大象传媒

Belsen

My shoulders feel like handle bars. Bare bones. What with that and my hair coming out in clumps now, it won鈥檛 be long before I start reminding myself all the time that we were in Germany just outside Belsen. (Ted was in hospital suffering from lung cancer when he dictated these stories. He died 24/12/1999.)

We were told that we could go in and see what those bastards had done to people in the concentration camp 鈥� Belsen concentration camp. The medical people wouldn鈥檛 let us go because of the dangers of infection and contamination of whatever, so I never did see it but obviously, we鈥檝e all seen these grotesque figures walking along with practically nothing on them at all. Neither clothing nor skin and flesh. Hope I don鈥檛 get down to that sort of stage, but doubt if I shall.

Having mentioned Belsen, we were outside a town called Celle in Germany 鈥� north Germany somewhere, not quite sure where 鈥� when the war finished on May 8, 1945 and very little had been going on for some days. We knew that something was happening, something was imminent and that pretty soon it would all be over. At the time we were involved in fighting a forest fire, would you believe, in the Black Forest there? It was all ablaze: the sort of fire where you knocked it out 50 yards away and moved on and looked back and it was all up again. So we鈥檇 go back and start all over again! It was a recurrent situation all the time. We would come out in this forest and put on our shorts. What stupidity! We had on our shorts and slippers and were moving amongst these cinders 鈥� not that that was all that bad really 鈥攚e came out and somebody put a hose on us. We were standing there bespattered with this high- pressure hose. Nearly knocked you over but it was fantastic and then you鈥檇 go back in again and do another hour stint. That鈥檚 how it went on, until the fire just went out for some reason. I suppose if you keep hitting something hard enough, it鈥檚 bound to lie down.

What I鈥檓 trying to get to, I鈥檓 trying to think about the Commandant of Belsen. Now we were taking prisoners 鈥� well, we weren鈥檛 taking prisoners, they were just turning up in their droves, hands in the air and 鈥淓ssen bitte, essen bitte鈥�, and we were feeding them out of the kitchen. We were going to the kitchens and taking more than we actually needed for ourselves and going out and scraping the remnants into whatever containers these poor sods had out there waiting for us. You know, cabbage, rice, sweet mixed up with the main meal: you name it and they would have it. And were they grateful? My word, yes! The pigs didn鈥檛 stand a chance. They were standing there saying 鈥� Ja, ja, bitte, ja.鈥� There you go 鈥� rice on top of the cabbage 鈥� everything.

We鈥檇 been taking the prisoners down to the police station, or the compound at the back of the police station. They were all in there, looking very dejected, as one would expect, and there was this guy handcuffed to a pillar, which was from floor to ceiling, in the police station itself, he was the commandant of Belsen. He鈥檇 been in with the rest of the prisoners and been thoroughly beaten up by them. His face was a real mess, and he was lying there, rather like a caged animal, actually. He was almost snarling at people who stopped to look at him. We brought them in and got them registered and kicked them out of the backdoor as it were, into the compound. They had to walk past him every time, and there he was spread-eagled on his back and almost spitting at anybody who came anywhere near him. What was his name? Delightful soul- Kramer 鈥� that was his name, Kramer, bastard.

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