大象传媒

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

6912361, A/Cpl R, Ruffle
1st Battalion, Rifle brigade

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 next morning, with a gentle nudge, the guards came round with silver pots. 鈥淲ould Sir like cream with your coffee? And for breakfast, there is eggs bacon, toast, and all manor of goodies.鈥� I awoke with a snarl as a rifle butt played knock-knock on my ribs. What a dream! With many snarls and curses, we were lined up in rows of three and counted. Then the sky opened up and the rain came down in quite a heavy downpour. Were we told to go to our huts? Of course not! The guards let us enjoy the rain - we miserable rabble liked the idea of getting wet through! And so it rained and we all got very wet. When the rain had finished, we all thought that we would be dismissed - not on your Nellie! We were split up into small groups and marched away. And our friends led us to what? 'Arbeit' (work). There were 20 men in my party and one guard. We arrived at the main gate, were counted and searched and then let out. We were free, only, like a herd of sheep we had a dog (the guard) to round us up if we decided to go astray. It was about a mile and a half to our work at a barracks. Our job was to clean up the place and we met up with a civvy who took us to a hut were he gave out picks and shovels and brooms. I was given a large broom. I followed the guard to a long road where I was told to sweep the gutters on both sides. Then he left me all by myself. An hour later, the civvy came to see how I was getting on. As I had not moved more than fifty yards, he was not pleased and he called me everything he could think off. When he had finished, my reply was "knackers." As discretion is the better part valour, I decided to move the brush, and the guard told me that as soon as I had finished sweeping the road, I could call it a day. I did not know it but I had managed to get the best job of the day. The others had to dig holes, carry wood, and other jobs. At four o'clock, we packed up and went back to camp. We were searched before going back to our huts - in time to find out that our rations had not been saved!
This filled us all with joy and happiness, and we jumped with glee, at the thought that someone, somewhere, had got twenty men's rations. But we were going to find them! We went to the CSMs cubicle and asked him about our rations. He said he had no idea what we were talking about and gave the impression that he couldn't care less. It so happened that one of our lads was good at German so we headed for the compound gate to find the guard we had been working with. He was talking to another guard and we told him about our grub stakes. It was the other guard who came back with us to the hut, and he was not very pleased. He went into the cubicle and raised hell. "Why is there no food for these men?鈥� And pointing to one sergeant 鈥淵ou drew the bread ration. Where is their share?鈥� He replied "There was none left over.鈥� Then the guard sorted out the one who drew and served out the soup ... same answer, 鈥淣one left.鈥� We were twenty tired, hungry, angry men and we thought that was the end of the matter, but the guard told us to follow him. He took us to the cook house where he explained the position to the German cook and, after a slight discussion, he gave each of us a large ladle of soup and we went back to the hut. Then the lad who could speak German told us that the cook said he had issued our bread and no soup had been returned to the cook house. By the actions of the guard we could see he was in a rage. We all sat down at the tables to eat our soup. The guard entered the CSMs cubicle where he again asked about our bread and was given the same answer. He then went into action and told the lot of them to get outside. They refused, wanting to know why, so the guard left the hut. By now, all the other POWs had crowded about and as we finished our soup, they were told that the soup left over at mid-day was to go back to the cook house. Then the fun started. Half a dozen guards arrived and began to search the cubicle, having turfed out the NCOs. A guard came out with four loaves in his arms and the three NCOs started to shout 鈥淭hose are our rations." All the guard said was 鈥淪chweine鈥� and he drew from his pocket a large penknife, cut the bread up and dished it out to us, five men to a loaf, taking not a bit of notice of the NCOs and their moans about it being their bread. When the guards left, the look of contempt on their faces told us what they thought of the NCOs! It was then that one of them said "Now come on chaps, give us our bread back?" the reply was "A***hole 鈥� p*ss off." One of the POWs shouted 鈥淲hat about the soup? And how come the guards have found four loaves, that's enough for twenty men. F**k off, while you are still safe." I just sat and watched. The other POWs knew what had happened, and wild threats were being made. The three NCOs insisted they had done nothing when one of the men of my party, said "Listen, you lot drew the rations that we are supposed to have had - a portion of marge and cheese with our bread ration. Where are they?. Now sod off before I thump you." This brought a howl from all about us. A wrong word now and a fight would be on the agenda. The NCOs realised this and left us. They'd had their way and did what they liked for the past few weeks but not now. This bunch had no more dealings with the rations. The decent Senior NCOs decided that better arrangements had got to be made, and they were. In my opinion, for what it is worth, only a deep ingrained discipline saved the NCOs from trouble and they were lucky to get away with their actions. As time went on discipline in the camp was to deteriorate and rank did not count. After the excitement was over Willy and I crept to our bunks, there was nothing else to do.
One Sunday it was raining and we had nothing to do. The chaps were sitting at the tables, just talking about - have a guess - grub and drink, the Saturday nights in the pubs, of a life that used to be and what they would do when they got back home again. 鈥淲hen will that be? Don't tell me next Christmas! They said that in the last war. How long do you think this one is going to last?鈥� There was no talk of the war. It was as if we were enclosed in a huge dome. There was not a rumour or whisper as to how the war was going. We could not get any information from the guards, they didn't know if there was a war!
As you walked round the camp, there were no trees, flowers, duck pond, grass, even weeds. Only a lovely display of wire that was festooned with barbs. If you were entangled in this barbed wire, you could do yourself an injury! And to encourage you to take an active interest in the beauty of the land, not more than 500 yards away was a portion of the Black Forest! It was all open once you had got through the wire, if you thought of it, and headed for the forest, the guards in the towers would use you for target-practice. After all, how far could a man run in these bleeding clogs? I watched the men as they tried to walk and look lively and decent, but it was a hard job. After all, we had only been here a few days. It seemed like it had been a lifetime, what with the stinking rotten lousy grub and the knowledge that you could not leave what treasures you possessed for a minute without them being pinched (any man at Stalag 8b will tell you that). So now you have some idea as to why the men were so feeling so desolate.
Monday came with a loud crash as the doors were bashed open by the guards "Raus, raus! Alle Mann raus鈥� and with a push and a shove we were on parade and again counted 鈥� once, twice and the third time for luck. We hung about for an hour, then a guard came and once again we were split up in groups and marched away to work. Willy and I were together, and after a short march we arrived at an army rest camp. Our job was to clean up the area. It was midday when the man in charge told us to rest in the big hut but as we had nothing to stop in the hut for, Willy and I went to have a look around. There were a few German squaddies going into a large hut. We looked in the window and saw they were sitting at long tables having dinner. When one of them saw us looking at them he opened the window and told us to shove off! Willy said "Ist du essen bitte?鈥� I had a sudden brainwave and said "Ich bin eine Englander, du bist Englisch, ja?鈥� With our great knowledge of German (about a dozen words!) we were able to communicate with them and we got on fine. Our bowls were filled up with thick stew and we were given bread and quite a lot of fags. We asked them of news of the war but they couldn't tell us a thing. We told them we would come tomorrow and they said "Ja, ja. Das ist gut." We did not go back into the shed but stopped and sat by a wall were we ate our soup and bread. It was great; the best we had for a very long time. Then we each lit up a fag. Taking the first puff was wonderful and my head spun round and stars were gleaming as well! I looked at Willy his eyes were shut. "How do you feel old son, is your head leaving your shoulders?" "Oh boy, its wunderbar" he replied.
After a while we returned to the hut and we were greeted with "Where in the name of hell have you been? The guard is looking for you.鈥� We were torn between two thorns; should we tell them? We did and, pulling out a packet of fags, we lit up once more. The look on their faces as we puffed away! 鈥淕ive us the dog-end, mate鈥�, 鈥淕ive us a drag鈥� and 鈥淕or, were did you get them fags?鈥� I really felt for them. 鈥淥K Willy鈥� I said and we each took a packet from our pockets and gave each one a couple of fags each. The thanks we got! The pleasure we had of giving, the look on the men's faces, the expressions of enjoyment - I can't really express in words what a fag meant to them. It was a happy bunch of men who went back to work. When we finished work at four, we asked the guard if we would be working here tomorrow. 鈥淵es. I want you men, I shall look for you.鈥� Back in camp, our rations were ready for us. Then the fun started as Willy and I lit up our fags. All sorts of things were offered to us for fags by men desperate for a smoke; bread, pens, shirts, watches, even a ring. I did swap twenty for a penknife. There was no fun in smoking and I was so fed-up with being asked for the dog-ends and 鈥淕ive us a drag, mate鈥� that I gave nearly all mine away, I was not desperate.
There was a strong rumour that we were all about to be sent to some kind of working party, and that we would all be split up and sent to other Stalags. I had no objections. No Stalag could be worst than this dog hole. I went to my bunk to rest and think and, in time, to get some sleep.
I had a very restless night as I lay in my bunk and listened to the sounds, coming from the sleeping men; the snores, loud and quiet, sudden shouts, mutterings, groans, men talking in their sleep, and the twisting and turning of bodies. I thought to myself - out of the three hundred-odd men in this room, I only knew five of them. I got up from my bunk and went for a run out. As I walked past the bunks, the concrete floor was cold to my bare feet but the p*ss on the floor was colder. The tub was full and overflowing but who cared? I didn't.
As I returned, I heard the sound of a subdued cry which came from a young lad on the bottom bunk. I could see his shoulders shaking. I tapped him on the shoulder and he took the blanket from his face. I looked at him and saw his tear-wet face, so young, so homesick and lonely. I thought "I am only thirty years of age myself." I judged him to be about nineteen, and my heart bled for him. I put my arms round him "Son, let the tears fall. Do not be ashamed, you are not the only one to shed a tear, and for what it is worth, do as I do, pray to God for help and guidance. Believe me, you'll get it." Then I left him and went back to my bunk. After a while I went to sleep.
I awoke to the dawn cracking and the gentle voices of the guards calling us to go forth and pray to Allah for what we were about to do for the day. We fell in review order and the count started but what with men moving from one rank to another, once more the counts were wrong. After four attempts - yes we were all there! Then they told us that we were fit (to drop? no - for work), and would be sorted out later. We all returned to the huts and, without thinking, I put my bag on my bunk and went for a cr*p.
I returned to my bunk to find that some son of a b*tch, some rotten git, had stolen my bag and soup tin. I did not have time to find the bastard who stole them as we were all ordered out on parade. Once more we were counted and kept waiting, and then a guard called out a list of names. These men then joined up with a guard on the other side of the parade ground. There were fifty of them, including the sh*t bag of a man who pinched my bag. They were marched away I never saw them again. They were on their way to a work camp.

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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