 
# ERSATZ KRIEG

A TRUE STORY OF MEN CAPTURED, BUT NOT CONQUERED

#

ALBAN SNAPE  
co-written by BENJAMIN CANN

Written 1990, Updated 2011, 2013

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 R Snape

**  
Smashwords Edition, License Notes**

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# Foreword

This is an epic tale of one man's experiences during his time spent as a prisoner of war. It takes you from the Normandy Landings in June 1944 to the prison camps of Germany and Poland and tells of the bitter struggle of this man and his fellow prisoners to survive the long, cold central European winter of 1945.

I can relate to his story, as I was a prisoner of war myself for a long period. Many stories have been written about prisoners of war, they have been varied and have been largely "glamorised" for the consumption of the public. This is a stark story of a prisoner of war who experienced the hunger, cold and psychological battering of the Long or Black March as it was so aptly called. The march started in mid-winter, January 1945 in temperatures between 15 and 30 degrees below freezing and ending in the spring of 1945 only a few days prior to the end of the war in Europe. Many of our comrades fell by the wayside suffering from lack of food, dysentery, frostbite and the extinguishment of their human spirit. Many prisoners of war were injured and killed by German soldiers in cold blood or by Allied air power in the confusion of battle in the last desperate months of the Third Reich; we who survived still take time to remember them all from time to time.

Apart from the authors own particular experiences concerning the time he spent in captivity working in a sugar factory, (and the incidents which he and others in the group were involved in) all of us who survived can relate to the authors description of the Black March. All one has to do is multiply the numbers, from the many stalags and working parties in eastern Europe the prisoners of war were marched away from the Russian front as the Red army's relentless advance overran Poland in the winter of 1944-45. I am led to understand that under the Geneva Convention all prisoners of war must be moved away from the active front, but in hindsight it was likely many of the POW lives could have been saved had the Germans let the Russians take over the stalags and camps. A number of prisoners escaped from the columns with the aid of Polish partisans and made it to the Russian lines to be sent home via the port of Odessa on the Black sea.

The route taken by the author was one of many that zigzagged and weaved its way across Eastern Europe in those desperate and bleak times. Some columns followed the battle coast from Danzig, others through Poland to Czechoslovakia or into Germany. All prisoners on the march suffered without exception but it was worse to be witness to the awful, cruel treatment dealt out to the groups of Jews and Russian prisoners which the author so vividly and chillingly describes. It was ironical to all prisoners of war that the emblem on the buckle of the Wehrmacht soldier read "God with us." One wonders how to explain who was right or who was wrong when all nations went to church and prayed to God. One should read this book and bear in mind that this was one more episode in the example of the cruelty and brutality that was the Second World War.

On behalf of all those prisoners of war that I contacted during my captivity and those I have met since, I wish to give thanks to the British and International Red Cross which sent out some 20 million parcels during the conflict without the receipt of which thousands more prisoners may have died.

My hope is that the present generation and those of the future will read this book and realise that the glory of war is a fiction and should be read as "gory" and to remember that there will always be as much suffering away from the war zone as on it.

Many people say forget the things that happened during the past two world wars, but I cannot and do not consider it wise for anybody to forget. The generation that forgets will make the same errors that we made in our time and the results will be still more horrific than ever before. To forgive is another matter and must remain up to the judgement of the individual.

_Frederick John Barrett  
Ex-Gunner 51_st _Anti-Tank Regt  
POW No. 18113  
(Chairman Ex-POW Postal Club)_

# Preface

In August 1944 a contingent of POWs from Stalag VIIIC near Sagan, Germany (now Zagan, Poland) were dispatched as a working party to a sugar factory at Maltsch near Breslau, I was one of them.

Dubbed "Churchill's Gangsters" by the German guards our treatment was particularly brutal and the food was barely at subsistence levels. In the sugar factory, Polish slave labour on short reprieve from their inevitable fate at nearby concentration camps allied themselves with us in a retaliation campaign of sabotage, injury and death of the German guards. They assisted two of us to escape and ultimately in the destruction of the factory.

During the retaliation one POW was thrown from a first floor landing by the guards and his back broken, we hit back immediately by adding oil, grease and paint to the guard's soup vat (two POWs worked in the cookhouse) in consequence the whole guard contingent were put out of action and replaced with Volkssturm (Home Guard). Laboratory samples were doctored with urine, sauerkraut and Polish jam, we drowned one German guard in the syrup steam vats and put another to death by tipping a barrow of red hot ash over him and others perished in the burning down of the factory.

On 1st January 1945 we were marched out just ahead of the Russian bombing and shelling into arctic weather conditions, poorly clad and with no provisions. The experiences on the Long March which lasted four and a half months and ended at Fallingbostel are many; we were forced into wandering many miles over the same route, refused entry into Stalags everywhere, exposed to bombing, shelling and machine gunning from Russian and Allied forces continuously. Casualties were heavy and acute, frostbite added to them as we slept in the snow or in deserted hay barns, frequently going unfed for days and with no medical facilities, regardless we still retaliated.

The blackness of starvation, cruelty of the climate and the atrocities practiced by the German guards were marched off by the unyielding determination of POW "other ranks". Many of these exploits of survival in extreme circumstances are recalled in tribute to those who fell unnecessarily by bomb, bullet, frostbite or starvation.

Alban Snape  
POW No. 70033

# Chapter 1

As I returned to consciousness, the pain in my body began to seep through to my brain again. Looking around I saw the rest of my patrol. I was lying down on a hard and uneven bed of potatoes. There were other prisoners, about a dozen altogether and most of them were unfamiliar to me. The shrapnel wounds in my right thigh and left elbow had not been tended to. I then began to recall the events that had led up to my capture in the Normandy Bocage country, and thus how I came to be in this French farmhouse I now found myself in.

It was clear in my mind as I regained full consciousness that the first two days of the Normandy landings has been a very touch and go affair. The foothold won by the invading allied armies around the five invasion beaches of Gold, Juno, Sword, Omaha and Utah has been precarious; the success of the landings had long been in doubt. To quote the Duke of Wellington, it had been "A damn close run thing". The German defences, latterly strengthened in the Normandy area on the orders of Field Marshall Erwin Rommel, had a depth of at least twenty miles from the beachhead. The Germans had made every advantageous use of the difficult orchard country of Calvados in the construction of their defensive strategy.

In the British sector, the wisdom of using a spearhead of experienced Divisions proved to be sound, although all involved realised that the invasion was something of a gamble. The 7th Armoured Division, the 51st Highland Division and the 50th Tyne-Tees Divisions, had fought under Montgomery and others as part of the Eighth Army in North Africa, and had crushed Rommel's Africa Korps in that theatre. More recently they had been part of the amphibious assaults on Sicily and Italy. We had been pulled out of Italy and brought back to England, and under Montgomery's command had been re-formed into 30 (XXX) Corps. I was in the 1st Battalion of the Rifle Brigade; part of the 7th Armoured Division. The forces had been re-equipped for the purpose of leading the British landings to gain a foothold in Normandy and to permit a massive build up of second front forces, whose role was to then break out and overwhelm the Germans in a general advance through France and on into Germany itself.

Lying on the potatoes in the farmhouse I recalled how I had felt as the Landing Craft neared the French coast. I felt only that I was following in my father's footsteps, for he too had fought in France during the First World War. I was in the same Regiment as well; I even carried the same weapon, the short Lee Enfield rifle. My role was to be a scout, coming from a farming family I was used to woods, fields, hedgerows and all the natural countryside pursuits. These natural instincts were to serve me well. I was reasonably confident in my role as first scout, I didn't need to see danger I relied on my inbred instincts. I could move around day or night, providing that I didn't yield to impulse. I find it difficult to explain, perhaps only a blind man would fully understand movement by instinct, although others with perfectly good vision must, I imagine, have similar instincts too.

A typical example of this instinct in action was when I was scouting ahead of a fighting patrol at Villiers Bocage. I entered what appeared to be a deserted farmyard; my instincts registered nothing hostile until I passed a low doorway under the granary steps. I stopped and listened very patiently, there were no sounds, but my mind and senses knew that something was in there. I threw in a grenade and was greeted after the explosion by a blizzard of duck feathers, it was a duck cote, and inside were two dead German soldiers complete with field telephone. I assumed that where there had been two there were likely to be more and signalled the Bren gun carrier crew to spray the covered veranda while I crossed the yard to the farmhouse door. All the plants hanging from the veranda plummeted to the ground. I sprinted across and fired my Sten gun, although all I could see through a window was a shadow. I discovered later that the shadow was caused by the sun shining on the brass dial of a magnificent grandfather clock which lay before me in ruins. This had been an unnecessary act on impulse by me, and I had made a point of remembering it for the next patrol.

The next patrol in any case was a recce, not a fighting patrol. We were ordered to collect information and prisoners. On a recce time doesn't matter so much, what is important is to move around undetected. The flavour of disadvantage or gambling had made patrols more and more necessary. Expensively gained experience had shown that tanks were virtually impotent in the orchard country. The combination of seemingly innumerable minefields and anti-tank gun emplacements made the tank a liability rather than an advantage. In any case, our tank crews had little experience of fighting in such terrain, being used to open country warfare in the North African desert. Here the tanks were sitting ducks until we had identified the location of the opposition, that factor more than anything else accounted for the fierce hand-to-hand fighting which characterised so much of the first few days of the invasion. Firstly, the fighting patrols had to eliminate the machine gun nests covering the anti-tank emplacements, and then we had to deal with the 88mm anti-tank guns themselves.

I remembered the Canadian Brigade "de Chaudières" to our left encountering similar problems. They were murderously carved up by the cleverly situated self-propelled 88mm anti-tank guns, the density and the depth of the deployment of shocked us all. The British and the Canadians in fact lacked the advantages of the Americans on our right who were gifted with open country ideal for tanks, and the 'rapid dash' tactic of General Patton.

Our opponents were the veteran 19th and 21st Panzer Divisions, they were formidable opponents and especially so in such terrain as the Normandy Bocage. The first few days were certainly difficult and it would have been far harder if not for the efforts of the 1st Airborne Division to our front, and behind enemy lines the French Partisans and the non-stop air superiority achieved by the allied air forces. I thought even then that without the combined effort that orchard country could not have been overcome. In any case, my time on the front had seen a plentiful supply of danger and confusion. Once we had pierced the frontal defences or moved into the unorthodox German front line we lived by the minute on taut nerves, instinct and fast movements. The dense, low, orchard trees hindered visibility and concealed a whole network system of head height trip wires and anti-personnel and anti-tank mines. To touch one trip wire meant triggering mines over a hundred square yard area. I saw myself a de Chaudières tank squadron demolished in this way. We learnt that thorough, patient scouting soon paid dividends, but it was clear why our tanks whose crews had acquired experience in desert warfare, depended so heavily on following rather than leading.

My mind then skipped to the last recce where I had been captured. The whole countryside seemed to be infested with Germans, I sensed it all around. We somehow managed to move, changing our direction more by instinct than observation at irregular but frequent intervals. It seemed that I checked and rechecked my own feelings and reflexes a hundred times before making any particular movement decision. We were on the last leg of the return to our lines, it was half-light and I had brought the patrol down a slope into a shallow valley, which protected it from the farmhouse, and buildings I had discovered ahead. The farmhouse bristled with machine gun pits, ahead of us was a field divided by a hedge and ditch at the edge of which on either side was thick woody orchards. As I returned to bring the patrol up I got a clear signal from myself, the hairs on the back of my head stiffened, as I crawled past a concealed mound overgrown with vegetation I whispered to the corporal my feelings that it was a German dugout. There was definitely no safe way around it in daylight and the sky was lightening rapidly as sunrise approached. I asked for permission to chuck in a grenade, due to our recce role permission was refused. I had to try to manoeuvre the entire patrol past the dugout undetected, I crawled ten to fifteen yards to one side and located the corner of the hedge that divided the fields ahead. Having decided that the ditch on the right hand side of the hedge offered the best chance I noticed that there were four taut strands of barbed wire about four yards long supported by a wooden post in the middle. The bottom strand would not give enough to allow us to crawl under, and to attempt to go over the top would have been to invite a sniper's bullet.

I had tried to loosen the post by digging with my bayonet, which I had only remembered to bring with me on the recce because a pal on mine had reproved me for forgetting. I loosened the post and flattened the wire and we moved on very cautiously as a body. I was worried because I had not encountered the trip or chest high wires of anti-personnel mines which the Germans had previously hid in the foliage of fruit trees when withdrawing, so the only possible conclusion was that ahead of us the Germans were in strength. We crawled about fifty yards along the ditch, a persistent blackberry bush blocked further progress but the corporal signalled to go on. I crawled out of the ditch and edged my way around back into the ditch; in so doing I spotted a red faced German a mere twenty yards ahead, he also saw us. In seconds, we were engulfed in machine gun fire from all sides, including the rear dugout which I had been reluctant to pass. There was no back door way out, the trap had been sprung. A bullet hit the buckle of my gaiters, I thought I had lost my foot, and then came the bombardment of grenades that crept inch by inch along the ditch. It was then that I was hit on the right elbow and inner left thigh, within seconds we were overwhelmed by a score of Germans, I received a blow on the right side of my head. My foot had no use in it and I could hardly move, but I stayed upright and staggered on as the Germans herded us away. Then, about a hundred yards further on just beyond the farmhouse I must have been hit again, I fell to the floor and everything went black. That was the last thing I could remember before I came around, I assumed they must have dragged or carried me to the farmhouse and put me with the others.

I was brought back to my present predicament by my pals telling me how close we had come to being a highly successful patrol. They informed me of a Panzer Regiment with large numbers of Tiger tanks concealed about two hundred yards ahead of where we had been captured. Lying there with shrapnel wounds it was little consolation that we had nearly succeeded, in war to nearly succeed is simply to fail. The Tigers were still there, still unknown to the allied commanders making their plans, and I was a prisoner, effectively out of the war although for how long I didn't know. It was always possible that our advancing forces could overrun the German positions before they had a chance to get us away, but it was a slim chance. As we all reflected on our own memories of what went wrong we began to discuss what we felt the reasons were. It seemed to be a feeling common to us all that the problems had begun when we were encamped at Brentwood before embarkation. There were clearly two reasons why our company had landed in France in rather less than its usual high spirits. The first and most immediate was that a little black dog had fallen to its death into the hold of the ship upon which we were being transported to the beaches. This occurred when the hatch covers were removed to transfer our equipment to the landing craft. The dog belonged to our Company Commander Major Lipsey, and was regarded as something of a company mascot.

The second factor was that five of our sergeants had been demoted whilst at Brentwood for breaking camp. We had been confined to the marshalling area where we had been held and kept in strict confinement by barbed wire and the military police red caps, blue caps and movement control, all the sergeants had wanted was to see their families in nearby London. Security was the reason for our confinement but we all thought it stupid when for all to see the vast armies and their equipment were assembled in the South of England. It was hardly as if we knew the sites of the landing beaches we would shortly leave for. Later revelations of course showed that a massive deception campaign had been carried out to lead the Germans to conclude that we would strike across the channel in the straits of Dover/Pas de Calais zone. It is possible that the few German agents left operating in Britain could have realised the true location and this probable destination of the allied invasion fleet, and warned the German high command in time to reposition the reserve Panzer Divisions that Hitler had concentrated around the Pas de Calais, thus leaving Operation Overlord doomed from the very start. That is probably why we were confined to camp, but it must be said that at the time we found it stupid. Feelings ran so high with some of the troops at Brentwood that when it was heard that a visit from Montgomery was imminent a message daubed in huge letters on the side of the large entertainment marquee mysteriously appeared. It read, quite plainly, "NO LEAVE, NO SECOND FRONT". I saw it when I attended an ENSA concert starring Richard Tauber and Teddy Johnson, Montgomery also saw the message but evidently paid scant attention to its significance.

Our morale had definitely been shaken by the loss of five experienced Sergeants, especially as we were told that our initial role after the landing was to break through German lines and operate independently for nine days. We were to go behind enemy lines and harass retreating German units, attack communications and take prisoners for the purpose of gathering information. A possible third factor was our unpleasant surprise on discovering that our main opponents were the equally tenacious and experienced Panzer Divisions, the 19th and 21st. Rommel was clearly taking no chances in the battle of the landing zones.

Things started tragically when Johnny Woodbridge, a pal of mine, fell across the gear stick of the 'Whites' half track I was driving ashore, blood was oozing from a horrible head wound he had received, I pushed him off the gear stick and out of the vehicle for dead. The nausea this created in me was very great indeed but was almost equalled later when I nearly shot a French girl in the advanced state of pregnancy as she emerged around the corner having come out of a deep underground German bunker. A millionth of a second must have been the difference between the automatic reaction to shoot and the realisation that I was not confronted with an enemy soldier, but a French civilian, and a young woman at that. Reflexes were important to us always, but confidence mattered as well and ours was shaky, although through no fault of our own. As we discussed our own encounters and feelings in the farmhouse, hours seemed to slip by in which time we didn't see a single German. We all felt better for getting our feelings off our chests, and we waited for our captors next move, we were sure it must come very soon, and it did.

# Chapter 2

The Germans eventually came for us and bundled us out of the farmhouse. Together we were hustled across the road to a crossroads junction; two Spandau machine guns were set up in firing positions and manned. I was just alert enough to recognise that the Germans were not regular army Wehrmacht but in fact Waffen-SS. The officer raved at us in German, only two words of English were uttered by him "Churchill's gangsters". The encounter would probably have ended in our deaths (the SS showed no reluctance to shoot prisoners of war as they were to prove on innumerable occasions throughout the war) had a staff car not pulled up when it did. A German Colonel jumped out, he was not SS, and shouted "HALT!" He came over to us and looked at the rat insignia on our battledress. It was clear that this was an honourable man, a professional soldier almost certainly, capable of respecting his enemies and their rights when victorious, and expecting a reciprocal respect from those who were defeated. I was naturally surprised when he said in perfect English "You gentlemen of Mickey Mouse Division, please sit down, relax, you are prisoners of war like myself in the first war at Oxford". I am sure the he saved our lives.

We were moved by road, travelling all night and we arrived at a racing stable at dawn. We were confined within the horse stalls; I estimated that there must have been some two hundred prisoners there. In the few hours that followed a Canadian Sergeant from the de Chaudières Brigade died a horrible death. He had received severe burns when his tank had been "brewed up". The Germans tried to treat him by smothering him in cooking fat grease and paper bandages. Although meaning well they had no medical skills and it was the wrong treatment for burns.

It was the beginning of the third week of June 1944 when I scribbled a note on a piece of brown paper to my home address, it said, "Don't worry, alive and well". I managed to get it away by giving it to a French civilian with a 200 Franc note I had hidden in my water bottle lining. The civilian pointed out a way I might get away by climbing up to the loft, through a pitch hole, across the gutter hand over hand to the end. I would then need to drop at the end of the building and escape away to the marshes. I thought I would have a go although my arm and leg were still causing me problems. I got half way across the gutter in the night, but my injured arm let me down and I fell in an open freshly dug latrine. I was given a terrible beating by the German guards for my efforts and I smelled horrible.

On the Saturday morning we were moved in broad daylight and were strafed almost continuously by RAF Spitfires and American P60s. Many convoy vehicles were hit; of course our forces weren't to know that the lorries they were shooting at carried prisoners taken whilst fighting on the same side as them.

We were allowed to stop briefly at midday in a lull in the air battle overhead. In fact one of the most striking things about the air war was that the superiority of the allied forces was almost unquestioned. The Luftwaffe was nowhere to be seen at times, the lesson the Germans had taught all Europe in 1939-41 with the use of Blitzkrieg warfare had been a lesson well learnt, especially the need for air superiority upon the modern battlefield. We had stopped at another of the now familiar French farmhouses; here I was given the end of a French stick loaf by a Frenchman. I gave him my water bottle for a drink and he filled it with Cognac. I was so thirsty that I drank it far too quickly. When we started moving again I soon began to feel quite drunk, the combination of the fumes from the lorry and the drink led me to feel quite ill as we moved across the French countryside, always heading eastwards and away from the allied forces who were slowly preparing for their breakout.

Eventually we arrived at Chartres, we passed the cathedral and most of the town, and it was alive with armoured units. We eventually disembarked in a factory complex and in two large warehouses in particular. Here we met many British and American prisoners of war, like us, taken in the first few weeks of the invasion of Europe. A huge wall surrounded the place, we were desperately hungry by this time and our attention was drawn by a British POW called Paddy Singletree who was in contact with the French on the other side of the wall. Using a string rope with a blue beret tied on one end expensive watches and gold rings were going over the wall, in exchange for small amounts of black bread and a few small German cigarettes. These were broken up and rolled in pages taken from a pocket bible. I also wondered about the light blue beret, and I never have discovered where this came from. We remained in the factory complex in Chartres until the 27th June. We were moved by road to a Paris railway station on that day, leaving behind the increasingly crowded warehouses as the flow of Allied prisoners increased as the fighting built up. When we arrived at the station we were loaded rapidly into box car vans, forty of us were crammed into each van. There was no room to relax, barely room to squat, before our German captors closed and locked the doors, turning us into little more than cattle in the cramped confined vans. Two nuns appeared with a basket, and a bucket with a lid on, they gave us some watery soup; other train loads parked nearby were filled with screaming, pitifully begging civilians. I noticed that the nuns were not allowed to go near them and tears were running down the cheeks. Everyone realised that the others were heading for concentration camps, they were about to undertake what would almost certainly be their last journey, a journey to their deaths and these screaming people knew it.

When we got under way we moved all night but were still strafed all the way to Chalons-sur-Marne where we disembarked and we headed into what had in better times been a French Cavalry barracks. The guards here were fearsome Waffen SS, and ill treatment of prisoners was rife. I remember that at one roll call a 1st Airborne Division POW was knifed for refusing to give up his shoulder patches to an officer, he fell dead immediately. We only spent three days there thankfully and were moved on by rail once again in the same type of box vans that we had arrived in.

As the journey continued, the stench emanating from the dustbin latrines in the corner of the van grew worse, the doors were never opened and little fresh air could come in. The train seemed to be continually under air attack, at one stage we became stranded in the middle of the huge railway bridge at Metz, we could only hold our breath and pray as waves of our own fighters hammered anything that moved.

On 1st July we arrived at Trier, where we disembarked and marched up a mountain that seemed like Mount Everest to the weakened and hungry men. I hoped that we were going to a Stalag proper and that a Red Cross parcel would be issued to each of us. It was whilst we were in this camp that I met Percy Bailey, a man who came from my own village, this was a great event. It felt as if a link with home had been forged and it did a good deal for my morale. As it happened, we were destined for another Stalag or POW camp, and so our stay near Trier lasted only four days. I was personally glad to finally get away from the place as it was alive with the biggest bugs I had ever seen, and some of our chaps were disfigured with huge swelling blotchy bites. I was one of the lucky few who were not bitten at all; it seemed that the bugs had preferences. I must admit that I took the precaution of sleeping perched on a fire bucket in the cold draught of the entrance to the hut. Although huge, the bugs seemed to be able to flatten themselves into the cracks of the joints of the wooden bunks, when the bunks rocked and swayed blood and horrible gunge could be seen to squirt everywhere.

When we moved off again it was once more by rail in the box vans. We knew we were heading east into Germany, but we also knew that as we were moving for seven days we must have been travelling a great distance. We were allowed out of the vans for half an hour each night to stretch and eat a meal of watery soup and a loaf of black bread that was to be shared between twelve men. It was also during these stops that we were able to fill our water bottles. The latrine bins were emptied every two days and the stench in the vans was foul, sickening if one consciously noted it. We were all mentally and physically sick and demoralised as well as very hungry, when, at the beginning of the second week of July, we finally disembarked. We were confronted by a railway siding, far off the main line. From the scanty information we could obtain from the guards we knew we were in Eastern Germany, beyond Leipzig, but our exact location was still uncertain to me. What was clear was that we were in the heart of Europe, and a long way from our own forces in the West. We were marched by our guards or rather shuffled, about a mile, all of us crippled with aching joints and cramp from confinement in the box vans. We moved through a desolate, flat, plain countryside, broken intermittently by stick like pine trees to eventually arrive at a main POW camp: Stalag VIII-C.

# Chapter 3

Stalag VIII-C, we soon found, was an established permanent POW camp. It had separate compounds for the different nationalities. Although there was already a recognised British and Commonwealth compound housing long term POWs we were allocated a separate compound containing ten huts, each hut housing thirty men. The Germans were anxious to avoid any trouble in the camps and they felt mixing long term prisoners with newly arrived ones would be a bad idea. Our compound was such that on one side there was the Russian compound and on another there were Serbs and Yugoslavs. The camp outer perimeter was on the third side and a service road to the guard's room and administration buildings on the other.

It was clear that no officers were kept at Stalag VIII-C; no prisoner was of a rank above that of Sergeant Major. It was explained to us that a senior Regimental Sergeant Major POW was held to be a person responsible for the British and Commonwealth POWs, Stalag VIII-C was at best, spartan, crude, and lacking in the most basic facilities. We were provided with two tier wooden bunks but no mattresses and only one blanket. For food we received half a mess tin of watery cabbage and potato peeling soup during the morning, and a loaf of foul black bread between ten men during the afternoon, occasionally this was supplemented by one spoon of tasteless lard or watery jam. We were always hungry and only once received Red Cross parcels. It was our belief in the camp that the Germans were consuming most of the parcels themselves.

The Gestapo went to great lengths to infiltrate the ranks of the POWs, often disguised as British POWs. They were easily noticeable not least because they all carried Craven 'A' cigarettes as inducements, also because they lacked upon arrival the look of a POW, their eyes did not show the marks of someone who had seen what we had seen. In any case they were frequently changed because once identified they received rough justice. The Gestapo frequently selected from amongst us for interrogation, almost at random. The interrogation would last for a day and night and during this time we would have no food or water, but a tap was deliberately left dripping and we could smell food cooking at intervals, this was all designed to weaken our resistance to their persistent questioning.

During the first week when the one and only Red Cross parcel issue was made, I was made one of a party of four detailed to collect them. This in itself was fortunate because the store was in the permanent British compound. We were there two hours and we were able to exchange information and mix freely with the long-term veteran POWs. They said that they had become accustomed to receiving one Red Cross parcel per man per fortnight, but this had ceased recently, very soon after the allied forces had landed in Normandy in fact. The war was going badly for the Germans and they knew that the Germans were consuming the parcels, my suspicions had been confirmed. Our fellow countrymen treated us well during our two-hour stay; they gave us cigarettes and items of bread from their personnel savings. We were left in no doubt after our visit that any planned attempt at escape from the main camp was ill advised and impossible to successfully enact. The guard complement was almost wholly drawn from the penal battalions of the infamous Prince Eugen Divisions; hardened convicts, dissenters, murderers and thugs to a man, they had SS officers with a sprinkling of Gestapo agents in support. We were told however that if one was successfully admitted to one of the "Kommandoes" or working parties, then opportunities for escape would begin to open up. I was told that the "Kommandoes" were sent to quarries, mines, farms or sugar factories for periods of weeks or months. Those who had experience of "Kommandoes" told us of many interesting exploits including sabotage but also escape, some successful but many not so.

Eventually we had to return to our own compound and distribute the parcels one between four men. The arrival of the now priceless cigarettes was enough, I recall, to start a singsong, it deserves mentioning if only for the marvellous solo performance of a Corporal Hewitt. He had a rich voice which I still maintain was worthy of an Oscar. During the singing machine gun fire from within the Russian compound made us all rush for the windows to gain a view of the unfolding events outside. We already knew that the Russian prisoners who were totally unprotected by the Geneva Convention which their government had failed to sign, were subject to the extremes of brutality and were starved mercilessly. I had seen a logging party of Russians whilst going to collect the Red Cross parcels and they looked as if chopping a twig would have emptied them of the strength to live. The women amongst the Russian soldiers were used for experiments of a fiendish nature, and by and large the Russian POWs were being reduced to starving animals. As we looked through the windows of our hut, a party of Germans all dressed in white and wearing protective masks entered the compound. Information was unobtainable for three days and the Russians were kept within their billets day and night; no food entered the compound. During the afternoon of the third day lorries entered their compound and ours also. Tonnes of quick lime were spread like a thick carpet on either side of the dividing wire. We learned only later from a sentry that white lice had been discovered and Typhus was suspected. Also bones had been discovered and it seemed likely that cannibalism had set in. It was a great relief when on Monday morning of the second week in August I was given a good reason to leave the camp.

That morning at roll call a hundred names were called to leave the following morning on a "Kommando". My name and those of the small group close to me were included. We were given no clue as to the nature of the work but I was pleased to be leaving the camp, and resolved to take any reasonable opportunity to escape whilst on the "Kommando". The next morning we were loaded into the railway box cars and this time food and sanitary conditions simply did not exist apart from in the case of food, there was a critical issue of one loaf to four men. It took three days to complete a very inhuman journey with many delays; the actual mileage could have been covered more quickly. When we arrived at our destination near Breslau in Silesia we were in poor shape, tired and hungry. At this stage we had all become very hostile to anything remotely Germanic, and we were still unaware of our work destination as we prepared to descend from our box car vans for the final time.

# Chapter 4

We had an idea that we may have been headed for Breslau due to a carelessly spoken word or two by the Germans at various stops along the journey, but in the event it was no town we were confronted with as the door to our "van" was opened. Upon descending I saw that we were located just behind a large factory, there was a vicious looking party of guards drawn up in a line, but none of us believed that they were for our inspection. The lengthy procedure of handing us over to these new guards then proceeded to take place; this included the counting and recounting of our numbers. It was here that my fellow POWs and I first encountered Oberfeldwebel Purshke. He was dour, grim and obviously a very professional soldier but his face was badly disfigured, and his left arm hung uselessly at his side, it was clearly artificial, he was to be a central character in the events that were to follow during the next nine months. Purshke, we soon learnt, had been badly wounded whilst fighting on the Russian front and was no longer fit for anything other than rear area duties. From his features and his manner we had every reason to expect the worst. With Purshke was an Unteroffizier (Corporal), named Voldt, once seen, Voldt was never to be forgotten; he was clearly a brute in looks and behaviour and he never changed. The long line of guards before us were members of the Prince Eugen Penal Division, in the main they looked like vicious thugs; battered and battle scarred, outcasts of the human race. A few of them looked malleable though, they were largely a mixture of maimed Panzer and Infantrymen from the Russian front.

To my surprise a Sergeant Mallinini from the Airborne Division then appeared, he was sporting an impressive handlebar moustache we all noticed, and he introduced himself as being in charge of us. He introduced us to another airborne man who was with him, a Private Kingswood; he was to be our interpreter. Kingswood was clearly a Jew and this caused a ripple of mutterings at the first meeting, with all that being a Jew did for you in Nazi Europe, we had good reason to be sceptical of our own survival prospects. Kingswood's face was ashen, he was acutely aware of his own predicament; one could read the contempt for him in the faces of the German guards as they oversaw the introductions. We had succeeded in making the counting process very difficult without really having to try, this was due largely to the fact we were all desperately hungry and being bloody minded. Purshke drew his pistol at this point and threatened menacingly towards a low building to our rear on the opposite side of the track to the factory. We trooped inside, down a long corridor and split off in groups into the rooms which were like twelve bed barrack accommodation. Later we learnt that the building was purpose built for seasonal workers. Each room had a radiator and the whole building was centrally heated by steam from the factory opposite.

Although it was still early September the air on the Eastern European plain had a raw bite to it and I felt cold. I leaned on the radiator and put my hands down the back. The heat was in no way excessive and to my surprise I felt a round, stiff object, and out of curiosity I lifted it out. To my astonishment it was a green tomato, risking its edibility I ate and enjoyed it.

The first hour was very frustrating as we waited to see what was happening. There was much speculation about our prospects. I looked out of the window in the room at the factory, although it was not possible to see all along the factory's length there was no visible barbed wire, but there was a profusion of guards. As a start point for escape the prospects looked exceedingly poor, a bullet or a fusillade would be the reward. These guards looked as though they would shoot first, even if their own mother was the target.

Bawling shouting in the corridor alerted me to the fact that something was stirring. We were hustled outside by the guards and shepherded across the railway tracks to a door in the factory building. We were not able to enter the building until another silly counting exercise had been engaged in. We all lined up once again and Oberfeldwebel Purshke's expressionless face moved slowly down the columns of three, chanting "Ein, Zwei, Drei..." This continued until a chirpy cockney in the front rank interrupted him as Purshke reached him in the line, "Hey me old china, yeah you, scar face, ugly mug, square bonce, we supposed to scarper every ten minutes mate, with all these gamekeepers about?, hurry up me old china, the Ruskis er'll be here bardin!" ('bardin' is an expression picked up during the North African campaign). Purshke muttered an expletive and began his count again.

Having finally satisfied himself that we were all present, Purshke signalled to our Airborne Sergeant, Mallinini and exchanged a few words with him through Kingswood, then left. Almost immediately chants of "Essen! Essen!" (Food) began to emanate from some of our chaps, hungrily demanding as best they could, something to eat. A Scotsman named Sneddon from the Black Watch then stepped up to the front and began to conduct to the tune he introduced, and we all knew.  
_" One egg and some ham and an onion,  
For a feed you'll agree it's a funny un,  
What did Charles Peach have the morn he was hung,  
An egg and some ham and an onion,  
All the world over this phrase should be sung,  
It's better than Kruschen's for making you young,  
Remember Charles Peach had the morn he was hung,  
An egg and some ham and an onion.  
Singing I will if you will so will I,  
Singing I will if you will so will I,  
Singing I will if you will,  
I will if you will,  
I will if you will so will I"_

The guards then overcame the temporary shock bordering on paralysis that our actions had installed in them, and they rushed at us. They used their rifle butts and bayonets and knocked many of us to the ground. Then it became something of a brawl and weak as we were, we fought back, all our pent up frustrations, the feelings of anger, resentment, and desperation for revenge, all were let loose. As we brawled the Germans brought in Spandau heavy machine guns and mounted them to cover every angle, and they opened fire just above our heads with long bursts. This had an unsurprisingly sobering effect upon the combatants on both sides and order was re-established, the chaos that so briefly had existed had vanished without a trace, except for the few on both sides who lay on the floor. Two of our chaps had bayonet wounds; others were unconscious from head wounds also sustained during the fighting. On the German side, I knew that one guard would be unrecognisable after having ground my boot in his face and there would be others who would nurse injuries for some time. Even as order was restored some of our chaps started to yell "Essen!" again, and then there was an awesome silence. Sergeant Mallinini then stepped up and asked us to proceed indoors peacefully; he said he would then negotiate food for us. The location of the battle we had just fought was Maltsch (Malczyce), and so we called it the first battle of Maltsch. We had been unanimous in action, even though we were leaderless, and that may have been what made it worth telling.

We moved indoors through the indicated door, and up a wide spiralling staircase on to the first floor, finding a series of rooms with double wooden bunks, a table and chairs in the centre. We waited what must have been another hour in our new quarters and settled into groups. During this time, we discovered a large washroom; this was a luxury we hadn't expected. There were a dozen white glazed washbasins, three slipper baths and four toilet cubicles. We wondered if the Germans were going soft. Eventually a loud hail of "grub up" attracted us to the head of the stairs where we queued with our mess tins to receive yet more of the now familiar, thin pungent soup and a 1/6 share in a loaf of nauseating black bread. However, it was at least food.

As we ate, we were told of a roll call in an hour where we would also be told what we would be doing. One guard told us "Ein offizier kommen".  
"Stuff yer bleeding officer Fritz, we ain't!" was the swift reply,  
"Nein, nein ist ein Kapitan kommen" the guard insisted.  
"Make me seasick Captains do mate" was the quick answer. The German didn't fully understand what the POW said but he responded to the hostile attitude with the retort, "Du bist eine grossen rube!" (Translated, he called the POW "a big turnip head").  
"Up yer gouger Fritz!" was the agitated and ready reply.

I recognised our spokesman to be Charlie Egen from my own regiment and asked him to lay off, saying that we should try to learn more from the guards. Charlie said that he would rather "smash 'im!" The friction was largely attributable to the hostile attitudes on both sides than the words they exchanged, because clearly neither party understood the other, I eased Charlie away and back to his room.

In no time at all we were all back downstairs for roll call, this was very different to the earlier counts, an officer was on parade, but he was squat and barrel bellied. He was adorned in a decorative, elegantly shaped peaked hat, and an ankle length belted raincoat with cuffs turned up to his sleeves over his officer uniform. His insignia was that of a "Kapitan". He passed down the ranks, pompously reviewing us. I observed a Craven 'A' cigarette protruding from his cuff as he passed me. I was third man from the left in the front rank. I waited for him to travel down a distance and then stepped back into the middle rank, quickly changing places with a fellow who thought we were playing the usual confusion game. I was ready when the officer reached me again in the middle rank; I shuffled sideways fainting as if to make room, and took the cigarette out of his cuff undetected. I was pushed back by the German captain unceremoniously but it was nothing more physical than that.  
"Danke mein General", I sneered at him, he ignored me, glorifying no doubt in the thought that he had been able to strike down an enemy of the Reich. Like so many German officers he seemed to be nothing more than an arrogant bully, probably brought on by his rank and advantageous position. One can scarcely imagine his attitude and demeanour would have been the same had the tables been reversed. In any case, he remained unaware the cigarette that he had stolen from a Red Cross parcel had been stolen from him. Later on we were able to share the cigarette between us, just a couple of puffs each amongst about twenty of us.

It eventually transpired that the officer was to occupy only a very transitory place in our lives. He was from the district inspectorate of works and labour, military division. This information was conveyed to us whilst we were on parade. We were also told that good conduct and excellent work for the glorious Reich would be rewarded by Red Cross parcels, and would be given out one per person per week. (I must confess that all the time I was there I never once saw a Red Cross parcel being handed out to the POWs, you may draw your own conclusions). Next, we were divided into two work groups of equal size; one group would work the night shift, the other the day shift. We would start at 7am and 7pm respectively and both shifts lasted for twelve hours. On the very first morning we had to start at 6.30am so that every man could be detailed his job, we were then told that the rest of the day was for rest and relaxation, and promptly dismissed.

As we returned to our billets we reflected on the day's events. It was at this time that I realised that Sergeant Mallinini and Private Kingswood were not billeted with us so we had no way of getting the answers to the innumerable questions uttered by my fellow POWs and I in the remainder of that day. Most of us were wondering whether the "Jerries" expected a twelve-hour day seven days a week. We also wanted to know about the provision of food and work clothes, I also wondered about medical treatment; I still had shrapnel in my elbow and inner thigh, it was painful and clearly needed attention but as yet none had been made available.

I had been detailed for the factory day shift and I resolved to do only one day before complaining. The factory was obviously a vast place and I thought I could get a good look around. I was looking for loopholes all the time to further me in my resolve to escape and my intention was to be realised sooner than I could possibly have anticipated.

# Chapter 5

Above all, it was curiosity and the possibility of being able to scrounge, rather than any eagerness to get to work which motivated the first day workers so promptly at 6.30am. We were paraded, and then marched fifty yards to the workers entrance to the factory proper. Inside the door a large party of guards waited, so did Oberfeldwebel Purshke, Sergeant Mallinini, and Kingswood. The allocation of duties then commenced, and we found out what the factory actually did, it processed beet into sugar. Twelve men, including Percy Bailey, went to the pressroom, six were sent off to a room at the far end of the warehouse, four went to the sugar beet reception hoppers, two to the beet washing tanks, two to the slicing room and two to the conveyors. Six more were sent to the vats, six to the brown sugar storeroom, six were detached to the dry beet pulp room, four to the coke hoppers which fed the furnaces, four to the top conveyors, and at last, my name was read out as one of four to go to the furnaces on the cinder/ash detail. Looking back, I honestly think that working in such an environment for only a short period would be enough to convince anybody concerned with the afterlife to do their utmost to ensure that they went to heaven. The furnaces resembled, as closely as I can imagine, hell, the furnace room was hot, claustrophobic and dangerous.

We were led there by going through a door to the right of where we had been standing; we followed a guard down fifteen stone steps into a passageway about seven feet wide and seven feet high. The passageway was poorly lit with only three light bulbs along its entire length. The bulbs were of the lowest wattage and the passage was longer than we could see when we entered it. The walls had been newly whitewashed which aided our vision. After about fifteen yards we changed direction at right angles, and then we were directly under the furnaces. There were four bays side by side about twelve feet in width and the same in length each under a fire bed; the headroom was barely six feet.

At this point, a German civilian aged fortyish joined us his name was Herman. He limped very badly and later I discovered he too was a veteran of the Russian front. Herman was amiable and he later proved to be both malleable and useful. Herman explained apparently apologetically the job we had to do. We had to go under the furnaces wearing a sack over our heads like a pixie hood, and with a barrow and spade clean out the ash and cinders that fell after the fire bed had been vibrated by mechanical means. Red-hot ash was falling all the time anyway and the heat was very intense. After we had filled a wheelbarrow, we were to push it to the extreme end of the main passage on to a narrow platform. A steam hoist, which Herman operated, took the wheelbarrow and its attendant up to the surface where it was wheeled off and its contents tipped on a huge cinder tip. The wheelbarrow and its attendant were then lowered back to the cinder/ash room. There were no guards present and Herman was in charge, he only knew some elementary English. I immediately concluded that I had landed a nasty job and had to gain Herman's confidence quickly to minimise the problems the job would cause. I felt that two or three days in this hellhole would be more than flesh and blood could possibly stand, but I knew at least that it wouldn't be difficult to get at Herman.

On my third wheelbarrow trip, my assumption was proved correct. I learnt that Herman was married with three children and was thoroughly disillusioned with Hitler, the SS, the Gestapo and apparently most facets of the Nazi regime. He was disgusted with the living conditions he was forced to exist in; his wounds were clearly very serious both to his stomach and to his pelvis. He admitted that the job he was doing was all that he was fit for. He was desperate for brown sugar and was clearly an old hand at bartering as he asked if I could get him brown sugar in exchange for some bread. I promised to, but soon realised that I might not be able to fulfil this promise. He then asked me if I could get him English cigarettes and chocolate, he obviously knew about Red Cross parcels. I realised that I had him, and decided to get down to business, the sugar I felt I could get, the cigarettes and chocolate depended on the Red Cross parcels. I had decided that I really needed a map but didn't ask him for one, so I contented myself by conversing about the local geography. Herman was seemingly eager to provide me with information about Polish slave labour; he said that both male and female Poles would be at work in the factory shortly and he assured me that they would know their way around.

When our first day's work had ended we returned to our billets. Factory production had started and the next day it would be in full production. In our billet, discussion was soon taking place with everyone offering opinions as people told of their experiences. Nobody had seen Mallinini or Kingswood so no official information from the German side was forthcoming. It became clear that some men had developed ideas for a variety of activities, retaliatory in resolve. These were mainly with the end of forcing more food (the rations were deplorable). There was one or two who seemed to have the same idea as myself, which was to escape at the earliest realistic opportunity. One of these was Bill Ellis from Birmingham. He was a confirmed communist and insisted that the best route for an escape was to make your way east to meet the now fast advancing Russian armies. Bill emphasised his belief that this was the best option by claiming that the Russians had constructed a new hundred tonne tank that was capable of carrying a smaller tank in suspension either side of it. He claimed that the Russians were producing these tanks by the thousand. Bill tended to exaggerate but he can be forgiven; having driven Cromwells and initially Matildas, anything that could take on the German Tiger tanks was a dream discovery. I was sure that he was fantasising and saw no sense in being a guest of the Russians, even if escaping as far as their lines was feasible. However, Bill succeeded in working some of his mates up. There was another school of thought that wanted to sabotage the plant at every opportunity. Bill Deveraux and Bill Dawson wanted to tamper with the beet conveyors and others devised similar kinds of disruption. We also joined with those working on the syrup vats, to add all sorts of ingredients and slowing down the refinement process.

The lads in the brown sugar store were keen to discuss getting the sugar out of the store and into the factory. There was only a simple brick dividing line between the store and the dry beet pulp bagging and storage area, it was easy to remove a few bricks and they knew where to remove them. The plan was made to remove four bricks from the base of the wall behind a large piece of machinery; the gap was to be concealed on the dry beet pulp side by stacking the huge pulp bags across the wall side. We decided that we would give the plan an airing the next day when the factory began on full production. Once the sugar was out of the store we still needed a way to get it out of the factory, but that didn't interest me as I was going to supply Herman. I still needed the co-operation of the lads in the dry beet pulp area though and when I told Cliffe, Boulton, Harwood, and Simpson they jumped at the prospect of cooperating. Everybody recognised the value of barter goods and a supplier amongst the Germans.

The only workers who were out of the discussion were those in the pressroom. We then heard the agonies and horrors of the terrific heat and steam generated in there, and how those who worked in there wore no clothes and just had a coarse cloth towel around their waist. There were two rows of presses, each one was made up of about twenty iron frames covered with canvass and they were arranged like the loose leaves of a book. They were opened and closed by turning a wheel, when pressed together scalding syrup liquid was passed through to sieve out mud and foreign matter. Periodically the presses were opened up and the workers scraped the mud and dirt off each leaf. It was a horrific job and the sweat loss from the workers in a room that didn't have any basic air conditioning was unbelievable. I knew that my pal Percy Bailey who was already forty years of age couldn't stand much of that, particularly on such poor food rations. Some supplementary rations would have to be found and without disclosing to anybody that prospects for that would improve via Herman, I resolved to ensure that Percy was at least well fed, and so ended my first working day at the sugar factory.

The night turned rapidly into morning and we became eager to put our crudely planned ideas into practice. Our major priority was to get underway the smuggling of brown sugar. The dry pulp-bagging department was in full swing and the filled sacks were stacked high along the dividing wall. We suddenly had a problem though, in the form of five Polish women. There were four girls and an older woman and we had to ask ourselves if they could they be trusted. With so many guards around, I couldn't personally do anything except go through the door, down the steps and to my job under the furnaces. A backward glance cast as I passed through the door assured me that we would soon know how far the Polish women could be trusted. George Cliffe was already laughing and joking with the girls, fraternisation was clearly taking place.

I spent two hours wheel barrowing from under the furnaces and chatting with Herman at every opportunity. I was racking my brains for a reason to get up to the pressroom to see Percy and check on the sugar process. I finally said to Herman that I felt sick, and wanted some water, Herman said that I could go and get some up on the second floor any time; he also offered me a cigarette. I didn't really want one of the foul Turkish cigarettes that were available in Germany but I accepted it and overwhelmed him with thanks. I didn't light it there and then, instead I rejoined my mates under the furnaces and told them that I felt faint and had been given permission to go for some water. I gave them the Turkish cigarette for which they were grateful and I made my way up to the factory proper.

As I ran up the steps, I felt like a soldier clutching his first 48 hours pass. I was elated, I had found a simple valid reason for roaming around the factory, there were only three guards patrolling inside the factory and avoiding them would not be difficult once I became familiarised with the factory layout, and the guard's movement patterns. As I emerged from the steps into the dry beet pulp bagging area my first idea was to see what progress had been made with firstly the Polish women, and secondly with the hole in the dividing wall. I looked behind the stacked sacks after getting the nod from the lads on the bagging chutes but I didn't expect to see what I saw, for George Cliffe had made quite remarkable progress with one of the Polish girls. I saw the two of them kissing whilst in a passionate embrace, I felt immediately uncomfortable, the girl was only half George's age and I turned away, I learned later that her name was Ugina Nishorofska. I continued my journey to the second floor and turned left into a passageway, where I discovered that here were the four furnaces. They were fed coke by hand, almost a continuous job, and it was here that hourly the fire beds were manipulated releasing the cliner, cinders and hot ash that rained on us below.

I then noticed some Polish females at the far end of the room; I heard some bellowing in German that caused the females to immediately begin shovelling coke and feeding furnaces at the far end. It was here that I met Otto, the red faced, fat, furnace foreman. He turned and hurried towards me just as I was about to turn right prior to climbing the steps to the second floor.  
"Englisch Schwein" he bellowed, "Warum du nichts Arbeit?" (Why aren't you working?). I saw red, "you fat German loudmouth slob, what's it got to do with you!" I retorted.  
"Ha, mein English, you think I not speak English hey? I prisoner in England first war at Oxford".  
"Well that explains everything you bully" I answered, "They teach manners at Cambridge; you went to the wrong place, and we don't bully ladies either, it's not done old boy, you're old enough to know that, what are you, 75,80?" Obviously that last part hurt him as he was possibly in his early sixties. "I'm boiler fuehrer", he said. "You answer, where you go?"  
"Home eventually, Churchill's coming for me some time next week; we'll probably hang you before we leave if the Russkis don't get you first". I left him dumfounded, as I turned and went through a doorway and began mounting the stone steps up to the second floor I glanced back, but he wasn't following, "Churchill's gangsters!" he shouted, but didn't follow. I was glad he didn't follow for I would have surely kicked him down the steps and that would have bought me trouble.

I didn't know why I hesitated to emerge at the top of the stairs but it was fortunate that I did, almost immediately I heard scuffling and German shouts. I cautiously ascended, to my top left there was an iron stairway going up off the second floor. Ascending was a party of four and in the lead was Paddy McQueen, a small, wiry, Irish POW, behind him came Purshke with a revolver in his hand threatening Paddy's back, behind them came two guards. I heard Paddy's protests in his broad Irish brogue "I'm not going in that place yer scut!" ("That place" being the press room). The grim faced Purshke prodded the revolver into Paddy's back and they continued to mount the steps to the platform at the top, the door to the pressroom began to open just as Paddy turned to face Purshke. Purshke's attention was distracted towards the opening door and Paddy grabbed the revolver. He stepped back and pointed the revolver at Purshke's face; he then shouted excitedly, "I 'm going to blow your square head off, now back down the stairs, I'm not going in there to be melted down!".  
I thought Paddy was about to shoot, I think the Germans thought so too. They backed slowly down the iron stairs and Mallinini and Kingswood then arrived on the scene, I couldn't hear all of what was said but Paddy didn't surrender the revolver, he continued to threaten with it during the conversation. He said that he had worked in "lavatories in Dublin and lavatories in Manchester". He said he didn't mind working but not in there as he pointed the revolver in the direction of the pressroom door. He said that he would work with the young, tall "Bint" who stood watching the goings on from behind a huge glass partition.

Purshke nodded sardonically, Paddy handed over the revolver and was led away. A few days later he started working in the laboratory cleaning and tidying up. That was what the glass partitioned room turned out to be. Something had been lost, added, or mistaken in Kingswood's translation when the incident took place but laboratories and lavatories seemed to have won Paddy the position he asked for.

I wasn't actually altogether surprised that Paddy had won his point because Herman had told me that Purshke would recognise bravery although he was a hard and a strict disciplinarian. There was much talk and speculation when we retired to our billets that day, and a few surprises; events I hadn't been aware of.

# Chapter 6

The events of our second day of work had commenced with the Germans transferring one POW from the pressroom and one from the dry beet pulp-bagging department to the cookhouse. Neither of them knew why as neither had any cooking credentials, in civvy Street one was a paint sprayer and the other a bus conductor. This reorganisation of personnel was what had caused the Germans to try and move Paddy McQueen to the pressroom. He had been working on the coke hoppers, but had caused a terrible commotion and thrown some brick ends into the feed screws causing quite considerable damage. Unwittingly he had complained of the bitter cold and that he had dropped the bricks accidently, so the Germans decided to put him where it was hot.

I learnt, as we all chatted back at our billet that the cookhouse consisted of four big soup vats. Two of these were for the Germans and two for the POWs, the soup received by the Germans was far better, and in far greater supply than the thin, watery soup served to us, it appeared to be more like washing up water than soup. The rations kept in the cookhouse were meagre, so much so that no self respecting cat would have stolen them, and constantly kept under guard so we decided that it would be pointless to try and obtain anything from that quarter.

There were still two vacancies in the factory to fill though, and I thought that I would have liked the one in the dry beet pulp-bagging department so that I could be at the heart of the brown sugar stealing operation. The major drawback to applying for a transfer was that I could end up in the pressroom instead; I wasn't going in there if I could help it. I still needed to go sick as soon as I could to get myself moved from working under the furnaces. My arm still left me in a great deal of pain and I hoped that I might get it treated.

A lot of the conversation that night centred around the Polish women, of course with having all been away from women for so long the conversation soon centred on their physical attributes and left little to the imagination as to what was likely to happen to them. Indeed, in the case of George Cliffe it had already started to happen. War has a habit of destroying people's moral principles and this war was the worst of all for doing that.

Of the five Polish women, there was one who was considerably older than the rest. We always, from then on referred to her as 'Mama'. She was in her mid-forties but was toothless at the front where the Germans had removed eight gold teeth. 'Mama' was of medium height and had prematurely grey, short hair; 'Mama' had obviously been a woman of quite some breeding and social position in pre- 1939 Poland. 'Mama' was the mother of Ugina (who George Cliffe had been fraternizing with), we soon learnt that Ugina was about eighteen to twenty years old; she was 5'6" tall with short, dark hair and attractive high cheekbones. She was clearly at the most desirable point in her life even in the miserable existence which she now had. Ugina was clearly a young woman of some intellect; she spoke only a little English, and had been a student at the Warsaw Ballet up to the time of her arrest. Maria was the third of the women, about the same age as Ugina, with dark hair and of a short and stumpy build; she was amiable but continually in extremes of terror. Helena was the fourth of the women, once again she was of the same age as Ugina with light brown wavy hair, she had a cherub like face with a pronounced dimple in her cheeks, she also had a rather good figure and several of the POWs said that if German soup did that for a woman's figure then they would make sure that their wives lived on it when they got back. Helena became the target of many of the men's desires whilst we were all enclosed within the factory complex. Lavinia was probably about seventeen, she was tallish and thin, she was very pale and had a haunted look on her face, she was very withdrawn and was frightened of everybody, she was really a pathetic, terrified girl, but the four girls were totally attached to 'Mama' and she mothered them as best she could.

The relationship between Ugina and George Cliffe had developed very rapidly despite the age gap between them, which must have been nearly twenty years. I personally disliked George Cliffe; I saw him as unscrupulous, uncaring and really a con man. Either he hadn't realised the consequences for the girls if one of them became pregnant or he just didn't care. I believe from the way that he acted that it was the latter for 'Mama' soon told us that they had been sent from the concentration camp at Lvov in the first place, to get them away from their men folk and preventing the regeneration of the Polish race. Yet the game Cliffe was playing was in serious danger of getting these girls into trouble. The women all knew that death awaited them should they return to Lvov and yet Cliffe's actions were clearly endangering them. There were some Polish males in the factory as well but little was said about them especially as other matters were eventually brought to our attention.

Vic Pallister, a prowler by nature had managed to find a quantity of new and used hacksaw blades in the engine shop, the place was hardly used by anybody according to Pallister and was advantageously at the extreme left near edge of the factory; it might be an escape route. I decided that I would take a look at the room and its position regarding an escape as soon as I was able to. (I confess the clock at Euston Station was a compelling illusion).

The next day and during the previous night, the men on the various conveyors put the hacksaw blades to good use. Belt clips had been weakened to breaking point, and canvas had been cut half through. They would sever sooner rather than later, and would hopefully disrupt production considerably.

Two of my fellow POWs by the names of Adams and Travers had noticed that if the buffers on the railway sidings were loosened or severed from their base then considerable damage could be done, as the railway wagons would topple into the bulk hoppers, this would hamper the delivery of beet to the plant. They thought that they could sever the buffers from the ground by removing sixteen bolts that secured them. They could hide in the hoppers, if they were full, for about two hours, as when the hoppers were full they fed the washing tanks only very slowly. Using hacksaw blades, they had cut four bolts almost completely through, they were satisfied that two more days work would complete the sabotage.

To the list of sabotage and destruction must be added the four gallons of blue dye or ink that had been added to one of the syrup vats, we all looked forward to the prospect of near blue sugar in the future. This small delayed action offensive was being supplemented by the construction of small canvass bags with a drawstring, which were capable of carrying about two pounds of sugar; these were being made by some of the Polish workers. It was decided that on the next day, our fourth day of work (fifth in total) that we would begin to use it to bring out brown sugar. We still hadn't found a way to breach the white sugar store but we could obtain some castor sugar from an overhead route.

In a few days, the supply of brown sugar to the POWs grew from a trickle to a quantity greater than that readily consumed by the POWs. We had been getting the contraband out by hiding the canvass bags, three quarters full, and flattened out under our battledress blouses at the back between our shoulder blades. We were searched every time that we came off duty; a straight up and down, nobody detected what we were carrying in the small of our backs.

When we finally went into surplus, I started to get busy with Herman. The first exchange was a 2kg brown loaf; it was round like a discus. It was certainly more palatable than the black bread we received from the Germans as part of our meagre rations. In addition, I got a 2lb tin of meat, not unlike corned beef, and a smaller tin of cheese. First, we decided to give extra to the pressroom lads who were all growing visibly weaker by the day. We arranged three drop points with Herman; the first was under the bottom stone step down in the basement. One was via Helena, the Polish girl with whom Herman was apparently having a fling with and another behind the steam hoist cabin on the waste tip. We never did any business with Herman's opposite number on the other shift, either we were warned genuinely against it or Herman just didn't want any competition. Exchanges soon grew in volume; sometimes they were three time a week, sometimes daily. The signal we used was always given on the first barrow full of cinder when the shift began, and when the guards who brought us down to hand over to Herman could hear Herman shout at us "English Schwein!" Undoubtedly the guard would report to Purshke, who controlled the guards during the day (Voldt was in charge at night), that Herman was clearly a hard taskmaster.

We soon discovered a route to the Polish quarters. It was an overhead route which involved squeezing through a sky light above the flat roof of the laboratory then shinning down an external steam pipe and getting in through a window. The route was not for Cliffe and others to engage in sex frolics, the Poles were too scared of informers to allow that. However, some vegetable jam soon appeared and so I assumed that the Poles must have outside sugar contacts.

My concern was really whether our chaps were half way to escaping, I had hardly made a start in familiarising myself with and scrutinising every internal nook and cranny in the factory.

One evening, about an hour after our shift was over, the billet was unusually quiet; we all lay fully dressed on our bunks. I looked across and saw Paddy McQueen's stomach going up and down quite violently. I went over and he was chuckling silently, I asked him what the matter was and he replied,  
"Oime having the divels own time mate"  
"Where? In the laboratory?" I enquired,  
"That's so, I put my hand up the fraulein's skirt and she screamed blue murder, so I told her she should be quiet. I wasn't going to do any harm, you shouldn't fuss so I said, yer should be grateful; I just wanted to know if things are in the same place with German frauleins as it is with girls back home, she's going to tell her old man I think. The laboratory is a lively place yer see!" he ended showing more than a little concern about what might happen to him.  
"You'll get chucked out Paddy" I replied.  
"Oi think after me other experiment's finished I might", he said, "but then again I might not" and he chuckled again.  
"What else you got planned?" I asked curiously. Paddy took mischief like medicine; it was his cure for melancholies.  
"Well I pissed in a tin, not a lot mind, then I put some o' that pig swill soup 'er theirs in, then I put some Polish jam in ter get the colour right and I stirred it up well and put a drop in the sample bottles from the night shift vats. Now oime thinking she'll be in enough trouble mate, oi am going ter poison all the bastards that is what oime going to do". He chuckled again as his plan continued to ferment in his mind.

As the next week passed, it was chaos everyday as elevator chains and belts broke everywhere. A drive cylinder broke free and careered into the slicing machine. Steam pressure was reduced almost to nothing by someone slackening the coupling bolts on the bends in the pipes, so when the other machines were repaired the steam pipe joints blew off. The factory produced virtually nothing for four days, the Germans were annoyed, heavy handed and vicious. We were confined to billets apart from being harassed hourly by roll calls and billet searches.

By the time we returned to work the weather had turned bitterly cold, there were heavy frosts at night and occasional flurries of powdery snow. After having been in centrally heated billets we shuddered and shivered a lot, even in the factory. Once I was back down under the furnaces the heat was very oppressive and we were continually suffering burns from the falling red-hot ash. I got some bad burns on my hands and forearms and coupled with the pain from my wounded elbow I felt distinctly ill. My forthcoming attempts to escape began to assume priority; I think the distinct change in the weather spurred me on. Satisfied that the bartering with Herman had been restored and could continue in my absence, I reported sick at the end of the shift.

The following morning at 8 o'clock, about a dozen of us were paraded outside the billet, and with two guards accompanying us were marched off, again there were no signs of Mallinini or Kingswood. To our surprise we were taken round the front of the factory and through the gate onto the road. We were curious, and scrutinised the surrounding as well as we could as we marched. We were clearly on the outskirts of a town, we travelled about half a mile and we passed on our right an unbroken line of old fashioned semi-detached house. Without warning we were turned through a garden gate and up some steps, along a path, and then marshalled into a conservatory at the side of a house, we waited some time before being ushered into a corridor. I was next to last for treatment and when I went in suffered a great surprise when seeing an attractive woman in a white doctor's coat. She must have been in her mid-thirties, she spoke flawless English, and there were no guards present. She was obviously not a Nazi and she apologised for the lack of any refined medical facilities. She went so far as to say that the end of the war was probably in sight and soon we would all be back home. I wasn't to be drawn too much into conversation and only remarked that the longest wouldn't be long, but in the race from West and East it looked as though the Russians would get here first. She visibly shuddered and said, "God help us if that happens."  
She examined my elbow and told me I was lucky not to have had blood poisoning or worse. She then explained what she was going to do and that it would be painful, she dipped an instrument into a blue liquid and for ten minutes probed and removed several shrapnel splinters from my elbow, and one from my inner thigh, it was an incredibly painful experience. Then she applied a yellowish cream to the wounds and the burns on my hands and wrists. Finally, she bandaged me with paper bandages that looked no better than toilet roll.  
"Come in three or four days if the pain hasn't subsided" she said, "if you don't, God bless you". Her final words shocked me; it was a sincere and kindly thought, out of place, I felt, in this land of brutality. As I went to the door she whispered,  
"I'm half on your side, my mother is English, she's in Manchester". I would have replied but she put her finger to her lips.  
"All the best" I muttered, and left.

Once the last man had been treated we left the house and were marched back to the road, but instead of turning left to go up to the sugar factory, we turned right. After having travelled about 300 yards there was a major road curving to our left, and a policeman wearing a seemingly ornamental Prussian style spiked helmet was directing what little traffic that passed from the middle of the road. Most of the traffic that we saw there was charcoal burning vehicles and not petrol engines, confirming our belief that Germany was very short of petrol, indeed it had been throughout the entire war but that these shortages were growing rapidly worse. We continued on our march straight ahead and steadily the town developed. Jeers from the Hitler Youth and younger elements in the town contrasted greatly with the silent stares from the more mature members of the population.

We were shepherded across the road and I distinctly smelled a bakery and bread. We were pulled into a very wide passageway up the side of a large house and halted outside. One guard went in, the other stood unconcernedly between us and the road, I gathered that this was a dentist's as two of our chaps needed treatment for severe toothache.

I was the furthest away from the guard and hidden from his view, I looked down at the next door along and discovered to my surprise that it was a bake house. Someone inside beckoned to me and said "Come", I responded rapidly and slid down an embankment, inside I found two French POWs. One of them started stuffing some small French bread sticks and some white margarine into my battledress, the other Frenchman said in halting but passable English,  
"You from D-Day front?" I nodded in response,  
"You speak? Paris is free? – Yes?" I nodded again,  
"War soon finite, Germans kaput – no?" the Frenchman pressed.  
"Yes, not long now" I replied, and then I blurted out "Where is Danzig? How far?",  
"Much far" he replied, "You want for Danzig go?" and initiated a walk with his fingers,  
"Very quickly, soon" I said. He looked around and checked that there were no Germans about still, and said, "You come very big road, night time; acht hour, you know big turn when you go back to Zucker Fabrik". I realised where he meant and said "Yes."  
"One week...er...seven...er...days, 8 o'clock night we take you for", then he put seven fingers up, "Seven kilometres then speak way to go". I understood.  
"Okay, one week from tonight I'll be there, thanks" I said,  
"You whistle signal...long way to Tipperary...you know?" I nodded, "now you go quickly, no more speak", he finished and then proceeded to push me through the door and I scrambled back up to join my comrades.

Upon reaching the top of the bank there wasn't a sign that I had been missed at all, my heart was pounding, I felt really good because totally out of the blue I had a chance of escape. I said nothing about escape to the others; I just showed one bread roll to my companions. I had learnt the priority lesson of being a POW; that a secret is not a secret if even only two people know it.

Upon my return to the billet I encountered, to my surprise, Mallinini. He noticed my arm in a sling and enquired why. I explained about my wounds and said that they should now cause me less pain, but the burns from my job were troublesome and that the doctor thought a change of job was necessary. This was a lie of course but I felt it was necessary, to really take a chance I added a request to take over the job in the sugar beet bagging department on the night shift. I didn't think Mallinini would have the authority to make any appointments but he replied with,  
"Could you manage with the sling?"  
" I'll manage," I said eagerly.  
"Fair enough, start tonight then" he said. I immediately thanked him and he left, I entered my room and gratefully flung myself onto my bunk. It seemed that it was going to be my day. It was then that it hit me that I had found a way to escape and a job to make such an escape possible. It had clearly been a momentous day so far and I decided that I ought to get some rest if I were to work the night shift for twelve hours.

I had hardly put my head down when a pair of legs appeared in the corner of my field of vision from the top bunk next to me, the pair of legs were then dangling next to me. The body, grunting and groaning as it went, descended from the bunk to the floor. It was Sneddon the Scotsman. I always called him MacSneddon because it seemed more appropriate. He came and sat on the edge of my bunk, he was a coarse and rugged man who had long spells of being morose until aroused by arrogant German behaviour. I liked him and got to know him well in a short time, he would forever carry the burden of grief for having seen his brother killed in action. They were both in the Black Watch, part of the 51st Highland Division. I was appalled at his actions which followed, he produced a tobacco tin, containing cigarette stubs and dried tea leaves, and then a small pocket bible from which he tore a page, and commenced to roll a cigarette using the page from the bible and the foul mixture.  
" For Christ's sake MacSneddon" I said, "You're a bloody heathen, you've picked up that habit from Paddy Singletree at Chartres, he smoked pages of the bible like that".  
"Och aye!" replied MacSneddon, "That's how I got the bible, swapped him a signet ring for it. This er'll keep me in cigarettes for the duration, even if it's a long war! Singletree was a Catholic, I'm a Presbyterian, I donna ken the difference we're both heathens, except I'm a more honest heathen, Singletree was a thief, I'm not a thief!" the conversation ended there. We were both startled by a sudden commotion outside at the head of the stairs, five or six POWs and three Germans were fighting furiously, a shot was fired bringing down plaster from the ceiling and the POWs drew back. I clearly saw Voldt holster his pistol, grab the POW by the knees and heave him over the top of the stairs. Momentarily everyone was shocked, and then there was a sudden rush down the winding stairs. Thomas lay on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, he wasn't moving at all. Thomas was a red haired, stocky Welshman from the Airborne Division. Voldt was the last to descend the stairs, with his pistol in his hand once again, he motioned to all the POWs to move away, the other two Germans started to level their rifles until everyone did. Everybody went back to the wall, one German left and within ten minutes Purshke, Mallinini and Kingswood appeared. Thomas was unconscious, not dead, but it was another twenty minutes before the German civilians arrived, they were obviously doctors, they said that Tomas's back was broken; half an hour after they arrived he was finally stretchered away.

I noticed during these proceedings a POW whom I'd never taken much notice of before, he was a Canadian in the Winnipeg Rifles, his name was Cheyarakee. He was a full-blooded Indian; a member I think of the Huron tribe. I think the reason I became aware of him then was because he had cut his hair into a Mohican style since I had last seen him. Cheyarakee had a fine physique and looked menacing with his new hair style, it seemed that he had elected to become a 'savage' in appearance at least, soon his actions towards the Germans were to prove that his reversion to savagery was more than just cosmetic. MacSneddon uttered to me "He's gone animal", I had to agree, you could almost see murder in his expression. I then had an inspirational thought; I wondered if Cheyarakee would go with me on my escape attempt, he would make a great companion. I quickly realised that it was a non-starter though; I didn't know him well enough which was more than a minor problem as a week wasn't long enough to build up the level of trust necessary.

We were all bundled roughly back upstairs, all the night shift workers who had been asleep were now awake, and one word; revenge, was on everybody's lips. It was decided that there would be retaliation, the form it would take wasn't at all clear but it might have been resolved had not the air raid siren then sounded.

As the bombs fell on Breslau, some ten or twelve miles away we were jubilant. This was the first daytime bombing raid here, and for a solid two hours Breslau had a real pasting. Despite our distance from the town, the factory and other buildings all seemed to shake as if an earthquake had just struck. The Germans simply ignored us and we knew that they would nearly all be in the air raid shelters. I learned later from Herman that Maltsch, the town we were on the outskirts of, had been strafed by the fighter escort with cannon and machine gun fire. I could only hope that the Frenchman in the bake house had escaped involvement and injury or worse. My thoughts then returned to my escape (The clock on Euston Station again).

# Chapter 7

Since my chance meeting with the Frenchmen earlier in the day and my opportunity to escape becoming a very real possibility, my thinking had developed somewhat. I could no longer keep the secret and had to talk to someone. I chose Percy Bailey although I knew he would not join me in the attempt, I also decided to tell Varey who would join me, as a third confidant I chose Travers. He was steady, resolute and he could understand and speak a little German, whether he would go with Varey and me I didn't know. Travers also had the confidence of a group of Poles who could be very helpful, if they could be trusted.

I realised only after two hours of conversation with Percy Bailey, Varey and Travers my own stupidity in my planning. Varey said he would come along but Percy and Travers would not although they said that they would help out. What they made me realise was that escaping wasn't simply a matter of picking an escape route out of the factory and walking to Danzig, walking onto a ship bound for Sweden and then back home. The actual decision about the escape route to be used was in itself a difficult decision, and would require caution and careful planning. Secondly, civilian clothes would be a necessity as we could hardly walk what would be around 300 miles in British Army battledress. The third problem they pointed out to me was that I would need a map to give some direction; fourthly, we would also need some food as the journey would be a long one, and the final point was that we would need information about how to reach the port area when we finally got to Danzig. It was clear that for this last item and for the others we would require quite considerable Polish help. Travers role was vital and his judgement critical in soliciting help from the Poles. Travers felt that there were two in particular who could be trusted, and he would approach them tonight. He said that some coffee, chocolate or cigarettes would be useful as an introduction. I had coffee and cigarettes that I had been saving to trade with Herman, I hadn't a clue where I would get any more from but I gave Travers the coffee and cigarettes anyway. In fact within a couple of hours God would come to my rescue and enable me to deal with Herman, to ensure he would procure a map and compass for me if it was possible.

We could do nothing more until we could count on Travers securing the help of the Poles, so we retired to get some sleep in preparation for the night shift. I found that I was too keyed up to get any proper sleep and was thus semi-alert when a party of POWs clutching bundles came into the room. They were all new and were probably going to be extra factory staff, everyone else soon woke up and questions and answers were thrown back and forth between the two groups. There was so much chatter and so much information being exchanged that it became difficult to form any opinions or make much sense of it all.

There was only one spare bunk in our room and that was commandeered by a man named Huntley, it was underneath MacSneddon and was next to me. Huntley was a long term POW taken at Dunkirk in 1940; he had been severely wounded there and was still suffering from the wounds. He wore the armband of a medical orderly and turned out to be very competent. We had a long and fruitful conversation and he broached the subject of exchange goods, we didn't need to barter; I agreed to supply him with two 2kg loaves of bread and an abundance of brown sugar for two tins of coffee, 50 Craven 'A' cigarettes and four bars of chocolate. He had obviously received a regular supply of Red Cross parcels. I marked Huntley down for further supplies of bread and sugar and was simply overjoyed that the Lord had come to my rescue; now I could deal with Herman for the map and compass, now I felt eager to go to work and to my new job.

I realised during my first hour at work in the dry beet pulp-bagging department that heavy romances with the Polish girls were developing. George Cliffe and Ugina were totally infatuated with each other and although not privy to the intimacies of the affair, there was no doubt about the extent of their energetic fulfilment of each other's desires. It was a risky game they were playing, this was especially the case for Ugina, for if discovered in the course of such compromising intimacies she could expect no mercy from the Germans, they would at the very least defile her body; such was the treatment of the women of the Slavic and Jewish races under the Third Reich.

I concerned myself with seeking an early opportunity to contact Herman, I had wherewithal to obtain a map and compass, and the ability to blackmail him if necessary. My own impatience nearly caused my undoing, as I was opening the door prior to descending the stone steps in came Voldt with the two guards and Huntley. He barked at me immediately, his face turned purple with rage and as he came up close to me he spat in my face, he said I was an "Englisch Schwein". I tried to explain what I was doing but Voldt didn't understand so I said that I would fetch the "Dolmetschar", Kingswood, the interpreter. That was unnecessary; as Otto the boiler foreman appeared I really thought that I was for it now, remembering as I did my previous encounter with him, I decided, inspirationally to seize the initiative while I could.  
"Herr boiler fuhrer", I flattered, "Please explain to the Feldwebel (That was flattery, Voldt was two ranks below Feldwebel) that I was closing the door because of the draft blowing dust in my face and all over the floor". I explained that I couldn't work down below the furnaces anymore because the doctor I had seen this morning who treated my wounds and burns, forbid me to do the work again. I just kept talking until Voldt's anger subsided and until I had confused them sufficiently to escape punishment. I doubted Otto's ability to translate all of what I said into German, but he must have managed well enough because Voldt nodded his head and frequently repeated the "Ja, Ja" of understanding before wagging a threatening finger under my nose as a warning.  
"Nichts Vergessen" (Don't forget), I knew I wouldn't forget that was certain,  
"Ja ja Herr Feldwebel" I said and quickly went back to the bagging chute.

My next attempt at about 2am was successful; I then propositioned Herman for a map and compass in exchange for coffee and cigarettes. He promised to bring me a map in two days, the compass he wasn't sure about, I paid half the coffee for the map, and no cigarettes. As I returned to the bagging room I heard the distinct passionate moaning of Ugina behind the sacks as she and George Cliffe continued to build on their relationship, everybody else turned a blind eye and as deaf an ear as was possible. By now Huntley was chatting with 'Mama' which I found suspicious, but I dismissed any conclusions even though he had barely been here for half a day. Boulton, one of the POWs I worked with, beckoned me over as I walked across the room, he was clearly agitated by something as I joined him and he said,  
"That bloody Red Indian is after Voldt, he'll kill him for sure, oughten we get George Cliffe to quieten him down, he's a pal of 'is."  
" He's doing the opposite with that Polish lass" I observed, but agreed that it was for the best and approached the sacks. "George?" I whispered, "Cheyarakee's in trouble", he emerged grinning, the revulsion I felt made me want to knock some sense into him, Boulton explained the situation to George and he went in search of the Indian.

I went to work, robot like, completely absorbed in thoughts of escape and possibly freedom, It was two hours later when Huntley's presence near me brought me back to reality.  
" Were you on your way when Voldt came in?" he casually asked,  
"Not quite, sort of half way" I replied,  
"Found a hole then?" he half asked, half stated,  
"Yeah" I replied jokingly, adding "Only need a compass."  
" Two kilos of bread will get you one" he replied. I was lost for words initially but eventually I managed to reply,  
"If you're not joking you're on, let's see it!" He promptly undid his fly buttons and took one off.  
"There you are – instant service". I was flabbergasted, I took it from him and examined it closely, it was certainly genuine, but very small, and I wondered where it came from.  
"Got it from the airborne lads, it's issue apparently," he explained, almost as if he had read my thoughts. It was a minute compass, simple to use and read, and at first sight simply a button. Suddenly Euston Station seemed awfully close; success seemed to be certain.

I excused myself and optimism got the better of me. I was tempted to go in search of Travers, I eventually found him in the engine shed talking to some Poles behind an improvised sackcloth curtain.

Travers introduced me to Dominic and Stan (Stanislaw), the language they spoke together was French which was frustrating for me. The outcome of the discussion, after a fairly exhaustive explanation to me of how the conversation was going, was that the Poles felt that civilian clothes were easy to obtain. The Poles also said that the best way out was through the Polish quarters, it was dangerous and required great caution but could, they felt, be done. Stan said that although he didn't know the way to Danzig from here, he did know how to find the port area when he got there.

I realised then that Stan must have wanted to come along as part of the deal, I was sceptical but Travers pointed out that he also spoke passable German so I capitulated to the pressure and agreed. I realised that he could converse in French to our French aides and could speak German if we ran into any trouble, I could only talk to him properly, through Travers, but it was still a good arrangement under the circumstances. I then explained the compass that I had and the map which Herman had promised me. "We follow three rivers to Danzig", Stan explained. The compass would remain our insurance though, Dominic then said,  
"First you must have a try out at getting used to leaving the factory". This was Dominic's contribution; he said that we needed to make at least one to the point where the Frenchmen would to meet us. I promised to explain the situation to Varey and to obtain his agreement before leaving them; I was hoping to be able to see Percy in the pressroom on my way back and was lucky to find him on the platform on the stairway just outside the door. He listened to the news which I was bursting to tell him but I felt he didn't take it all in. When I finished he said,  
"See over there?" he pointed to the laboratory,  
"Can you see the flat roof?" It was an independent building within the main building, and the flat roof of the laboratory was at least four feet below the factory ceiling. Percy continued, "Well that's the way they go to the Polish quarters, on the top of it they go through a small skylight and out onto a flat roof, then down into the Poles quarters. Paddy told me on the quiet he had just come back, he'd been watching searchlights he thinks at Breslau",  
"God, we must try and stop it being used for a few days, if somebody gets caught our way out will be blocked off for sure". I felt sure that this must be the way out Travers had in mind, Percy was then called back into the pressroom so I went on my way. I felt as I made my way back to my post that everything was happening at once, I just hoped that I didn't forget anything vital either, before we had our escape or whilst we were on our way.

# Chapter 8

As we filed our way back up to our billet my recent lack of sleep overcame me. Soup issue wasn't until 10am which was three hours away, so I decided to get some sleep. I washed and shaved first and then just flopped on my bunk and slept like a dead man until soup came up. The issue was then delayed while the Germans searched all the billets for anything, particularly sugar. Like the fools they frequently were they overlooked the obvious things whilst searching for cunning hiding places. In the centre of our room, in the middle of the table there was a huge, brown, margarine tin, which was full of brown sugar. The tin was sporting an arrangement of paper imitation flowers, Ellis had provided these. When he wasn't spouting Communism he made excellent paper aeroplanes, he had eventually moved on to making flowers and displayed them in the margarine tin, they were quite good. The flower's colours were quite distinctive and highly imaginative, the dyes were the idea of one of his friends but how they were concocted was beyond me.

The Germans soon wound up their search having failed to find any sugar for once; we were then allowed to consume our inadequate ration of foul soup. Straight after, I had a brief conversation with Percy, Varey and Travers, and we decided that we needed to tell the whole nightshift that we were going to use the route to the Polish quarters for our escape so that nobody used it before we made our dummy runs and our actual escape took place. Everybody promised to cease using the route for five days which would give us time to get away. Four or five of our fellow POWs practically demanded to come with us but of course to have taken a party of eight would have been the most certain way to ensure failure. We said that it was better to follow on at pre-arranged intervals, in two's or three's following directions we would pass on before we left, and they would be able to make it to Danzig.

Following the open meeting the four of us got together to talk over the progress of the night. Varey and Percy were in agreement that Stan the Pole should go with us, and Travers informed us the Poles wanted an escape rehearsal to take place tonight. He said that we should wear sack material like a smock over our uniforms to disguise ourselves, mainly to break up our body outlines, they said that they would have these ready for us. Travers said that we wouldn't be wearing civilian clothes until the night of the escape. A wooden tool case was deemed necessary and any such tools as we could find as we were to pose as maintenance workers. Papers were out of the question except local permits. If we were stopped Stan would use all of his persuasive powers to try to get us through, he had suggested to Travers that Varey and I should pose as French workers with himself as the supervisor in charge, neither Varey nor I were willing or indeed able to object. Stan had also said that the shallow draught jetties used by fishing boats were those he proposed to take us to when we got to Danzig. That was because the main dock area was heavily policed and to go walking around there would be to invite questioning. Stan also felt that to first go to Denmark and then on to Sweden was a safer option; again, we were entirely dependent on his judgment. Dominic calculated that a ten day footslog should get us to Danzig, this was pessimistic but allowed for delays. We decided that we should carry the minimum possible weight with us but enough food to sustain us for at least part of our journey, with the objective of attaining more whenever the opportunity arose.

The route we were to take was entirely dependent upon my getting the map from Herman; Percy then raised the question of roll call and of our being missed the following morning when our shift had ended. The discussion on this topic went on as various suggestions were kicked around. Varey finally came up with a plan of action upon which we could all agree. This was to get two of the new intake to double back from their day shift when they got in the factory. If they quickly re-arranged their clothing and appearance and then ran down to join the off going night shift roll count, apologising when they got there for being delayed, the count would be right. The Germans were happy when their roll call count was correct, the names and faces of those present didn't really matter so much. Inside the factory the absences could be overcome on the day shift by mates swapping and changing around. We all knew that the covering system could work and once done successfully could be maintained for longer, Varey agreed to set up the chaps and organise it. We finally broke up with the night rehearsal very much on our minds, but I managed to sleep very heavily until woken at 5.30pm by the sounds of muffled knocking.

I had been so immersed in the past few days with my own plans for escape that I had been totally unaware of what in Army jargon was, OBE's or, 'other buggers efforts'. I was brought up to date somewhat by the sound of the knocking that awoke me. I went to investigate and discovered that at the end of the passage that served the rooms we lived in; the cupboard had been modified so that the back was removable and replaceable. Work was being done to remove bricks from the wall behind to make an escape hole into the upper floor of the factory, it was very ingenious indeed, I made a mental note, as it could be useful to Varey's organisation in carrying out their plan to cover our disappearance if it was ready in time.

I also discovered that Cheyarakee was putting the finishing touches to a new weapon he had constructed, it was a knife fashioned out of very hard wood, it looked lethal and would be when a very fine sharp point made out of tin had been fitted to it. I was left in no doubt from the expression on Cheyarakee's face as he worked that he was eager to use it and it doubtlessly had Voldt's name on it.

It seemed that quite a lot of planning was taking place to arrange the revenge on the attack on Thomas. It had been confirmed that he had a broken back and ribs but there had been no news about his chances of survival. The plan was simple and the ultimate in retaliation, the proposal had come from one of the new intake of POWs called Pocock who had been given a job in the cookhouse by passing himself off as a cook which he most certainly was not. He had heard a remark about the addition of oil and grease and other obnoxious stuff to the syrup vats, and enquired about adding it to the German soup vats. He called the concoction he had dreamed up 'knock out drops'. The arrangements were already in hand to smuggle in the necessary ingredients over the next few days. I liked the plan a lot, it was simple, relatively easy to execute, and would hit the entire German garrison at once without warning.

I also heard that a price of one hundred cigarettes had been put on Voldt's head by an anonymous donor. I guessed that Huntley was the donor; I thought it more than likely that Cheyarakee would be the one to collect the reward; he was so full of hate toward Voldt that it was inevitable that he would stop at nothing to get him.

I wondered then what Churchill would have replied to Stalin when they insisted on a second front had he known about the activities of allied POWs. I felt that we had created a third front, tying up German resources and causing them as many problems as we could. I felt then as I do know that a part of any soldiers training should be directed specifically toward instructing him on prisoner of war routine, life, and the enemy's behaviour. Sometimes 'active service' behind the lines can cause a great many problems if the soldier is prepared for it. We achieved quite a lot and yet had to learn it all for ourselves in just a short space of time.

Finally, the time came to start work although my mind wasn't on it. I had fifteen small canvass bags of brown sugar to get down to Herman to pay my bread debts to Huntley, for the compass and to stock up for my journey. I was to meet Varey at 9 o'clock at Travers' hiding place to meet the Poles for the dummy run out of the factory. I wasn't convinced that it was at all necessary, my attitude was that once was enough and then keep going. I eventually found myself having doubts about the entire operation, so much planning meant that everything had to run smoothly or problems could pile up very quickly. Finally, I just switched my brain away from everything except to focus on the escape. George Cliffe was back from his usual early morning meeting with Ugina behind the stacks of sacks, and Huntley was also there with 'Mama'. He had been appointed factory medical orderly and had a roaming commission and so was free to move wherever he wished. I felt surplus and thus able to go and get the sugar to Herman. My visit to Herman raised my spirits, as he was able to give me the map earlier than expected. In fact it was a school atlas, not a map but nevertheless excellent. He had no compass but I already had one that would suffice. I arranged with Herman to leave the balance of the coffee on the next shift and to pick up the bread. I was suddenly in a hurry because I had barely twenty minutes left to meet Varey and the Poles. To make matters worse, when I returned to my workplace I found Helena in tears.

Helena's tears were rapidly developing into a confused, frustrated tantrum. She said she didn't want to carry on the affair with Herman; instead she wanted Thomas who, I reminded her, had a broken back. It cost me a bar of chocolate which I couldn't really spare to shut her up before I could get away. Just like a little girl she pulled herself together as the magical bar of chocolate was thrust into her hands. I then left hoping that I wasn't too late.

I made it, but only just in time to Travers' hiding place. Very quickly we all left, the Poles in the lead with Varey in the rear, up onto the roof of the laboratory first and then through the skylight and on to the flat roof. Just as Varey fully emerged onto the flat roof the fireworks began and the air raid siren started up, there was clearly a large air raid on Breslau taking place and we had a grandstand view. We could see the powerful searchlight beams, penetrating the dark sky which hid the bombers. There was the sound of anti-aircraft fire and flashes here and there. Heavy bombs exploding and starting fires that began to light the sky still more. Breslau seemed to be glowing red as the fires grew in number, and still the bomber onslaught continued. We must have spent ten minutes simply watching the events before us and then Dominic urged us on. I recall Dominic saying;  
"This is good", and Stan adding in better English,  
"Perfect, we go now, no posterns (Sentries), all in shelter".

We began to follow a route which was to become very familiar to us. We got off the factory premises and back without detection into the Pole's quarters. We were dressed in sackcloth smocks that looked something like the Ku Klux Klan would wear. I remembered the school atlas at this point and we all spent fifteen minutes studying it, Stan briefly explained the route.

Stan had decided that we were to cross the river Malapane at Leuthen, then cross the river Oder and then the river Bartsch. We would go north to Posen. Leave Posen and cross the river Welna and on to Bromberg. Then we would follow the Vistula all the way to Danzig. We would have to be wary of the railway lines from Berlin to Breslau as they were very busy. We would have to cross them, not follow them, until we reached Bromberg when they would become the Danzig to Breslau line which is quieter. I tried to remember all that Stan said and would then have compass bearings worked out by Percy who was very good at that.

Varey and I thanked the Poles and left after arranging a repeat the following night when we would lengthen our journey to the crossroads, where we were to meet the Frenchmen on our real escape. As we returned to our jobs Varey said, quite straight forwardly,  
"The only thing worrying me is that too many people are in the know, I wish I could really trust them all, I'm keeping fingers crossed for another air raid when we really go."  
" I'll send Uncle Joe Stalin a postcard" I remarked, adding "I don't think there'll be any squealers amongst the Poles, their own folks would deal with them more quickly than the Jerries."

We parted at the laboratory, and when I finally returned to work I found that there was no work to do. The elevators, which fed the wet pulp to the huge revolving drying drum over the furnaces, had been I supposed, doctored to break down. The two Bill's, Deveraux and Dawson worked up there so it figured. There was no more work for us on the rest of the shift but other activities were clearly in full swing. George Cliffe and Ugina were apparently honeymooning in full gear once again; Huntley, apparently regardless of the wounds, had made ground fast with 'Mama', Helena had soon forgotten Hughes and the tears she had shed for him and she was horsing around with Harwood. Maria and Otto the old German boiler fireman also seemed to be very close, and this worried me. Lavinia was the only one of the women not engaged in playing around. She seemed to be moping around, almost aimless. I felt that her subconscious had informed her body that she needed a man, but had forgotten to inform her brain. She was a girl ripe for love but completely lost; I was mentally touched by it all and felt sorry for her.

It was bitingly cold as we left work at 7am, and the wind was strong. It was blowing gusts of fine powdery snow in all directions. I hadn't given a thought to the rapidly enclosing Eastern European winter. It seemed that it had now reached us and I feared that it might hamper, even herald the end of our escape attempt. However, I was resolved to go now, having banished any thought of pulling out already. In any case, I was a country man born and bred and used to survival outdoors. I had strong survival instincts that I felt would see me through, although I knew that survival on the Central European plain with inadequate sustenance wouldn't be easy.

When I got back to the billets I followed my normal routine of washing and shaving, some people played cribbage, some rummy with a homemade pack of cards and pegboard. Others reminisced, and I think we all began to realise that things were going quite well on the Western Front from what was being said by the new intake. We all knew that the German Army wasn't yet beaten but we could see changes in morale and sense some slackening in attitude, although this did not extend to the fanatical SS and to the Nazi party members who still held the reins of power. We certainly knew that we were able to intimidate and agitate the ordinary soldiers and extract more of the real feelings than had hitherto been possible. There were even times when they were less guarded in their opinions about their superiors. In short, it appeared that the ordinary soldier had accepted that Germany was going to lose the war.

We all knew as well that we were still the prisoners and could be beaten or maimed as Thomas had been, and that there would be no punishment here for anybody who harmed one of us if they were given half a good reason. Everyone knew that we still had to be careful.

At 10am it wasn't soup on the menu, instead we had an issue of black bread. Eight men to a loaf and some foul smelling slimy greyish brown stuff that the Germans called cheese. It was eaten though; we were too hungry to refuse. Mallinini was never present to complain about the food on our behalf, we bombarded the guards with four-letter language about the quality of the food we received. We also insulted Hitler and Germany in general and wound up by warning them what would happen when the Russkis arrived, this always frightened them and we played on it. We won the war of words for now; they were the country with their backs to the wall and three victorious enemies closing in with each moment for the kill. They were frightened all right and it was beginning to show. The mask of German invincibility which had received a deadly dual blow at El Alamein and Stalingrad two years before had received numerous, even stronger blows since and now Germany was preparing to defend its own borders. The guards soon tired of our insults; they left us alone and padlocked the door. The work then started up again on clearing the wall behind the cupboard, the rest of us went to sleep, I never knew how long the 'cupboard workers' kept at it. I was woken up well before 5pm, the usual time, by a conversation taking place by the window which overlooked the tip where ashes, which came from under the furnaces, were barrowed out from Herman's steam hoist. Cheyarakee was pointing to a small overhang of ash that had solidified. It transpired that his Indian, hawk like eyes had been watching at night from inside the factory on the second floor, and had noticed that a German sentry was positioned just below the overhang; it was a regular occurrence. Cheyarakee had also noted that the cinders were still glowing red-hot for a long time after they had been tipped off from the barrow, he suggested that the next time there was an air raid, when the small light over the tip was put out, a barrow load of ashes tipped over a sentry could be accidental. Thurlow, who had replaced me under the furnaces, claimed the right to do the deed himself. I admit it was a job I would have relished had I still been working down there. Thurlow vowed to measure the distance and mark the spot thoroughly.  
"I'll fry the bastard!" he said, and I never doubted that he would, if only to get his own back for the terrible beating he had received when we fought the Germans on our first day. Cheyarakee also pointed out that our window was easy to get out of and the platform from the original fire escape was still in place although the steps had been removed, it was not an impossible escape route. However, anyone who tried it would be a sitting duck for the sentries opposite. I committed this observation to memory and went into conversation with Travers, Varey and Percy. The main topic was the compass bearings and the distance we must travel, making allowances for possible detours to avoid the many lakes that bestrode the line of the march, skirting the villages and towns that lay all along our route, we had to negotiate three hundred miles of intensely active territory. What was more worrying was that we had to cross all the main road and rail routes leading to the Eastern Front, these arteries were feeding a seemingly never ending supply of men and ordinance. The route was chosen from the start point, an equal distance between Liegnitz and Breslau, it was a straight line, roughly North-North-West, taking in turn Posen, Bromberg and finally our objective Danzig, using the afore mentioned rivers as constant reference. Careful study and taking the deteriorating weather into account we decided that not ten but fifteen days to reach Danzig was reasonable. We broke the journey down into four days to reach Posen, four days to Bromberg and seven days from Bromberg to a point on the Baltic coast just west of Danzig. I gladly accepted Varey as navigator and compass bearer although I disciplined myself to digest the route precisely, including the compass bearings in case of an accident. I found myself now appreciating more readily the supplies problems. There was clearly just no way that we could lay our hands on enough food to last 45 'man-days' from within the factory. We could probably get bread and sugar but I could see that we might have problems with fighting hunger as well as the weather whilst we made our bid for freedom. I resolved to see what I could purchase from Huntley or the Poles.

When we had exhausted all the angles, we finished our conversation and joined in with the general communal conversation that was always of home, of what they would do after the war, of getting away from the Eastern Front and of reprisals.

It seemed no time at all before we were back on the night shift, and I was ready for my second escape rehearsal. First of all, I went to see Herman, I spent an hour with him bartering for two 2kg loaves of bread, it was all I could afford with the exchange goods I had. Each day for the remaining three days I had brown sugar in the pipeline. For this, Herman offered me two large tins of low-grade meat and a tin of American coffee. I hadn't got it, but took a chance and upped the price to include a tin of German cheese which I knew was an almost impossible request. However, Herman conceded and agreed to the deal providing I would add ten Craven 'A' cigarettes. I had to deliver in two days, which gave me sufficient time to get hold of a tin of coffee. I took the two 2kg loaves of bread with me.

I joined Varey, Travers and the two Poles at the laboratory at 8.45pm and we negotiated our way onto the flat roof with ease. Then we were shocked by the complete absence of cloud cover, and the brilliantly lit sky due to a nearly full moon, then the biting cold hit us as well, it seemed as though our breath would freeze, it was so cold. Our eyelids felt solid and immovable, this invited the cold to attack our unprotected eyes and felt like it was freezing our brains. We hurried down to the Pole's quarters as there was no air raid to occupy our attention or to cover our clandestine movements.

I handed to Stan the two loaves of bread I had obtained from Herman, and insisted that he find a safe hiding place, as there would be further stores passed on to him over the next three days to build sufficient stock provisions for our journey. He mentioned haversacks for the journey; I assured him that we had plenty of army backpacks, these I would also pass to him in preparation. We consulted together briefly but having some previous knowledge of the route we didn't linger very long. We went through a hole that had been uncovered by the removal of three floorboards into a dark, smelly, very narrow passage. We crawled along on our stomachs, it was Dominic, the leader, who hesitated after ten or fifteen yards to remove some enough bricks to just squeeze through and it was only just enough; it was a tight squeeze.

We waited until everyone was through, and then, crouching on our hand and knees under the stage of the loading bay, we heard Voldt's voice in the factory which was unmistakable because of its boastful, loud, even powerful nature boom out. He seemed to be proclaiming his own importance to someone. We couldn't make out what was said but they both spoke in German, the boot heels then clicked together and they both marched off. We waited fifteen minutes before cautiously emerging on our hands and knees after moving fifty yards underneath the loading bay in the same fashion. We were then delayed again; Stan drew alongside me and said each one of us must move as the moon is covered. It took a long time to complete the twenty-foot crossing of the yard to the cover of a line of goods wagons. Once there, we briskly though carefully, made our way to the end of the high wall and access to the highway at intervals, and made our way along the side of a hedge into some undergrowth where we found ourselves in an orchard, we then made our way to the crossroads which took us ten minutes or so. We concealed ourselves behind a hedge and waited for ten minutes, in that time the road was filled with lorries for quite a while. Stan commented, "Next time we here, God send the airplanes, then nix autos."  
" Let's hope so," replied Varey; we then made our way back to the factory.

Our return to the Pole's quarters was accomplished in half the time, but it was still almost midnight before I returned to my job. I was almost completely seized up with cold and though too ashamed to admit it, I was glad that we hadn't been on the real thing. The next three days were dominated by feverish activity. I passed food supplies on to the Poles every day, I got the coffee and cigarettes for Herman from Huntley, he must have been feeding his mistress, and a few more, from the excess bread I got from Herman in exchange for still more sugar.

We had a last fitting of civilian clothes in the Pole's quarters on our last full night. Varey also finalised the arrangements for deputies to cover our escape. One hiccup on the final day threatened to bring our entire operation disaster before it had started. Paddy McQueen was discovered in the laboratory doctoring the samples and a search was begun for any accomplices he might have had. This meant individual questioning for all POWs. These questionings threatened to go on for days, but luckily, Varey and I were dealt with early on and so were returned to our duties on the last afternoon, in time for the beginning of work and our escape.

Before we went to the factory that night we said goodbye to our billets and shook hands with those we wouldn't be seeing later and went on work roll call prior to the usual start time. We could feel that the air wasn't quite as cold or as harsh and as yet there was no moon, in fact it was almost black as we travelled the 50 yards to enter the factory at the rear, intending to leave very shortly at the front.

# Chapter 9

Once inside we headed straight for the laboratory roof and the skylight. We had to be at the crossroads by exactly 8 o'clock to meet the Frenchmen so there was clearly no time to waste. Within ten minutes we had made our way back to the Pole's quarters where we began to don our civilian clothing. The food supplies had been divided into three and were carried in haversacks. Stan clutched a wooden tool case with an assortment of tools in. Dominic signalled to us that it was time to go. He decided that he was going with us until we had crossed the road; this was because he was more mobile for scouting if any was needed, due to the fact that he had no luggage to carry. We followed the same route we had done the night before, my nerves evaporated once we were underneath the loading bay; again we reached the road with ease and then said goodbye to Dominic. There was a tear or two from all of us at that point but Dominic wished us luck and returned to the factory.

We reached the crossroads safely with fifteen minutes to spare and began to wait, with barely two minutes to go to 8 o'clock I heard the jingling of a bicycle bell and nudged Varey, "They're playing Tipperary on the bike bell," I whispered.  
"So they are, by God!" he exclaimed in a quiet voice. After a moments silence we whistled a few bars in reply. There followed a few muffled sounds, some bustling, and then suddenly they appeared.  
"You come Tommy," said one of the Frenchmen.  
"Hello again" I replied. We met with warm handshakes; Stan did all the talking and made the travel arrangements. We were to follow a towpath 50 yards to the right side of the road. "No Boche tonight for a long while, if come; French ring bell three times, you stay quiet, will ring once some times to keep in touch, you whistle once in reply...okay?" said one of the Frenchmen.  
" Okay" we replied, and we then set off. They led us about seven kilometres. We walked in single file along the towpath, occasionally exchanging the ringing of the bell with a whistle to maintain contact. We travelled for more than an hour before the Frenchmen gave one ring followed quickly by three rings. This startled both Varey and I but Stan said not to worry, this was the signal for the Frenchmen to come over and say goodbye. We had to stop; I was annoyed with Stan for not telling us this, but didn't get a chance to say anything before the Frenchmen arrived.  
"Come, we go inside" one said invitingly. I couldn't see any building but obligingly followed the Frenchmen. We soon saw an old shed about a hundred yards further on.

Once inside the Frenchmen lit two candles, which made the place seem luxurious especially as the shed sheltered us at least partially from the extreme cold of outside. The other Frenchman was now missing, we talked to the Frenchman who was present for some time, first about news from the Western Front which delighted him, and then about our enterprise.

The Frenchman told us that another hour of marching along the towpath would see us to the end. Then we must be extremely cautious, as we had to cross the railway lines that were constantly patrolled in order to deter partisan sabotage. Once over the railway lines we would travel another five kilometres before we reached the river Oder, which we had to follow for three kilometres. He told us that our compass bearing ought to be where the river Oder is joined by the river Bartsch, a tributary. He said that we would find a large bridge there and a smaller pedestrian bridge. Also, he said that we should take the larger bridge as we would become lost in the crowd mingled with trucks and automobiles on the main bridge, and thus less likely to be stopped and searched or asked for our papers, than on the pedestrian bridge where such stops and searches were common.

The Frenchman went on to say that the best way to get across the bridge would be to cycle. We would find about twenty bicycles, he said, parked between the huge, rusty sheds about thirty yards from the bridge. He said that "borrowing" three was possible. He went on to add that once across we must park them with another group of bicycles about twenty yards to our left, the other cycles would be chained to some railings. The Frenchmen had thought all this out; they had even provided us with crude, blacksmith like, bolt cutters and a pair of army binoculars. I had never expected such assistance from them and my gratitude got the better of me, so I gave them my last twenty cigarettes, the second Frenchman the appeared, he had been on lookout outside, we all then shook hands heavily, I even gave them my home address, then we left. The three of us spent perhaps ten minutes gloating over our good fortune before we too launched ourselves into the night, full of resolve to reach the bridge before or at dawn.

We crossed the railway lines without incident, and with ten minutes to spare before the air raid all clear sounded (It had been a long air raid, the siren having gone as we left the factory). Varey insisted on checking our directions every half an hour by compass. We managed to do this by squatting so that the three of us formed a closed circle, and by lighting a small candle so that we could read the compass. It was the only way to protect the candle from the wind, and more importantly to prevent anybody seeing the light emitted by the candle.

Eventually we found the river Oder and boldly set our feet on the firm road that ran alongside it. A few moments later we had to leave the road as a small convoy pressed eastwards taking badly needed supplies to the retreating Wehrmacht. This happened several times and probably cost us two hours of marching time in all. Once or twice we took the opportunity to gnaw at some bread or brown sugar and swilled it down with black coffee. It was well below zero degrees and we thanked Stan on several occasions for the earmuffs he had provided. They were just like headphones but very effective, it was apparently standard winter wear in this part of the world, and I was certainly pleased to have a pair as the wind picked up as daybreak edged closer.

Our last compass bearing had been taken at 6am on the bank of the river Oder, just as we observed an area of buildings representing the outskirts of a built up area, my stomach tied itself in knots, the bridge was not far away I felt sure. We plodded on carefully, trying to look like early start workmen and passed the odd vehicle in the darkness. Thinking ourselves to be very lucky we passed a large lorry, it was, like the vast majority in the petrol starved Third Reich, a charcoal burner with only half a cab on one side and no platform body. It was carrying just a small number of tree trunks probably off to the mill. We were barely past it when we froze in our tracks as a voice bade us good morning in Polish, Stan answered and was beckoned over. I am sure that Varey and I wished that we could shrink ourselves so small that we couldn't be seen. Stan came back over to us and assured us that everything was alright, the driver was asking for directions to the bridge and five miles beyond. Stan said that we could have a lift but we would have to sit on the tree trunks, there was no other room for passengers in the cab. Gratefully we mounted the trunks to our adopted seats.

I'm sure that I must have held my breath for an hour as we crawled over the bridge; we were being gassed by the fumes and were seated precariously astride a huge, uncomfortable, uncompromising log. Although slowly, we made it across the bridge safely and thus avoided having to steal the bicycles. Eventually we left the vehicle when it was on an uphill gradient and watched it disappear round the bend. We immediately checked our position and found ourselves to be off course. We needed to correct our direction by moving westwards, however, we were all tired and a rest was a necessity. It was also getting light, and I felt naked and exposed when the sky began to lighten up as the sun rose to signal the beginning of another day. I was all in favour of finding somewhere to shelter and rest but was outvoted by two to one; the others wanted to correct our direction first whilst we could see where we were going, in the dark it would be much more difficult to get back on course. We agreed to walk for an hour, hopefully to strike the road and river; they were to be our guide to Posen. This we did and in the process found mounds of peat block that had been left out to dry before collection, we ate, drank and slept in a self-built shelter made of the peat blocks.

It was late afternoon before I awoke refreshed in mind and body; I looked outside briefly to check if anyone was about. There was nobody around and it was snowing lightly, the flakes being carried by the wind were an annoyance rather than a serious problem, but the snow appeared to be getting thicker. "This could be a native village anywhere in Africa" said Varey, observing our 'mud hut', "but then again, more like an Eskimo village in this snow."

I had been looking at the long distance aims of the journey and had ignored what was happening on the ground beneath me until Stan made me realise the problem we had; "We get quickly onto road, we are in... how you say.... bog, very wet, we never see water under snow."  
" Well that's that then" I said, "I was all for digging in and waiting for the weather to clear." I couldn't hide the disappointment in my voice, Varey studied the options carefully before replying, "I'm for moving while we can, there's too much risk of getting snowed in." Stan had the last say, "We go now, two days to Posen if we hurry."

We then got up, quickly gathered our things and set off. The ground underfoot was firm but the ice made it slippery, we managed to make reasonably good time, we made a few sightings and got out of the way, but we didn't lose much time. Eventually darkness closed in but the white expanse of snow covered ground aided our vision and we checked our bearings at the by now, standard interval of half an hour, we found that we were now at least heading in the right direction.

We halted for food at around 11pm, more by chance than of any choice of our own. Stan spotted an artificial hump in the ground some fifty yards off the road and midway to a copse of pine trees. After a careful reconnoitre he reported to us that it was a disused pillbox. It was heaven sent and we took advantage of our discovery by having something to eat and relaxing a little.

I found my leg muscles were causing me some pain after the long hours slipping and sliding. Both Stan and Varey were clearly suffering from the same problem, and we decided that we could afford to take our boots off and rest for a couple of hours, especially as we felt we were running ahead of schedule.

We eventually arose with some difficulty on Stan's insistence. We donned our haversacks again and left the comparative comfort of the pillbox to find deterioration in the weather outside. By now the fine powdery snow was being whirled around quite strongly by the wind and it took quite a lot of will power to start moving. It was an hour before midnight and we covered no more than four kilometres during the first hour, which reduced us to a state of weariness. The distant sound of wailing air raid sirens lifted our spirits a little, "Joe's boys are on time tonight" said Varey,  
"We do more, better time now," replied the ever optimistic Stan, "No Boche outside, all hide very much".  
" Well, get moving then!" I said impatiently as I inadvertently collided with him. With half closed eyes, and cold powdery snow creeping into every chink of our clothing we moved on slowly. I recalled then, most vividly, the blizzard of 1935 when, as a boy I had revelled in snow, sledging milk churns from our farm to the town in the snow blizzard. But this was different snow, it was much colder and very, very fine, it was almost impossible to cope with it. It didn't seem to matter which way one turned to try and avoid the effects of these intolerable conditions, the snow always seemed to hit you head on, there was nowhere to hide from it as we moved so much more slowly, on towards Posen and our first goal.

Varey was a navigational marvel in keeping us on course. He took the lead, with Stan in the rear, the change was made by mutual agreement and made possible by the air raid that ensured the Germans would all be under cover, this rendered scouting a needless activity that we all felt would just slow us down.

At 3.30am we checked the compass and made a slight directional change, the weather continued to deteriorate and we decided on one last effort to make progress. The weather was now so bad that it was literally like wading through a wall of bitingly cold snow. We were so blind that Varey and I stumbled, holding on to each other to maintain contact, right into a German roadblock checkpoint barrier. Whether it was my exclamation of "What the bloody hell was that?!" or Varey's startled, "Stop!" that alerted the Germans, who had been in their cabin, I don't know but they were quickly on us, and we were frog marched brutally into a sparse, roomy cabin.

We were being stared at by about half a dozen German soldiers and an Oberfeldwebel (Sgt Major). He was a thickset, shortish man, around the age of forty. He wore glasses and displayed on his uniformed chest were many decorations. Fortunately, there were no SS present, but we were still treated very roughly by the soldiers, and they attacked us with their rifle butts when they wanted us to move. The Oberfeldwebel ordered them to stop, and grinning he said, "I see two Englanders, snow, no food, very cold yes?" I nodded and the civilian jackets we wore were roughly torn off us. Our identity discs were scrutinised by a Corporal who declared us to be English. The Oberfeldwebel mildly enquired where we were going as best he could. I replied, quite truthfully and quite simply, "Home." This only served to cause his grin to widen as he replied, "No my friend, back to the sugar factory." It then became clear to me that our absence must have been discovered early on, they had realised where we would head and in our foolish rush in the snow we had walked back into the hands of the Germans, but then I wondered where Stan was, and I hoped that he managed to avoid being recaptured.

# Chapter 10

Three days later, after the snow had stopped and the roads were cleared, we were back at the sugar factory. We were greeted by Purshke, Mallinini and Kingswood and were taken to the same room we had been taken when we first arrived at the factory. Voldt appeared and stood by the door, behind us, through the window, I could see our billet window and the escape platform pointed out by Cheyarakee the day before we left. In a very stern voice Purshke fired questions at us. His voice was half a bark, half ordering, as his agitation with our answers grew. Voldt then began to insult us, Kingswood interpreted word for word but his emotionless translation withdrew most of the venom from the fierce ranting of the two Germans. Mallinini requested that he be allowed to talk to Varey and me for fifteen minutes in private.

In the short time we had together, he made it clear that if we told Purshke what our escape route had been and told him who our Polish helpers were, then we would only be confined in solitary confinement for 28 days. The last remark made us take note; obviously failure to tell would lead to something far worse. The German position had changed though, of that there was no doubt. However, I knew that to denounce the Poles would be to pronounce the death sentence on them. They would be returned to Lvov and face instant death.

I considered the options and asked that Varey and I be allowed ten minutes to discuss what to do. Mallinini asked Purshke's permission and he agreed, I think that Purshke believed that we had cracked. In whispers, Varey and I concluded that we would not mention the Poles and that we knew nothing about them. I said that we would tell Purshke that we had escaped during the daylight air raid and had been on the run ever since. I also said I would show them how we escaped; relying as I must on Cheyarakee's opinion that it could be done via the fire escape platform. Varey agreed to this harebrained scheme, I then proposed that I would accept the twenty-eight days solitary confinement if I could show them the escape route. I believed that the idea and the route were so outrageous that if it proved to be possible, Purshke would be man enough to reward the audacity of it by not giving us any more punishment.

I rose and went to the door but didn't knock, I simply opened it, I intended to just walk straight into the next room, for my foolishness I received a blow from the rifle butt of the guard at the door, It struck me on my inured arm which made it worse. I instantly felt sick but looked at the face of the guard who I didn't recognise; he had a handlebar moustache like a British fighter pilot might be expected to have. He was about 50 years old and looked like a complete brute.

The guard manhandled me into Purshke's presence, Purshke viciously rebuked the guard for hurting me, I was grateful for that at least. I was given a seat and a glass of water which Voldt had to provide which again gave me a lot of satisfaction. It also provided me with a brief period of respite in which the pain in my arm subsided. I felt that with treatment like this being given to me I was doing alright. I knew I could do what I had in mind, I wished that Voldt would leave the room but I felt that I couldn't ask Purshke to remove him as well. Purshke then asked for our confessions, I replied by telling him that it had nothing to do with the Poles as they weren't really soldiers. I didn't really like them and they would only have given the game away in any case. I said we couldn't inform on assistants who didn't exist, I went on to say that on the other hand we were agreed that we would show him our escape route. I would in fact re-enact the escape if necessary, and added as my price the provision that if I were to re-enact our breakout our only punishment would be 28 days in solitary confinement. Having put in my offer I remained completely silent, although questions were once again fired at us. My final words on the matter were, "I can't say more, there's nothing else to say."

The guard led Varey and I back to the next room while Purshke and Voldt made their decision. Twenty minutes later, I was told that I was to re-enact our escape, otherwise we would be returned to Stalag VIII-C for Court Martial. If we could prove the validity of our escape route then our punishment would only be 28 days in solitary confinement. Mallinini asked if I was satisfied, I nodded, "When do you want to do it?" he then asked,  
"Now if you like" I replied, I was escorted to my former room in the billet by Purshke and one guard. Kingswood and Mallinini accompanied us, below the window, outside, stood Voldt and the guard who had struck me with his rifle. I called him 'fungus face' under my breath on account of his huge moustache. Varey also stood outside with Voldt. I think that Voldt was hoping to gloat over my downfall. I went over to the window to open the part which I proposed to squeeze myself through, I knew it would be possible but to my relief, as I pulled, the entire window came out. Cheyarakee must have doctored the window as the frame was only held in by cardboard wedges; I put the window on the floor by dropping it, which did the glass no good at all. I heard Purshke curse in amazement, I was surprised myself then I looked out of the window to the fire escape platform below, it was only three feet by three feet and now covered in snow. I told Kingswood that I wanted the snow cleared as I wasn't going to commit suicide, there hadn't been any snow on it before and so shouldn't be now.

Half an hour later ladders had been found and the platform cleared, I then asked for a pair of socks to wear over my boots, I said that the studs in my boots would slip on the steal platform. My request was granted; I now felt ready and lowered myself through the window opening. I was facing the wall and hugging it very closely, the drop was seven or eight feet even when I was stretched at full length. I knew that I had to land with my legs apart so I could steady myself on impact. Fortunately I got it right; there hadn't been any room for error. By this time all the spectators had made their way to the ground. I waited for ages thinking not of the ten-foot drop to the ground but of how to reveal the rest of the route out of the factory perimeter. Finally, I lowered myself over the edge of the platform and dropped to the ground. This time I could afford to bend my knees allowing me a more flexible landing.

I soon picked myself up from the ground, rubbed my hands together and exclaimed, "Well, we got here didn't we?!, now if you'll follow I'll show you the way to Danzig, well part way, but first we have provisions to collect!" I led them about thirty yards around the corner to the beet hoppers and then between some loaded rail wagons, across the width of the factory and under the end of the loading bay stage. I reminded them that most of the guards had been in the air raid shelter at the time and in any case, the rail wagons represented good cover for most of the way. I said that we remained under the loading bay until darkness closed in. Varey chipped in with, "We went to sleep under there and when we woke up we were nearly too late to escape, and then we nearly forgot our gear." I took the whole group as far as the crossroads not mentioning the Frenchmen, when we got there I simply said that that was how we did it.

Varey and I were not privy to the conversation that took place afterwards between Purshke, Mallinini and Kingswood. We were put into detention on starvation rations, although we were put together so at least we were able to talk. We were kept waiting for two days and all we were given for food was half a mess tin of watery soup and very little water to drink. These were morale breaking tactics, the punishment was intended to demoralise us. After two days we received a visit from Purshke, Mallinini and Kingswood, Purshke spoke and Mallinini interpreted. Apparently, we had breached Purshke's idea of military discipline; we had created great problems for him at a most difficult time. We had taken unscrupulous advantage of leniency and so he went on. He said that he accepted our escape route demonstration but added had it not been for the air raid then we would most certainly have been shot. Purshke went on to say that we could still be court-martialed and if so, it would be an SS and Gestapo affair. However, Purshke reserved his right to judge and said that we would spend 28 days in solitary confinement. There was a curious twist to it though, Purshke said that he expected us to work our shifts, then we would be returned to solitary confinement at the end of each shift, I nearly burst out laughing, it was incredible. I thanked him as did Varey and then made a polite request for food pointing out that we had been starved and were too weak to be able to work well. Purshke, still wearing a fixed grin, refused my request and ordered us both to be ready for work at 7pm which was only two hours away.

We were escorted back into the factory and once inside began to circulate as best we could to pick up the threads of news. Stan was still missing and I never knew what befell him, but Dominic said that he had probably joined the partisans. I knew that I had to keep my head down for a few hours as I was being quite closely watched by the guards. I made sure that I just kept working hard.

At 4am Travers appeared to tell me how everyone was, he said that Pocock, in the cookhouse, was adding oil and other noxious ingredients to the Germans soup ready for them to eat at midday the following day. Travers also said that a German guard had gone missing and it was assumed he had gone absent without leave. He also said that Thurlow was still waiting for an opportunity to tip the barrow-load of ashes onto the German sentry, and the long planned sabotage of the buffer stops had taken place resulting in a rail wagon full of beet capsizing into the hopper. It was at a ninety-degree angle and factory production would have to slow down until it was cleared. I began to feel my old feeling of mischief returning but uppermost I was on the lookout for 'fungus face'. I intensely hated him for the unprovoked attack he had launched on me and the pain in my arm was a constant reminder. I resisted the impulse to contact Herman so soon although the thoughts of bread were almost overwhelming having had virtually nothing to eat for five days by now.

In my off duty hours, the following days when sleep deserted me and my arm was troubling me I constantly toyed with the idea of going to visit the lady doctor I had seen before. Not only to get some relief from the pain if possible, but also because it was probably my last chance to make it to Danzig. I realised in the many hours I had for silent reflection that I had been too hasty when the Frenchmen had pointed out a way to escape. I also realised that I should have taken the hint from the lady doctor to return for more treatment, she had shown kindness and sympathy and a tendency to be supportive. She had said probably as much as she felt safe to say at one meeting. I honestly believed that if I had returned and requested assistance to get to Danzig, she more than anyone else could have got me there safely. The more I reasoned the more I convinced myself that I had messed it all up by being in too much of a hurry. Now I found that it was too late because Purshke would never allow me to see the doctor doing solitary. The military position on the Eastern Front was deteriorating daily in any case. The roads were cluttered with refugees fleeing before the Russian steamroller as it drove inexorably on towards Berlin. All of the characteristics of a complete breakdown of military order were all around us. It was now the responsibility of the Germans to get us back to the Stalag and my only chance was with all the other POWs.

# Chapter 11

November 25th 1944 saw the town of Maltsch (which the sugar factory was on the outskirts of) machine gunned from the air by the fighter escorts from the bombing raids on Breslau. The air raids were now nightly and it was reported that Voldt had disappeared on one of Purshke's errands. Nobody knew where he had gone but we assumed that arrangements were being made to move us soon.

A few days earlier, Pocock's work on the contents of the German soup vats had had the desired effect when the entire German force at the factory went sick not long after lunch. They suffered from sickness, diarrhoea and chronic stomachache. Purshke was forced to call in the local Volkssturm or Home Guard. These were all elderly and disabled men and commanded by a Feldwebel who must have been around 80 years old. There was acute disorder everywhere; it was all the Volkssturm could manage to do to control the main gate at the factory. In the confusion, the main gate building which was a canteen for the Germans serving watery schnapps was requisitioned by the POWs and turned into a 'pub'. The Volkssturm had no capability to maintain even a semblance of order. They guarded the perimeter so that nobody could escape but that was as far as their authority went. The only building inside the factory they managed to guard was the white sugar store. Inside the factory, we were able to move freely around, I took the opportunity to go and see Herman and get my two pairs of boots repaired. He returned them two days later excellently restored. Herman told me of the fast approaching Russian offensive, which made us all acutely aware that we ought to be evacuated as our position was now a matter of great concern.

Later that shift, a German soldier's body was found when the vat used for boiling the sugar beet was empty; undoubtedly this was the missing German guard. I was pretty sure that Cheyarakee was responsible for this 'accident'; it just bore his mark.

The performance at the lodge canteen was ended abruptly after three days when a regular army contingent marched unannounced into the factory, and started to restore order. The use of rifle butts and other methods was widely employed with the desired effect being quickly achieved.

The following night Thurlow put his plan into operation, the opportunity arose during a combined air raid and snowstorm. As planned, he tipped a full barrow load of red-hot ash over the edge of the tip when the tip light had gone out. The sentry was a rolling ball of fire, I watched because I had been notified with certain others of the attempt. The guard died in a quarter of an hour; he had been completely incinerated.

When Purshke returned to duty the next morning the whole affair was subject to a court of enquiry, Thurlow was manhandled and questioned continuously for hours. Whilst this went on, we could see from the factory windows the increasing number of refugees passing the gates. A great assortment of vehicles passed by as civilians fled west. From Mallinini we received no news; it seemed to us that very shortly we were to be in a war zone, this did not make our chances of survival appear to be too bright. We should have been returned to our Stalag but still we had no indication that this was going to happen. The POW population agreed almost entirely that we had to halt factory production as soon as we could, it didn't take long to devise how we would go about it.

It took us ten days to plan and six of us managed to keep the entire operation strictly to ourselves. Dawson and Deveraux were the key operators as they worked on the elevator belts that carried the next beet pulp load down to the huge drying drum positioned over the furnaces which revolved slowly. The flow was regulated by an antiquated system operated by Deveraux and Dawson and controlled by a single red electric light bulb that lit up when sufficient wet pulp had passed on its way to the drying drum. It was clear that the intervals were simply fixed at five minutes by a time switch. We felt that if the red light bulb were replaced by one that didn't work, then there would be no problems for them if something went wrong because they couldn't be blamed for the bulb being faulty. When the red light went on Deveraux and Dawson were meant to pull a lever to divert the pulp back to the hopper for recycling. If the red light were ignored and they continued to send pulp to the dryer, the drum would eventually become blocked and the excessive heat that built up in the drum would cause the contents of the drum to ignite. Due to the high sugar content of the beet pulp the fact that it was wet didn't mean that we couldn't set fire to it.

We calculated that we would have a five minute margin to alert all our chaps to get out or near to an exit; this was to try to ensure that there would be no casualties on our side. To put our plan into operation we obtained a dud light bulb from the engineers store; there were plenty there, and painted it red. The paint we also found in tins in the store was easily enough to paint one light bulb, in the end we painted six and tried them out. Four of the bulbs were duds and so what we had was sufficient for our purposes. An important part of the plan was for me and all the other POWs in the dry beet pulp bagging section to ensure that the chute bags remained closed. Once we had closed them off we were advised to stay clear of the area as nobody knew what exactly would happen, or the extent of the damage it would cause.

We decided to carry out the plan at 11pm on the December 27th 1944, which was only three days away. All the initial action was bound to direct itself to the dry beet pulp warehouse. It should then spread to the brown sugar store, on to the syrup vats on the first floor and then to the white sugar store. We felt that if it reached the white sugar store then the factory would be finished, the fire would get beyond the stage where available fire fighting equipment had any chance of combating it successfully.

We could only guess what the Germans would do to us if the factory went up but we assumed they would return us to the Stalag or evacuate us somewhere, so the few belongings we had would have to be brought out of the factory by the off duty day shift when the Germans evacuated the factory complex.

As the final day dawned we prepared our things on our bunks, and as the day shift came off duty we went on, the plan was revealed to them. There was only four hours to zero hour, everyone now knew what to expect and at what time. The day shift knew that they were to safeguard our belongings for us.

We made sure that we had told the entire night shift of what was soon going to happen so that everyone was ready, and had planned their exit route from the factory which they would follow at 11.05pm. The excuse was to be a protest at short rations, we didn't tell any of the Poles of what was happening for we felt that the risk of a leak was too great.

The dud bulb was fitted at 10.59pm and at about 11.15pm an explosion in the bagging chutes blew them apart, flames began to shoot out and the heat was terrific. The outside door guard who we called 'Happy Harry' opened the door, this allowed us to escape. The draft created by the door opening fanned the flames towards the stacks of bagged pulp. I met Otto the boiler foreman in the confusion and unhesitatingly pole axed him, gaining my revenge. The Poles were trying to pull out Otto, and two German guards who had been wounded in our escape. We went back and pulled the Poles out leaving the Germans to meet their maker. Some more Germans were caught when the fire reached the brown sugar stores, the explosion in there blew the entire wall out, all order had disintegrated and within forty-five minutes the entire north end of the factory was ablaze. The Germans panicked when the air raid siren sounded, all the POWs had got out via the engineer's shed and the reception hoppers except for those working under the furnaces that came out via Herman's steam hoist. All our men seemed to have torn clothing and blackened faces, Purshke, and surprisingly for we didn't know he had returned, Voldt appeared, we feigned bewilderment as the flames engulfed over half the factory and continued to spread. There were few German guards; they had mostly taken to the air raid shelters. Voldt and Purshke attempted to rally their men and as they did two bombs hit the factory. Nobody had seen or heard the Russian bombers coming in all the chaos and they delivered their deadly present, seemingly held back from their bombing of Breslau.

The Russian planes were swallowed up by the darkness, as they flew away we all turned to Mallinini and protested that as prisoners of war we should not be in a war zone. We were raided every night and now we had been bombed, we demanded to be moved.

The Germans were unable to restore order for two more hours, the fire still burnt in what was left of the factory. Eventually the Germans herded us into the reception building across the railway tracks from the factory; we started to intimidate the guards and kept telling them that the Russians were coming, none of the German guards made any attempt to hide the terror that this struck in them. We were forced to spend four hungry days in that one building; we could see the refugee columns fleeing past the main gate before the Russians caught up with them. A blizzard eventually developed outside, inside we had no heat to protect us from the cold but at least we had protection from the snow.

At 8am on 1st January 1945, we finally received our movement orders. They were passed on to us by Sergeant Mallinini who simply told us to parade outside with our kit. Once outside we formed into columns of three, counted, right turned and marched off in the direction the train that brought us had come from.

I was in the rear and as we marched away I looked back at the result of our sabotage; the masonry was still falling, so was the snow, though by now the snow was two feet thick in places. We struggled past the brick boundary wall and out into open country. It appeared just like an Arctic white desert as the world moved into another year of the war. The end seemed close though as the Russians pressed on to our rear and the roads became continually more cluttered with fleeing Germans. I think that not one person who left in that column then appreciated that the worst part of our war was still to come, as we began our long march West.

# Chapter 12

The gutted sugar factory disappeared from sight as the blizzard blew around us. Eventually we were led onto the road. The snow underfoot was deeply rutted and packed down due to the weight of the traffic that had passed over it. All around us there was shellfire; it seemed that the front line must have been very close to us indeed at that point. The column soon lost any organised marching formation as every man made his way along as best he could in the harsh conditions. There was no conversation as we moved, just the forbidding sound of shellfire and the wind attacking every part of our bodies. We were not equipped for such a walk; we were certainly not acclimatised after having spent so long in a centrally heated factory. The twelve-hour day, seven days a week working shifts, and the starvation diet we'd had to survive on since our capture had left us all in a poor physical state, and relatively drained of our strength. Although we were to find that we could draw on numerous reserves of strength we didn't know we had over the next few days. The strained, hollow faces of my comrades made a hopelessly disturbing picture, I knew that some amongst us doubted their ability to endure a march back to Stalag VIII-C; if that was to be our destination, even of that we couldn't be sure. What we did know was that we had absolutely no provisions for the journey, where we would get them from I didn't know; I just hoped that we would get some food but in this peculiar country at this desperate time such things couldn't be taken for granted.

We could tell that the German war machine was running into a lot of trouble, it was spluttering and on a retreat, which I fancied, was of more than a local nature. Gone suddenly from their makeup, was the attitude of a self-confident master race they had displayed in 1940 and 1941. Gone too was the overbearing bullying arrogance which had been employed under the Nazi's from the very beginning, to intimidate their enemies and gain their submission; only a small minority of fanatics had not ceased to act in such a way. For most Germans, doubts were beginning to arise, a nation which should have realised two years previously, after its 'Africa Korps' defeat by an improvised British Army under Montgomery at El Alamein, and the debacle of the Sixth Army's surrender at Stalingrad (when von Paulus became the first German Field Marshall to ever surrender whilst holding that post), that it could not win the war only now showed the visible signs of collapse. Hitler had enthralled the German people with few exceptions, they had followed him into great victories and now they were following him to defeat. At the end some of them had begun to see through the facade of German invincibility, although the facade had been torn and shredded for two years, it was just that previously none of them had been bothered to take a look. They had preferred instead to listen to Hitler's promises of new secret weapons, the imminent collapse of the Anglo-American-Soviet coalition and recently of a great deliverance akin to that of Frederick the Great's in the seven years war. Then the Tsarina Elizabeth of Russia died and was replaced by Peter III who being a great admirer of Frederick, made peace with him and saved Frederick when ravaged little Prussia was nearly finished.

Desertions by the German guards occurred quite often over the next few days and weeks, but the Germans were still dangerous, and they still followed the orders handed down from on high where many of the fanatics remained. We were therefore in a great deal of danger as we continued on our way.

Up to midday on the first day of our march the progress we made was pitiful, this was due in the main to the atrocious weather but also because of the number of refugees on the road fleeing from the Russians with everything they could carry. Most of them had sledges with their possessions stacked high on them; some even had a horse or bullock. They were clearly desperate people in headlong flight but we had no pity on them, for this was simply the reverse of what the Germans had done all across Europe in 1939-41. The Germans were being given a dose of their own Blitzkrieg, unfortunately the enemies of the Third Reich had in certain respects more than emulated, they had eclipsed the abilities of the Third Reich in this field. I was at the rear of the column and turned as the sound of the approach of a half tracked motor cycle and sidecar. The driver was in a desperate hurry and as he passed I remarked to him as loudly as I could shout,  
"Schnell machen Russkis kommen!" (Quick, the Russians are coming!). The driver turned to say something back and in doing so made an error of judgment and careered headlong into the rear of a refugee bullock cart. This caused some amusement to the rest of the column. The driver appeared to be injured but got up and attempted to get on his way. I was personally overjoyed to think that maybe I had delayed this man's all-important military mission.

After we had marched for three hours we were stopped for a fifteen minute rest. We sat down on our bundles of possessions with our backs to the mass of swirling snow, a little conference took place between Varey, Percy, Paddy and I. We decided on referring to Varey's button compass that he had used during our escape (and managed to keep from the Germans by hiding it in an unmentionable part of his body). The reading on it indicated that we were moving South-South -West. From this we deduced that Liegnitz would probably be our first objective. This would mean that we would be in close proximity to the main railway line.

Throughout the entire march, the column of POWs split into smaller groups of four to six men, these groups were high dependency units. Outside of it, regardless of the fact that we were all British or allied, an individual was lost in a sea of doubt, suspicion, greed, jealously and would be made to feel insecure. One learned very quickly to hear nothing, see nothing and question nobody's actions; it was simply a matter of survival for us all. Sometimes a crust of hard black bread, a mouthful of water or a foul cigarette butt dropped by a German guard was as valuable as a diamond.

Our conference was broken up by the sound of a distant air raid siren; we were jostled by the guards to start moving again. The head of the column swung off the road to avoid the panicking refugees, our eyes anxiously scanned the skies for Russian planes as we were hurriedly moved across the country. The visibility was so poor that we had walked into a copse of rhododendrons almost as soon as they had become visible. A group of bombs fell to our front right which we felt confirmed our belief that we must be near a railway line. We were just glad that we were on foot as it seemed that the Russians had no intention of letting any trains get back.

No more bombs fell so we resumed our march, we did not return to the road though. As the afternoon wore on the snow slackened off and the visibility improved. We believed that underfoot was the hard surface of a minor road that no longer ran parallel to our former route; in fact, it perceivably wound away to the right. As the light began to fade we sighted a huddle of ramshackle buildings where we were halted. The Germans then counted us and hustled us inside. There were no signs of food or drink but all we wanted to do was find some corner to rest and dry out. The shelter was poor, draughty and admitted very little daylight so we moved on to the next building, down a passageway, at least it looked like a passage. I soon found myself in a gangway in front of some animals. A crude partition consisting of manger and supports separated me from a line of mules. I realised that at least I could find some warmth and bedding down there. Percy then produced a lighted match so we could find a good spot to rest. Of course this sent the poor animals berserk. They were snarling, biting lions; thin and half starved as well. We rejected them as bedmates and moved to the end of the building discovering a corner with no draughts and no chance of being trampled to death. Percy and another chap opted to bed down on the floor; I preferred to curl up on the brick enclosed boiler away from any Vermin that might exist on the floor. At about 8pm we received one slice of the infamous potato bread, it was four inches long, four inches wide and a quarter of an inch thick, it wasn't a morsel but we had hardly any water to wash it down. However, that was our first day's ration. Percy who was a lay preacher at home then calmed us down with a prayer to help us sleep, "Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee our Lord, and by thy great mercy, defend us from all perils and danger of this night." It was very courageous of him for Percy was, by nature, a man who was easily embarrassed. He touched everyone by this and deserved the unanimous applause he got, sleep soon overwhelmed us all.

I was woken in the early hours of the morning by the most frightening choking, struggling noises I had ever heard, on the ground below me. I dropped to the floor as Percy also woke up, we shook our choking companion who we knew by sight only, he didn't respond. Others were woken and makeshift lights soon appeared, the examination that we carried out proved that the young chap was dead. Then Mallinini, Kingswood and Purshke arrived and the body was removed. Within an hour Huntley had informed us that the man had died of choking, apparently he had been suffering from a bad throat for days. This had developed into a quinsy, which had burst with fatal results. This dealt a terrible blow to morale, Speculation was already rife about our predicament and what would happen to us all, Mallinini didn't seem to make things any better either, he was aloof from the other POWs and had no ability to get any news to us from the Germans.

Some of our number wanted to make a break for it and wait until the Russian arrived. Others refused to move until we had our questions answered and certain basic needs provided for. The main body of opinion, including myself, wanted to wait for a few days and see what the Germans did. I knew that Purshke wouldn't hesitate to shoot anybody who tried to escape; I felt that we should make our protest formally, and without threats, through the proper channel of communication which unfortunately was Mallinini. I knew that Voldt would be outraged but Purshke would listen and also relish the opportunity to overrule Voldt. We eventually decided that we should request whatever daily rations we could get and proper medical attention for any man who needed it when we arrived at Liegnitz. We also agreed on a plan to chip away at German morale, everybody was to enquire the name and address of each of our guards and offer in return to give these particulars and an account of their good conduct to our officers when we were released. The implication was clearly that if they didn't behave themselves, when we were released they would be up for firing squad. We passed on our request for food and medical attention to Mallinini before we assembled for our second day's march.

# Chapter 13

Purshke refused to make us any promises except that he would consider what could be done. We then started our second day of the march. It was a bitterly cold day but mercifully there was no more snow falling. We halted at Liegnitz-Nord signal box, all that could be seen were the windows, the steps and the nameplate. We all made the most of our rest; we hadn't been there long when Kingswood came down the line asking if there were any butchers in the group. There were many quick replies such as, "All the bleedin' Jerries mate" and, "Give us a knife and Voldt, the bastard", but nobody actually seemed to be a butcher. I decided that I might qualify as I had some knowledge of killing pigs from the farm where I had grown up, so I went forward. The victim was to be a thin white bullock; it seemed that our request for rations had been taken seriously.

Four of us and three guards were sent forward on the sledge pulled by the very bullock I was about to butcher. The ride was a relief in one sense in that we could rest but I found that my joints locked up and I had to struggle not to lose control of my body. When it got to mid-afternoon we were within sight of Liegnitz and halted at a farmstead. There was a ramshackle house on one side and a sprawl of building on the other. An outhouse with a brick enclosed cast iron boiler and fire underneath and an old-fashioned water pump, it looked far too small for a slaughterhouse. In the event the Germans shot the bullock in the head just outside the door. My companions were clearly no more butchers than I was, except that I knew that correct bleeding was important and I had some rudimentary knowledge of how to proceed.

The Germans in their typical manner wanted the skin off and portions in the boiler all in one operation. After a fashion they got what they wanted, it was crude butchery and there was no refinement in the cutting up. I calculated that about 50lbs of meat went into the boiler, which was full of water, and the fire was lit. The rest of the meat was carried across to the house; I opted out of that job which didn't appeal to me by taking my boots off and feigning foot trouble. I put my freezing boots near the fire to dry them, I then washed my feet and socks in cold water whilst I had the opportunity and I dried them by the fire. We were all permitted to stay by the fire until the column appeared two hours later, my footwear was dry and I was tolerably warm. The stew was boiling but wouldn't be ready for hours so we were pushed into the cold buildings with the rest of the column. At 8pm we were lined up in single file and expected the broth to be served, the front of the queue was outside by the boiler house and everybody held their mess tins expectantly. To our disappointment, the issue was a mug full of brown liquid that the Germans claimed to be coffee, and a loaf of black bread that had to be divided between twelve men. Having been forewarned as the news travelled back down the line I slid out of the shuffling queue by the boiler house door and quickly dipped my mess tin into the boiler, I was lucky because it was dark. I didn't bother with the so-called coffee and kept on the blind side to be counted for the bread ration. When we went back inside, I shared the beef water and two morsels of meat with Percy. It wasn't very palatable, lacking in salt but containing more sustenance that the poisonous coffee. Nothing was issued with the dry bread and everyone felt cheated but thought that morning would bring a beef stew issue. In fact, it never happened.

As day broke we were called to muster, counted and marched off. The winds were icy and strong and there were flurries of light snow. We pushed on beyond midday, skirting around Liegnitz to the east. We halted at an animal watering trough that surprisingly hadn't frozen, and the Germans allowed us to fill our water bottles. Varey said that we had probably only travelled one third of the distance required to reach Stalag VIII-C. Purshke left the column and went on ahead and Voldt was left in charge. We resumed the march which continued until dusk when we were halted in a deserted timber yard. The sky from the direction we had come was illuminated sporadically with either shell bursts, bombing or exploding incendiaries. The Germans hurried us into the wooden buildings that had a good span roof but draughty slatted sides. We received whilst there, our food ration for the day. This particular day we received two slices of the potato bread which was not very filling. We improvised windbreaks by making use of the timber lying around and we constructed two crude stretchers for two of our chaps who had frostbite in their toes. There were five more cases of frostbite to people's faces according to Huntley. Of course, Huntley had no medical supplies and these five would still have to march; there was little he could do for them. At daybreak, we received two buckets full of the lukewarm brown 'coffee' and saw that Purshke had returned. Protests came thick and fast about the lack of food and the conditions we existed in. Purshke promised potato soup when we stopped for the night but not before, so we would have to spend another day on empty stomachs. The column began to take on the appearance of a hotchpotch of tramps. Everybody improvised to try to combat the weather, nobody bothered to shave anymore and beards began to appear. It seemed like a good way to keep the freezing wind out. The entire day was a struggling ordeal as we wearily moved onwards. We spent the night in yet another set of dilapidated farm buildings; we met a group of about a dozen French POWs there who must have been from another sugar beet factory as they were laden with small canvas bags of sugar as we had been. I must confess that I stole one bag from one of the Frenchmen who was sleeping next to me. I consoled myself in the knowledge that he had plenty more of it.

The potato soup which Purshke had promised was eventually served, but it turned out that it had been made with potato peelings, we were sure that the German guards consumed the potatoes, not for the first or last time on the march our hopes for a reasonable ration of food were dashed. That night Jack Morrell, who was one of the frostbite victims and who had been stretchered all day, died of gangrene in is feet. Huntley said that the other stretchered chap would only survive if an amputation on one of his feet was carried out. He was left in a village we passed through at noon the following day.

We followed the same pattern of marching and starving until, in the afternoon of the tenth day after leaving the sugar factory, we marched into Stalag Luft III. This was the Stalag of wooden horse escape fame, the entire place was deserted and one of the guards told us that the previous occupants had been evacuated by rail. One of the guards also admitted that over the period of the march four of the German guards had deserted. Once inside the compound, we were all so mentally and physically exhausted that we all must have dropped on any bunk that we happened to be near to. It was full daylight before any of us stirred.

We received an issue of 'ersatz' coffee and a loaf of bread between ten men that morning, which suggested a return to Stalag life. As the day progressed and we searched the newly vacated huts, we came across various items that plainly showed up the marked difference in facilities, and issues of Red Cross parcels, nothing like this was available in camps for non-officers.

To my delight, I found a book called Martin Rattler, which had been my childhood favourite. I remembered as I flicked through it Miss Stonier, who had been my schoolteacher, a very kindly sort and I compared her to the inhuman conditions of this inhuman land. We found several pairs of pyjamas in the huts; we doubted that the owners had gone into action wearing them when they were taken prisoner, so we supposed that it must have been a special issue by the Germans, for we didn't think that the Red Cross acted in ways that might suggest favouritism. In any case, we were glad to find them and they served nicely as underclothing in the extremely cold weather. We found many empty Red Cross parcel boxes, which made good fuel for the stove in the hut. We also discovered that all the huts had a solid fuel cooking stove as well, we couldn't believe the marked difference in the treatment of officers and the other ranks. The quantity of Red Cross parcels, cooking facilities, heating, special gifts like pyjamas from the Germans all suggested to us that the Germans had gone to great lengths to keep the officers happy. I assumed that it was done to ensure favourable reports from the more influential POWs when the war was over; I just wished that they had treated us all as reasonably but they did not.

We stayed in Luft III for only 72 hours in the end, and we thought that arrangements were being made to take us out by rail like the previous occupants. We had the opportunity to wash thoroughly, as far as ice-cold water and no soap would allow, and lick our injuries. By now there were seventeen cases of frostbite to fingers, toes, eyebrows, ears, cheeks and the mid stomach area. All these people were taken away before us and we never saw them again. The ten days of the march so far had cost two people their lives and brought eighteen serious injuries, some of these may have been mortal, and certainly some amputations would be required. The entire eastern front was erupting, and the sky was illuminated with a glowing vivid red colour on our third and last evening at Luft III. Later on that night we were rudely woken by the guards and told to collect all our belongings. We were counted and ordered to march, again I adopted a position at the rear of the column and as we marched out under a lamp at the main gate I caught site of a Red Cross parcel, it was strapped on the carrier of a bicycle being pushed through the snowdrifts by the guard beside me. I recognised him by his moustache to be 'fungus face'; I had a real grudge against him for his treatment of me after my escape attempt.

It was snowing lightly as we started to march, in the complete darkness I had a struggle to keep in touch with the whereabouts of 'fungus face'. Often his grunts as he pushed his bike through the snow were the only indication I could get of his where he was. I continued to shadow him until around midnight when a salvo of shells fell just to our rear and to our left simultaneously. Panic set in immediately as everyone dived for cover, I found myself alongside the German and his bike in the snowdrift. Without the slightest consideration of what the consequences might be if I was seen, I opened my jack-knife and broke the blade down the side of his collarbone, I then finished the job with the tin opener on the knife. I snatched the Red Cross parcel from the bike and moved out of the deep snowdrift. The panic soon subsided as the shelling didn't persist, and in ten minutes we were reassembled. Without any attempt to count us or the guards we were hastened on, shells began to drop behind us; they seemed to be creeping closer. In the confusion I found Percy and Varey again,  
"The shells aren't the Russkis, it's Polish partisans" said Varey, "They've got hold of some light artillery."  
"Who says so?" I enquired,  
"Happy Harry" he replied, matter-of-factly. "There's been an uprising going on for weeks, it started in Warsaw and now it's spread. The Russians are well back, barely in long range artillery contact." 'Happy Harry' was half German, half Serb, he was a cheerful apologetic little man, in his fifties and frightened out of his life.

I whispered to Percy and Varey my dilemma about the guard I had despatched. I said I intended to slip away before anyone found out, I was told in no uncertain terms not to. Cheyarakee had also just killed a German guard with his wooden knife and so many were now deserting that they would never suspect murder. The bodies, when they were found, wouldn't be traced easily to us because the force was permanently on the move. "Anyway Cheyarakee took twenty fags out of the Kraut's pocket, what about your loot? What's in the parcel?" I had completely forgotten the parcel and handed it to him. I then started to pick up hand full's of snow and rubbed my hands and tunic sleeve, it was sticky and I knew I had to get rid of the bloodstains so that I wasn't asked any awkward questions. "Three biscuits, one small packet of tea, seven fags, one small tin of processed cheese and half a bar of chocolate" said Percy,  
"Hardly an excuse to murder anybody for" I said grimly in reflection, but I knew that revenge was my main motive and the others guessed. Varey had seen 'fungus face' hit me with his rifle butt on my injured arm back at the sugar factory, and knew the pain it had caused me. My revenge had been gained though; my consolation was that I was the weak and hungry one at a disadvantage.

All night I rubbed my tunic sleeve with snow in between bouts of sleepwalking. Only occasionally was I fully alert, this was caused by shells landing near the column. At daylight we were halted and the night's events assessed. One POW was missing, presumed killed and one had shrapnel wounds in his shoulder. Four guards were missing though, and one was wounded and being carried on a stretcher. My fear of being discovered receded after these inquest figures. This was particularly aided by the sound of small arms fire which I could hear coming from our left rear at some distance.  
"Thank God for the Poles" I said to Percy,  
"I'm not sure it accounts to much yet" he replied, "But I'm sure that all the dead Jerries will be attributed to them, it will be a bit like Italy really, as the German rearguard falls back the partisans won't have a chance" he said pessimistically.  
" Different partisans" said Varey, and added, "and these Poles were born in snowdrifts, the weather suits them!"

At this point we were all called to our feet by Mallinini. Purshke was with him and looked grim, and as though his patience was being severely tested by his responsibilities. Purshke forced us to close ranks so our shoulders were touching. He then stood in front of us and barked at us in his own military way. When translated by Kingswood we were left in no doubt of what he thought and what we could expect. "No slackness in column of march, we must march as we are at the moment", said Kingswood, "No breaches of discipline will be permitted from now on, no misconduct of any sort is permissible, anybody disobeying will be shot. You are all soldiers not Russian Pigs! You are cold, hungry and tired after only two weeks on the Russian front, I have spent three years and have been tired, hungry and frozen and in continual combat, you are lucky you have had lovely weather to fight in, and now you find things less comfortable. Behave like soldiers and maybe you will live, lie down in the snow when we rest and you can expect to die slowly. Keep on your feet and make the best use of your clothing. Forget that you are hungry and behave yourselves or else you must expect the worst." Purshke then stopped and marched swiftly forward, if he heard the eruption of angry comments then he paid no attention. He then gave his soldiers an even worse talking to. He waved his revolver under their noses and any further potential deserters were warned what their fate would be. Voldt then stepped up and began screaming Nazi slogans and obscenities while waving his Luger pistol at them.

It was a further half hour before the column moved out. After the night march, we had been drained of the small reserve of strength gained by our rest at Luft III and we had now gone some thirty hours without food. Varey checked our direction with the compass, it read North-West and like that our destination would be Glogau and the river Oder. Once again, Purshke and three guards forged ahead, Voldt let it be known that he would tolerate no disobedience by moving up and down the column still waving his gun.

It was no longer snowing but the previous snowfalls had drifted and frozen solid. This created an obstacle course. The firing of small arms and artillery fire could be heard until it was almost dark. At nightfall we came across a deserted village, we were marshalled into a school where Purshke and the guards waited. Two buckets of Sauerkraut soup had to feed us all. We each received a mug full, it was hot and watery, and not much after marching for 36 hours in the snow. Percy, Varey and I shared the three water biscuits I had taken from "fungus face's" Red Cross parcel; we also smoked one of the cigarettes between us. We found a corner on the floor, removed our boots, and massaged our frozen feet and limbs. The building was like a freeze box and although the fire gate presented a temptation we had been told that we were not to light any fires, in any case we had no material to burn.

In their haste to leave, the previous occupants had omitted to take three small pairs of rough, thick, canvass curtains. I managed to claim them and Varey, Percy and I fashioned hoods out of them, they covered our head, neck and ears and had just two small slits for eyes. They were designed to keep out the wind and to protect us from frostbite, the three of us also started using our boots as a pillow, this served two purposes, firstly it thawed the boots out if they were frozen, secondly was that it partially dried them out.

That night the sky was continually illuminated by artillery flashes. Two mortar shells fell in the schoolyard which blew in several windows and showered many of us in broken glass. It seemed the Poles had no idea still that the column, which they continued to harass, was not exclusively German; fortunately, the fire had not been as effective as it might have been.

The next morning we resumed our march at first light and continued without food or respite for two days. We constructed eleven crude stretcher sledges for those suffering from frostbite in their feet or legs. In three whole days we covered only 50 miles to reach the outskirts of Glogau where we were held in a derelict hay barn and given a small cup of 'ersatz' coffee and two slices of black bread. To make the bread palatable Varey, Percy and I devoured the small tin of processed cheese from the Red Cross parcel, we also smoked another one of the cigarettes. It was here that the idea of lining between my battledress trousers and the pyjamas I had acquired at Luft III with hay. This proved to be an excellent insulation against the icy winds that continued to blow across the Central European plain. Unfortunately, the hay was to prove to be an excellent breeding ground for the body lice with which we were all afflicted. The lice could not be avoided for we had neither soap nor water for bodily hygiene considerations. As our bodily conditions grew worse so the infestation grew worse. The hay barn we spent the night in was a poor shelter from the wind and cold, during the night it began to snow again, and this drifted in the wind that sprang up. With daylight the march continued, though there was to be no rest as we went in search of somewhere safe to stay. Varey noted that we had changed direction once again, we were now moving south-westwards, and it became evident Sorau was our next objective. We had eleven more cases of frostbite that were deemed serious enough to warrant the people in question to be left behind in Glogau for treatment. However the column was in poor shape as we cobbled together crude sledges to carry other foot injury victims, most of these injuries were caused by worn out footwear. I was glad I'd got Herman to have my boots repaired when we were at the sugar factory. I was especially lucky having two pairs of boots as it allowed me to change them if I had any problems.

It took three more days to reach Sorau during which time we lost three more men when we were strafed by two Russian planes. Two more of our men had gangrene developing in their feet and were taken to hospital when we reached Sorau. Three more frostbite victims received crude medical treatment but were allowed to return to us. Over those three days, we had only three thin slices of potato bread and two mugs of cold 'ersatz' coffee to sustain us. Varey, Percy and I also consumed the half bar of chocolate taken from the Red Cross parcel and reduced our cigarette stock to one. We had a fourteen-hour rest at Sorau and an almost complete change of guards. Only Purshke, Voldt, 'Happy Harry' and perhaps a couple of others remained from the original group. Many of the new guard were severely wounded personnel, they had arms missing or severe facial disfigurements and those with only one arm carried Luger pistols instead of rifles. The night we spent at Sorau lowered our morale still further as we heard no gunfire and saw no flashes from the massed artillery batteries of the Russian forces. The thought was the Russian advance had ground to a halt and the Germans had managed to stop them, we had not wanted to be in the firing line but strangely the guns had proved an incentive to keep moving, now they were silent and a dark mood descended on us.

We moved on again the next morning in atrocious weather, and over the next three days in what were still awful conditions we marched northwestwards toward Cottbus. We spent two nights and a day there, once again all we had to eat was a mess tin of potato peeling soup and a small slice of potato bread. Some of the men were beginning to show signs of hunger panic, I remember quite clearly a chap named Barrett finding a piece of frozen sugar beet and sucking it. Up to that point, although he had lost a lot of weight, he had been reasonably active, after he acquired his new habit he deteriorated rapidly. It wasn't long before many others started to show similar signs of desperation and panic. The mortal illnesses; dysentery and intestinal gangrene, began to take an ever-increasing toll on our number. The weaknesses of our chaps were beginning to show themselves, more than a few had become incontinent, their trousers frozen solid as they marched. At night, it became a herculean task to clean the garments they wore with snow; we had to sleep on them so they would be dry again for the next day.

Whilst at Cottbus our shelter was in the railway sheds and some of us, in total disregard of Purshke's instructions, lit very small fires with any debris we could find. I remember boiling a mess tin of water over the fire and used some of the packet of tea from the now exhausted Red Cross parcel. The brew was, of course, milk-less but I sweetened the tea with some of the brown sugar I had stolen from the Frenchman earlier in the march. In the reduced physical shape I now found myself in the tea tasted quite good, though it could not satisfy the pains I was getting from hunger.

During the night at Cottbus, we had to suffer the sound of men in absolute agony from all sorts of bodily pains. It seemed a great many of our number were nearing the limits of their endurance and it was clear that if we were to confront the Germans we had to do so while some of us were still able. Our resolve was strengthened by the death in the night of one of my fellow POWs who had been a professional footballer for Newcastle United before the war. Also, another POW called Marshall hung himself as the psychological and physical toll on him finally manifested itself. We all knew that it wouldn't be the last time this happened if something wasn't done, so we decided to act.

When daybreak came and the order to move out again and we all simply stayed where we were. Kingswood and then Mallinini came amongst us and tried to persuade us to move. We all refused to move unless those of our comrades who were in an obvious state of distress received proper help. We couldn't provide the physical effort to sustain them on the march any more, we ourselves were nearly in a state where we wouldn't be able to move, and we said that we certainly weren't going to leave them behind. Purshke, Voldt and a few guards then entered the shed. It appeared that things might turn rather ugly but Purshke was not able or prepared to push the issue. This was because he had somehow come to hear that we had obtained the names and address of all the guards, and even if only one of us survived we would ensure that the appropriate authorities heard of the inhumane treatment we had received, along with the list of addresses. It was made perfectly clear that this situation could be avoided simply by the treatment being meted out to us improving. Purshke was either influenced by this threat or he reported it to his superiors and they were influenced by it, for two things happened that day at Cottbus. The first was that we didn't march that day at all and were allowed to rest, we also received a cup of soup each and a loaf of bread between ten men. It was completely insufficient in the nutritional sense but it was far more than we would have had without our protest. The second thing was the arrival of a German Oberleutnant; he was small, fat and elderly. Whilst we rested two German stretcher bearers went around the sick, they had no experience of giving treatment and no medical supplies so the entire thing was a farce.

The next morning we marched due South towards Spremberg. 'Happy Harry' said that it was two days march. We received no food during the day while we marched so it seemed that our protest had gained little. Percy, Varey and I shared a water bottle of cold, sweet tea between us; we counted ourselves lucky just for that. The wind had dropped by now, but the fine powdery snow still fell and managed to penetrate every piece of clothing somehow. It wasn't until dusk that we reached a farm on the outskirts of a village. It was functional but I couldn't see any inhabitants or livestock. The farm buildings were spacious, apparently an unplanned agglomeration of dissimilar small units. I started to search the buildings for anything I could find which was useful, to my surprise I discovered a medium sized onion and at the bottom of a cattle feed bin and under a sack, some meal (which from tasting I recognised as 'Sharps' which is wheat offal). The quantity was such that it probably would have filled two pint mugs. I removed a few rat droppings from it and decided that if I could boil it a form of porridge could be created. We tried some on a small fire that night and found that although it had no taste and wouldn't thicken it stopped the gnawing of our empty stomachs. Also that night we were issued with two slices of potato bread and a cupful of tepid 'ersatz' coffee. It appeared that having an officer in charge made no difference to our circumstances except that a large sledge was constructed overnight from doors taken off farm buildings. This sledge was to be pulled the next day by two bullocks, and it carried nearly a dozen POWs who were unconscious all the way to Spremberg.

'Happy Harry' said as we marched the next day, that we would reach Spremberg that evening. He made it sound like a truly wonderful place to us, and it lifted our spirits but we were to be disappointed when we arrived. Our column was marshalled into a large open park on the edge of town and into some enclosed tennis courts. There were numerous other columns of British and allied POWs also being sent to these tennis courts. There, in deep snow, we were left to freeze by the Germans who had no trouble guarding us.

The entire place seemed to be some sort of transit area for columns marching west. We spoke to PO.s from other groups and they spoke of hardships, brutality, and of their casualties. To a man we were all hungry, maybe almost starved, pushed to the limits of our endurance and given only enough food to keep us alive and walking. We received no food that night, whilst there I met two more POWs who came from close to where I lived; they had been taken prisoner at Arnhem and were able to give us their view on how the western front war was going.

We spent the night all huddled together in misery as we slowly froze, as the elements struck back. At daybreak, we were assembled into three larger columns than before and they began to count us up which seemed to take an age in the semi light of yet another bleak Central European winter morning. The Germans took away the worst injured amongst our number again. It then became impossible to count just how many amongst our number were left from those who had marched from the sugar factory. Certainly we had left behind a considerable number of our comrades who would be lucky to survive. Our new column numbered some three to four hundred, our newly acquired officer, Purshke and Voldt were still in charge but there was also a Sergeant who we had not seen before. He was of a higher rank than Voldt, which diminished Voldt's authority; however, the new Sergeant was similar to Purshke. He was older, very militaristic, strict (and loud with it) and he made sure that the guards continued to harass us. Varey checked our course as we left Spremberg; we were heading south. This indicated Dresden was to be our destination although there was the sizeable town of Bautzen en route and there was also talk of a Stalag in that area.

As we marched, I heard accounts of the suffering of another column from a chap in the Royal Scots. He spoke of his nightmarish experiences near Thorn in Poland where a POW working party had been driven relentlessly without food to unblock the snow-covered roads allowing the German military vehicle to head east. He spoke of one issue of soup made from inedible fish and of POWs sucking snow because there was no water. He spoke of piles of bodies of Jews and Poles, shot, bayoneted and left by the roadside in their striped concentration camp pyjamas. The horror he had felt at the time still overwhelmed him. The fact that a nominally civilised people were capable of such inhumanity, causing such suffering, still haunted him. The Nazis had brought out the worst in the German race, tapped it and exploited it ruthlessly for their own ends.

As we marched, it became clear that the fact the column's strength was now that of half an infantry battalion had changed the routine we had become accustomed to. The Germans found communication between the front and rear of the column difficult to maintain. The necessary running backward and forwards in the snow and ice meant that they became weary and exhausted. The columns became ever longer and more straggly. The regiments represented were more varied now, there were Red Berets of men taken at Arnhem, the Green Berets of the Royal Marine Commandos; there were Life Guards, Welsh Guards, the Dorsets, Devons, Lovat Scouts, and a sprinkling from many county yeomanry regiments. Some had spent a short but very harsh spell in salt mines, coalmines, sawmills, and as road gangs in Poland. Every man in the column had experienced the pains of hunger that was now with us constantly.

The first night's stop after Spremberg was spent in some empty huts that had been vacated by a small military garrison. The snow had drifted in through shattered windows and it was a forlorn, demoralising place to bed down. There was however, some protection from the weather, although again there was no sign of food. We heard news about the German's Ardennes counter offensive in December 1944 and January 1945, which did nothing for morale, and people spoke of stalemate on both fronts. However, we also heard that a Polish male and a teenage girl, not connected in any way, had been with us at Spremberg, they were disguised as POWs and nobody knew which column they had marched out with, it could have easily been ours. Also, a four-year-old Polish child was being carried piggyback fashion, under a French army greatcoat that many amongst our column were wearing. They tended to be worn like capes, and were designed loose and baggy, which made the tale distinctly plausible. I assumed that providing the carrier or carriers were physically capable, then it could be done.

As the night progressed, the temperature fell away rapidly. We all found ourselves sleeping close together to defeat the cold. We slept under three blankets and three greatcoats; the man in the middle lay with his feet to our heads. It was certainly a great improvement, Percy, being the tallest, slept in the middle position.

When we awoke, we discovered ourselves to be completely snowed in. Only the apex of each hut was visible when we finally clawed our way out. The rest of the landscape was simply flat, bleak and white. We were trapped there for five days and our frostbite casualties mounted. Also cases of foot sores, dysentery, for which we had no medical supplies, began to develop. We lit fires by burning the floorboards and internal partitioning in the stores. There was no food but we boiled snow and ice and with the onion I had found with the remainder of the tea and sugar, we had hot beverages after a fashion. They weren't very sustaining but at least they were hot and wet.

On the morning of the sixth day, with makeshift sledges made for the very sick and as much support as we could all muster for pulling them, we departed at a slow crawl over the snowdrifts. Never could human beings have faced such bleak, forbidding, depressing prospects. We reached civilisation just before dusk when we passed over a bridge spanning a wide frozen river. There we found a large empty warehouse, which had been used as a transport depot, and it was decided that we would stop there for the night. Taps were found which worked and the building was weather proof, two hours later we received a mug full of potato and carrot peeling soup each, and an issue of a loaf of bread between fifteen men, it was our first food for eight days. We were also provided with buckets of hot water and two thin bars of soap, which wouldn't lather to help relieve the sick and injured. About twenty percent of the column already counted as casualties. The next morning the worst foot and frostbite victims were taken away in three lorries. We were told that they were being taken to hospital in Leipzig. Apparently, we were some miles from Riesa, which suggested that there had been some directional change. The toilets in the warehouse were mended by some of our men, which helped in sorting out some of the dysentery cases. It soon became clear that we wouldn't be marching that day so Varey and I had a prowl around. He found half a tablet of soap and I found a quantity of vehicle grease that someone had hidden under some sacking. Varey used the soap to wash all our socks and I manufactured some crude night-lights using thread from sacking as a wick in the tins of grease. With no food to barter, we concerned ourselves with sorting out our own bodily conditions. We washed down as best we could and cleaned our items of clothing. We received an issue of 'ersatz' coffee and one thin slice of potato bread very late that night, but nothing more before we resumed our march the next morning.

Two days later, having had only one issue of bread between ten men and having bedded down in a large deserted garden nursery, we marched into Riesa having all lost track of time and dates. We were to sleep at the defunct gas works in the town and there we met a Czech civilian who said it was 2nd February. He slipped me a German cigarette and a crust of bread that turned out to be as hard as iron whilst I helped him to turn a trolley the right way up.

We spent the next three days marching in circles. Our situation wasn't in the slightest bit alleviated, in fact it was getting worse. More sick had left in Riesa and those of us left were becoming more and more like shadows every day, it wasn't hard to believe that eventually we would just fade away. The snowstorms during this time were spasmodic, the cold was still acute and biting and able to penetrate every part of the body. We received an issue of bread and 'ersatz' coffee once every 36 hours during this period.

At one point, whilst we were resting a most marvellous event occurred. We were all just standing and suddenly hundreds of Allied bombers thundered overhead. The Germans just scattered, we just stood there, roared and applauded. The once mighty Luftwaffe was not in evidence anywhere. A matter of a few minutes later the ground where we were shook like an earthquake as the Allied bombers found their mark. Wave after wave of planes passed over, it seemed that an age passed whilst we waited. Eventually, having delivered their load, the bombers returned in a wide circle, this time homeward bound. We knew then that this martial prowess of our forces was going to prove to be decisive in this struggle. Any doubts that may have been harboured about the Allies ability to finish the war were now vanquished. I turned to 'Happy Harry' and asked, "Wo ist die Luftwaffe?" He was probably the only one who would have answered anyway, and he said simply, "Nichts Benzene" (No petrol).

Dresden had been the target of the raid, and two days later I was part of a large party that volunteered to go into Dresden to help the POW victims of the raid. I didn't see any British soldiers the whole time we were there, but the carnage which I beheld was unlike any that I had seen before. Whole streets and buildings were covered in blood; human remains from bodies that had burst upon impact with walls which explosions had thrown them against, littered the streets. Bodies of the dead were everywhere, left where they had fallen. Most of the buildings in the city were damaged; large parts of it had been completely flattened. All we could do was organise the human remains into piles. The stacks were head height when we finished around the now levelled railway station. We discovered a pile of naked bodies at the goods entrance gate of the station. They were all females and in their late teens and early twenties. Searching for life amongst them was a horrific task, what we found was even more frightening. The women had all been shackled together by thin wire shackled to their breasts. Some of them were partly amputated, some of them were so damaged that parts of their interiors were exposed. Some Germans had obviously had their fun, and the girls who were obviously now surplus to requirements had been on their way to concentration camps. The bodies of their SS guards lay in the middle of the road.

We were too physically weak to be of much assistance. We busied ourselves with gathering scraps of food; we managed to find reasonable quantities of bread although, Varey and I also got a tin of cheese and a few pounds of cooked barley. I felt no compassion whatsoever for the German people, I had seen pictures just like the scene in Dresden before but they had been of Warsaw in 1939, Rotterdam in May 1940 and of Coventry and other British cities during the Blitz of late 1940. This was simply a British version of Blitzkrieg and no less was required to beat these inhuman monsters. I still regard with incredulity those who condemn RAF Bomber Command's decision to bomb Dresden (which was not a centre of industry) when these same people know that the Germans had no reservations when Hitler turned the German bombers onto the bombing of the residential areas of the East End of London. Dresden was a communications centre and Allied intelligence had reason to believe that German forces were being rallied and rested there. In the event most of the people were refugees but the bombing raid was not a deliberate attempt to massacre civilians like many German actions, although some have their doubts.

The only time I felt a little sad was when I witnessed the damage done to the magnificent old cathedral. I saw an old priest sitting on a pile of debris near the cathedral. He was wailing loudly and in an inconsolable trance. I had tried to talk to him but he was too far gone with grief. I wondered why the German people had not even protested when Hitler had banned all the churches in Germany and turned the church buildings themselves practically into temples of worship of Nazism and Adolf Hitler. Of course, most of the clergy had stood up then but they were sent to concentration camps, the Germans had seemingly abandoned their God in favour of a creed born from obscure beginnings, to its evil fruition in the minds of a group of men whose state of mind in each case was questionable. I could only conclude that such massacre as I had seen at Dresden must have been the will of God, for nobody, least of all the almighty, could have wished to see what I had seen unless it were necessary for the final defeat of the evil that Germany had come to represent.

We spent two days in Dresden, and when we departed we had enough nightmarish memories to sicken us for our entire lives. The awful stench of burning and decomposing flesh hung like an invisible blanket everywhere. We were taken by halftrack back to Riesa to rejoin our column, we hadn't been very useful at Dresden, and our poor physical state precluded that from the start. I knew that my going had been an act of desperation. I simply needed a change to the routine of marching, I hadn't realised that such mass carnage would stare me in the face. We rejoined our column in the same transport sheds we had occupied days before, but discovered that this was to prove to be fortunate for illness was about to catch up with us, and it was about to strike closer than before.

# Chapter 14

We discovered very early on after our return that Percy had dysentery; he showed all the early symptoms; incontinence, no control over his legs when trying to stand, his speech was slurred but he was able to converse and was alert to his condition. Percy's condition from then on was paramount in my mind because he was my link with home. We had often talked about our village and the people there. It had really made home seem never too far away. I sought out the medical orderly and explained Percy's condition to him. Huntley said that he couldn't offer me any treatment for Percy if it got any worse. He said that they would drop Percy off at a hospital of one could be found. In the meantime, he recommended boiled sweet water and no solids and to keep him warm and off his feet, he could provide a bucket of warm water. I went back and told Percy and Varey what Huntley had said. Paddy then decided that we would clean Percy up which we promptly did; Varey washed Percy's clothes whilst we boiled him a drink of water to which we added some of the brown sugar. Huntley washed Percy thoroughly and bound him up in a blanket napkin. He talked as he worked, and said that when I mentioned that I was especially concerned for Percy because we came from that same village;  
"It's ironic really having lived amongst an abundance of milk, because it's milk and charcoal that would be the most beneficial treatment, charcoal we could provide using powdered burnt wood but milk is out of the question."  
"I found some barley in Dresden" I said hopefully, Huntley turned instantly and said, "Boil some, strain it and keep forcing it down, hot or cold, in fact fill a water bottle for the march tomorrow, he won't be able to walk but there is enough material about to knock up a sledge, I'll see about some nails and a hammer, I think Purshke will consent, he has done in the past."

Paddy and I then fashioned a sledge, which was composed of two long spars, the door off the washroom and a contrivance to keep out the worst of the weather using two corrugated iron sheets. The finished article resembled a large baby's cradle canopied over, with a short length of wood at waist height in the rear for a pusher and a blanket torn into strips to provide pull ropes. It was crude but would serve its purpose and further more we could use it to carry our belongings. We would be able to devote all our energies to pulling the sledge.

When we set out the next morning Percy was encased, without any trousers but suitably wrapped in all our blankets. He had a hot water bottle on his stomach and one at his feet. We travelled for the next four days like this until we reached Torgau having only had two issues of bread (one loaf per ten men) in that time and sleeping in isolated barns and sheds. Varey and I shared what little food we had scrounged at Dresden with Paddy. On one occasion we managed to build enough of a fire to replenish Percy's needs.

When we arrived at Torgau about forty of us were put in a brick enclosed hay barn-cum-stone house. I felt that there were some livestock housed on the other side of the wall, and the wall didn't reach entirely to the ceiling. My thoughts were of milk and the possibility of getting some from the cattle at the other side of the wall. I told Paddy and Varey what I intended to do. I said that I would take a few water bottles with me, and with luck, I would be able to pass them back full of milk. Nobody else could hand milk apart from me so there was no competition. We stood the sledge on its end to serve as a ladder. I hoped to use the blanket ropes to get down the other side and back. I removed my boots in order to get a better grip on the brickwork in my stocking feet, and then when all was settled for the night I equipped myself with three water bottles and went up and over fairly easily. I calculated that there were about eight or ten cattle in the stalls, when I descended and felt my way around I discovered that luck was with me, I had arrived at the correct end of the cattle. They seemed to be placid enough and responded positively to stroking and patting. I filled two bottles, sent them over the wall, and had half filled the third when the door opened at the far end of the barn. As quietly as I knew how, I hung the bottle around my neck and tugged at the escape rope to signal my intention to return. I got to the top when my bottle banged against the wall and made a noise that was amplified beyond my belief in the barn. Immediately a torch illuminated and the beam quickly found me as I prepared to go over, a shot was fired but although I felt a snatch at my right shoulder I just continued downwards. I dropped to the ground and hurriedly the sledge and the ropes were brought down as well and moved to a position safely away from the door.

It wasn't long before two German guards burst in on us. Everybody was aroused as more guards came in, we were all counted and roughly and searched in torchlight for any milk. However Paddy had pushed the bottles under Percy and the Germans hadn't bothered to search him, after about an hour things began to quieten down.

I then began to examine my shoulder and found out why the shot hadn't hit me. My right lapel was missing, and the metal R.B regimental insignia that had been my father's from the First World War was missing. It had been a near miss for sure. My next thought was of 'Happy Harry', I was sure that it was he who had carried the torch when they had burst in upon me and I was certain that he had momentarily deflected the beam away from me when I was on top of the wall thus causing his companion to miss me. I resolved to give him a nod next time I saw him, if he responded to me then I would owe him one, in fact, I probably owed him my life. A search for the missing lapel the next morning before we left proved unsuccessful, so I can only assume that it remained on top of the wall. Had the Germans found it on the other side then there would have defiantly been a fuss.

Before we marched none of us would touch a drop of milk, and in the cold weather there was no fear of it becoming sour, in fact, it soon froze when we got underway. We left Torgau marching northwestwards down the river Elbe. We saw all sorts of vehicles driving on the river and it was obviously serving as an auxiliary road in the cold weather.

Having left behind many dysentery, gangrene and frostbite victims in Torgau, we marched. We soon left the river and marched West according to Varey's compass. We were by now much depleted in numbers and having walked across the Elbe speculation was rife that we were heading for Berlin, although that was north of our location at that point. There was much talk of the Germans holding us hostage around Berlin until the Allies agreed to make peace.

We crawled for two more days northwestwards, away from the Elbe until we arrived at Jessnitz, we got there late at night after bypassing Bitterfeld. It was a blizzard; the wind was strong and was coming from all directions. The basement of a large civic building was hardly warm and was also damp, but it was a welcome refuge from the bitter cold.

We were assembled the next morning in the first minutes of daylight for counting in the town square. To our surprise, fifteen to twenty Russian POWs shuffled up wearing backless wooden clogs, pyjama like clothes and long beards. They were followed by a party of Gestapo with drawn pistols. Behind the Gestapo came two handcuffed German soldiers, they were connected by a rope tied around their neck. The German lieutenant and Voldt went to have a word with the Gestapo and then after a few moments the two handcuffed German soldiers were tied to the rear of a cart and shot by the Gestapo. The Russian POWs tried to take their captors by storm as they witnessed their handiwork. In the skirmish that followed, three Russians were clubbed to death by our guards and then one was shot by Voldt under the left armpit and he died instantly. Later on, we were told that the two Germans who were shot had been two of our guards that had deserted. I can only assume that we were forced to watch their execution to remind us what we could expect if we were to step out of line.

When we left Jessnitz, Purshke, who had gained new orders in a two-day absence from the column, ordered that we should head North- North-East towards Wittenberg. We were marched for six days at a terribly slow pace. Sleeping in such places as a barge, warehouse, a redundant boat yard on the banks of the Elbe and a bombed out factory. Makeshift sledges now made up nearly three quarters of the column but were mercifully easier to propel as we marched on the frozen Elbe. Percy our own particular concern was medically stable, the milk and burnt powder mixture we fed him regularly and the rest from physical fatigue that he gained was gradually revitalising him. He was able to stand and exercise his legs when we stopped at nights, which was an improvement. Generally speaking, the column was reduced to a group of men who were pale shadows of what they had been. They shuffled rather than walked, and the eyes of many often took on a glazed look as they lost touch with the present for long periods moving along and haunted by all they had witnessed.

When we finally reached Wittenberg 37 hopeless cases were removed from the column, many would become permanent cripples and more than a few would die soon, regardless of any medical care that might be available. Their spirit had been broken by events and they no longer had the will in them to get better. For this last group the end was in sight and when it came it would relieve them, this was the only positive comment that could be made. I think, for those men, death had become more acceptable than the pain of their existence.

In the last eight days we had only received four issues of two slices of potato bread, and one slice of German sausage that was similar to a thin slice of black pudding. There had also been little water to drink. The night we spent at Wittenberg was important only because we found out then that in their long absences from the column the German Lieutenant and Purshke had made several attempts to get us admitted to Stalags, but none would accept us. This explained why we sometimes marched around in circles and continually backtracked, marching almost senselessly as we zigzagged our way westwards.

In the following nineteen days, this senseless pattern of movement developed as we marched around central Germany. During this period, eleven POWs committed suicide by simply wandering out at night and perishing in the snow. One could always tell those who intended to so, because they looked very strange and behaved as if in a state of dementia whilst still maintaining a purposeful expression. We were turned away from the gates of a Stalag at Magdeburg and one at Halle. We moved through Dessau, Falkenburg, Torgau, and Riesa (again) before settling on a course that led us through Leipzig.

Waves of Allied bombers passed overhead as we slowly shuffled through Leipzig. Bombs fell like rain on the city, a bridge was hit as our column approached it, it rose up on its end as it toppled into the river below the front of our column was hit by falling masonry and was caught up in the explosions. Several casualties had been sustained, that much was clear as the smoke cleared and the dust settled. The column was reorganised as best it could be after we had recovered our casualties, and then we were housed in a large public utility building. We remained here for a few days due to the heavy casualties we had taken in both dead and wounded, and because of the physical exhaustion of everyone. While here, February ended and passed into March and the Allied armies continued to close in on Berlin with each passing day. Our fortunes were still in the balance though as nobody knew what the Germans might do in desperation. What the future held none of us knew.

# Chapter 15

On our second day at Leipzig there was some effort made to organise working detail although it must have been clear to the Germans that none of us were in any physical state to work. I was one of those picked to work. I have always thought that this was because of my continual scrounging activities. It didn't alter the fact that I was just as physically inadequate as everybody else at the time.

I was taken by a guard into the building (we had actually been made to sleep outside under the verandas which surrounded the quadrangle) and led down a long, wide and rather magnificent corridor. We entered an even more magnificent room that was situated at the end of the corridor. It was a very large room, completely encased in polished marble tiles; they covered the floor, walls and ceiling. The tiles were all pale green or light grey in colour. At the far end of the room on a raised dais was a huge machine that must have been between thirty and forty tonnes in weight. It was highly sophisticated; that much became clear to me as I examined it, and I couldn't imagine what its purpose was. My best guess was that it was some kind of turbine generator but I have never been able to decide for sure. The guard left me in the room and it was two hours before he returned for me. During the time I was there, I found a haversack hung behind a white coat, I soon devoured the contents to try to stave off hunger, there was only two slices of black bread smeared with cooking fat and a German army water bottle containing a mixture of milk and water, equivalent to a small cupful. When the guard returned he took me back to the group and I never returned to the room. It will always remain a mystery why I was left in that room for so long with nothing to do and nobody else present.

Whilst at Leipzig, Percy made good progress and found his legs again. He was able to eat an issue of food; a cupful of sauerkraut soup and his share of black bread. The rations had got to the state where we now had to share one loaf of bread between fifteen men. This food was to last us for the next three days which was practically as good as starving us. Percy suffered no return of his stomach problems, and when we were marched out on the third morning at Leipzig he insisted on walking and we didn't object, we had been sledge transporting our belongings so if he tired then there wouldn't be any problems.

When we set out we realised that our guards had changed again. The Lieutenant, Purshke, Voldt and 'Happy Harry' remained but the rest changed. It was at this time that I began to suspect that 'Happy Harry' was Purshke's favourite and served the role of keeping an eye on Voldt. A new sergeant who was probably old enough to be a Chelsea Pensioner appeared as well. We thought that he had been drawn from the pay corps or some such non-combatant desk job and we all doubted his ability to keep up with the march. Voldt's continued bullying of all the POWs despite our helpless state only served to earn him our undying hatred. As far as I, Paddy or Varey were concerned it could only be a matter of time before somebody killed him and it could well be one of us. However, I was a little concerned that he wasn't worth dying for. Our line of the march swung North-Northwest and I began to pray that we wouldn't do any more circular wandering. Varey was convinced that Magdeburg was our destination, and nine days later we indeed arrived there. That stage of the march will always haunt me because of the deaths of six Guardsmen from dysentery and gangrene. It was very hard to conceive how such tall men who had been on double rations in Britain had been reduced to the empty frames which they were when they died. They were helpless and pitifully weak and they were all overcome at about the same time.

Just outside the city of Magdeburg there was a large Stalag, which we marched to. Purshke marched us around the full length of the perimeter wire and up to the gate, but the camp commandant would not admit us. After a good deal of haggling 45 severely injured and ill were allowed to enter; the rest of us were turned away. We spent that night outside and had to sleep in the snow that even in April insisted on lingering. We were hungry and frozen and utterly hopeless as we had been for so long, one couldn't help but take the attitude that it was just another night in this seemingly never ending hell in which we lived, and in so many cases before the end, died. It was very difficult in those long, cold nights to believe that we would ever be free again, but to that belief we had to cling if we were to maintain our will to live; because that was the only reason, I'm sure, why some of us were still alive.

At dawn of the following day we received a mug full of warm 'ersatz' coffee, and three slices of potato bread. The commandant of the Stalag allowed seven more casualties into his camp and then we set off. As we moved off there were strong rumours that a Stalag at Halberstadt would take us in. Everybody was hoping that we would be allowed in because at least a Stalag would provide shelter for us from the icy conditions. It was hard to imagine that on the 1st April 1945, having skirted around the outskirts of Halberstadt and then on to Nordhausen, that a column of exhausted skeleton like figures could have covered almost 180 miles to reach Duderstadt in only the three weeks it took us. We had lost many men whilst on route and many more had barely a flicker of life left within them. In the period of three weeks from Magdeburg to Duderstadt the food we were given would have been equivalent to no more than two average meals as we know it. As we bedded down for the night in the now redundant brick factory at Duderstadt, I feared the worst for many of my comrades who were now little more the walking corpses.

I came to reflect at Duderstadt upon the curious, horrifying site we had been confronted with at Nordhausen earlier in the march. It had been late morning on the day in question and we had been marching when three German lorries preceded by a motorcycle and sidecar with a mounted machine gun, and two Infantry half-tracked personnel carriers pulled up by the roadside. The occupants of the open lorries were young females, they were all naked and had had their heads shaved. Each lorry was full, probably about thirty women in each. We were hurried past the scene rapidly, but the screams of the women couldn't be denied to our ears. A member of our column had told me that he had witnessed similar scenes at Meideneich and Lvov. The guards were always SS or Hitler Youth; they seemed to get some sort of kick out of humiliating the helpless women who had been used by so-called German scientists and doctors for experiments, it had all been highly secretive but the secret somehow had got out. They used the women for testing pressure that the human body could stand in the air and under water, for ascertaining extremes of temperature that the human body could stand and how best to go about warming people who had been frozen in Arctic conditions. The females were all expendable and many died. The experiments had been ordered by Himmler upon the suggestion of some of the worst elements of the German scientific community, and their existence was widely known to German doctors to the point where lectures were being given on the progress of the experiments at conferences. It was notable that not one protest or motion of censure was passed by any scientific or medical organisation and yet these people were intelligent, and supposed to be responsible and humane.

Hitler himself seemed to applaud the SS practice of parading Jewish females naked in the streets, initially as part of the pogroms before the war, and then as part of the 'final solution' to the Jewish question and the establishment of the 'new order' in Europe. Hitler said that "German manhood must not be defiled by contact with the open sewers of Jewish females" and this sort of statement, from a man whose word was law in his country caused the SS to engage in a variety of perverse activities with Jewish women before their eventual massacre. At Duderstadt in the old brick factory, I couldn't help but wonder at the extent of what was happening, only later was the whole horrific tale told.

We were housed on the first floor of the brick factory, which had slats for the purpose of drying the bricks. The cold icy wind penetrated through the floor and walls making any sort of rest both difficult and dangerous. We soon received a mug full of potato peeling soup and a loaf of bread to share between ten men but that was all we received while we were there.

We spent two days at Duderstadt and we could notice that the Germans were once again becoming noticeably edgy. They were nervous and seemed increasingly to try to restrict our movements. To a man, we quickly realised why, it was simply a repetition of how the Germans had been at the sugar factory, as the faint, barely audible sound of long-range artillery had grown closer and louder with every day. Now it was the initially faint noise of the Western Front, which had grown to the proportion expected in a battle zone rear area. Allied aerial activity proved our assumptions to be correct. During our two days at Duderstadt, planes passed overhead either loaded or returning empty, almost constantly.

During this time Percy, Paddy, Varey and I now an inseparable quartet, planned what we could do. We first of all weighed up our chances of survival in a battle zone, which admittedly weren't very high. We thought about escape, but we knew that we didn't have the strength and we talked of overpowering our guards but this too was clearly impossible. As we talked, I realised that planning my future seemed an unreal exercise. I almost felt detached from my future as if it didn't belong to me, however, I was not afraid, that was a curious point really; fear had ceased to act on me in any perceptible fashion. It was as though, I had experienced such misery and fatigue, had called upon so much of my mental and bodily reserves that I became immune to fear, its stress and its threats. I simply wanted relief and triumph, but it remained a little too unreal in my mind. Hunger, I had learned to cope with, although it was slowly eating away my body fibre. Mentally I tried to ignore my hunger but that was always difficult. I had however been spared the attentions of the hostile climate and had suffered no frostbite which was at least some consolation to me as I surveyed the other POWs who had suffered in this way. Whether Percy, Paddy and Varey experienced the same self-diagnosis as I did, I never knew. We didn't talk about such things, largely for fear of weakening our personal resolve to survive.

At midnight on the second night in Duderstadt, my greatest test confronted me. I awoke and knew immediately that my waking was due to incontinence. I must have made some despairing noises because my companions were aroused and lit the makeshift candles that we had brought with us. I barely recall them removing my trousers and undergarments and cleaning me as best they could. They boiled a mess tin of water over a hastily improvised fire of sticks and they made me drink it. Although there was nothing to add to the water I felt better for drinking it. They decided that I would ride on the sledge if I couldn't walk, and even if I could I should at least spend some time on it.

The next morning I felt utterly spent. When the march finally commenced, minus my damp trousers, which Varey had done his best to clean, I took my turn on the sledge. All I remember from that day is that we were marching parallel to the Allied lines and towards Hildesheim and probably Gottingen first. I slept nearly the whole day and my companions never even took their turn on the sledge. I didn't awake until after we had moved into the shelter of a farm building for the night. Apparently, Huntley the medical orderly had provided some warm water so that I could be washed down, and two water bottles of water for me to drink. Fires were strictly forbidden so it was decided that the risk contained in lighting one was far too great. We were in an area that was being fortified, I heard, the drone of Allied planes overhead for most of the night.

The next morning I was violently sick which I knew wasn't a symptom of dysentery. I tried standing to march but couldn't and had to spend the day on the sledge again. We passed through Gottingen at nightfall and moved on well into the night. A stiff breeze sprang up although it lacked the icy edge that we had been accustomed to. Eventually we were herded into a collection of ramshackle buildings that had previously been used by some builders as a materials warehouse.

The next morning we woke to discover to our delight that winter had gone. There were hedgerows, fields and roads visible all around. Suddenly our sledge had become useless which meant I would have to walk. I staggered along for the entire day inspired by the sudden climactic change, the distant sound of guns and the regular sight of our planes. Just after midday, we were descending a hill that I had so painfully mounted when from nowhere two American P60's dive-bombed us. The road was strafed with rockets, in an instant I found myself buried under a hawthorn bush. The planes only made a single pass and didn't return. I remember as I lay there that I picked some hawthorn and chewed it. Suddenly my mind was transported back to my youth when I used to stand at the far end of the playground in my first days at infant school, in a corner, surrounded by high iron railings, feeling abandoned, although I could see my home on the high ground a short distance away. I remembered how I used to chew the hawthorn leaves, which I used to pluck from the hedge twigs that pushed between the railings. The same taste now revived those memories; a curtain was lifted from my mind. The memory of that time of my childhood generated a new pull towards home.

The strafing had cost us some casualties. I believe though that this event helped me to beat the dysentery from which I was suffering, as the hours passed so did the incontinence. Paddy insisted that my illness might well have been caused by the potato peeling soup we had consumed previously which had been prepared with potatoes infected with blight. I didn't argue with him, I didn't know what caused my illness I was just thankful that it had passed.

Two days later and with an unusual share of good luck denied to us for months, we reached Hannover, having run the gauntlet of heavy bombing and strafing by rocket-armed fighter-bombers all the way. We also survived an attack by a convoy of German tanks and armoured cars manned by the Hitler Youth. They traversed their guns in an arc as they passed us by, deliberately killing and maiming a number of POWs in the process. Once in Hannover all of the non-walking wounded POWs were taken into the French hospital opposite the tram depot. We were all halted outside as the process of handing them over took place. We were then marched off to some purpose built garrison huts in a small wire enclosed compound on the outskirts of Hannover. We had been much reduced in number by our march. Everyone was exhausted as we had been for so long, and our actions were by now robot-like, without, it seemed, much human emotion. We had wooden two tier bunks on which to sleep, there were no mattresses, but it was an improvement on sleeping on the floor or in the snow as we had for the last four months. We all slept from late afternoon of the day of our arrival to about 4 o'clock the following afternoon.

I awoke the following day to discover myself wet through with my own urine and then I realised the extent of my own weakness. Thankfully, there was a crude washroom, which I hastened to in my personal embarrassment and rapidly set about cleaning myself. I soaked my trousers and wrapped myself in a blanket. I looked at myself in a mirror and received a nasty shock. I looked like a vagrant, a bearded nomad perhaps. The long beards we had all developed to combat the icy wind could even have made me look like a Greek Orthodox Church Patriarch had it not been for the other circumstances of my existence. I was so disgusted with my beard that I immediately took one of the two razor blades which I had kept hidden in the waistband of my trousers for an emergency, and removed the altogether offensive 'fungus'. Once more I felt like I belonged to the British Army. The face that confronted me wasn't really me as I remembered myself, but it was clean and smooth, although grey in pallor and lacking in flesh. I then decided to remove all my body hair in order to eradicate the community of body lice that had established itself since we had left the sugar factory. After emptying the sand from a fire bucket it was filled with cold water and I bathed myself all over. I don't recall the pain of that all over ablution; I do know that for a person who would have been more suited to hospital care it required a great effort to complete. Indeed I did complete the process by washing all my clothes in cold water and wringing them out by twisting them around the taps. Wrapped only in a blanket I went outside and hung my clothes on the wire hoping to dry them quickly in the fresh spring air. On the way back to my hut I congratulated myself on my efforts, it seemed that in some sense I had managed to recharge my resolve to survive, but I was shook back to reality by the all too familiar screams of a dying man.

As I reached for the door of the hut the screaming stopped abruptly, inside I saw that Barrett was dead. The man had finally paid the price for eating scraps of refuse and sucking frozen sugar beet out of desperation. I saw his corpse later when it was laid out in an outhouse, it was grotesque, his skin purple and yellowish grey in places with bones protruding everywhere. I had to turn away and leave and try to remember him as the well built, vigorous person I had first known, not the gangrene infected skeleton his body had become. We buried him the next day behind a wall just outside the compound; it was Percy who read over him as he was buried. In the meantime, we received thin, watery carrot soup in far greater quantities that we expected. It had a sickly sweetness which almost made it unpalatable but our bodies which were lacking in sugar responded, and a feeling of strength in our limbs slowly returned.

The following day Voldt committed the final act of barbarism of his life when he beat to death Pocock, who he caught stealing some carrot peelings from the cookhouse where he had been detailed to help. It was to be the final crime committed by Voldt as he received his well-earned punishment the following day. It occurred when a large party of us were sent to do some work for the Germans. We were made to march about two miles up the main street and across the bridge that spanned the river. A good view of the wide river from the bridge clearly demonstrated a last ditch defence was to be tagged here. We carried on marching as far as the railway station, where we were ordered to repair the damage done by what must have been extensive air attacks. While there we did next to nothing, we simply didn't have the physical capability. The march to the station reduced us once again. Three hours later we were forced to march back, we returned the way we had come and were on the main street when the air raid sirens sounded. The Germans simply scattered and we were left to our own devices. Hannover was clearly being pounded as wave after wave of allied bombers passed over. I saw a full stack of bombs from one plane hit the tram depot. I was sheltering in a basement entrance at the time, saw sparks flying everywhere as cables short-circuited, and trams were blown away. It was pure carnage. I hurried down the street and joined a party of about twenty POWs. After the first wave had passed, I ducked down into a shop when the fighters came over to strafe everything with their machine guns. I picked up a savoy cabbage in the shop (there wasn't much else in there) and left. Once outside I saw Voldt being frogmarched across the street by a gang of POWs who were clearly the self-appointed lynch mob. He was halted and his belt was removed from his trousers and tightened around his neck. He was then hanged on a gas lamp bracket and left to die. His death was in my opinion well deserved and had come not a moment too soon, I felt now that everybody's maltreatment at his hands, including my own, had been avenged, for this I was pleased.

Weaving through the debris, ducking falling masonry and diving for cover whenever fighters returned to press their attacks, we eventually made our way back to the compound. Only three of the party failed to make it back. I didn't know if they had tried to escape or if they had perished in the raid. I doubted that they had attempted an escape, as they would have been shot instantly. They would have been no recapture by the Germans now. I had thought that patience was now by far the best policy to follow.

It became known that the French hospital had been hit in the bombing, which saddened me, but the news that Montgomery's army group was pressing the German lines back rapidly towards the Weser and Hannover was pleasing. We all thought about our comrades at the French hospital, who may for all we knew, be dead, and then we talked about Voldt's execution. I doubted that his body still adorned the gas lamp by the end of the day, for the fighters had relentlessly assaulted the centre of the city. The water mains and electricity supply had been cut and so I decided, very foolishly, to get out under the wire netting which passed by the end of our hut. I thought that the partly submerged air raid shelter next door was being used as a food store.

I managed to get out and under the wire easily enough and into the shelter, but discovered to my disappointment that it was simply full of carrots. I filled my pockets rapidly and was on the point of leaving when I heard voices approaching; I quickly lay down and pulled heaps of carrots over me. Two German soldiers entered the shelter to stay out of the way of the Allied heavy bombers that had returned to carry on in darkness what the fighter-bombers hadn't finished. I lay there for hours, desperately wanting to cough or sneeze but unable to. Finally, the Germans left and I cautiously returned unscathed to my hut with a supply of carrots that neither my comrades nor I really wanted. As I settled down to sleep I was unaware that the final stages of the war were now being fought out, and that the last stage of the war was about to begin.

# Chapter 16

At daylight we marched out of the camp, it had been decided that as there was no water or electricity there was little point in staying. We left Hannover heading north and concluded that very soon we must walk straight into Allied lines. Whether the Germans hoped to concentrate us just behind the front line to discourage Allied air attacks I really don't know. We did know that the Germans were still capable of pulling dirty tricks though, and none of us wanted to end up as pawns in a hostage game which many people still thought was a possibility. Once clear of Hannover we entered upon a stretch of autobahn that showed no signs of military movement. After three days on the autobahn we could smell death. A smog-like cloud, which smelt of decomposing flesh, hung over us. Five miles later on, we were marched into the reception compound of a huge concentration camp. It turned out that it was Belsen, the source of the smell we had encountered now stared us in the face, for there were rows and rows of unburied skeletons lying around. Some were naked; some still wore the now infamous black and white striped pyjamas. I remembered the Jews we had seen at the Paris railway station and wondered if any of those frantic people in the box vans perished. I felt later when I heard of the extent of the Nazi killings, that they must have been gassed like so many others. Many amongst us were worried that our march had ended and we were going to our deaths, but we were safe enough being British and allied POWs; the Germans were quite particular in their choice of races to exterminate and even in the breaking up Third Reich, Hitler's orders were still being followed by most of the fanatics, such as those who guarded the remaining concentration camps. I know that we were all very relieved when two days later we got under way again.

Later on that day we reached the main gates of Stalag XI-B at Fallingbostel. I'm quite sure that we all prayed for admittance knowing very well how many times we had been refused in the past. Our prayers were answered and the gates opened up. We were all weak and feeble and were glad to have a place to stop. We were ushered into a large theatre by our guards, only about a hundred of us remained of the three hundred and fifty or so which left Spremberg. The last day's walk had been a monumental effort only made possible by the close proximity of the Allied armies. The sound of war raged on all day and we felt as though we were marching into the barrels of our own guns. We felt that now there must be nowhere else to go. Our last sight of Purshke was as he left the theatre still with a thin smile on his face. For two days we were left undisturbed and then we became desperate for water, there didn't appear to be any because the mains had been cut. Eventually we got permission to go out of the main gate and across the road to a standpipe located amongst some prefabricated huts. I grabbed the nearest fire buckets, emptied them of their contents and made my way to the tap; others made do with water bottles. About twenty of us, only accompanied by one elderly guard walked across the road. The guard who had clearly little interest in us soon got bored of waiting because the water pressure was low and came out of the tap at little more than a trickle. I foraged amongst some huts by the pipe and found that a rear window to one was open. This made entry very easy and to my delight I found twenty loaves of black bread, some of which were rather mouldy. I stuffed four inside my battledress and returned to the group, I spread the good news to my comrades quietly. When we had finished at the tap we returned to the theatre, and within minutes we were all feasting on dry stale bread and water, the others had liberated the rest of the edible loaves. I ate a whole loaf myself and spent the night in agony as my digestive system struggled to cope with the load. My stomach had shrunk and my digestive system, which must have nearly ceased to work over the period of the march, put me through agony.

We awoke the next morning to the news that the Germans were trying to organise a column of one and a half thousand POWs to march to Lubeck. Percy, Paddy, Varey and I were determined to avoid this at all costs. We knew that we were in no condition to march to Lubeck, and with the air activity as it was it would be suicidal. Finding a place to hide became an urgent priority.

We carefully left the theatre and made our way round to the rear where ground levelling and clearance had clearly been taking place. The outer perimeter wire was about 100 yards away. Halfway to the wire what appeared to by temporary site huts attracted us as a possible hide out. There was nobody clearly observing us but one never knew, so we strolled casually around the huts before closing in on them. We found that the huts had been intended to be an ablutions and toilet block. We could see that there was a drainage trench that hadn't long been filled in, as the line of disturbed soil could easily be seen stretching down to and beyond the perimeter wire where the ground fell away sharply. Varey remarked that it was more than a drain; it was actually a large circular three-foot diameter sewage main. There was a little sewage in it but not much, apparently from a branch serving the Russian compound. I crawled along some twenty feet and concluded that it had only had an experimental flush. There was no need for any discussion, we all just agreed that come what may we should get away, we simply weren't fit to submit to the perils of another march, especially when it was only a short journey to our own lines (we could hear close range gun fire of Allied tanks and German 88mm's all that morning). I went back to the theatre alone to collect our water bottles and a few sundries and did my best to appear casual. I saw no unusual activity inside or outside the theatre. Two German guards paced back and forth across the entrance, and unusually I saw a few Airborne POWs, they weren't from our contingent because they looked too regimental and showed no signs of the rigours of the march. I decided to investigate this, and was shocked to see their white belts and puttees, it all looked very odd. I made my way back to the huts glancing nervously at the two watchtowers that had me completely within their field of vision. Fortunately, they were a long way away and covered two sides of the Russian compound, even so, I thought that I ought to have seen them occupied by guards but they weren't. I put the absence of sentries down to a sloppy change of guards and counted my blessings.

There was no waiting when I returned; we just agreed that we may encounter a guard at the end of the culvert and that we would deal with that when it came to it. Then we set off, I went first with Paddy behind me, I prepared my jack-knife just in case there was a guard waiting for us at the end. We crawled about 120 yards down the pipe; we could see the end and a German helmet. The wearer had his back to us and was sitting about ten yards away. Both Paddy and I were on our feet before he was aware of us, and we didn't allow him to get to his feet. Varey quickly joined in and the combination of their clubs and my jack-knife silenced him. We stuffed his body into the culvert and hastened down a steep bank into the cover of a large copse of bushes, expecting a hail of machine gun fire from the towers in the distance, it didn't come. We didn't dare to leave the bushes for some time, but eventually, knowing that a guard change would occur, we dashed from cover to cover until there was a couple of miles between us and the Stalag which we could no longer see. Then we waited until dusk, hidden behind a brick draw-well in the cover of the bushes. Very cautiously we headed towards the lights and the sound of the guns. We must have over calculated the distance because we could hear tank engines. We were fearful however that they would be German, so we settled down in a copse until daylight.

The wait for sunrise seemed an eternity although we all managed to sleep in fits and starts, taking turn to keep watch. When dawn came, we saw the most glorious sight and realised that our journey was well and truly over, for before our eyes, bearing down on us quite rapidly was an entire squadron of Sherman tanks. I recognised the '54' sign of identification and my own Brigade's insignia on the front. I turned to Varey and said, "That's what I call navigation, all the way from Breslau to meet my own mob." We then cried unashamedly, it was so hard to comprehend that we were actually free. I struggled to come to terms with it, only now, back at our own lines did it seem real. Suddenly, the march, illnesses, lack of food, even the deaths were in the past. Gone was the thought always in the back of my mind that I might be the next one to lose my struggle with life, at that moment we could all have believed that we could live forever, having survived so long by scrounging and searching in our grim determination to never give up.

Our crying was abruptly stopped by the sight of food, we soon remembered just how starved we had been and how so many of our comrades had died and how we were the lucky ones. We were offered white cob loaves from the field kitchen and beef broth. I refused the bread after my experience two days earlier but gladly accepted the beef broth. I sat down and the procedure of how to deal with the composite rations returned to me. "Punch a hole and light a candle" I said, and chuckled to myself for the first time in a long while. As we ate ravenously the tank commanders became anxious to press on. They asked us for news about German positions up ahead. Paddy, forever the wit, replied as quick as a flash with; "We killed the last one yesterday and stuffed him up his own arse!" The tank commanders grinned and then sent the news of the Stalag to the other tanks. In half an hour the tanks were ready to move out again and in less than two hours, with the four of us riding on the lead tank to direct them, Stalag XI-B was freed. The Germans had fled and Regimental Sergeant Major "Lord" Mallinini of the Airborne had an immaculately turned out force of Airborne POWs in complete control of the situation. The tank squadron left us then and had to head off in pursuit of the fleeing Germans. The Shermans set off intending to see that the Germans were killed when it came over the tank radio shortly before they departed, that 49 POWs of the 15th Scottish Division only recently captured had been discovered dead, they had all been tortured and shot. I never discovered what became of the one and a half thousand strong column of POWs that were to march to Lubeck. The rumours suggested that it had been wiped out by our own air attacks before it ever got there.

We soon had food in plenty and supplies were brought up to us of cigarettes and tea. Nobody could eat much because of their digestive systems but the cigarettes and tea from the mobile canteen was greatly appreciated. We spent the rest of the day in the camp and thoroughly cleaned ourselves. The Engineers arrived and they quickly restored the camp's water supply, which enabled us to wash and drink. Quite soon, army mobile baths arrived and they brought with them a boiler that provided hot water in sufficient quantities to take a decent bath. That night we all slept in the camp but this time of our own free will.

The next morning, we were honoured by the presence of Richard Dimbleby and a camera crew, who recorded a reconstruction of the relief of the camp. We spent the next three days doing exactly as we wished. I met a Canadian naval man who was driving in a German Mercedes Benz staff car. The chap was bristling with weapons as the horror stories he had heard stirred him up. Nominally, he was searching for Canadian seamen POWs but he had assumed a dual role, the other part of it being to kill as many Germans as possible, hence the weaponry. We drove around the countryside and ventured as far as Soltau on the Luneburg heath. On the outskirts of Soltau, we found twenty-eight SS men hanging by their heels from a line of trees by the roadside. We didn't know who did it but both expressed a wish to shake hands with those responsible. They had doubtlessly deserved their end and I felt no remorse when my Canadian friend picked up his Tommy gun and shot all along the line. When he finished he turned to me and said, "Just in case."

My final afternoon spent with him was at a warehouse in Soltau. The warehouse showed no sign of being inhabited until I opened a door into an office, and forgetting to check for any occupants, simply entered. Sitting before me was a young German Captain with his Luger pistol pointing straight at me. His English was perfectly spoken, he said, "You will take me to an Officer, I wish to surrender only to an English Captain."  
" You'll never live to get there if you don't put that thing down and let me show you the way to the tanks" I said, as I motioned towards his pistol, to make things very clear I added, "If my friend outside sees you with that Luger he won't bother you with questions."  
" I get my bags, you will show me the way but first you will salute and say sir," he said. I saluted with my left hand and said, "Sir."  
The German officer placed his Luger on the desk, stood up and turned to pick up his suitcases. I grabbed the Luger, and as he turned my Canadian friend entered opening up with his Tommy gun simultaneously. I fired a shot from the Luger in anger and frustration but the damage had already been done. The warehouse was full of eau de cologne, plastic pens, combs and other goods, there was also some rolls of excellent curtain materials. I have to confess that the two of us proceeded to fill a blue suitcase each with samples of these goods. Technically, I feel we may have looted, but it seemed perfectly justifiable as the previous owner no longer had any use for it at all. I took two rolls of curtain material and some sample of other goods. I also found a 16 bore shotgun whilst emptying the suitcase. It had been disassembled for carriage and I took it; it became the most coveted of my possessions. The Canadian filled the petrol tank with eau de Cologne, and we drove back to the camp.

I spent my last hour at Stalag XI-B being documented, and we were then transported some twenty miles to a transit camp hastily improvised behind our lines. Once at the transit camp we went through a delousing process. I caught a glance at that point of the small Polish child who had been carried all the way from Spremberg by some of the men in absolute secrecy. An officer was looking after the child who was little more than a highly bewildered, emaciated skeleton. My battledress blouse was steam cleaned overnight and returned to me, as I had requested that I be allowed to keep it. We were also issued with special 'anti-lice' uniforms, and given our own regimental insignia and berets and kitted out with all the other extras. We were thoroughly cleaned, disinfected, vermin free and once more recognisable as soldiers.

That night we sat down for our fist proper cooked meal at a table since we had left Britain on 5th June 1944, nearly eleven months earlier. We then retired to a proper, civilised bed, which was also for the first time in a long while. The next morning we were transported to a military airfield to be flown home, but due to high winds our Dakota couldn't take off. The last one that had tried had crashed and everyone on board had been killed. None of us wanted to take the risk of being killed now when so much had been suffered juts to get here.

The next day the wind had dropped and we were flown safely to RAF Dunsfold in Kent. There were overwhelming crowds to meet us there and seemingly no end of military (ATS and WAAF) and civilian hostesses. There was a magnificent banquet laid on for us in a marvellously decorated hangar. Later on after lunch, we were taken by coach to a military camp. While here, our anti-vermin uniforms were replaced with the normal issue uniforms. We had to fill in no end of documents, we also received our back pay and a letter to present to our local hospital at home for a full medical overhaul. We were told that our leave would commence at 8am the following morning.

As Percy and I left the Quartermasters stores I spotted a Royal Mail van and made a dash for it, leaving Percy open mouthed and confused. Just before I caught up the van it began to drive away, I shouted to the driver if he could give us a lift. The van stopped and the driver looked puzzled, he said that he wasn't meant to give lifts to passengers, but nobody had said anything to him about soldiers so he agreed. I asked him to give us ten minutes to grab our gear and shouted to Percy to get his things too. Percy was astounded but the driver obligingly waited for us and took us to the local railway station. An hour later we were on the train going to London. Getting to Euston from Charing Cross was a disorientating experience. We hadn't been near so many people for such a long time that we became more easily confused that usual. We also had trouble walking at the normal pace; instead, we tended to either march or shuffle along slowly. The happy medium eluded us for quite some time.

We had to wait several hours for a train once we got to Euston, but a few minutes before 10 o'clock that night our train was ready to go. It took us five hours to get home. Percy got off at Stoke-on-Trent and we quickly said goodbye, I had to carry on to Stockport because my parents had moved two years earlier to a farm near Macclesfield. I hadn't given any thought of how to get to Macclesfield at 3am but when I arrived at Stockport, my problem was solved for me.

The tannoy announcer said that all returning POWs should go to the main exit. The ticket collector examined my travel warrant when I got there and directed me to a line of private cars, whose owners were voluntarily carrying ex POWs to their homes. I approached the first car apprehensively afraid that Macclesfield would be considered too far at this time of night. The door opened as I walked up and an elderly man invited me to get in and asked me where I wanted to go. I told him, expecting that he would change his mind and apologising as soon as I had told him. He dismissed my apology and started up the car, and in moments, we were on the road. As we drove along we chatted about everything and anything except the war and my POW experiences. He was a very kind and thoughtful man to whom I shall always be grateful and it was a pleasure to ride with him. An hour later I knocked on the door of my home and waited for someone to get up. I expected that at 4am my family might find it a little difficult to welcome me as they might do at a more sociable hour. Eventually my father opened the door and said, matter-of-factly "Well you're back then." He turned and called upstairs to Mother, "You'd better come down, Alban's here", and with that, I knew that I was home.

We never got to bed that night as the questions just kept on coming. My parents told me that the War Office hadn't changed the telegram, which read that I was simply "Missing in action". Mother said that she had heard via the radio that I was a POW when the list of names had been read out, and she said that in fact our Vicar and Sir Philip and Lady Brocklehurst had brought the news, the latter couple having stayed for dinner, which had made a great impression on the whole family. They said that they never lost hope that I would come back.

At 7.30am I was just beginning to be overcome with tiredness, when the postman arrived. Surprisingly there were two letters for me. One was a bulky package of photos and a letter from Rifleman Woodbridge who I'd pushed off the half-track for dead during the Normandy landings. He said that he had been picked up by the Engineers and had been hospitalised for several months after having a plate inserted into his skull. I was overjoyed with the news but flabbergasted by the other letter, which simply contained the scribbled message of "Alive and well, don't worry" which I had given to a Frenchman at the racing stables in the first few days of captivity. It was a novel way, if ever there was one, of getting your own back!

To conclude this account of my personal experiences, I have to add that a few days later on the night of VE-Day, the end of the war in Europe, I again lost my freedom when I met a girl whose captive I still am. Forty-five years, five children and eight grandchildren later I am a contented prisoner. I have given as full and as accurate account of those darkest days of my life as my memory will allow. It was the struggle of many gallant men, members of a gallant race, to survive their passage from East to West, to live to see peace and to tell the tale of the evil tyranny that was Nazi Germany. It is my profound hope that while a man lives in the western world who can tell a tale, the deeds of that war will never be forgotten. Only in eternal remembrance can future wars be averted, that at least must be the message of my generation to those that will follow us. The columns, and there were many like the one of which I was a part, were composed of men who in action had fought in France in 1940, been evacuated from Dunkirk that June, had defeated Rommel in the North African Desert in 1941-42. They had landed at Sicily and in Italy in 1943 and then in France in 1944. Their duty had called upon them to defend hopeless positions, to gain precarious bridgeheads and footholds in seaborne landings. They won many victories and by their courage averted many defeats. They were proud members of the only army that opposed the German Wehrmacht from the beginning of the war to the end. To all of those who survived I send my congratulations, and for those whom did not I ask that we all remember them. Their sacrifice was the ultimate any man can give whilst evil resides in any form on this planet, they died that Britain might remain a free land, it is only because they succeeded that I can write this now and that you may read it. I can only hope that the lessons of that war have been learned by the people of this nation and that the road to world war is never taken again, only the future will yield a response to my hope and it must be on this note that I end my account of the events of the horrific past.

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# About The Author

Alban Frederick Snape was born in the village of Brown Edge near Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, in 1925. The third of four brothers he enlisted in the army in early 1943 joining the Rifle Brigade, after the war he served in Greece and Sudan, his service in the army ending in 1954. Alban Snape died on 15th July 2004, aged 78.
