大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War Site by Suzanne Longstone and has been added to the website on behalf of Mr Ivor Lipscombe with his permission and he fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

I was captured by the Germans in May 1940 and sent to Stalag 1A. (See part one of my story) After being discovered giving out more dinner tickets than we had men in the POW camp I was sent to Stalag 20B 鈥� an old WW1 POW camp near the German-Russian border. We were counted, checked and photographed with a board around our neck. Yours truly became POW 20890. We lined up to each receive one blanket (crawling with lice) and one pair of wooden clogs, and were marched to the huts where we would spend the next four years.

The camp area was something like a quarter of a square mile and the huts were built on eight inches of sand. The German guard鈥檚 accommodation, complete with three lookouts and machine guns, surrounded the outside of the wire perimeter. Our latrines were the usual long, deep trenches with crossed poles each end and centre, and for urinals there were large wooden barrels placed at different points around the camp. All these were placed so that searchlights could highlight anyone using them in the night. If you needed to use them you had to clap your hands on the way there and back, and kick the barrel with your clogs while you were using it! Both latrines and barrels had to be emptied. The barrels needed two men 鈥� one each end of a long pole, passed through two rope loops on each barrel. The barrels were emptied first, then taken back to be filled from the latrines by large saucepans on poles used to scoop out the contents. All this was carried two hundred yards down a treacherous path and emptied into the river Elb. Each Christmas Day we were sorted into batches of around a hundred men, marched five miles into the local town of Marienberg to the POW hospital at Lazarette. Here our heads were shaved and our clothes removed and sent through to the de-lousing oven. We had a shower then put on our still-hot clothes and marched back to the camp. This took all day from 6am to 8pm. During our absence from the camp the Germans were searching our huts and belongings. When we got back food from Red Cross parcels, cigarettes, soap etc were missing, but, of course, no-one ever knew anything about it. Eventually we had a wooden trough with running water, and a row of boxed toilets to sit on. We also finally had a wash-house and a de-lousing building where we could have a hot shower while our clothes were being de-loused.

鈥榃orking Parties鈥� were collected by guards every morning at 6am. Some were loading and unloading coal at the town station (they frequently saw trains of flat wagons marked with the Red Cross full of food parcels destined for the Russian Front); some re-designating parcels to other parts of Northern Germany; some to local farms, working in a sugar beet factory; others to large state farms harvesting potatoes, sugar beet, Swedes etc. Quite often extra POWs were sent for, and on one occasion I was one of the extras. Some of the fields were so large that if you were standing in the centre, you couldn鈥檛 see the sides! The winter was so severe that we had to use pick-axes to raise the sugar beet.

In camp there was a twice-daily roll-call at 7am and 4pm. Many times we were kept out in below-freezing conditions because someone was missing, or the Germans couldn鈥檛 count. There was one hot meal at midday 鈥� a ladle of swede and potato soup. We worked out the recipe must be one swede and two potatoes to five gallons of water. After 4pm roll-call we lined up in groups of five and received one loaf of (almost) black bread, with either five spoons of jam, white curdled whey or a slimy fish paste (that looked, smelt and tasted revolting) to put on it. Our beds were in two tiers down each side and across one end of the hut. Those sleeping on floor level had to contend with rats that came up through the floorboards. We all suffered with bites from the bed bugs that came out nightly. To rid ourselves of both lice and bugs we turned our clothing inside-out and burned the hems with lighted paper tapers. The smell lingered for hours.

The winters were very hard, with bitter cold winds and snow blowing from Russia. Summers were hot and dry. The sand on which the camp was built was a breeding ground for fleas and flies, and our kegs from ankles to knees were a mass of bites.

During 1941 Red Cross Parcels arrived. What a great day! One parcel to be shared between twenty men! My share? Three boiled sweets. Still, it cheered us up and the future seemed a little rosier. Late 1942 saw us allocated one hut for 鈥榬ecreation鈥�. We built a small stage at one end and put on a short show of 鈥楤abes in the Wood鈥�. Most of the costumes were made from coloured crepe paper, the back drops were painted by our resident artist Bill Firth, and the scripts and music by our interpreter Norman Wylie. The first show was attended by the Camp Commandant and some German officers. Some weeks later we were given a piano and other musical instruments, following, I think, a visit to the camp by officials of the International Red Cross, but all due to the kindness of the Germans of course! This led to the formation of a band, a small jazz group, a semi-classic and a small brass group. They all did so much to boost and maintain a high standard of the 鈥渨e鈥檙e British and proud of it鈥� atmosphere.

When we first arrived in Stalag 20B, the French were already in residence, and were settled in the 鈥榖est鈥� huts with the 鈥榖est鈥� jobs within the camp, in Stalag HQ and in Marienberg. In late 1943, roughly two hundred Serbs were marched into camp. Unfortunately they brought typhoid with them. Some of then died and we had to disinfect all huts. Our heads were shaved and clothes de-loused. We were forbidden to go anywhere near the Serb quarters. Soon after this, a group of around a hundred Italians were marched into camp. They had been at the Russian Front, where they had refused to fight. We were amazed that they had actually made it back to camp, and for a while kept away from them.

One incident that I look back on and smile to myself was when I was put to clean around the camp. I was sweeping outside the guard room when I spied an egg on the grass! I worked my way towards it, sweeping very diligently, then quickly picked it up. After all, an egg is a meal! As soon as I picked it up I knew it was a set-up 鈥� it had been blown! However, I didn鈥檛 let on that I had tumbled to the catch and put it in my pocket, but was annoyed at the sound of laughter coming from the guard room. I was cleaning the same area next day so I carefully replaced the egg. Our interpreter told me later that the Commandant had passed by, picked up the egg then walked into the guard room demanding to know which wooden-headed guard was responsible, and how dare he insult the Fuhrer! Someone had painted a picture of Hitler鈥檚 face on the egg!

One of the subjects I taught in school was book-binding. This I found was very handy as many prisoners had book parcels from home and they were well-used. Most titles needed repairs with one exception - I finished up with seven copies of 鈥淭he Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire鈥�! Obviously some newsagents were only too pleased to offload them.

Sometimes, when I think back, I wonder if one of our British POWs kept his promise. He was working on a farm in South Germany and fell in love with the farmer鈥檚 daughter. They decided to cross into Switzerland and make their way back to the UK. The young lady arranged the necessary papers, and the soldier came into camp on a pretext to see the doctor. While in camp we made him a civilian suit from blankets, which he wore under his uniform when he returned to the farm. Some days later we heard from the German guards via out interpreter that the couple had reached the border. He had crossed safely, but the girl had been caught. The soldier returned and gave himself up, promising the girl that when the war was over he would be back for her. He was sent to Detention Camp. She was dressed in prison clothes, her hair shaved off and then paraded through the local towns and villages with a notice hung around her neck 鈥� 鈥淚 gave myself to the enemy鈥�.

I was eventually sent back to the hospital where more fragments of shrapnel were removed from my thigh. (I had been wounded in 1940 when I was captured in France) Back in camp I sustained a ruptured groin through hopping around on one leg. We finally left the camp at 2am on 24th February 1945, after four and a half years. (See Part 3 of my story.)

Parts 1 and 3 of Ivor's story can be read at A7811796and A7817817.

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