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The Island of Crete

1 Oh Island of Crete we remember you, when
Like chickens we rushed to an old mother hen
Frightened and weary from the terrible storm
That had left us like fugitives sad and forlorn

2 Oh yes, we remember that sigh of relief
When we first saw the top of your mightiest reef
In Thee we thought surely was rest and repose,
With everything to gain and nothing to lose

3 How well we remember those first few days
Getting familiar with your homely ways
Wandering, rambling, exploring by light
Sleeping ‘neath your olive groves at night

4 ‘Tis true, we only hoped to sojourn awhile
To tarry and rest ‘neath your friendly smile
Then we would bid you a kindly Adieu,
To seek some adventure in some land anew

5 But the war clouds of hate from which we had fled
Were soon found swirling around overhead
And rest and peace we had started to gain
Were once more turned to hardship and pain

6 Yes, the day broke, that made Thee sigh
As the invader dropped out of the sky,
So Thy long silence was broken at last
By the aeroplanes roar, and the guns’ loud blast

7 So once more we took up the fight
For the things we thought to be just and right
But once again the odds were wholly unfair
For we had to contend with the man in the air

8 Of course the heavy odds began to tell,
So we had to fall back, we remember so well
This action with disgust cannot be marred
For we had left Thy aggressor terribly scarred

9 How vivid the memories of that long tramp
For then we were suffering from hunger and cramp
The sun too was hot and the road very steep
Over that mountain pass, which led to the deep.

10 Still, we arrived with our hopes running high
We thought the hour of embarkation was nigh
So for two whole days we awaited our turn
For the voyage for which our hopes did yearn

11 But then dawned the day that left us stunned,
A day, if it possible we all would have shunned
For we had to surrender, so according to law
We that were left found ourselves prisoners of war

12 Well our new life started with that long tramp back
Over that rough, cruel mountain track
With heavy hearts and blistered feet
With empty stomachs for we’d nothing to eat

13 ‘Twas in those days Thou saw men at his worst
Famished in the pangs of hunger and thirst
Robbing, plundering both Thy gardens and fields
Of what that season had meant them to yield

14 When we passed through your Capital, then we saw
The terrible abuse of international law
Many of Thy happy homes had been laid low
By the bombers’ cruel callous and ruthless blow

15 We then spent a week in camp on Thy sandy shore
(For gone were the dangers and noise of war)
Just resting, bathing, scrounging for food was slack
Waiting for transport to take us back

16 Back to the mainland from whence Thy captor had come
Way back to Der Deutschland our new home
So our lat glimpse of Thee from Suda Bay
Will live in our memory for many a day.

P.W. Mason

Reflections 1939-45 of a P.O.W. whilst working in Germany

What were your thoughts, my comrades
On the eventful September the third
When to the World was broadcast
The grimmest news our generation had heard

Did you throw out your chest, my comrades
Did your heart increase its pace
At the chance of treading the footsteps
Of our fathers who gave us our place

Did you think of the adventures, my comrades
That by joining the ranks would be yours
Of the wonderful tales you would be able to tell
Bringing laughter and rounds of applause

Did you dream of the medals, my comrades
That one day may adorn your chest
And of those little white wooden crosses
That shows where fathers-brothers rest

Did you hear in the distances, my comrades
The booming of guns and fires all aglow
The roaring of planes and crashing of tanks
As you would meet the militant foe

Yes, these were my thoughts, my comrades
So I almost welcomed the news
That meant terror and pandemonium to some
But to others to kneel in their pews

But one thought was missing, my comrades
One thing the mind’s eye never saw
That these experiences should be surpassed
By becoming a prisoner of war

Here is a picture, my comrades
One that no artist could paint
Of hunger, pain, weariness and lice
Of working all weathers ready to faint

‘Tis from behind the barbed wire, my comrades
Of some ‘laager’ camp in the wild
That one’s mind sadly retraces its steps
And wonder – is it all worthwhile

The real truth then strikes you, my comrade
Like a lightning bolt from the blue
NO – wars are not fought for what we are told
But to bring wealth and fame to the few

So let’s pass this on, my comrade
To our children that they may care
To be always careful and watchful
Of the warmongering leaders’ snare

Now let’s to our knees, my comrades
And pray to Him above
That all people may learn the mistake of wars
And so live in concord and love

P.W. Mason

The Smiling Ukraine

From all us P.O.W.s and ‘auslanders’ in Germany
Whose greatest desire is once more to be free
The most courageous, patient of all bears the name
Of The Beautiful, Charming, Smiling Ukraine

Unwanted at home by Stalin and his Red crew
Unwanted by Jerry ‘cept for the work they do
Only British ‘Gefanageners’ (Privates please) cannot restrain
Their passion for the Lovely Smiling Ukraine

Through the dark clouds o’er hanging, named ‘Arbeit’
Come a ray like the beam of a powerful searchlight
Through mists of homelessness, bullying, hunger and pain
Emerges the face of The Smiling Ukraine

Although they’ve no parcels of clothes or of food
And no Red Cross issue to lighten their load
In this friendless world, there still remains
A smile of the face of The Smiling Ukraine

In dress with the others they cannot compete
For their attire is scanty to the extent of bare feet
Some even wear men’s waistcoats, jackets but they’re still the same
Patient, stouthearted Smiling Ukraine

In Benson, some are employed by the A.E.G.
Others by Mattausch in textile industry
Doing work that others have gladly disdained
These tough, hardworking Smiling Ukraines

Some blondes there are, brunettes as well
Those with hair braided in ribbons look swell
But for their complexion they probably have fame
Thee Lovable, Kissable, Smiling Ukraines.

Whereas some like to flirt, others remain true
As for a bit of sport, they’ll all have a do
But after they’ve eaten garlic take my tip and remain
A good arm’s length from the Smiling Ukraine

P.W. Mason

28 May 1943. Written to commemorate loading pitch. Waiting for blasting when
27 waggons a day was the minimum demanded.

Souvenirs

There’s nothing left for me
Of stone that used to be
Two waggon loads or three
Towards my twenty seven’
I’ve staggered down a lot
Filled waggons like a shot
But now I’ve ‘wenig’ got
Towards my twenty seven’
A few more gross ones left
Scattered from east to west
But though I did my best
To cut them up in pieces
I can’t break them apart,
Indeed I’ll break my heart
Before I make a start
Upon my twenty seven.
P.W. Mason

Written in commemoration of the big blast on 29 May 1943 (Praskowitz)

Rock for Ages

Rock for Ages there for me
In my pitch on Muntag Free
Rocks all sizes great and small
In due course I’ll move them all
If I feel inclined that way
I may remove thirteen per day.

P.W. Mason

Melgalcrad
(to the tune ‘Jerusalem’)

Bring me my ‘pick’ of burning gold
Bring me my ‘hammer’ of desire
Bring me my ‘schlussel’ Oh ‘gleise’ unfold
Bring me my ‘Waggon’ of moving fire.
I will not cease from manual strife
Nor shall my ‘garble’ sleep in my hand
Till we have shifted ‘Baldy’s rock’
From Mengal’s ‘Dark Satanic Land’.

P.W. Mason

Notes
1. The ‘Crete’ poem speaks for itself. The ‘Reflections’ words pondering P.O.W. life. The ‘Ukraine’ words were a tribute to the Ukrainians’ acceptance of their plight. The others were just a bit of humour at our situation.
2. Key to the pidgin German in ‘Melgalcrad’: Schlussel (Spanners); garble (fork); Baldys (Foreman); gleise (rail track); Mengal (quarry owner).

P.W. Mason
· I joined up on 14th January 1940 at Woolwich Cambridge barracks.
· My army number was 7619025
· My P.O.W. number was 95835
· I was posted to France B.E.F. in May 1940, evacuated from Brest following Dunkirk.
· Returning to England the remnants of our 1st Armoured Division were re-formed into the 2nd Armoured Division of which I was in the 1st Armoured Brigade.
· In November 1940 I was sent to the Middle East, our brigade was selected to fulfil Churchill’s promise to protect Greece.
· Our evacuation from Greece was from the Port of Argos. Owing to the heavy naval loss we were unable to reach Egypt, so were landed at Suda Bay on Crete on 25th April 1941.
· The Parachutists’ invasion began on May 20th. Island surrendered on May 31st. Taken prisoner on June 1st.
· P.O.W.s were transported to Salonica, then on to Germany – via Hungary, Bulgaria, Austria in cattle trucks. We arrived at Muleburg Stalag 4B. Detach and registration were given to the Red Cross.
· I was amongst those sent to a heavy working camp in Sudetenland to work in a stone quarry. This was my lot for three and a half years – picking, breaking, loading, tipping 25 tons a stone per day.
· The last six months I managed to convince a doctor, with a bribe of 50 cigarettes and a bar of chocolate, that I should be given light work. Hence the meeting of the Eastern bloc of forced labourers in a Spinning Factory.

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