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My dad, Jack South, was a prisoner of war for most of WW2. I decided to research his journey and would like to share it with you.

I am very grateful to the International Red Cross who have supplied many details about my dad’s years in captivity . Like many men of the time he did not talk about his experiences very much. In fact my mum said he would talk to me more than anyone. Not I think because he found it easier to talk to me, his younger daughter, but with my child’s naivety I asked endless questions which I suppose he was able to answer as he knew I did not understand the full implication of what he told me.

My dad was born in Colne, Lancashire in 1917. He must have enlisted early on in the war as he was in uniform when he met my mum Frances Howard , during the ‘blackout‘, in Blackburn in 1940. Even though it was wartime they decided to try to keep in touch. Prior to joining up he had been living with his widowed mum and Bessie, his younger sister. Bessie was suffering from TB and in a sanitorium at Holcombe Brook. My dad was allowed home on leave to see her as she was so very ill but soon Dad had to return to his unit and whilst he was on his way to Africa she died.

Not long after Bessie’s death my gran was informed that Jack was missing presumed dead. Dad did tell me a little about the capture (as a child … and a bit of a Tomboy at that…. I loved to hear this part of the story). Dad's party became surrounded by Italians and were pinned down outside a group of old buildings. They took cover and began to fight back but Dad was shot in the arm and taken prisoner. I never thought to ask what happened to everyone else!

According to the IRC records this happened in Tunisia on the 19th of December 1941 and it took 2 months to arrive at the Territorial Military Hospital of Palermo (on the 20th February 1942.) Dad talked freely and easily about his time in the hospital (he was there for months it seems). He said the Italian nuns were delightful and so kind with everyone even bringing in cigarettes for the boys under their habits!!! He said there was an Italian girl there with reddish hair (I think she reminded him of mum ). By the time he got there his wounded arm was a bit of mess and had partially healed over. They were unable to get the bullet out and in later years this intrigued my sister and I who used to look at the scar and ask him to shake his arm so we could hear it rattle!

Meanwhile back in Colne, Gran still believed her lovely young son to be dead. She knew he had met a young woman from Blackburn whom he was obviously very in love with and felt she ought to let her know. Unfortunately she knew neither my mum’s surname nor her address. She did know she was called Frances, had vivid red hair and worked at Mullards in Blackburn. Undaunted by lack of information and of course before the days of public use of telephones, my little Gran took the bus to Blackburn and did in fact find my mum to give her the sad news. Mum refused to believe it and said she would have known if Jack was dead. It was 6 months later when it was announced on the Vatican radio that he was wounded but safe and being held by the Italians.

After being in hospital for some time dad was transferred to his first ‘Campo Concentramento’ 98/3550 on the 30th Decmber 1942. He was moved around Italy to CC 66 then CC 70 and finally CC55. He was finally moved to Stalag 4b near Muhlberg in Germany. This was a transit camp where prisoners were held until it was decided what to do with them.

Unfortunately, Dad was sent on to Stalag 4c near Wistritz in the then Czechoslovakia. This was described as the British Slave Labour Camp and Dad was forced to work down the salt mines there. He was held there until the end of the war. He once told me that during the very bad times he would dream of a little lane which idled its way from the bottom of his street in Colne through the fields around 'Turn-a beck' and came out by the canal. By dreaming of this he was able to cope with awful reality of what was happening. He said that towards the end food had become very sparse although they did receive occasional Red Cross parcels. The main food in the parcels was cocoa and butter. Unfortunately by that time there was no way of making a drink or getting bread to put the butter on so prisoners mixed the cocoa and butter together and ate that. Dad had jaundice when he was liberated.

The IRC had no records of the liberation but Dad told me one day lots of the prison guards just seem to have disappeared. Many of the prisoners were weak and Dad said they did not know where to walk to so most of them stayed where they were. They were liberated by the Russian army and talking in later life to Dad we decided it was probably a group from the present day Kazakstan or that area of Russia.

It took Dad ages to recover but his mum was waiting for him, as was Frances, our mum. Mum and Dad were married in 1946 and had my sister in 1947 and I was born in 1950. He never seemed bitter about his experiences and seemed to think it had merely been his duty.

Dad always encouraged us be open minded and appreciate other cultures and he enjoyed my having penfriends from the areas with which we had been at war. Dad was left with very poor health for the rest of his life but survived to the age of 79… mainly through determination but also his sheer joy of life.

His decendants include two daughters, Elaine and Jacqueline, five grandchildren Francis, Georgia, David, Ian and Paul and as yet one great grandson Joseph.

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