大象传媒

Warning: This story contains strong language and is part of a longer contribution

6912361, A/Cpl R, Ruffle
1st Battalion, Rifle brigade

This article is about me, my thoughts, my impressions and my opinions.
You can take them how you like, but remember, this is the truth.

Suddenly there was quite a squabble and much shouting. It seemed that there was a drop of soup left and the sergeants decided they would have it and also the bits of spud left in the box. Hungry men are not too friendly if they think that someone was trying to twist them regarding the left-overs. The sergeants tried to bluster their way out of sharing the left-overs. Then one man shouted "If you don't share them out, we will come inside that cubicle and sort out what you have got in there." The reason for the unpleasant attitude of the sergeants was that they had been in the camp longer than us. At first there were only a few POWs in the hut and, because of their rank, they took control and did what they liked. But with a couple of hundred extra men, who had been through the mill for the past few weeks, there was no chance of fiddling.

After I had eaten my pigs-swill, for that is all it was, I decided to go for a walk and see if Willy, my mate, was in the camp. The walk eased the muscles in my legs but don't get me wrong, I was not in top gear yet. Some of the men were standing near the wire fencing. Now fixed at about six feet from the barbed wire, was a single wire, about eighteen inches from the ground; you were a dead man if you stepped over it. We had been warned. The guards would shoot any man stepping over it, and I heard later that more than one man tried it, and paid the price. As the weather was nice and warm, lots of men were lying down in little groups. Some men were standing by the wire and waiting - waiting for the guards to light up fags and throw them over the wire to the men. They did this to see the men scramble, the pushing and shoving, as a fag landed. It is hard to describe how they tried to take the fag away from the man who picked it up, and anxiously watched him take a drag, hoping that he would pass it round, so they could all have a puff. I thought it was pitiable.
Then the word went round that the bread ration was being collected, so I made my way smartly into the hut and joined the queue. It was about four o'clock when the bread arrived, together with the soup container. This had a liquid in it which went under the name of 'coffee', only it was not, it was a warm drink, made from burnt barley with neither sugar nor milk. It was ladled out the same as the soup. The bread was brick shaped, about a foot long, and about four inches square. The ration was six men to a loaf. As we lined up, a loaf was given to one man and five other men were told to go and share it out into six slices. At the table six pair of eyes stared at the knife as it marked off the portions. "Hey, them slices ain't the same.", "Can you do any better?", "Give me the bleeding knife鈥�, 鈥淎ny body got a rule?鈥�, 鈥淗ere use this length of string, fold it into six.鈥� After much advice and threats, the operation to cut began. When that was over, we each got our bread. We were also given a small piece of sausage and a teaspoonful of marge that was made from coal. Where that idea came from I don't know. As time went on we also heard that the bread was made of sawdust - there may have been some truth in it, but I cannot say how much. So along with the men I sat at a table and did the wise thing with my ration. I ate it, with the clear knowledge that I would not get any more grub until midday tomorrow. I was still hungry and this was the first day. I thought "God help us if this was a sample of what life we were about to lead". We sat at a table, and talked of this and that; no beer, no fags, no women, no books, no money, no music and nowhere to go! Oh, what a happy-go-miserable, morose, bunch of villainous bastards we were! I said 鈥淪*d it. I'm of to my bunk as there is sod all else to do.鈥� As I turned to go I bumped into somebody. Being a very polite sort of bloke I said "Can't you bleeding well see were you are going?" Bloody hell! It was Willy! I said "Where in the name of hell have you been?鈥� He told me that after I left him in France he was put on a train with some others, he had been here three weeks, and had got the routine to a tee. It did not take me long to move from my top bunk to one next to Willy. What the future held in store for us, we hadn't got a clue but we were determined to try and keep together as long as we could. We got our heads down and slept.
As dawn was breaking, the doors crashed open with a big bang. It was the guards calling to us to rise and shine and get on parade, and if we did not hurry up and move they would help us with the aid of rifle butts. They shoved, pushed and dragged us out of bed and we all went quietly on parade, cursing, growling, and muttering what we would do to our guards. After being counted at least four times, American Joe appeared on the scene. He told us that we had been resting long enough, and that we would be sorted out and sent to 'Arbeit', or work. Then he called out for all the men from the much-loved Military Police to step forward. There were about a dozen of them, and when they were marched away we wondered what it was for. We were all very concerned for their health. Joe had an idea that the 'Red Caps' would bring order and discipline to the camp. When they returned we did not like what we saw. They carried white riot sticks, about three feet long and on their arms they wore arm bands with, as far as I recall "Camp Police" and right in the middle of the arm band, which us POWs were so happy to see, was the swastika! Someone shouted "You can get rid of those bleeding armbands and them sticks or you will find it awkward to walk with one up your gongerpooch" and a lot more advice and promises of what the poor Red Caps would suffer, as there was no love lost between them and the loving POWs! It was then that someone saw Joe on this matter, and the very pleased Red Caps handed back the equipment. It was very short lived experiment that gave the chaps something to talk about. "Fancy our blokes wearing the swastika. What in heaven next?鈥� One of the chaps was going to write to his MP on this matter, only he did not know his name, or were he lived, or what party he stood for ... and above all he could not write or spell. I ask you!

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Genevieve Tudor of the 大象传媒 Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Mark Ruffle and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions

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