If the Germans managed to get fresh bread it was of course as much for them as for us. What they did was to send one of the carts ahead with a couple of armed guards to order loaves from the baker in the next town 8 or 10km away– if there was one still in business. The baker didn’t have any choice. The officer would work out how many loaves were needed for the hundred or so of us plus the guards. They had a loaf between two of them while we shared a loaf with eight or more. When we arrived at the village the bread would be waiting and we would collect it and then be on our way. It was such a treat when you lined up later in the day and got your slice of bread from a loaf.
However, on more than one occasion, the price of that bread was half a brick thrown at your head.
As we marched through villages and towns, civilians would come out of their houses and throw stones and bricks at us. Because we were British (or French, Belgian or American, they didn’t know) and prisoners of war. Two days before this, our planes had been over and smashed their homes, killed their people so it wasn’t surprising how they felt; they were bound to be resentful and want to get their own back. This meant that the German guards escorting us were also getting struck by these missiles, so they had to do something to stop it – for their own sakes if not for ours.
Half a dozen guards would go ahead of the marching column, machine guns at the ready to make sure there was nobody outside ready to throw stones or bricks at us. The last thing they wanted was casualties because that would be a burden on us all. The cart was full most of the time with injured and ill men. It slowed us down. We had to stop to tend to them until we reached the next camp or wherever it was we could leave them to be looked after.
A bit of bread kept body and soul together. Kept us moving. On and on. Kept those legs moving. The things we did for a bite to eat. I stole a piece of bread from somebody. One night we were sleeping in an old barn, all huddled up together and I was the one on the end of the row. We used to take it in turns as that was the coldest spot. I saw this chap next to me tuck a chunk of bread under his coat which he was using as a pillow. When he was facing away from me, I reached out and slipped my fingers under the coat and took it out. That’s how bad it was. Stealing from a fellow prisoner. No good trying to share it with my pals as I would have had to move and then draw attention to myself. This chap would soon realise what was going on. I wolfed the bread down but I didn’t enjoy eating it.
Each day one of us took charge of the water can, sometimes our only supply during the day if we were able to get it filled. On one of his house visits, Jimmy had found a miner’s lamp with a handle and a lid and he adapted it to use for carrying water. I think it was later on our journey, when the weather was better and the roads were dry, probably the middle of March when we were going through another small village. There were eight cottages ranged in pairs with a gap between. Laurie, Sid and Heb were up ahead; Jimmy and I loitering behind. I was looking around when something caught my eye. I pulled at Jimmy’s sleeve.
‘Hang on, Jimmy,’ I said, ‘I think there’s a pump.’ I was in charge of the water can that day. I thought I had seen one round the back of a cottage and would take the opportunity to try and fill it up.
‘OK, Chas, you catch us up.’ He left me and carried on walking.
I walked across to the cottages which all looked empty and rundown, gardens untended and rubbish all around as though families have left in a hurry. I went down between two cottages to the back into a cobbled yard where I saw this pump. So I grabbed this rusty old handle and I was trying it first to see if it worked, pulling it up and down, up and down. It was squeaking, making an awful racket. ‘Come on, come on. Water. Water. Quick,’ I said out loud. That’s all I needed, somebody to hear me and catch me in the act.
All of a sudden the back door of the cottage opened and a man called out ‘Guten Tag,’ – good day.
So I said, ‘Guten Tag.’ Oh God, he’d caught me. What was I going to do?
Then he called out ‘Wohin gehst du?’ – where are you going?
I didn’t know what to say so I replied, ‘Ich weiss nicht.’ – I don’t know.
Then I saw that he was coming out of the house and down the path towards me. I decided to stop pumping and walked towards him and met him half way.
‘Einen Augenblick,’ – wait a minute, he said, signalling with his hands for me to stay there. He turned and went back indoors and I waited a couple of minutes before he came out again carrying a small packet wrapped up in newspaper. He held it out to me, ‘Für Sie’ – for you, and pushed it towards me and said, ‘Viel Glück,’ – good luck, ‘Sehr viel Glück,’ – lots of luck.
I opened it carefully, not sure what I was going to find and took a quick look. I could see some homemade biscuits and half a dozen hand-rolled cigarettes. I thanked him, ‘Vielen Dank,’ adding ‘Sehr gütig,’ – very kind.
As I walked away, I looked back over my shoulder and saw this poor old man, still standing there outside this run-down old cottage. I felt bad. He hadn’t got much himself. He probably thought I was German because I managed a few words in his language. There was a German unit called the Arbeitsteam – working party, in the area. They also wore a khaki uniform when on duty, similar to ours. I reckoned that was what he thought I was. He was giving me something to help his side. I answered his questions truthfully. I didn’t know where we were going and I got away with it. But I felt sorry because as he turned to go back inside, I glimpsed an old lady, his wife, I imagined, through the half-open door, lying inside on a little camp bed.
Everybody else had gone, had left the place but she was too ill or too old to leave and so they stayed. Poor man, he thought he was helping a German. But then again, he might not have minded. Perhaps he just saw someone in a similar position to himself and did what he thought was right. I was worried that the Russians were not far behind and fearful of what would happen to them when they arrived. He and his wife had done nothing wrong. They were victims too, just like the rest of us.
I held out the parcel to Jimmy. ‘See what I’ve got.’
‘Did you get the water, Chas?’
‘Oh, shit! I forgot.’
Still, we all had a good smoke, sharing a couple of the ciggies, bartering the rest for some extra bread from a guard.
* * *
27 February 1945. It was a brilliant moonlit night when we crossed the frozen river Elbe. There was a full moon which shone like a search light, illuminating everything in a mysterious ghostly glow. We couldn’t see the other side so it was an act of a faith to cross where we did because it could have been miles wide.
There were people making their way across this frozen highway going in both directions so this was obviously a good sign; our guards must have thought that we could all get across. There wasn’t any bridge; it was just one foot in front of the other slow and sure, all the way across the frozen water. If I had fallen through the ice that would have been it. I would have drowned or died of hypothermia. This was a different sort of cold. Imagine this: the freezing cold under your feet, rising up your legs and into your body; and all around, air like needles of ice in your eyes and face, in your nose, your throat and lungs. It literally took your breath away.
It was best not to look down and think about what I was walking on. Some of us held on to each other to keep steady. We just had to keep going as though it was the most normal thing in the world, to be walking on a skating rink. I told myself it was like going along the High Street or down Movers Lane as we passed other people. There was us, with our German guards, leaving the east to get away from the Russian advance, and we were passing German soldiers going west to meet the Red Army.
I did feel sorry for the civilians I saw. There was a family carrying all their worldly possessions piled up in a small hand cart; others with a couple of back packs and a basket. A woman with a baby all swaddled up inside the front of her coat clutched her husband’s hand as he tried to keep his balance with a large bundle strapped to his back. We passed an
elderly couple hunched over in the cold struggling under the weight of the loads. They had two cows with them and they had put sacks on the ice under the creatures’ feet and were trying to keep the animals moving and the sacks in place under their hooves, so they didn’t slip. How long it took them to cross, I don’t know. What hardship these poor folk suffered! They had lost everything except what they had with them.
It was possibly half a mile to a mile walk across to the other side of the river. We found somewhere to rest for a while and then continued our journey, going south as we made our way towards – where? Nobody knew. Sometimes you just wanted to sit down and never get up again but common sense prevailed and your pals pulled you up onto your feet and off you went. A few more camps on the way, more bombed towns, lines of men marching, more zig-zagging towards some unknown destination.
March 6
Still on March
At present having a few days rest.
Have received Red X
1 parcel 2 men
1 parcel 3 men.
We never knew when or where we would stop for the night and whether we would find anything decent to eat. I know we received some Red Cross parcels along the way; presumably at the stalags. We were certainly owed a few from the many times we never received our fair share at Langenau. Later on when we were ordered to clear up bombed sites, we had some proper meals from field kitchens which had been set up. It was like being back in a work detachment. We were in no fit state to work, but we had to. Exhausted and weak as we were at least it was a change from the marching and relief for our poor old feet. More importantly, there was the chance of some real hot food.
March 16
Today’s dinner (few spuds in jackets)
Boiled barley & meat for tea
(about 10lb barley & 5lb meat) 100 men
We used to arrive somewhere for the night to find forty or fifty prisoners already camping out, water boiling on a small stove, somebody cooking food over a fire. If their guards had managed to get some food for the company then that was their good luck. ‘Sorry, mate, you can’t have any. We were here first.’ They weren’t going to share anything with us. If they had got the best spot, they weren’t going to move. We still kept a sharp eye open in case somebody dropped some food or left a scrap. We were careful to keep quiet about any food we had, particularly anything from a Red Cross parcel. That was very precious cargo. I’m not saying I was attacked for it, although I know others were. Everybody was desperately hungry although I think we managed starvation better than many who had been living in better conditions in their camps, receiving regular Red Cross parcels and not having to work 12 hours day on a farm, in a quarry or down a mine.
I’m not sure when it was that I met Tommy Harrington again. I heard a voice one day, ‘All right, Charlie?’ and I looked up and saw him. We had stopped for a breather somewhere and he was with his group of men.
‘Tommy!’ I was delighted to see him. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘How you doing for food?’
‘Not too bad. This and that,’ and I told him about finding fish heads and geese legs. ‘And potatoes,’ and I showed him a couple I had in my pocket. ‘Want one?’
‘I’ll swap you a bit of salt,’ and he ferreted about inside his coat and took out a twist of paper. ‘Here. That’ll make ’em tasty.’
And he went off. ‘Best of luck.’ What an extraordinary coincidence!
Heb has dropped out.
This was a sad loss to us. Down to four. The first time in five years we five pals were apart. Heb was never very strong but he managed to keep going nearly to the end of our ordeal. He suffered from heart trouble although we didn’t know it then. It all got too much for him. He had felt unwell for a couple of days but we managed to help him keep going, carrying him between us at one point but it finally got too much for poor Hebby and he collapsed.
Jimmy and I managed to lift our pal onto the cart as his legs had gone. Because it was full up with other fellows we had to lay him on top of them. It was his only chance; we hoped help wasn’t too far away. I believe they were dropped off at the next stalag which may have been on the way to Stendal, our next big stop. Heb did make it home but sadly he had a heart attack and died a few months later. When the four of us met up again after the war we always remembered our friend and how he helped to keep us going.
14
Black Biscuits
When I woke each morning I was glad to be alive, to have survived another night and to still have Jimmy, Laurie and Sid by my side. I can’t stress enough how important it was to have people who cared about you and looked out for you during those dreadful months on the road. My pals saved my life. We didn’t eat the black biscuits, you see.
As the weather got warmer and the countryside and roads dried out, I found walking easier although finding food and a decent place to sleep was still as bad. It was difficult keeping up morale. I felt completely abandoned yet again. I would have felt better if I had known when it would all be over. I suffered a lot from all the uncertainty. The guards were getting worse, losing their tempers and hitting people. As described earlier, my friend Sgt Sargent got his nose broken by one of them who hit him across the face for no apparent reason. Sometimes we settled down in the evening and the guards went off for a while and then reappeared suddenly. They rushed in, shouting ‘Raus, Raus,’ and cleared us all outside. We had to stand in the cold for ages before allowing us back in.
Have seen quite a number of Yanks now
and they look pretty bad.
New men were joining our group including Poles, French, Belgians and Americans and others. Some told us how their guards had run and off and left them so they went looking for another group to join and found us. We listened to the latest news and they told us where they had been and what they’d seen; many tales of horror. I think we were luckier than most from the sound of things. Prisoners beaten by guards and men caught in bomb blasts; civilians shot trying to help POWs and their bodies left by the road. They had slept in pig sties and horse stalls with hundreds of other men and worked like us to clear roads and railway lines.
Everything was chaotic. We knew the war was in its final stages but it didn’t feel like it; we were caught slap bang in the middle. I knew it could still end badly. I could be killed by a British or American bomber; get a bullet through my head from one of the crazy German guards. Or caught in crossfire and shot by a member of the Red Army.
Yanks billet bombed
About this time we saw small planes going over dropping propaganda leaflets like a sudden shower of giant snowflakes. They were in many languages, saying things like ‘For you this war is over’ and telling people to surrender. I wish they had dropped some food parcels for us instead.
Working on bombed area (station) cleaning up.
Two more of our men passed away
We arrived on the outskirts of Stendal, a city half way between Hannover and Berlin, a few days after an intense period of Allied bombing. There were houses and factory buildings half-damaged, others in complete ruin. Roads were blocked with debris and overturned vehicles. There was a suffocating damp smell of sulphur hanging in the air. We marched on – this long, straggly line of dirty, dishevelled, crippled men with a cart clattering along behind; we were lucky still to have one. You could hear the sound of our boots crunching over the ground covered in layers of smashed stones, broken glass and brick dust. There were people bent over, picking through the rubble or trying to clear path ways but they didn’t even bother to look up when they heard us approaching.
This didn’t look at all promising. Was there any safe place to stay? Where would we find anything to eat? We were approaching yet another bombed-out building when the guards signalled us to stop. They went off to take a look round the factory site with its smashed windows and damaged roof. When they came back they herded us towards the rear section which was reasonably intact. I kept an eye on what was left of the roof while checking where I put my feet on broken glass and
twisted bits of metal.
We picked our way through the rubble and found a decent spot to settle in. The place looked as though it had been used as a shelter before as there were the remains of fires and rubbish lying around. Nothing there to eat – we checked. The guards went off as usual to see what was going on and look for food. I hoped we were going stay for a few days so we could have a good rest and get back our strength. We were exhausted after another long day walking. Once we sat down we really didn’t want to get up again.
About half an hour later the guards came running in shouting, ‘Raus. Raus,’ – out, out. Oh, no, not again. Up to their nasty tricks. Why couldn’t they leave us in peace? We struggled onto our feet and limped back outside. We were marched at gunpoint in the dusky twilight about half a mile away to the railway station. There was a lot going on there as German soldiers, locals and prisoners were busy clearing bricks, stones and timbers from a recently bombed area.
Then those familiar words: ‘Schnell, schnell!’ – quick, quick, ‘Arbeiten!’ – work, as the guards prodded us with their rifles. We went off in various directions to join groups here and there, moving piles of rubble and clearing the tracks. It reminded me of the quarry as I picked up stones and bricks with my bare hands to pass along a line of men to waiting trucks in the sidings. An hour or two later as it got too dark to work, a whistle blew and we stopped and I followed everybody away from the station. We lined up in a square and got a bit of bread and some soup from the back of a van. We slept well that night back in our factory billet.
Worked carried on the next day. We marched out again, passing the railway station where the clearance work was still going on and continued further along the line. ‘Schnell! Schnell!’ again, and as we rounded a bend, we saw ahead what had happened. A train had derailed and its engine and cattle trucks were lying on their side with one upside down. It was probably transporting supplies because the doors had slid apart and it was full of cardboard boxes, the size of a small shoe box, many spilling out onto the tracks.
Survivor of the Long March Page 18
