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15 October 2014
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Life as a Prisoner of War in Germany 1944-45 by Arthur Berry

by Stockport Libraries

Contributed by听
Stockport Libraries
People in story:听
Arthur Berry, Ginger Maskell
Location of story:听
Oberrobblingen in Saxony, Germany
Background to story:听
Army
Article ID:听
A3789066
Contributed on:听
15 March 2005

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Arthur Berry and has been added to the site with his permission. He fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

At the end of July 1944, all the POWs in a makeshift camp in Charteris were hurriedly taken by lorries to a railway station in Paris, where we were to board a train for Germany. On arrival at the railway station our shoe laces and braces were taken from us before we marched to the platform. We must have looked a slovenly lot shuffling instead of marching, which was probably the real intention of taking the shoe laces and braces off us. But we were certainly not down-hearted and many 鈥淰鈥 signs were exchanged with the civilians, who were waiting for their trains.

We were loaded into box cars forty men to a box car. There was just a narrow opening at the top of the box car for ventilation. We were given a loaf of 鈥渂rown鈥 bread to be shared, five men to a loaf. On the side of the loaf was stamped or impressed the date when it was baked, 1939 believe it or not. It was eatable provided you could cut it or break it. We did not know it then, but these box cars were the same type used to transport Jews to the concentration camps. There were no sanitation facilities. By late afternoon the doors closed and we were off. It was August and very hot.

After travelling about 80 miles or so, the train was bombed and shafted by our own planes. They obviously were not to know we were inside the box cars. I just sat on the floor of the box car with my eyes shut, as the planes roared above us. Apart from the bombs they released, they fired cannon shells which ripped through the roof of our box car entering the box car in front of us causing terrible casualties. Even with my eyes shut I still saw the flame as the shells passed through our roof.

There were quite a lot of American paratroops officers and men on the train. They had been dropped miles away from their proper landing zone and had been taken prisoner. When the air attack temporarily ceased, for we knew they would return to finish the train off, a senior American officer came down alongside the train telling the occupants of each box car not to panic when the train doors were slid back but to stay where they were. All the German guards were armed along the embankment. The senior officer then detailed one of his sergeants to climb on top of each box car and to wave at our planes should they return. Our planes did return and I saw the first bomb leave the aircraft. It burst at the rear end of the train. The second plane peeled off to make its run, but it must have got the message for he broke off waggled his wings and away he went. The American sergeants had kept on waving. Very brave of them I thought.

We finally got moving again and reached Chalens-sur-Marne at midnight. We were accommodated in an old French barracks and stayed there about a week, before we were taken to a railway siding to board the same type of filthy box cars. I am sure all of us were dreading another train journey. We were on this train for a few days and finally arrived at a place named Limburg Stalag 12thA. We were all documented and given a personal number. My number was 84731. To speak it in German which we had to do, it was quite a mouthful. We all managed to have a shower, a brief one, but it was bliss. We stayed here a couple of days and then we were transported by train to Muhlberg Stalag 4thB Saxony. This stalag was for NCOs only plus a number of R.A.F. POWs. There was little room left to accommodate us and a few of us dossed down in a washroom on the floor.

The following morning we were allocated to a working party called an 鈥淎rbeits Kommando鈥. We were sent to a sugar-beet factory on the River Elbe. The sugar-beet was not quite ready to be picked, so we were put to work picking potatoes from one of the huge fields, which abounded in the area. I think we ate as many as we picked, until the guards started to search us back at the lager. We were all divided up between huts in the factory compound and each had a stove for heating, provided there was enough fuel coke, peat etc. The previous POWs of the sugar-beet factory were Italian POWs so the accommodation was reasonable, the Italians having been an ally of Germany.

The system of gathering the potatoes was that we POWs picked up the plants and banged them against our shoes to release the spuds. Following up behind were Polish slave labour girls, who graded them in baskets, big ones, medium and small. It was the practice if the weather was warm for us to take off our tunics in the morning and at break-time go back for your tunics. The first time we did this we found a present under our tunics. The girls had put an apple or a pear or even a bit of bread under the tunics. This was marvellous and we shouted our thanks to them. The guard who was about as old as my father took no notice.

One morning we arrived at the potato field and it was pouring with rain. There was some muttering between the lads and someone said under the Geneva Convention the Germans could not make us work in the rain pouring down like this. I myself had never heard of a Geneva Convention, but it was decided to 鈥渄own tools鈥. Our guard was terrified, so were the Polish girls, so he sent one of the girls back to our camp to fetch the Sergeant. Now this Sergeant or Feldwebel was a much wounded man from the Russian front and had been given this cushy number of running our lager and to recuperate. He had lost an arm and had a gammy leg so he was not very pleased to be turned out in this rain to get us to work. The Feldwebel arrived at the gate to the potato field and the Polish girls were terrified. He climbed on top of the gate, took out his luger pistol and fired two shots over our heads. There were more spuds picked in the next ten minutes than we picked all morning. Everyone of us were the first POWs from Normandy, many Commandos, Paras etc real tough men but they soon forgot about the Geneva Convention. With their heads down picking the spuds the lads were having a good laugh, which eased the situation and put the Polish girls at ease.

The sugar-beet was now ready and the factory was now in operation. We were all allocated jobs, all twelve hours a day and some weekends 18 hours. This was to facilitate the change of shifts. Start at 1200hrs Sunday and work right through until 0600 hours next morning.

The first job I was given was to fill large paper sacks with snitzel, which is the residue of the beets when the sugar has been extracted. I then took them to a weighing machine across the floor, where a civilian weighed them and took out any surplus or added some if required. It struck me that if I overfilled a sack I got a momentary rest while the civilian did his job. He went to great pains to show me how to gauge the weight required. I ignored this and purposely overfilled the sacks now and again. Unfortunately I did it once too often and the civilian lost his temper. He threw down his metal scoop onto the metal floor which of course bounced up. The scoop hit me on my ankle causing me some pain. I flung the iron-wheeled truck at him. He side-stepped this and the truck hit the scales and broke the weighing machine. Everything came to a halt. Someone was sent to fetch the Feldwebel. This was in the middle of the night for we were on the night shift. My ankle was bleeding so I made sure there was plenty of blood showing to confront the Feldwebel when he came. He arrived at the top of the stairs and I ran to him showing my injured ankle. The Feldwebel spoke to the civilian on the weighing machine, then told me to follow him down the stairs. This I did, but I was worried about the consequences. He took me right down to the basement of the factory and put me into a room where a lot of banging was going on and with a German guard outside the door. He spoke a few words to the guard and he went presumably back to his bed. Inside the room were a number of Russian POWs supposedly scraping the 鈥渃ooling plates鈥 which were covered by congealed residue of the sugar. We all had to communicate in pigeon German. It was not long before 鈥淗eil Churchill and Heil Stalin鈥 with raised arms was copied and hysteric laughter followed. I kept my eye on the door where the German was stationed, for I was sure the Russians for devilment were hoping the guard would enter when I was doing the entertaining and catch me at it. It broke up the monotony of the job we were doing.

The following day I was given a job by the riverside. I had a very long brush I could hardly carry it. I had to clear a grating, where the river water was sucked up from the river and clear it of leaves, which constantly blocked up the grating. All the barges were coming to unload the sugar-beet, which was put into chutes which carried it to the factory with the flow of the river water.

I was seeing different people everyday. There was an opportunity to exchange sugar for bread, which I did but it was dangerous and careful judgement was exercised.

At the end of the sugar-beet season the work-force was split up and we were all given new jobs. I was sent to a coal-mine in Oberrobblingen, Saxony. I have since learnt it was a lignite mine, which is like a brown coal. The coal mine was under a lake and there was constant dripping on you as you worked the shaft. My mate was an American, who came from Boston but crossed the Canadian border to join the Canadian Army. The Germans did the hacking in the coal-face and we did the shovelling. One of the Germans was a kind man. At break-time he would say to me 鈥淲hat time is it?鈥 and give me a nod. I would go to his coat down the shaft, get the time from his watch and take a sandwich out of his pocket to share with my mate. He never gave me the sandwich. He did not trust his partner it seemed. Mine workers were supposed to get heavy working food rations, but we never did.

On New Year鈥檚 Eve 1945 things came to a head on the night shift. It was decided we would not work unless we got the extra rations, 250 grammes of bread per day were not enough. It was not my idea but I went along with it. Unfortunately for me because I had picked up a bit of the language, the German guard, a nice chap, posed all his questions to me as to why we would not work. I am now the ringleader apparently. The overseer, who was a real Nazi, accompanied with a few of his compatriots tried to force the lads to the lifts. There was a bit of a scuffle and eventually apart from myself and my mate all went down the mine. I was taken to the top of the mine and given a job of returning the empty coal wagons. I worked with a Ukranian girl who was terrified and did not talk to me all night. It was bitterly cold and freezing. My Canadian pal was put into a disused shaft along with some rats for company until he resumed normal duties, which he did after a few hours. I got on well with the new overseer who was in charge of us. I was also working with two mates I had joined up with back in our camp. Ginger Maskell a Londoner and his Liverpudlian mate whose name escapes me sixty years on. They were both in the Special Air Service (SAS) and were captured in Italy. We got along fine and shared everything.

Sometime early February 1945, I was most surprised to learn I had been placed on a military charge by the Germans for the incidents on New Year鈥檚 Eve. I was given a British interpreter and escorted under guard and taken to a German military camp nearby. I went before a senior German officer who questioned me about the incident. I told him that all POWs working down the mine were told we would receive 鈥渉eavy workers鈥欌 rations and these food rations had not been forthcoming. He alleged that our guard had been involved in the scuffle on New Year鈥檚 Eve. I refuted this, I said he was old enough to be my father and he was not involved as implied. The outcome was that I was told I must not get involved in any future similar case. Should I do so the consequences would be far more serious. I was then dismissed.

By this time although we were not aware of it the Russians were 鈥渒nocking on the door鈥 and any leniency shown by the military could well have been due to this.

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