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Italians and Germans in Trowbridge

Toward the end of the war there were new arrivals — prisoners of war — in Trowbridge, Wiltshire, and the surrounding towns. The first were from Italy, and they could be seen helping with labouring jobs.

Demolition of houses behind Union Street had commenced before the war. From our windows, we would watch them clearing the site for further building. A garage/engineering works was soon to occupy the site and is still there.

The Italians were soon followed by Germans, housed in a camp near Westbury. As the war ended they were allowed more freedom and seen around Trowbridge. Again they helped with various jobs. One day we had two helping to dig up our side path for emergency repairs to the gas pipe.

Mending my Meccano

Around this time my mum and dad invited two POWs into our home, who might have been the men working outside. They would often come to us on Saturdays. I should say, from memory, one was in his 40s; the other late teens or 20s. My parents considered the older one a hard liner, and, eventually, he stopped coming. Not, though, before he did one kind act.

I was very keen on Meccano. For my birthday or Christmas I had been given a steam engine that did not work. Our friend took it back to the camp, and the next week returned it — well and truly soldered. I don’t think it ever really drove my models, even then, but it was a nice gesture.

Draughts: England vs Germany

Khurt Johnmann (I hope that’s spelled correctly) became a family friend, often spending Saturday afternoons and evenings with us. On Sundays, other friends from the chapel would also entertain him, and he came along to our evening services.

We both shared a common interest — we liked draughts. Many an international between England and Germany was played in our living room. Khurt was certainly the better player, and Germany won the series very convincingly. In fact, I can not recall England winning a single match — but it was good fun, and we remained pals.

Looking for Khurt

Eventually, Khurt returned home. At first, he kept in touch. I remember his first letter, which told how he had found his city — I think it was Hamburg — completely devastated.

As he lost his grasp of English, so the letters stopped, and we lost touch. Some years back I wrote to Germany, hoping I might again make contact, but this was unsuccessful. Perhaps this web site might achieve this — you never know.

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