted that the Yanks were near. Just then there was a terrific explosion in Hagenow. It seems that the Germans had blown up the airfield and all the fuel. A great mass of black smoke poured over the town. We watched three Mosquitoes about two miles away bombing a small wood. It must have been an ammunition dump because it went off like a firework display and we all felt the blast. As it hit the backs of our necks we all cheered. We had made a big POW sign with pieces of wood and boxes and planes would waddle their wings to let us know they knew we were there.

After we had eaten our best meal for years Harold and I decided to go over to the railway station. As we came round a corner we ducked back quickly. I said: "Look. There's something with a star coming down the road" A jeep with two soldiers was coming straight for us. We had never seen a jeep before and were a bit wary. Harold said "it can't be Russians 'cos it's a white star, it must be Yanks", so we both stepped out into the road and it stopped. God, it was wonderful to see them. They asked us who we were and we told them we were British POWs. We must have looked like partisans! (I found out recently that the American 82nd Airborne troops had liberated us under Ltnt. Colonel Gavin

The sergeant threw us an orange, the first in five years. We took them to our trucks and when they saw the guards they asked why we hadn't shot them. We told them that they had been good to us and that they were all old men.

More Yanks came, mostly hunting for Lugers and souvenirs. Harold flogged two Yanks (a tall thin one and a short fat one) a Luger and a Leica camera for two white loaves, the first white bread we had seen since France. It was so soft you could squeeze it like sponge, it was lovely. Some of the lads got bicycles, I don't know where from. The Yanks asked us to search all the Jerries that were giving up. We weren't too easy on them - some lads had eight or nine watches and there were piles of Leica cameras. Some of the Jerries had ripped the SS flashes off their collars but you could still see where they had been.

A few of us had moved out of the cattle trucks - we had found a Pullman passenger coach that was ten times better. We were eager to get in touch with the British, so the sergeant went down to town to see the American officers about it. He came back and said that in a couple of days we could maybe go.

That night we were mooching for food near the station when there was a lot of activity. Lots of American MPs were lined up on the platform. It was still blackout so the only lights were dim blue. A train came puffing in slowly and the Yanks were lined up on both sides armed with machine guns. We just sat on the side and watched. All you could hear was the slow puff puffing as it slid to a halt with steam hissing in the darkness. A Yank officer on the platform shouted in German through a loud hailer "You have three minutes to throw out your weapons and come out". There was dead silence as we waited in the blue lights. After about a minute the small arms and rifles clattered onto the platform from the wagons and tanks, then we watched as the men and officers came out until the train was empty. A Yankee sergeant said that it was wired to blow up but the engineers had disarmed it a few miles out of town.

Next morning we wandered over to the station and asked if it was OK to go into the tanks. They were the Tigers on the flat railway cars, used to armour the train. They had already searched them for booby traps, so they let us in. When I climbed down inside I was surprised at the space, but it still felt cramped. It was just as the crew had left it - the empty mess tins had bits of food left in and tins of ersatz coffee still in the cups, empty shell cases still lying about. I wouldn't like the driver's job, it gave you a trapped feeling and it had a bad smell. The crew must have been in it a long time.

We walked along the platform and went in the Pullman coaches. Here was luxury - it was the officers’ quarters. Typewriters, telephones, lovely clean sheets on the bunks, a kitchen, swivel chairs, they must have had it good. There were personal lockers but anything that was any good had gone, the Yanks had been there first. Two Americans were behind us trying the locker doors and if they couldn't open them they pulled out their guns and blasted them. It nearly burst our eardrums.

The Jerries were still holding out in the woods around about. There was rifle and machine gun fire in the distance and we had to be careful of snipers. One day we were watching three Yank aircraft attacking an ammo dump. They dived one after another then swung high into the sky. As we got off the train there was a terrific explosion and a pall of black smoke. What a sight; we all cheered.

We spent the whole week disarming the Germans as they gave up. A lot came in their own transport and gradually the fields were packed with cars and trucks. The job of searching the Jerries seemed funny to me after being snarled at and sometimes beaten by them, then standing in front of them face to face, telling them to give up any weapons and taking their cameras off them.

The Yanks came with big trucks to take away the watches and cameras and sidearms. Hagenow will always stick in my mind with those Yanks forever hunting for Lugers and cameras. They gave us food and "K" rations, but we wanted to get to the British HQ, so the sergeant in charge of us went to the Americans for help.

When he came back we all got together and he said "Right lads, this is what we have to do, we've got to help ourselves as the Yanks are too busy. We have to go to the field where all the German vehicles are and pick our own transport, get petrol from the other trucks and then when we're ready we'll make up a convoy with a big placard on the front truck saying POW in big letters, OK now get cracking".

After that speech, Harold, me and some other lads picked out a Kübelwagen. It had no doors, just openings and a canvas roof. I got in and had a drive round the field. I was a bit stale after five years and it was a left hand drive. Well, it took all day to get the convoy of different vehicles out on the road. A few Yanks wanted to know where we were going and we said across the Elbe to Lüneburg where the British HQ was.

As we travelled towards the Elbe, there were signs of the action we had been hearing each night. There were tanks burnt out, and still burning, at the roadside, both German and American. Some of the places must have been holding out, SS mostly.

We stopped every few miles as some battles were still going on. Batches of bandaged wounded were sitting at the roadside, waiting to be picked up and bodies were loaded onto wagons. As we got further away things looked more organised. Towards evening we got to a long pontoon bridge across the Elbe. It took a while to get across; we were tired by now but we began to see more British troops and we cheered them as we passed.

Hundreds of big Yankee trucks came tearing along in the opposite direction. They all seemed to be driven by big grinning black Yanks, and they tooted their hooters as they passed. As it was getting dark we asked the Americans if there was somewhere to stop for the night. They directed us a to a village taken over by the Yanks. We were made welcome and got food but stayed with our vehicles. There was a Nissen hut where they had a film show with a makeshift screen, the first I had seen since I left England. It was packed and Harold and I went and stood in the gangway. The film was Show Business with George Murphy. It was great, I really felt free at last. Next morning after sleeping in the Kübelwagen (which was no hardship after the places we had slept in!) we set off on our way home.

We got to Lüneburg and were directed to a huge barracks. We were assembled, about two hundred or so, and straggled through the big gates where we were met by a committee of the army. Some were assisted by medical orderlies as they were in a bad way, and this last journey had taken it out of them. I didn't feel bad but we were still all lousy and dirty against all the squeaky clean people.

First we were given a good meal, dished up believe it or not by German civvies, but we didn't care. We daren't eat too much as we became sick, it just came back up. Next we were stripped of our clothes, into the shower, squirted with delousing powder, and given a brand new uniform. It felt good. God, how good it felt. So many happy faces, all wondering how long before we would get to England and home.

After settling down and going through an interrogation we were given a five pound note and told we could go out and walk around Lüneburg. We felt so clean and good in our new uniforms. Outside a shop there was a crowd of Germans. In the window were large photos of Belsen concentration camp and its victims. It was sickening, much worse than our camps. The German civvies were forced to look.

But we wandered on enjoying the freedom, looking at the German people on the streets. No more walking in the gutter as we had done for five years. Out of the main streets we came across some wooden huts, and there was singing and dancing in one of them. It was getting towards evening so we decided to investigate.

As we went in, the corridor was full of Russian "DPs" [Displaced Persons] who had probably been brought to work in Germany. They were happy and drunk and we were pushed into one of the rooms. It was full of men and women singing and dancing. Harold said "everyone's drunk, I don't know what they're drinking but it must be strong wallop". One Russian, a big black-bearded giant came up and grabbed me, sat me down on a wooden form and slapped my back. I thought he'd broken it.

They filled two tin cups with what looked like schnapps. We were all happy sitting round this table, all drinking and laughing. They told us to drink so I put the can to my mouth and it nearly burnt my mouth off. I said to Harold "Bloody Hell! It tastes like benzine or petrol!" We just pretended to drink it but found something later that was more like a watery beer. After some more singing and dancing they all conked out one by one and so did we. We just slept on the dirty floor.

About five in the morning Harold shook me awake. God, what a mouth, it was stinking and my head was thumping. We both tiptoed out of the door, glad to get into the fresh air. The Russians just lay where they had dropped. Loud snores came from the rooms as we passed; what a sight and what a stink. We must have come out at the other end of the hut - we stood looking down into an army camp, lost.

In we went, and we got tea and toast with jam. Well, we both felt better now. We told the cook about being roped in by the DP's and what we had been drinking. One cook said the Russians had been draining a locomotive of its fuel and mixing it with schnapps and vodka for the last four days. We told the cooks about when we were captured, and some of them said were too young to have been in the army in 1940.

As we walked towards the town hall there were crowds of people and soldiers. I said someone important must be expected so we waited. The steps were lined with Redcaps [Royal Military Police]. Eventually seven or eight big Mercs came up the road escorted by motorcycles. Out stepped some German officers and they were taken into the town hall by armed Redcaps. We wondered who they were. It was not til I got back to England I saw on the front page of a morning paper was a picture of Himmler lying on the floor of the Lüneburg town hall, dead.

Himmler's corpse after his suicide by cyanide poisoning, May 1945, Lüneburg

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Return home

Hagenow and the surrounding area

Harold and I hooked up with some of our lads and made our way back to the barracks. I felt funny not scratching every five minutes now we had got rid of the lice. When we got to our rooms we were told that we would be flown out in the morning. At last it had come. There were times when I thought I would never get back to Blighty; we were all very excited.

Next morning, we had breakfast and gathered all our gear. We had a kit bag each now and I still carried one of the guards’ fur-backed packs. I had a good lot of floating soap, binoculars, a camera, some watches and other odds and ends. It was now the 11th May. We were loaded onto trucks and away we went to an aerodrome. The RAF organised us into groups of sixteen dotted at the side of the runway. The airlift went on all day: Lancaster bombers were landing and taking off every ten minutes. Of course, Harold and I were in the last group and by noon everyone had gone except us. All the Lancasters had been used but there were a few silver American planes standing on another runway. An officer was going to see if one of those could take us. It was some distance, and we were all talking, worrying about our luck at being last. Then we saw two figures in the distance coming across the field.

It was the RAF officer and a tall, lanky Yank officer. It seems that he had volunteered to take us. We all gave a cheer of thanks, picked up our gear, and followed them over to where a B17 was standing; the crew were standing ready. As we went in our names and numbers were taken. This was the first time I had been on a plane. I remember the wireless operator sitting in a cubby hole about halfway along, the sides were open with twin machine guns, and a gunner stood on a platform to reach the blister on top.

B17 Flying Fortress

As we taxied down the bumpy runway, full of filled-in craters, the engines roared for take off. What a noise! We couldn’t hear anyone talk as it rose in the air. I thought my stomach was turning over but as he levelled out it was great. During the trip we were issued with American "K" rations and the wireless operator had jazz and dance music from America. They even let us fire some rounds from the machine guns. They were smashing Yanks.

As we came over Holland, the pilot swooped low to show us all the parts that had been flooded. It was like dropping suddenly in a lift, but exciting and wonderful! Two lads were sick out of the bomb bays. I went along to the tail and stood up to look through the plastic blister on the top. We were all in high spirits and we said we would kiss the ground when we landed. It was nice and sunny as we crossed the North Sea and it looked blue, but we were all waiting for that first sign of the English coast.

Then the shout went up "There it is - the coast of Blighty!". It looked lovely; I had never seen it before. The plane came in low as we came over land and we could see the people in the streets and roads looking up at us. We could see houses and cars on the roads and we cheered. Then we arrived at Guildford Airport and we circled and landed. The plane taxied and we could see a lot of people waiting. They were WVRS [Women's Royal Voluntary Service], the first English women we had seen in five and a half years. We were so shy that we didn’t kiss the ground after all. We got off and all thanked the Yanks, then we were fussed over and taken into a hangar.

The hangar was full with long tables and loaded with food of every description. We got tea and cakes, sandwiches, anything we wanted, but it didn’t take much to fill us. If you ate too much it just came back up! An officer stood and gave a speech saying that he was glad to see us and we would be taken to a camp and given new clothes and be medically examined.

If we were fit enough, we would be sent home, or kept in the hospital if too ill. Our bellies full, we found lines of three ton trucks with the backs down. There were planks for us to walk up as if we were cripples, and all the seats had blankets on. It was a short ride to a spotless camp, with tarmac roads and wooden huts. We were shown our billets and given a locker each. The beds had white sheets, pillows, and a piece of carpet at each one. God, this was VIP treatment.

After settling in, most of us were very excited, but it wasn’t long before we fell asleep. I was very tired and tomorrow was my birthday - I would be twenty five years old. Next day we had a medical examination and we told the MO [Medical Officer] that we felt great, but he gave us a thorough checkup anyway. Then we were escorted to a hut that looked like a classroom, with pens and a long questionnaire. The Sgt told us that we were to fill in all the questions as best we could. Harold and I sat down and had a look. It was all about how we had been treated, what work we had done, how many camps, what Stalags we had been in. Harold wrote that the Jerries owed him some hundred marks, but I said it was a waste of time.

After filling in the forms we were issued with travel warrants, mine to Manchester, Harold’s to Leeds. We collected our kit bags with our souvenirs, given five pounds and taken to the station. It was very strange to be travelling on a proper train instead of cattle trucks. We were so happy.

I was, at last, on my twenty-fifth birthday, heading for home. The train pulled in at Manchester Victoria at 2am. It seemed strange standing on the platform with my kit bag. I could just go a cup of tea! I asked a Redcap if there was a canteen open and I went and had a pie and cup of tea. I joined another and we swapped yarns.

It was Sunday 13th of May. I wondered how I was going to get home so early in the morning. This lad at the table said I should go across to Tib Street and get a lift on one of the Daily Mirror trucks. I thought it was a good idea. When I found the Mirror all the trucks were loading up with Sunday papers. I asked one of the men which was going to Patricroft and he took me to the one I wanted and said get in the back. There was already a sailor in the back, so I joined him and off we went. It didn’t take long to get to Patricroft Bridge where I said goodbye and thanks.

I picked up my kit bag and set off to Barton Road and home. I walked from the bridge to our house with not a soul in sight. When I got to the house, chalked on the pavement outside was "Welcome Home Stan". At last, the end.

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