大象传媒

My late father, Edward Boughton, never really talked about his experiences as a Prisoner of War, I think he found it very hard to re-live them and pushed them to the back of his mind. I was very young at the time, but later on in life he wrote down his experiences so that as my brothers, sisters and I grew up we could read about them.

His story begins in May 1940 when his battalion, the 2nd Bn Wiltshires went into action on the River Scarp near Vimy Ridge. They were heavily outnumbered but recalls that the spirit and fighting qualities of the Officers and men, made up for a lot of the things the battalion lacked. The battalion was forced to break up, and even though my father had been shot in the foot, he managed to evade the enemy and eventually got back to the Btn HQ where the wound was dressed. He and other casualties were then taken to the RAMC. On this journey they were machine-gunned from the air and forced to take shelter, but did eventually reach their destination safely. Once there, his wound was re-dressed and he was given an injection to help him sleep. He writes that what happened between him going to sleep and awakening is something he'll never know. When he came to, German soldiers were walking about the hall where he lay on a stretcher. He realised then, that along with about 30 other solidiers, he was a Prisoner of War. Whilst in hospital, he was not ill-treated, but food was very short and he and many others were very, very hungry. After several days, he, along with thousands of other Prisoners of War, were made to walk to a field in Belgium where they remained for several days, existing on half a cube of meat (which more often than not, was rotton) and half a pint of hot water. There was no bread given and in an effort to appease their hunger, grass was boiled and eaten for several meals. One night, six of the POW's tried to escape - all were recaptured and some shot whilst trying to get through the barbed wire surrounding the field. Early in June, he and the others were marched to a railway station in Luxembourg where they were herded into a field nearby. Many of the men died through lack of food and exposure. That evening, they were given bread, which was supposed to be black, but was in fact green with mould. This piece of bread, about 6 ozs had to last the POW's two days whilst they travellled on the train to a POW camp in Poland. My father describes the journey as a hellish nightmare, for they were pushed into cattle trucks, each holding around 80 POW's, with many of the men suffering from dysentry caused by eating the mouldy bread. The journey eventually ended and he arrived at a place called Thorn in German occupied Poland. They were given one blanket and put into different Forts. My father was in Fort 11. The Forts were used as distribution centres for working parties. Here the food was better, but still rotton, a meagre ration of black bread and potatoes - just enough to keep them breathing. The routine was to rise at 5.00am, fall in for roll call, and then collect a mug of ersatz coffee made from burnt barley and boiled up. There was nothing to eat till midday, when the POW's were given a ticket to take to the cookhouse. Here the food was a few potatoes with the water in which they had been boiled. Around 4.30pm they were given 4 ozs of black bread. Sometime in July, around 100 men, including my father, were sent to a working camp to build a road near Danzig. They were told that if they worked hard, they would be given more food and cigarettes. All they received extra was a couple of potatoes, other than that, conditions were much the same as in the Fort. My father had been working on the road for about six weeks, when one day one of the guards stepped on his foot and burst open his wound. He was returned to the Fort for treatment and then in September sent to a working camp at Kulm, straightening and widening a river. The camp was about seven miles from the river, and each morning they were marched there at 4.00am and each evening, marched back to the camp around 5.30pm, with only one half-hour break at midday. If some of the bread hadn't been saved from the night before, you went hungry - there was no dinner. Back at camp the POW's were issued with another ration of black bread and potatoes, with roll call between 7.00 and 7.30pm, before going to bed. My father recalls 'bed' as being one blanket, a pile of straw and an empty aching void in the pit of his stomach. He was losing weight rapidly and his battledress was hanging from him like a sack, but he says that the thought of England and those he had left behind give him the hope and courage to carry on. The more he thought of England the more determined he was to escape. After a few days at Kulm, one of his pals, William Bateman, agreed to make the attempt with him. This was around mid October. The camp consisted of a large house, with prisoners sleeping in one half and the German guards in the other half. Around the house was a nine foot wall with barbed wire along the top. Outside of the wall were three coils of barbed wire and three sentries were detailed to patrol. After roll call on 18th October, William Bateman and my father made their way to the WC which, luckily, had been built near the wall, making it quite easy to climb. They first climed to the top of the lavatory where they were able to watch the sentries patrolling. When it was safe to continue they climed the remaining 4ft of wall and droped in between the wall and the first set of barbed wire. They lay there for about 5 minutes, scared to move incase the sentries had heard any suspicious movement, but everything appeared to be well, so crawled through the first set of barbed wire, tearing their clothes in the process. To get through the next two sets of barbed wire meant lying still for around 45 minutes, which he says, seemed like years, for during this time they were timing the sentries, who at certain periods of patrol were out of sight, giving them around 25 seconds to get through the barbed wire. After the last set they had to run about 75 yards into weeds. They were very lucky getting out without being noticed and knew they had until roll call next morning to get as far as possible away from the camp. They had with them a map of Poland, taken from a newspaper, and a polish dictionary. These articles had been given to them by a polish POW at Kulm who had no fear of the enemy and risked his life so that he might help Bill and my father escape. On their first night of freedom they walked about 40 miles, mostly through woods. They kept going till hunger, fatigue and exposure, plus wearing battledress and the breaking of dawn, made it difficult to carry on. They decided to find somewhere to sleep and came upon a small farmhouse. After making sure that it was not occupied by the enemy they plucked up the courage to speak to the lady outside the house. Communication was eventually made with the help of the Polish dictionary As soon as she realised Bill and my father were English, she took them inside the farmhouse and cooked eggs and bacon, which had been hidden under the floorboards away from the Germans. My father recalls how unreal it seemed - after a 40mile dash on an empty stomach, the sight of eggs and bacon with bread and butter followed by a good hot drink - utter heaven! However, the sight of such a banquet made them gluttens for they ate and drank so much, they made themselves ill and had to be cared for by the lady, her husband and two children, for several days. During their short stay they felt they had become members of the family and it was a sorry time when they came to say farewell and thank you. This help was the first of many given to Bill and my father in their trek across country. He writes that always they received the same hospitality and help without any thought of the risk to their own lives if the Germans had discovered them. At one point, they encountered bogs and swamps and had to wade through one swamp waist high for about a quarter of a mile. Amidst all this confusion, they lost their sense of direction, and the stars could not help as the night was very cloudy. Bill and my father argued about which direction to take, but eventually agreed on one, and during the dark night travelled through open country. By light they reached a hill and from the top of this could scan the countryside without being seen. A village was spotted about 5 miles away and they made their way there. Once again, the help and hospitality of the Polish people were second to none. A Polish lady took them into her house and introduced her son, who got very excited and dashed out of the house. He returned with another man and to their great surprise said, "Good Morning" in a very distinct American accent. They talked with him about the war, and asked his advice as to the best route to take. He said he would return next morning with a map. He was true to his word and returned with a map - very up to date and containing the new German and Russian frontiers affected by the joint invasion of Poland. The American also gave them a compass, and civilian clothing (this they wore over their battledress). Their journey continued through the night without any major obstacles. My father recalls that he would never forget the kindness of the Polish people; he wrote that their spirit was not that of a conquered nation, but a nation of people who had been ready to sacrifice until the time was ripe for them to rise in their might against their oppressors. My Father's journey continued towards a town which he only refers to as "S" and which was a large town occupied by Nazis. They had to make a detour around this town as there were a great many troops in training and in spite of everyting, still managed to retain their freedom. Further on from this town, they were once again given rest by a Polish family, and also he recalls, had their first taste of Vodka - very, very strong. Because of military operations that were in progress in the district, they remained at this house for 3 days, before continuing on. They headed in the direction of a small village my father refers to as "A" and it was on this journey they encountered Germans. Walking along the road they spotted headlights; immediately they realised it must be a German car because the Polish people had no means of transport. They jumped into the ditch and the car flashed past. They continued on, but had not gone far when they saw another car coming towards them. Again, they jumped into the ditch and watched. About 100 yards away the headlights were switched off and it proceeded only with sidelights. By now it was near where they were hiding so they buried their faces into the gound, but not for long. The car stopped right by them so they jumped up and ran as fast as they could, in different directions. The fields where my father was had recently been ploughed so was very difficult to run through and he fell. He decided to bury his face once more and stay put. He could hear German voices and a searchlight swept across the field. He writes that again, the good Lord was on his side, for he heard the car pulling away. He lay in the earth for a further ten minutes in case anyone had been left behind. Everything seemed still, so he crawled to a tree nearby. From here he could check whether the coast was clear before he moved off in the direction of his friend Bill. As he journeyed on, he began to wonder whether he would see Bill again. He came across an old farm and searched the barns in case Bill was hiding there, but without success. Everywhere seemed deserted and as he stood there deciding what was the best thing to do, he saw a storm lantern swinging in the dark. His first instinct was to hide again, but then he heard girls' voices - Polish. There were about 7 or 8 girls with a man who took him to a house for safety. As my father was approaching the house, he heard footsteps; as he swung round, there stood Bill!! They were both overjoyed at being reunited. It had been a terrible thought the idea of losing each other, for their conditions had been pretty bad together, but alone, would have been unbearable. At the house Bill and my father were given food and drink and made welcome, proving once more that the Polish people had no thought of the risk involved to themselves. The man of the house told them that he was due to leave the following morning to work for the Germans, leaving behind his young wife and two small children, who in turn, would be sent away at a later date to some other place in Germany and thus the family would be broken up. Very painful and distressing but making them more determined to fight. After leaving this house, Bill and my father travelled through woods until they came to a river. They couldn't swim across for people were working on the other side and would have been suspicious. So they walked down river to see if there was a suitable spot to cross. Night began to fall and they still hadn't found a suitable spot, so decided to retrace their steps back to a Polish farmhouse they has passed previously. Again, fortune favoured them and they were invited in. The people told them that the river would have to be crossed by a raft and the cost would be 50 pfennigs, plus the raft was operated by a German gentleman. They were very disappointed and their spirits flagged. However, next morning, they started out very early, before anyone was up and about, and hid near the river in a spot where they could view the raft. The intention was to confiscate the raft and paddle across while no-one was around, but the raft was locked ! After about half an hour, a man approached, unlocked the raft and settled himself down to wait for his passengers. They watched several loads go across and finally decided to take the risk. They made their way to the landing stage and waited for the raft - there were three other passengers. Luckily, none of them spoke, and when the man came for his money, my father give him a Mark and the man gave change without uttering a word !! Thank God !!. Their final journey to the town of "A" was very difficult. It was very hot and walking through sand made them very very tired, but determination carried them through. Later in the evening, they stopped at a farm on the farther side of "A". Here the Polish man could speak English - he had travelled a lot, especially America. Their story was related to him and he in turn, told them about his life. Bill and my father stayed there for several days and helped out on the farm during the day. In the evenings the family held impromptu concerts and sang country songs to the accompaniment of a mouth organ. Bill and my father were asked to sing God Save the King, which they did. These diversions were a welcome respite from the horrors of war and helped them to forget for a short time that they were in territory occupied by their enemies. Once again, it was time for them to leave and the farmer's son gave them directions to the last German occupied town in Poland - referred to as "O" on the River Narxiff.This made their journey quite easy and they met with no obstacles. A contact in "O" took them to another safe Polish house where they had a good feed and a well earned rest. From here Bill and my father crossed the border into Russia. Thoughts at this time, were - what did the future hold ? and would their luck hold out ? They had walked around 600 miles in a month and were within a short distance of neutral territory. It was 19th November, bitterly cold and the first phase of the journey was to swim across a river. This they did, but as they stepped onto the bank, could feel their clothes freezing onto their skin. They crawled through two sets of barbed wire and were then on Russian soil. The Russion frontier was very difficult to pass, the ground very swampy and it seemed an eternity before they got through. Flares were lighting up the Frontier at intermittent periods. Hope of escape was very short-lived for after travelling about two miles they were picked up by a Russion patrol, captured, searched and then taken to the Frontier Post. It was very difficult trying to make the Patrol understand that they were English, for a lot of German soldiers were deserting at this time. At the post they were questioned by an Officer who spoke a little English. Bill and my father gave him their names and addresses and the Officer in turn, gave them their first Russian cigarette. Their last for a long time ! They were taken to the cookhouse and given a hot drink and some black bread. The next morning they were escorted by two military guards on horseback to a military camp about ten niles away. On arrival at the camp, they were again interviewed by an Officer who took their names, addresses and particulars and who also told them that they would be going to Moscow. That evening, they were put into a lorry together with a number of Polish people and taken to Lomza prison. Here, photographs and fingerprints were taken. They were held for five days. Although not very pleasant, there were no complaints and were treated fairly well. The Russians were very thorough. After five days, Bill and my father were taken to Bialystock; again subjected to questioning and detained for 15 days. For the first time since my father's escape, he and Bill were separated and put in different cells. My father was in a cell with a Polish man who could speak English, so it wasn't too bad for him. On 1st December 1940 my father left Bialystok for Minsk, along with another Englishman, James Allen of the CMP's. He also had escaped from the Nazis. The train journey took two days and again at Minsk the usual interrogation, photographs and fingerprints were in evidence. My father was again put in a cell, this time for one month. He says that life in the Russian prison was not too bad, food was regular and they were not ill-treated in any way. After a month at Minsk, he was taken to Moscow prison and afterwards to Smolensk. At Smolensk, around June 1941 he learned that Germany had attacked Russia, and that Russia had now become Allies. He and other POW's took this opportunity, again to ask to see their Ambassador (previous requests had been refused), but were told they would have to wait until negotiations between England and Russia were completed. One week later, everything changed. My father and other prisoners were moved out in into a Hotel, met with Officers from the three fighting services and smoked Gold Flake - absolute heaven, he says, and could not explain his feelings when he first saw the leading car, flying the Union Jack, arriving to take them home. On 27th July 1941 he received a telegram from my mother - this was the first news he had from home since 10th May 1940. On 29th July 1941 he left Moscow for home, arriving in Scotland in early August.

When my father was able to talk about his experiences, he always said he would never forget the help and hospitality given to him; people who never questioned the outcome if they were caught and gave willingly. He often said he would like to meet up with them again, and thank them personally, but was never able to do so.

I was always proud to read my father's story and as he used to say, he was only one of many, and very proud to be British. I hope you enjoy his story too.

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