大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Sarah Harding of Kirklees Libraries on behalf of Mr. Smithson and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

MEMORIES OF MY LIFE AS A PRISONER OF WAR IN GERMANY FROM THE 18TH OF SEPTEMBER 1944 TO THE END OF MY STAY IN STALAG LUFT 111
BANKAU IN UPPER SILESIA FRIDAY JANUARY 19TH. 1945
With the German Officer was a Sergeant Major and about 50 soldiers, others having returned to their billets after the excitement was over. There was no nastiness and before long we were trying to talk to each other. I had that morning's Daily Express with me and showed it to the Officer. On seeing the front page - which was full of broad arrows pointing out the progress of the war and the near hopeless position of Germany - he smiled ruefully and as best he could, in a mixture of German French and English, told us that the war situation may be so but that we were still prisoners. I could not disagree. We hung about waiting for transport and at one time I was almost on my own when a German soldier came close to me and started to say something like "Nix Deutch", repeating this, a time or two, very quietly, and at the same time tapping his shoulder badge. I looked and saw that the word Armenia was there. The penny dropped and I realised that he was trying to tell me that he was not a German but an Armenian and somehow I gathered that he was really wanting to be on our side. I do not know what he thought that I could do! Anyway a Ford Pilot [A prewar Ford saloon car, if you do not remember.] soon arrived and the five of us were put into it. The Officer was in the front and then, I counted them, eight other soldiers managed to crowd into and on to the car. I still do not believe it myself but it was so! We started off and in a very few miles arrived at the local Police Station.

Inside the Police Station we were put in a room with one soldier guarding us. He had a machine pistol resting on his knee [Always Schmeizzers in tales of the war but not always so.]

Women came through the room occasionally and talked with the Guard but said nothing to us. They were Dutch but, judging by the way they talked, they were almost bilingual in Dutch and German, or the languages are very similar.

I had an orange in my kit bag [nothing had been taken from us except arms and ammunition]. Feeling hungry [I soon got used to the feeling] I pointed to the kit bag, The guard cottoned on and nodded his head, at the same time watching me with his hands on his gun. When I pulled out an orange he nearly fell off his chair. It must have been some time since he had seen one. [We had them in our air crew rations when on operations.] We slept on the floor until roused early next morning.

We were given no food. As soon as we were on our feet, two guards took us outside and marched us to a railway station. There we got on to a local train and soon arrived at a small port where we got on to a ferry. There were many passengers and as soon as we had left the quay the guards did not worry us so long as we stayed near by.

Soon I began talking to a German Corporal who could speak fairly good English. He was returning to the Russian front after leave. He agreed that the Germans had lost the war but we talked mainly about life in each other's country. We soon had to stop as we had reached the mainland. Where is he now?

Leaving the dock we travelled in a coal-gas powered truck to a fort where I met another Armenian soldier who also tried to tell me he was not a German but he did not stay long as he had other duties to do. We soon moved, this time to a large house opposite to a large railway station. Here I found out the name of the town we were in. The station had the name Dordtrecht written in large letters along the facade of the building. Still no food and our own rations were eaten. We only stayed there overnight and the following morning moved to a barn where we were joined by about thirty other prisoners. One of them was ill and a German doctor could not understand what was wrong with him. I tried to help but language problems did not get us very far. I do not know what developed as I was fetched to go on my first interrogation.

The Sergeant who had come for me searched me to make sure that I was not carrying anything that I ought not to be carrying. My escape wallet was sewn to the back of the pocket where I kept my ordinary wallet. This I took out, the Sergeant was interested in the photos that I had there and when he had finished I quickly put it back, thus covering the escape wallet. When I was patted again he did not realise there were two wallets in the pocket. This Sgt. then marched me to the office where I was to be interrogated. On the way he talked as if he was trying to help me. Telling me to say nothing and keep quiet and not to anger the Officer as well as not to give any secrets away. This in passable English! I was not seriously worried as I was not in possession of anything serious and I could not think of anything they could do to me now that they would not have already done.

I saluted the Officer behind a table and gave him my rank name and number. The only information that we are allowed to give, [mine is Sergeant and my army number 1886189] never forgotten by servicemen. He then asked me where I came from, clearly wanting the airfield. Not wanting to antagonise him I said Huddersfield [my hometown]. This puzzled him and he looked at the sergeant who was also puzzled. He then asked me where Huddersfield was and I told him. I think he then realised that it was my hometown. This annoyed him, he grunted and had me thrown out. Going back to the barn with the sergeant. I gave him a cigarette. He responded by giving me an apple.

Another move, and this time to a larger barn where we joined about another 100 POWs. This group included Poles, Canadians and an American aircrew, as well as more of our own forces. It was still only Thursday [21st.Sept.] and we did not stay here long. We appeared to be more organised now and under the control of a German Corporal [More authority than the similar rank in the British Army.] with some very young German soldiers. There was a handcart on which the Germans had put their kit, ready for the march. I thought it would be useful to be with it so I got Spinner and a couple more and volunteered to push it. We set off some time in the morning and left Dortrecht behind, heading for Gorinchem. Road signs had not been removed. The young guards spread around the column. As we walked along, I had time to watch the guards and it transpired that they had walked all the way from Normandy. Not at any time had they had any transport. Their boots were in a dreadful condition. Most of them were hobbling. On our arrival in Gorinchem our arrival was almost like a victory parade. People lined the streets and youngsters started shouting particularly from bridges we passed under. The guards would fire over their heads and that would make them run off, only to appear again further down the street. The adults on the roadside did not make much noise but the excitement could almost be felt.

The night was spent in a large shed that had been part of a new garage. Early in the evening and we had a less pleasant experience. The shed was crowded. Spinner and myself were sitting on the floor with the Americans [3 I think], when our German Corporal walked in with a Sgt/Major dressed in a black uniform with silver edging. We did not need to look at his badges to realise he was SS. The two walked slowly around, the Corporal seeming somewhat deferential. As they passed us, the sergeant major was heard to say to the Corporal in a very hard tone of voice, a phrase in German, which none of us could understand. They did not stay long and left. The American Navigator then asked his pilot what the sergeant major had said, explaining that the Pilot could speak German as his Grandparents had been immigrants from Germany many years ago. The Pilot looked at us and asked if we thought the sergeant major meant what he had said? We all agreed that he did. The Pilot then translated as follows "In had my way I would shoot the lot of them." We were somewhat chastened.

We stayed in the shed that night and set off on Friday to walk to Utrecht. On the way, the Dutch people were still clearly pleased to see us and threw apples to us by the score. I like everyone else had my battledress tunic stuffed with them. It was autumn and many of the streets were lined with apple trees.

So far the few of us pushing the cart had tried to go as slowly as possible in hope of being overtaken by the allied forces. At that time we knew nothing about how the Arnhem operation was progressing and were hopeful that it had been successful and our forces by now heading for the Zuider Zee and cutting off the German forces around us and thus making our POW life very short. You know now that that was not to be but we still went as slowly as we could. The guards were on our side. They could not march well and our slow pace was easier for them. The Corporal did tell us that if we went too slowly, he and his guard could be changed. We might have SS troops for guards. This had an effect and we moved faster. We could hear the guards grousing as they tried to keep up. They were in a very poor state. We had many advantages over them. All of us had very good kit. I had a battledress and boots that I had only worn for "D-Day", the battledress being well impregnated with anti lice powder. [I was very grateful for that later.]

We carried on marching and at last reached the River Rhine and there had a shock. Before crossing, our guards were removed and the Feldgendarmarie took over. We now marched as they wanted. We were soon over the bridge and into Utrecht. People still lined up to watch us pass but the mood was very different, the people being silent. Even so I had a moment of uplift. We were marching more in line now and I was on the pavement side. I came alongside a man leaning on his folded umbrella. I had not taken much notice, when, in English and quite distinctly, I heard him say" Never mind lads it will not be long now". I glanced quickly towards him but he was looking straight ahead and making no sign of any kind. It was a strange and marvellous moment. We marched into a vacant school building for the night and settled down. Our guards were now changed again and were normal army soldiers.

Sometime in late afternoon, a company of the Hitler Jugund came into the school and we had to share the facilities with them. They were all about 16 years of age and had been helping their forces to make defences in the area. Our soldiers got on well with them and soon German and English voices were mingling together. I think the English squady could get on with anyone, provided they were not actually fighting.

We stayed in this school all day but in the evening, as soon as the sun went down, we were roused and ordered into the schoolyard. Formed into a column and marched to the railway station. There was no reaction from the Dutch people this time as very few were on the streets. In the 8 Horses 40 men railway wagon 62 of us were pushed in. I managed to get under one of the two openings that were in opposite corners. I wanted to be able to look out when it became light. To say that the wagon was full is an understatement. It was not possible for all the 62 to lie down properly. Only by piling legs on top of one another was it possible to sit and part lie down. This was all right until the bottom legs got too tired and then with much bitching, binding, pushing, shoving and kicking, the legs at the bottom moved to somewhere near the top. This was OK until the process started again. Multiply this and the general chaos can be imagined. I can not repeat the basic English that was heard all the time. Later some of the Polish contingent were equally at home in the use of basic English.

About 5 kilometres from Amersfoot I was asleep, when machine gun fire from above the train shook us all awake. The train was being shot up. Was I going to be killed by our own forces after all the action I had been through since 1940? Bullets could be heard hitting something. Then all the train shook as the wheels left the rails and we bumped to a stop. Steam could be heard hissing from the engine. We could hear the plane now and it seemed to be going away but then the noised noise changed as it turned and came back for another run at the train. During this time, the men nearest the sliding door had been working away at it, trying to open it, which they did in time for us to jump out and see the RAF Mustang flying away after having shot up the engine. We could see some German soldiers helping the driver or fireman away, obviously wounded.

It was then that I realised that the guards were not there. I moved to the side of the track and into the wood alongside. Could I disappear? I could vaguely tell that one or two others were of the same mind. Another thirty or forty yards and a rude awakening! What was that shape in front of us? Yes, it was a German tank and we were in a tank concentration area and were soon rounded up. We went back to the railway track and were surrounded by more guards than prisoners.

After a short messing about, we walked along the line into Arnersfoot and were lodged in a small school, which was used as a transit camp. Some Dutch Red Cross ladies gave us a little food and water and we rested there until morning. Waited there all day and at night walked to the railway station in Amersfoot. There once more acquainted with another cattle truck. Set off as soon as it was dark. We knew now that we were heading for Germany. We had not finished with all the excitement yet. Close to the border but still in Holland, the train suddenly rattled bumped and shook. We were once more off the rails. Saboteurs had derailed the engine and we were again at a standstill. So we stayed until morning, when another engine came and we set off once more. It was now Wednesday the 27th September. My diary notes that travel was very slow as our engine was often used for shunting. The Germans must have been very short of engines. When we moved I could see that we were passing through an industrial area. I thought it must be the Ruhr which, was confirmed as we halted in a marshalling area, near a signal box, just outside Dortmund. The signal box was partly wrecked as the field on the other side of the box was full of bomb holes and one had dropped closely to it. The bombs had all been wasted, the only damage being the shored up signal box. It was American daylight bombing.

We moved away and with many stops slowly travelled into Dortmund. I could now realise what damage had been done to the town. Looking through the opening which, I had again managed to be near. I saw that there was not one building with the roof intact. No windows were whole and piles of rubble were everywhere. It was terrible. Still moving slowly, we passed through Frankfurt, also devastated with no real sign of life. In the wagon we were also having a very poor time of it. My diary just says "Terrible living in truck". At Amersfoot, we had been given steel helmets (British] in case of being bombed. I will not explain what they were mainly used for but I am sure you can guess. The two opening were devoid of glass.

We had had no food since Amersfoot but at some of the stops we were given water. On Saturday the 30th September we arrived at a smallish town called Limburg and stayed all the night in the truck. On Sunday we walked into the Stalmayer [Stalag] and found it to be an awful place. The compound was tiny and held about 1500 men in absolutely shocking conditions. We had some food and a wash at some taps outside the huts. We hoped our stay would not be long. The camp was Stalag XII A.

On Tuesday the 3rd October Travis-Davison arrived with another party of POWs, he had been taken prisoner at Arnhem. Now we heard the news that the relieving force did not arrive in time to join up and thus were unable to form the hoped for bridgehead across the Rhine. We had to reconcile ourselves to the fact that we should be incarcerated for longer than we thought. Dysentery was rife, especially at night, with the awful conditions of no inside water and only one toilet for the 350/400 men in the hut, we realised that POW life was not just waiting until the war was over. At first we had only German rations and these were very poor. Most of us had only been prisoners for a relatively short time and had not had time for our stomachs to get used to the smaller intake of food. This meant that the pangs were felt more. Even so, on one parade when some small rounded cheeses were being distributed by the guards, our idea of food came to the fore. The cheeses in boxes looked as if they were coated in red lead paint and the smell was high. A prisoner next but one to me looked at his round of cheese, smelled it and roundly remarked that it was not fit to eat. A guard standing behind me understood and said "Give it to me". The soldier did, the guard took it, ate it, and appeared to enjoy it. I ate mine and found it rather mild with only the smell a little unpleasant. I never refused food after that, whatever it looked like.

There is little to tell about this camp - it was so soul destroying. Nothing to do but to try and get a book from the few there were in the camp. I managed to get Pickwick Papers, at the time I think it kept me sane. The only trouble was that I had to hand it back within 48 hours. I just managed it and read the last chapter whilst queuing up in order to hand it back in. I think I have a better knowledge of the book than I should have had if I had had more time. On Monday 9th. October a little joy when some Red Cross parcels came into the camp. We had to share them and I think there were 4 to a parcel. There was little chance of another one until goodness knows when. The issue from the Red Cross was as a supplement to the German rations. There should have been one per man per week. During all my time as a POW I only had a parcel to myself on three occasions and they had to last much longer than a week. The chief topic of conversation was food, the choice, the cooking and menus for after the war. Sometimes in small groups, we had competitions when each had to name something to eat beginning with the first letter of the alphabet and then the second and so on. When one could not think of something, he had to fall out. The winner was the one who was left at the end. After the parcels were issued, we used the cardboard from them to mark out chessboards and cut smaller square pieces to mark and name for the differing pieces. Playing chess was my first real pleasure at Limburg, although I am not a very good player and never play at all now. Time passed very slowly and without any change. I just remark in the diary that we had expected a parcel one day but it did not arrive and how it was a calamity.

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