大象传媒

The Beginning of the End 鈥� Part Three

The following is an account by the late Mr. John Lesley Sorsby of the 1st Parachute Regiment of the march undertaken by 2000 troops from Stalag 8C near Breslau on the border with Silesia to freedom. This march took place between 8th February 鈥� 10th March 1945. Their march ended at a P.O.W. camp at Bad Orb. They were liberated by the Americans on 2nd April 1945. Mr. Sorsby arrived home at Orgreave, Yorkshire in the early morning of 13th April 1945.

These memories have been submitted with the permission of Mrs. W. E. Sorsby.

鈥淭he next morning I remember I was feeling very sorry for myself; my mates realised I was down below and brought me my little bundle. I wasn鈥檛 the only one in that condition. I dare not risk having 鈥榗offee鈥� in case of eruptions. We set off about nine o鈥檆lock and I could not care less about the weather. What a painful process it was trying to keep up with the others. The memory of the shooting incident was still fresh in my mind and of course with no definite knowledge as to what happened to any of the lads who had now dropped out I kept up my very painful and uncomfortable pace. The hourly breaks were a slight relief then the order 鈥楻ouse, Rouse鈥� and it started all over again.

The day ended in a very disconsolate way, not much to cheer about as we came to our roost, which was again a barn. I remember I flopped down and never bothered with food or drink thankful not to be moving for at least 12 hours or so and wondering what the next day would bring. The night鈥檚 rest, be it far from comfortable was a relief from the previous day鈥檚 march. I managed to eat the bread and margarine and ventured a sip of 鈥榗offee鈥�. I felt a slight improvement on the day before.

We had been marching or struggling along for a couple of hours. I was still not functioning right and at the third hourly stop I had a feeling that something was not right. I said to Gerry Sinclair, 鈥榃here鈥檚 Paddy?鈥� and with that we observed as casual as we could, no sign of Paddy Bicker. Anyhow, it came about through Reg Fisher that he and two more had escaped during the night. I wondered how they hadn鈥檛 been missed at Roll Call, but Tommo said we did not have one that morning. It goes to show I wasn鈥檛 on the same planet that morning. They call it the luck of the Irish and he had taken the opportunity. I knew Paddy would make it. He was an Irishman from Bradford and he鈥檇 won the Military Medal in the Middle East for initiative and bravery. I knew that I would miss him as we had been mates for over a year in the Fourth Para Brigade signal section. As a matter of interest our Brigadier in those days was John Hackett.

We managed to get through the day alright - we had marched 21 kilometres, slightly over 13 miles, when we came to a place called Bad Sultz or something. The place looked nice enough, it was said that 鈥楤ad鈥� in German means 鈥楽pa鈥� and is pronounced as 鈥楤at鈥�. Anyhow, Bad, Bat or Spa, it was a barn for us and shut up for the night.

We didn鈥檛 have a roll call that night and there hadn鈥檛 been any mention of the escapees. I thought, that will give them more of a chance as they then could have escaped from either of two places. We settled down for the night after the 鈥楽killy鈥� and bread. I didn鈥檛 feel too bad after it, for which I was grateful. The next morning when the roll call was over, after a couple of re-counts and a lot of muttering, none of them knew which night they had gone missing. No one amongst us offered any information. As far as we were concerned it was all over and our best wishes went with them. They all made it by the way. I had it all related to me by Paddy at a re-union after the war. We finished the day鈥檚 march on the 24th February at about 3pm and we came upon a place which looked like an old castle; the place was something like Kapplendorf. I have tried to trace the route to proper names. I know the route vaguely but the places we stopped at were mostly villages and rural areas so I haven鈥檛 been very successful with correct names.

Anyhow, the castle was like a fortress and had been used for Army purposes. To take you back - just imagine not having a bath or even a good wash and shave for over a fortnight. Sleeping rough in snow, brick and glass kilns and mostly in barns on none too clean straw. Bothered with dysentery and stomach upsets etc. and then to be ordered to strip off in groups of twenty; leave your clothes on the floor and go into a shower room where there were ten showers. We thought, lovely, except for the fact that it was two to a show and the tiniest square of soap between two. After only two minutes the water was turned off. From what I remember we hadn鈥檛 got to the bottom of the grime on our bodies. 鈥楻ouse, Rouse鈥� came the orders. I don鈥檛 recall ever having a towel. We were then ushered into another room which was very hot. I think we must have been partially dried in the heat in there. Our clothes 鈥� such as they were, had been put into a big oven-like appliance. That鈥檚 where the heat was coming from. After a few minutes they were taken out with large wooden forks and we had to sort out our belongings as best we could. They still felt a little damp, but smelt cleaner, more than could be said for our bodies. It was said later that we had been de-loused? Nice thoughts, eh? We had better 鈥楽killy鈥� that evening. One or two said they could taste the ham on the bone in it. We moved around as best we could, it was warm enough in the castle. Some managed a straw bed, others slept on the wooden floor. We had been worse off and we slept.

The night we spent in the castle passed pleasantly enough and by the morning we were dry and so were our clothes. One thing stands out in my mind, the pockets of our trousers were made of wash leather and with the intense heat of the de-lousing process the wash leather lining had become all screwed up and hard which meant that the legs were being chafed and sore as we marched along. What had to be done? They had to be cut out. Easier said than done without a knife. Anyhow, after a few hourly stops we rid ourselves of the offending pieces with the help of a bit of barbed wire found by the roadside. The weather this day, the 25th of February, wasn鈥檛 so bad. I had recollections of Stuart鈥檚 birthday. The usual food ration was consumed by just after mid-day and of course our thoughts were always on when and where we would get the next. The road seemed never ending this day and by mid-afternoon it became cloudy and by four o鈥檆lock it became quite dark. We approached a place called Linden Bach and had covered 34 kilometres, not a bad day鈥檚 march.

The barn was an imposing building and we all tried to find the best position. The 鈥楽killy鈥� wasn鈥檛 so bad but the bread appeared to be covered in something like sawdust. It was also very hard and had to be 鈥榙unked鈥� in the 鈥楽killy鈥� to make it more palatable. Consequently the sawdust or whatever it was floated on the top of the 鈥楽killy鈥�. It didn鈥檛 put anyone off though. By the time everyone had settled down the rains came and the nose was tremendous. With the howling of the wind and the banging of the unfastened windows we were thankful at least to be under cover and dry. The rain had ceased by the time we left in the morning, after the usual practice. There was still a damp atmosphere as we marched through wooded areas. It was quite mountainous in places. About mid-afternoon we heard the wailing of Air Raid Sirens. We were approaching a small town called Gotha and from the hillside where we stood we could see the town below. The RAF bombers came roaring in flying very low, then released their bombs and veered away. We could see the palls of smoke rising from various parts of the town. Afterwards we thought we could have easily have been taken for troops on the move. Methinks we must have looked a Ragtag outside, even from up there!

Our worse was yet to come. The guards were almost doubled with SS thrown in and as we marched down the hillside towards the town the guards became really aggressive 鈥� shouting and knocking us into line. All through the town the people were very hostile, shouting, jeering and calling us English Pigs. Why only English Pigs? There were Welsh, Irish and Scots among us. It was a frightening experience as anything could have happened. We thought afterwards, maybe that鈥檚 why the guards had been increased. We marched 25 kilometres that day which took us clear of Gotha. We reached our barn just as the rains came again. Some of the column had found accommodation before us and some had to carry on a bit further. Anyhow, our barn wasn鈥檛 so bad. 鈥楽killy鈥� was up before it got dark and then we hit the hay, grammatically speaking! We had some early nights in those days, actually it was 鈥楬obson鈥檚 Choice鈥� 鈥� he gets blamed for a lot of things does 鈥楬obson鈥�. Once it got really dark it had to be a nature call or no one could leave the barn and then had to be accompanied by a guard. At that time of the year the farmyards are more or less a quagmire. Sometimes if the mood was right a few would try a little close harmony, but mostly it turned to the most important thing on our minds, which as you can guess was food as by now after almost three weeks on the roads, we were feeling the pinch. The chatter would gradually die down, a few goodnights and the snoring would start. Complete bliss!!

The next morning was miserable and wet with it. The excitement of the bombing of Gotha the previous day kept our spirits up. Just actually witnessing that something was being done to end the war and of course our liberation. Everything was dripping wet consequently the hourly stops were stand up jobs. The guards had been changed since the bombing incident; those we had now were the Weirmarch which was more or less like our Home Guard. We didn鈥檛 expect them to be so keen and we were on the lookout for anything that was edible. By now we were getting desparately hungry, which also causes one to lose interest in things and surroundings. Not a lot on the road at this time except for one or two Guest Houses with people sitting outside, it looked like lager they were drinking. It looked appetising!

We had covered roughly 65 kilometres since Gotha. It was the last day of February and as we approached a real country type village the farmyard we went into had according to it鈥檚 appearance and the things lying about, been thrashing corn that day. No combine harvester! There were quite a lot of sacks of corn by the side of the barn chosen for our roosting place. Whilst we were hanging about we made good use of our waiting time by filling up what pockets we had left and anything else with corn. Someone hit on the bright idea that if we were to eat the corn in its raw state and then drink some water it would make the corn we had eaten swell and that could give us the feeling that had something inside us instead of the constant empty feeling. We also tried putting some in the 鈥楽killy鈥� but we were too impatient to wait for it to soften. We derived little satisfaction from the experiment but we slept reasonably well. Little did we realise what the morrow was going to bring.

We were all lined up for roll call the next morning with more than the usual number of German officers present. About thirty of us were singled out and we were a right dressing down. Apparently the farmer had noticed that some of the sacks of corn had somehow depleted. The rest of the party marched off, much to their relief, I should think. Everything looked so peaceful; there was the duck pond with children and parents feeding the ducks, oblivious as to what was going on in our minds and not knowing what was going to happen next. An English speaking officer addressed us or rather shouted at us. Called us saboteurs amongst other things and said what he would like to do to us for eating the food of the Fatherland. We were all quaking with fear! The next ticking off came from a German Medical Officer, he told us that to eat corn as we had done and then to drink water was a dangerous practice. We had no control over how much it would swell and that it could have killed us all. That really put the wind up us. We were really glad to leave the lovely village green, duck pond and all, even if it meant marching non stop until we caught up the rest of the column and our mates who were more than pleased to see us and wanted to know all the details. I don鈥檛 recall having any stomach pains after the episode and the lads who did dare not complain for obvious reasons. So it passed off and another lesson learned.

The weather was dry later on in the day although it was bitterly cold. Walking wasn鈥檛 so bad and rumour was going around that we could be near the end of our trail. Everyone was hoping so. Even the 鈥楽killy鈥� seemed to be more palatable than usual as we settled down for the night, you can guess where.鈥�

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.