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A Teenager at War — Part 3

By
George Marsden

A few days later, I was escorted outside by a smartly dressed Hitler Youth member, complete with rifle and bayonet. He was very regimental as he shouted, "Rouse!" which I think meant, get moving, and when any one came toward us on the footpath, they were waved across to the other side. If they were young ladies passing by however, he shouted his favourite word, "Rouse!" and prodded me in the back with, the bayonet and looked to see if he was being admired. I think they were trying to fathom out who I was. When he prodded me a bit too hard, I turned and said, "Do that again and you've had it." I knew he didn't have a clue what I was saying; he just said "Ja," and gave me a little smile.

I was escorted into a building, which turned out to be an x-ray hospital. I was examined immediately and was asked about my blood transfusion at my previous hospital. "I didn't know much about it," I said. She replied, "You may be half German," and thought it was hilarious. It was good to hear someone laughing and speaking English.

I was soon back on parade and was marched back to the prison hospital with only a few prods in my back, because of the lack of spectators.

I was signed over by my escort and thought that I would build up his ego a little bit by saluting him. He didn't present arms to me, but just smirked and departed, pointing to the swastika armband.

I was greeted with news that we would be leaving this place in a few days, I was hoping that this would be the end of paper bandages which allowed lice to creep inside. I suppose you can get used to anything in time.

When the time came to leave this place, I was dejected to find out that I would be leaving on my own again, with my old friend the German soldier to accompany me to the railway station. What a strange feeling, to be walking through the busy town, I kept close to my guard to hide the chain joining us together.

We arrived at the railway station, I was like a little boy lost, it seemed unreal to me, especially when I was on a wide platform, long lines of civilian people, looking very dejected. Then I saw that they were fastened together with chains joining ankles and arms together. I couldn't believe it, I knew I was fastened to my escort, but these people were shackled together. I pointed to them and asked why. My guard just shrugged his shoulders, but a man who was at the end of the front line waved to me. I took two steps towards him until I could go no further because of the chain, so the shackled man scuffled a few steps toward me, when all hell broke loose.

I was dumfounded; a man in a black uniform wearing jack boots etc., was running toward us, blowing a whistle, to be followed by whistle blowing men clashing all over the first man who seemed to be in charge. They hit the man who had walked toward me, and pushed him back into line, then they ran toward us, and struck my escort on his shoulder with his cane and shouted at me. A crowd of civilians were standong watching as I stood in a daze, until I was pulled toward the platform where a train had pulled in.

We got in the last compartment and the door was locked from the inside. It was not a corridor train, so we were isolated from every one, but as the railway guard blew his whistle a business man ran to our train and tried to open the door, which he couldn't. Then he started banging the window where I was sitting. He pointed at me and turned to the crowd, I turned to my escort to ask what was happening, but he looked as worried as I was. We were relieved when the train started moving with the man still banging the window, until we left the platform.

I was awakened from a troubled sleep and lifted from the train. I didn't know what time it was, but it was very dark; it must have been in the country somewhere. We saw someone with powerful torches who showed us the way to a train just in front of us, with big sliding doors; cattle trucks, some one said, as we were lifted high up to be sat upon some straw. When the doors were closed, you couldn't see anything at all. The train got going to the only sound of clickity-clack of the wheels; no one spoke or questioned where we were going.

Eventually the train stopped and the doors were opened. It was still dark, but some soldiers were waiting to lift us off the train; it was a big drop to the ground. I was taken by a German to a small compound of huts, which was Lazarette, a hospital, which was like a small barrack room only not cosy. When morning arrived I was given the quickest medical that I had ever had, and then the paper bandages were used on me.

I was surprised to see a friend, my sergeant, the Sheffield man, who had lost an eye in the same conflict that I had been in. We had a quick chat, until someone came for me, I said, "Good Bye," and we never met each other again.

I was taken away to have my front and sideways picture taken whilst wearing an old jacket given to me, which had big letters "K.G." painted in white on the back, this meant P.O.W. in German language. I had a piece of wood with my prison numbers on it, hanging from my neck, to be worn at all times, I still have this identity board.

I was taken to the British compound, and as the barbed wire gate was closed behind me, I stood and looked in disbelief at the site before me. Walking around the camp were dejected looking half starved men, who had been smart looking youths and had been fighting for their country not so long ago. Some of the men waved to me whilst others shuffled passed. I looked down at myself and thought that I already looked like a rag-man, so I am in good company.

A sergeant came to me and asked if I had come from the hospital, I nodded and he said, "I will show you around," I saw four long wooden huts and was told I would be in the bottom one. I looked inside, it looked horrible; as dirty as the yard outside and the sleeping accommodation had been made by prisoners many years ago. It consisted of planks of wood being nailed together, the length of the huts to make rough bunk beds, three and four high with wooden slats to sleep on. This had to accommodate over eight hundred men.

I said I couldn't climb up there with one arm in a sling. The sergeant said, "We'll fit you in somewhere, even if it's on the floor." Big shutters had to be put in place during the hours of darkness.

Outside were four towers with search lights and machine guns. Electric fences surrounded the camp. Inside the wire was a toilet consisting of three holes in the concrete floor of a little brick building with water running underneath. What a calamity it was for everyone, when a bout of Diarrhoea attacked many of the inmates. Also in the grounds, was a concrete punishment cage and in the far corner was the morgue, which was used daily.

From then on we never had a shave, hair cut or clean clothes. I still had the blood stained clothes I was captured in, these were worn day and night. The main occupation was killing lice which were rampant, especially at night.

Every morning, the shutters were pulled down and all the prisoners were ordered outside to form up in long lines, except the P.O.W.'s who were excused these roll calls. I was one of those who sat on the ground and shouted whatever number I had in the line. It was alright except when it was raining, and the guards who took roll call kept giving the wrong numbered present to the Officer Commander of the parade, until after a while the right number was given and we were told to dismiss.

The guard who counted us each morning had only one eye; he was all right except for the wrong numbers game, which he thought was hilarious. Each morning after roll call everybody had to walk round and round the compound, except for those who were detailed for various tasks to be done.
One of these was that a big wheeled farm cart, made for shire horses to pull, had to be pulled to the nearby forest by the prisoners who, on arrival, had to saw and chop trees down and then deliver them to the guards' family quarters and the S. S. Panzer Grenadier Barracks, a huge task for men out of condition.

One day my name was called out for the tree duty, by a new guard on duty for the first time. Amidst protests, and volunteers wanting to take my place, the guard kept shouting my name out, so without much ado, I was lifted up and into the cart. On arrival at the forest, I was lifted down, and lay down at the side of the guard, After a few hours the logs were loaded into the cart and I was lifted on top to have a precarious ride to the S.S. camp where the wood was unloaded. I looked down from the cart and shouted, "Hurry up," to be answered by calls of, "Throw him off!" plus a few more remarks. It was nice to have a bit of a laugh.

We arrived back at camp, for dinner, which meant standing in long lines, holding an old tin that I had scrounged from someone, and waiting while foreign P.O.W.'s arrived from the cookhouse, a place I had never seen. They were carrying what looked like dust bins filled with hot water and turnip slices or mango's. One scoop of that dropped into your tin was dinner served, which you ate with your fingers, or sharpened a stick with a knife if you knew any body who owned one.

At teatime, you queued up for your tin to be filled with some black water, some called it coffee, which was scooped from the inevitable tin. We never did see the cookhouse or the other compounds of our camp, in which twenty thousand P.O.W.'s, all non English, were alleged to be. We also had black loaves of bread with nothing to put on it or in it. One loaf to be shared between twenty men, which meant one slice each. The horrible squabbles that took place between comrades and friends was frightful, just because someone thought his slice had been cut thinner than theirs.

Morale seemed to be on a knife edge when we saw the funeral columns passing by to the nearby cemetery, but it brought a lump to my throat, when the P.O.W's, who were shuffling around on their non-stop walk, stood to attention. Those wearing head dress would salute, no matter what the nationality of the soldier was, he was honoured before being put to rest.
Someone told me that it was Christmas at the weekend, and a guard was walking past me and said, "Fats Waller has died." I said, "Oh." Then after he had taken a few more steps, he turned and said, "President Roosevelt as well." I could have laughed if it hadn't been so tragic.

So Christmas Eve came along, we were being served our usual turnip slices in warm water from the tin. I screwed my nose up and was told, "It is better food on Christmas day."
When we lined up for dinner, it was marginally better; the Christmas dinner, a scoop of sloppy peas served from the inevitable tin. Somebody shouted, "Beggars can't be chooses."
By this time I had my boots misplaced. I don't like to say stolen, by someone who could not have been in greater need then I.

It was very cold by this time, so I had my feet wrapped in pieces of sacking until someone brought me a pair of well worn boots. I didn't dare to try and think who had warn them before me, I welcomed them anyway, and never took them off again, day or night.

As the allied troops advanced, we became a bit anxious as more prisoners were brought into our camp, causing many problems to us and the guards, until many of our friends were assembled to be marched away one night, we didn't know where to.

One morning after we had roil call, a senior British N.C.O. ordered us to go back to our huts and he told us not to leave them unless ordered to do so.

There wasn't any sliced turnip, no slice of bread that day, all kinds of rumours were being spread about, some good some bad. The night seemed very quiet, until we heard the noise of tank tracks, not very far away. The door opened and a British Army officer dressed in battle gear walked in and said, "You are now free, but no one must leave the compound, guards will be posted at the gates."

Everyone cheered, those who could, ran outside and waved to the troops passing by.
I stayed with those who needed medical attention, then we were given a couple of sandwiches and a hot drink, it was like a proper Christmas, long past.

We were kept in the compound for a few days, while the army erected same mobile showers. A medical Corps corporal pulled the paper bandages from my shoulder, the first time for weeks. He kept saying, "You're all lousy." We knew that, but what a feeling it was when the soldier scrubbed me down. Then we had our heads and other parts of our body shaved free of hair. It was good; we were then issued with nice, new army underwear and uniform, plus boots, it was brilliant.

After the troops had passed by, our Dulag was visited by Generals from all the allied armies, one of whom was said to be General Montgomery, who walked into the first hut and said, "Disgusting, burn them down," which they did later an.

Then came the day when we boarded a paratroop plane bound for home. The plane was full, as the men crowded on and refused to leave when asked to do so, which meant they were stood up all the time. Sheer weight of numbers kept them upright, as we landed at Aylesbury airfield.

We had a great welcome from the ladies and men of the R.A.F. I went to the medical centre to have a clean dressing on my shoulder and was weighed in, as being seven and a half stone, I couldn't believe it, until I looked in a mirror.

Most of the lads had gone home by the time I was allowed to leave, but I received my railway warrant and a seven week leave from the army, I travelled to Sheffield, then waited for a bus to take me home. I then sat an the doorstep to await my mother who had gone shopping, that was the time I will never forget.

So that was it, no fuss, just a little Union Jack flag hanging through the window.

So the most exciting, eventful and torrid time of my life was over. "God Bless Lost Friends."

G. Marsden.

Pr-BR

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