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The following story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Ray Newlove and Della Petch

Time passed on, then a German bricklayer came to cement the cow stalls. I noticed he left his iron chisel and lump hammer in the cow stall. This gave me an idea to smuggle them in to get the bar out. Then the lads were concerned that we would be heard, so a sing song was arranged with mouth organs, the lot — it did the trick. The bar was removed, the holes made larger, then some round cardboard inserted, the fasteners put back, the bar bent to fit tight. This fooled the guard, who just pulled, if fast, that was OK. We used to draw out the fasteners when we went out and they were put in place on return. There must have been many a family wonder what had happened to their rabbits, chickens etc as we were not under suspicion, all locked and wired in. Then, during the time we were fetching wurzels in for the winter feed, I happened to be at the cowshed unloading with a two pronged pitchford. My job was to check them through a small opening, however, some managed to fall on the floor. This annoyed the big 20 stone farmer, who kept shouting Englander snell, which means hurry or faster. I had by this time, had enough of this bloke, so I jumped off the wagon and went for him, had him pinned against the cow shed wall — the prongs just an inch from his windpipe. It must have scared the living daylights out of him, as he went as white as a ghost; he nearly collapsed. But this was the parting of the waves for Paddy and me, and I have never seen him since but often wonder where he is now. What a reunion this would be, if it were at all possible. I then finished up in a camp far worse that the one my friend and I had left in a hurry, to avoid our punishment.
I arrived at the guardroom to notice a line of black coffins, ready to be carted away. This made a cold shiver move down my spine, this was disease once again. I thought this must be my lot as I had considered myself lucky to be alive anyway. Eventually, I was sent to a dismal hut, where some of the lads were in a terrible state. We had never seen a Red Cross parcel, which we knew were being sent. We had a good idea where they were going. The food in this camp was the worst I had encountered since Thorn in Poland.
However, one day, a guard came into our hut and pointed you, you, you, and several more, come with me. This was another turn in my P.O.W. life. I finished up at another farm, a place called Neuandorf, about 6km from Danzig in the Polish corridor, as it was then. It was here we witnessed the 4 engined bomber raid on Gydinia, which was a U boat base, about one half mile from us. The German’s had a decoy which was made of brash and tar, this was lit, to try to fool the enemy aircraft, but this did not fool the RAF. They did a good job, but with several lives lost. It was after a raid, an RAF crew member managed to come in contact with a working party and got into camp along with them. This made an extra man, but one of the P.O.W.’s had fallen for a Polish girl. He went out and the RAF chap took his place. This P.OW. was married in secret by a Catholic Priest. We did see photo’s taken of him, which were smuggled in, one even sat on the bench with his wife. He also had a swastika badge in his button hole. This was only to con the German’s. After a fairly long stay here, the Russians had started to advance. Things were getting a bit warm, so we were moved out, but to be in the middle, so to speak. I finished up on the end of a big tree planting area, along with maybe about 20 or 30. This was where the food was getting more difficult to get. We had a small loaf, cut into 10 pieces and some potato soup, so something had to be done. We decided to cut a square out of the wire. This was done at night. It was made so it lifted off and was put back. The guard’s never did notice. You had to be looking keen to notice the small clips. This was the start of several raids on poultry, rabbits etc. We had an interpreter — a lad from Morcombe. He managed to get around the area; he was asked to keep an eye out for a place likely to have a few piglets, which we could carry easy after being killed. However, the night arrived when this to was to be tackled; it was left to four men, our interpreter and a mate of mine from the early days at the camp in Poland, where the autobahn was in progress. His name was Ted Cornwall; he was in the rifle brigade, which regiment, I am not sure, and myself. Now the guards walked round the perimeter and met at the entrance, to have a chat and a smoke. This walk was only done at fairly long intervals, as we were locked and barred in officially. We had a way out down the waste trench, from the wash room. This was rather a messy job, as there was shaving lather and other things, besides. This had to be done on your tummy, so it took a fair while to get into our compound, then a crawl to the square wire escape. This was duly done; everything went to plan. We were on our way to this particular farm, when we did arrive the pig place was locked and barred up like the bank of England. This set us back for a while; we had to chat on what else could be done. I noticed the doors where they threw out the manure; they were bolted from inside. The next thing was to get the two strong blokes to get their fingers behind the top of the door and pull for all we were worth, while the lad with the thin arm, which was the Brummy, to reach down to draw the bolt. This was done after some sweat and a few skin grazes. Then in we went; we managed to get another larger door open, as it had just been bolted from the inside. One kept watch at this door in case anyone came. We searched the place high and low — not a piglet to be found. Hopes dashed again, but I was determined not to risk all this, without something, so we decided it must be a fairly large one, about 8 stone. Our interpreter was a butcher by trade in civvy life, but nothing with us but a cut throat razor. He tried this; the pig screeched out, which I thought must give the game away. I then noticed a rope used for what they had for carrying straw. I made a slip knot and slipped it over the pigs head and put my boot onto the slip, and tugged for all I was worth. The final gurgle came, so off we went with our pig. But my word, how awkward it was to manoeuvre. Our butcher pal bled it in a grass field, then off we went again. Then I noticed a wooden stake, which was cut in half. The front legs tied, the back likewise, then the stake was put through and two men carried while the other two rested and kept a keen lookout. This worked fine, while the clouds broke up and the moon came out. Just what we didn’t want; we all knew if we had been caught, it meant a bullet. However, lady luck was on our side. We arrived at the outside of the barbed wire. I crawled in first to let Scratch, a Canadian sergeant out at the Essex Scottish, if I remember rightly, to inform him what we had, waiting outside. After which seemed a decade, he came to the washroom window and when I told him all, he had a very short cropped hair that seemed to stand on end; his face went white. After all, he was in charge of the hut. After some tugging we got the loot inside, then the big job started. It had to scraped, cut up into pieces, hidden in the false roof and not a trace left by roll call, which was early. We had finished our job by 3am in the morning. I must have lost pounds in weight and gallons of sweat, but we made it. The next morning we were sent out to plant new trees. The German civilians had a break, sat on a tree trunk. I heard one say to the other that a raid had been made at this place and they suspected the airborne troups. This gave us a great thrill as we realised the advance of our troops must not be a long way off. For the next few days the smell from our cookhouse was far superior than that of the German guards. The food turned out to be too rich for me and I went down again with tummy trouble. My mate Ted Cornwall kept a keen eye on me. He managed to get some cocoa and with dry toast, some of his ration as well, I pulled through after 3 days on my back, thanks mainly to the lads in general.

Continued...
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