大象传媒

CHAPTER EIGHT
THE HARD PART
Sergeant Tuck continues his story.
"Reaching Holland the people were very subdued but friendly. We must have looked terrible to them? Some one close by had some scraps of paper and a pencil so hurriedly I scribbled down my name and address in the UK stating I was a prisoner of war and passed it to someone in the crowd asking that they contact the Red Cross. It was a year before anyone knew where I was. It was after my release in 1945 that I was shown a whole front page that was published in the Eastern Daily Press back home that on the 13th July 1940 I and many others from Norfolk had been posted missing complete with photographs of all those listed. All in all we marched close to 220 miles in stages of 15 to 25 miles a day taking short breaks in between. We were on the road for two weeks. Part of the journey through Holland was by barge. Here we were crammed into these barges and covered with
tarpaulin sheets. It might have been better than walking but I was sure glad to get out into the fresh air again. There were no toilets and none-of us had washed in days, so you can imagine the stink in those holds. I was always thinking of escape but where could one go? The thought of endangering someone who might shelter us together with our weak condition soon put the thoughts out of our minds not to mention thinking of sprinting into the night. After the barges it was back to the roads again and the seemingly never ending plodding on not knowing what your destination was. I had no idea where we were at any given time. I began to ponder on how the French, Belgium and Dutch people felt at being over run so quickly and now seeing what they believed to be a mighty army going into captivity. There were still those who still clung to the fact it would be all over by Xmas, Unfortunately it was to prove correct for so many on this march who died at the roadside. Marching into Germany we were ushered into a railway yard where we were split up and put aboard boxcars for various destinations. The conditions were horrific. The over crowding and the inevitable stench was terrible, mainly due to our weak and starved stomachs and our unwashed sweaty bodies. At the end of each day we were herded into makeshift camps for the night some of them were disgustingly filthy but when you're tired anywhere to rest your body was welcome and you just ignored your surroundings and slept. By now the lice were beginning to take advantage of us it was the only real lively thing about us. These horrible almost transparent insects concealed themselves in the folds of your clothing even your eyebrows. Once we reached better-organised camps (Dulags) we were taken to de-lousing centres. I think mainly to protect the Germans rather than us? The operatives were shocked to see how infested we were; our lice seemed to thrive on poor quality blood and we had plenty of that. Dry heat seemed to be the only method of dealing with them. We removed our clothes in batches of 50 men. These were placed on special hangers that were placed into a specially heated room for about 1 to 2 hours. We were then crowded into a shower section. What a luxury that was. After 20 minutes the water was turned off and we huddled around naked attempting to dry off and wait for our clothes to be returned. Naturally in the rush to grab at the eventual arrival of clothing you were lucky if you got your own clothes back. There ensued a great deal of swapping and exchanging until you got something that fitted you.
After a nights rest we were back on the road again. During the infrequent breaks, I discovered that a dry ditch was the best seat. With one's back against one wall of the ditch and your bottom down in the ditch I would place my legs up on the opposite bank it certainly relieved your tired legs and aching feet. Eventually after a number of halts at stop off camps we arrived at a very large transit camp in North Poland. (Stalag 20A) Originally a training camp for the Polish Army it was packed with a mixture of allied prisoners of war. Here we were photographed holding a large plaque containing a POW number. Mine was 11844. It was here that we had our heads shaved. To an outsider we must have looked like a load of Monks at a convention. It was also here I met the only other senior NCO, an RSM who was totally disliked by the thousands of men in what one can only describe as a very large transit camp. Well fed and seemingly on close terms with the Germans, he was the best-fed looking British soldier I had seen for weeks. He seemed to be in total charge of everything that went on in the camp. We being in a very distressed and low state, the slightest infringement of regulations found you facing the wire netting under a sentry tower with your hands held above your head. More serious infringements meant solitary confinement on bread and water. It's difficult being able to describe this dark bread which was a general issue. One thing was for sure; it never went stale since it was stale when you received it? My eventual return to England five years later and tasting white bread for the first time in five years was a revelation, which to myself was like eating rich cake.

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