大象传媒

Warning: this story contains strong langauge and is part of a longer contribution.

This article is about me, my thoughts, my impressions and my opinions.
You can take them how you like, but remember, this is the truth.

The trucks & a first class ride to Stalag 8b!
It was early in the evening when the guards began to split up the column into groups of fifty or sixty men. The guards opened the sliding doors and told us to get into the truck. There was a rush to be first in, because you then stood a chance of sitting by the side of the truck, but not for long By the time I was pushed in it was already packed and there was still a few more chaps to come in. When we were all pushed and squashed in the guards shut the sliding doors, then bedlam broke out! I know the men were weary and dirty, not having had a wash in weeks. They were hungry, thirsty, and very, very, short-tempered. "Get of my leg mate. You are standing on it." "Bleeding well move it then." "Ouch! Get of my hand. You're standing on it." The men sitting down had their legs stood on, and the men standing up had no place to put their feet. The result was a lot of swearing, cussing, moaning and groaning. "Get the hell out of it."
Suddenly, out of the bedlam a voice roared out "Silence" and everyone went quiet. It was a sergeant that shouted out and he then said "Now you chaps, let us get some order here. We don't know long we shall be like this so we will make ourselves as comfortable as is possible. Now then, everybody stand up, and if there is anyone who objects, to getting up, he will be moved, so get up now." The Sergeant was standing in the middle of the truck. He gave his orders, "Right, here is what we do. Face inwards to me. You at the ends of the truck, stand shoulder to shoulder and take up the width of the truck. Now make another line across.鈥� When all of the lines were completed, there was a gap of about four feet between the two groups of men. Then he told the first two lines of men to sit down. This they did, and then he told them to slide towards each other and place their legs inside and outside each other. This was duly done. Then the next row sat down, they were told to open their legs and slide forwards to the men in front, placing said leg either side of the man in front. When this manoeuvre was completed we were all sitting down, but there was no room to move around. We could not move our legs and there was nothing to rest your back against. Suddenly, the train began to move and then the agony started. We had three men who were suffering from diarrhoea and they were in a hell of a state. We could not do anything for them, so when they were 'took short', there was only one thing they could do, and that was to sh*t themselves. But remember we were all in the same boat. There were cries of "I've got cramp in the legs鈥�, 鈥淵ou are lying on me, mate. Get off me鈥�, 鈥淐an you move your boots out of my ribs, mate?鈥� And then someone would let off a terrific f*rt. Others let off little ones. The stink was enough to blind you! And so it went on. How we got through the night, I just do not know. It was hell. The train stopped and the guards opened the doors but we were not allowed to get out. It was only to give us some fresh air. We asked for water and grub but that was just a waste of bleeding time! The doors were shut again, and off we went heading to - God knows where?
As trains go, this was proper stop-and-go-wallah. And, as the sun was shining bright and warm, the conditions in the truck really got bad. One man just suddenly jumped up and went off his head, shouting "I want to live, I don't want to die!" and then he dropped in a heap, crying like a small child. We that were near him tried to comfort him as best as we could. I could have cried myself. I cannot describe to you the hardship that we endured during the last eighteen hours of the journey. The night was a moving hell, and when the train stopped I do not think we were far away from going mad. I am sure that if we had been in the truck a few more hours, we would have started to fight among ourselves, and I can assure you that killing would have taken place, for our minds and bodies had taken enough. We were at breaking point.
When the guards pulled the doors apart and the sun shone in the truck we were dazzled and could hardly see to get out of the truck. When I got out of the truck I fell out, and as I tried to walk, my legs buckled under me. I fell on the ground, got up and promptly fell down again. I was not the only one. Men were walking about in circles, staggering, falling, trying to get back the use of their legs. My legs were like rubber, I shaking like a jelly. I fell down at least three times to reach a wall that was about twenty yards away. I watched as a number of men were lifted out from the trucks, not knowing if they were dead or alive. After a while the guards rounded us up and told us we had arrived at our destination. We were at 艁ambinowice or Lamsdorf, in Poland at a camp called Stalag 8b (344), which was to become famous!
I take this opportunity to ask you to sit down in the middle of a room, place a cushion between your knees. You cannot lie down or move legs. See how long you can stay there. I'll give you half hour!

It is not a holiday camp
During the short march to the camp, two things caught my eye. Firstly, the glorious amount of barbed wire that encircled the camp, and secondly, the curious little towers that were all over the place. These were about twenty five feet high and they had a small tower on top. Inside each tower was a guard with a machine gun, and he would not hesitate to use it, should the occasion arise.
After leaving the train we marched (or staggered) the short distance to Stalag 8b. I must admit that my recollections of our arrival in the camp are a bit hazy - fifty years is a long time, but the very first thing that happened was having our hair cut short. It was quite simple; you sat down on a bench in rows of about twenty men at a time, the so-called barber got his clippers and, in about four movements, he had cut all your hair off and you were as bald as a billiard ball! I think after that we had a shower, and of course we were thinking of what chance we stood of getting any grub. We had forgotten the last time that we had eaten. Then we were paraded, lined up and counted, not just once but quite a few times.
Then we were introduced to 'American Joe' who arrived escorted by half a dozen German officers. He began by telling us that we were Prisoners Of War and we were now under the orders of the German High Command, that the conventions of the Red Cross would be kept, that men above the rank of full corporal would not be sent to work but they could, if they wished, volunteer - and a lot more hogwash. Then we asked him when are we going to get some food. He replied that we get settled in the barracks first, and then he would let us know what arrangements had been made regarding grub.
Let me try and explain to you the barrack layout. There were, I believe, four large wooden huts, about 200 feet long, at a guess. The huts were all the same and each one was split in half. In the middle was the wash and shower place and in here at night was put the 'p*ss tub' for the use of some 700 men! Entering the one half of the hut, on your right were some 26 six foot tables. Two tables were placed end-to-end, and then in twos they were placed the length of the room. So there was room, with a bit of a squeeze, for just over 300 men to sit down. (But the sergeants would alter that for their own comfort. Their motto was 鈥淭o hell with the troops, we come first!鈥�). In the middle of the room were the bunks. These were, as far as I recall, in two squares of 24-bed bunks. In each set of bunks was a set of twelve - 4 bunks on the bottom, 4 in the middle, and 4 on the top - room for 12 men. At the end of the room were two long shelves and men slept on these also. So there was, in all, room for about 350 men in this part of the barracks, or 700 men in the full block. As there were four blocks in our part of the camp, we had about 3000 men in this part of Stalag 8b. The man who was responsible for the future running the camp was to be RSM Sherriff, but I had no dealings with him to my knowledge.
We had been standing about for an hour (we were going to get used to this in due course of time). We were getting a bit restless and wondering what was about to happen. Once more we were counted and then the guard told us to follow him. He led us into the hut and told us to pick our bunks. There was a mad rush and we were soon squabbling about who got which bunk. I managed to get on top just as another bloke got there. I told him "This bunk is mine, p*ss off." He did, and took the one in the middle. There was much moaning and groaning, grunts and shouts of "Sod off, this is my bunk.", "Hey, I was here first. Sod off", and a lot more cussing and threats which was delightful to the ear! There was still fighting spirit among the men, even if it was amongst ourselves! At the same time there were a lot more chaps in the room who had been here for some time.
In due course of time we settled down. The bunks had a straw palliasse and eight strips of wood stopping me from falling through to the chap below me. We had the mattress and one blanket. It was a treat to lie down and rest! I shut my eyes for about five minutes. The doors banged open and half a dozen guards came rushing in shouting 鈥淩aus, raus! Alle Mann raus!" and, with dire threats, they helped us to get on parade. We wondered what the hell was happening. We lined up in three ranks, and we were counted, again and again. When the guard knew his arse from his elbow and got his count right, he then told us the most enlightening news. Firstly, that when we returned to the hut for the night, under no circumstance were we to leave the hut during the night, by the doors or windows. If we did we would be shot on sight. Secondly, that a p*ss tub would be in the wash room, should we want a p*ss during the night. Then he was asked the question, 鈥淲hen do we eat?鈥�, He gave us such a smile, shrugged his shoulders, and said 鈥淢idday tomorrow. You may go to your rooms now.鈥�
We entered the hut and at once the men gathered around the Sergeant Major asking him to see the Jerries about some grub, but it was of no use. There was much moaning and groaning and gnashing of teeth, as the multitude gave vent to their feelings - of what they would do, not do, and heaven help any Jerry caught out on a dark night, and we could not do a sodding thing about it, only one thing "Get to sleep". I did.
The guards had no sense of decency in waking us up in the early hours of the morn. They just kicked in the door and ran round the hut like a bunch of cowboys, shouting 鈥淩aus! Alle Mann raus!鈥� as though there was fire, pulling and giving a shake or a thump, or they pulled out of our flea pits, to get us outside on parade. Once outside we would be counted off by half a dozen. If there were six different guards, there would be six different totals. Then we would be kept standing there for a couple of hours until they were satisfied and agreed that 3 and 5 make 8, and finally we were allowed back into our huts.
As I went back to the hut, I realised that I was very, very tired. I felt listless and weary, as though my body had been sapped of all it's strength. A reaction had set in, and all I wanted to do was to knock hell out of bed and rest, and then rest some more. A lot of men did this but too much rest and lying on your back all hours was no answer to the problem. As I had a top bunk, I tried to get on with the fellow next to me but I discovered that he was a man of very few words; he hardly spoke at all. He had been here a week and all he did was lie on his bed all hours. He told me he was ill. I told him I was as well but I was not going to let my self go.
At about 11 o'clock some chaps were heard to say they were detailed to go to the cook-house and wait for rations for the hut. At 12 o'clock there was a mad scramble to get in the queue for the grub stakes. Take it from me, there was quite a fight to get a place. It was only the fact that some CSM took charge that some order was restored. Now I will try and explain to you what it is like to be really hungry. First you get an empty feeling. This is followed by a feeling of nausea - your stomach is trying to digest food that is not there, you begin to fill up with wind (result - bags of f*rting; loud ones, soft ones, and they don't smell like roses!) After that, your stomach feels tight and your body then begins to show resentment. You feel weak and dizzy, and you lose all interest. Don't ask me how, but one eventually gets used to it. So now you have the picture of hungry men, wondering what they were about to get.
When it was my turn at the dishing-out point, I looked in the container, which was a little larger than a household dustbin. A sergeant was holding a stick of wood, on the end of which was a small tin can. There were shouts of "Hey, stir it up. Let's have some off the bottom!", 鈥淲hat the Hell is this?鈥�, and 鈥淕or blimey, it ain't fit for pigs." What I saw was a very thin liquid; very, very weak with a lot of bits floating in it. There was white cabbage (sauerkraut), barley, bits of mystery meat, and some other type of veg. The measure was a small tin can, and when I got mine I certainly realised that there was not a lot of goodness in it. I sat down at a table and listened to the remarks. I also noticed how they protected their food. I looked at my lot, the 'soup' and my three spuds, done in their jackets. It was not a lot and it was vile! I ate the spuds just as they were but others peeled the spuds and put the skins one side as if they could not eat them. But then they looked at the skin closely, picked them up and ate them. Nothing was left!

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Genevieve Tudor of the 大象传媒 Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Mark Ruffle and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions

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