Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  As they marched past the 'hospital hut' Tony wondered what kind of medical attention a prisoner might receive there. They passed the kitchens and what looked like another shower block, before the SS guard halted at a hut, indistinguishable from all the other huts in the camp.

  "This is your hut. You may not enter until after evening roll call." He perused the prisoners. "You are excused work today. 507924." There was silence then the guard spoke again, his voice harsh. "Prison 507924 step forward!"

  Suddenly Tony realised that that was his number. He took one pace forward. A camp guard brought his stick down heavily across Tony’s back, and he cried out as waves of agony swept through his newly healed shoulder. A voice bellowed in his ear.

  "Respond quicker, scum! You don't keep the guards waiting!"

  A hand pushed him hard in the centre of the back. Tony stumbled forward until he stood barely three paces from the guard, who glared at him.

  "You. Come with me." As he spoke the guard turned and marched away. Tony glanced back over his shoulder towards where Henri was standing with the other prisoners. The Frenchman was frowning, but managed a weak smile of encouragement as Tony turned and followed the guard in the direction of the main gate. At the gate was a green hut, the SS Headquarters. The guard halted outside.

  "Wait here."

  Tony watched the guard make his way up the steps and through the door. He wondered what it was all about, afraid that the questioning was about to begin at last. The guard came out and marched away, without a second glance at Tony. He continued to stand for almost an hour, the sun beating down on his scalp with its thin covering of hair which had grown back since his arrival at Buchenwald. At last the door opened and another guard appeared.

  "507924?"

  “Yes, sir.”

  "This way."

  With his heart in his mouth, Tony ascended the steps and entered the SS HQ. The interior was dim after the brilliant sunshine outside, and it took a few moments for Tony’s eyes to adjust. On his left was a desk, where a young German in SS uniform was pounding away at a typewriter. To his right, another young man was rummaging in a filing cabinet. The guard who told Tony to enter indicated a door in the far wall.

  "This way."

  The name on the door told Tony all he needed to know. He cringed inwardly. Major Hase. Was this it, then? With some trepidation he followed the guard across the outer office to the door, where the guard knocked and waited. The response was almost immediate.

  "Enter."

  The guard opened the door, pushed Tony through, then closed the door behind him. Tony eyed the officer behind the desk, concealing his nervousness beneath a calm exterior. The major was leaning back in his leather chair, every line of his body communicating relaxed superiority. His piercing eyes took in the detail of Tony’s appearance, and he smiled maliciously.

  "So, you are the English spy from Saint Nazaire. You don’t look so confident now I feel." Tony did not answer. "I see your injuries have healed. Good. We only use fit men here. The others are... expendable." He chuckled and Tony felt a shiver run down his spine. There seemed to be something inherently evil about this man.

  "Do you know why I have called you here?"

  Tony shook his head. He felt sweat break out on his brow, thinking of the agony he had already endured at the hands of the SS. Hase must have read something of his thoughts in his eyes, for he laughed.

  "You think I am going to torture you for information. You are not that important, 507924. Whatever you could tell me now is irrelevant. Saint Nazaire has not fallen to your weak attempt at an invasion, and shall never do so. You see, spy, your work was totally wasted. So, what shall I do with you now?"

  Tony spoke for the first time.

  "I suppose you will shoot me."

  The major’s malicious grin returned.

  "No, spy. That would be too quick and easy. You will work like all the other prisoners here, until you are unfit to work any more, like those living skeletons, those Muselmenn, outside. Then you will be disposed of." He eyes roved over the tall straight figure of the Englishman. "I warn you, it will be far worse torture than any you endured in your previous questioning."

  Hase looked at his watch and frowned.

  "I have no more time to waste on an insignificant prisoner. Get out."

  Tony turned and left, his mind in a whirl as he crossed the outer office, and left the SS HQ. He made his way back to the hut which was now his home. Of all the things he had feared in his confrontation with the authorities, this outcome had never featured in his nightmares. To be classed as insignificant, not worthy of wasting SS time. Did this mean that the Allied invasion had failed? Had Hase been telling the truth when he said that Saint Nazaire had not fallen? As Tony walked back through the camp, unable to take his eyes from the living dead around him, he fervently hoped not. If he were to remain in Buchenwald for any length of time, he knew he would be unlikely to survive.

  The following morning, with roll call over and the sun barely above the horizon, the inmates of Tony’s hut, around eight hundred of them, were divided into four groups. Each group had its own Kapo, who was in charge of the work party. Under him were assistant guards, who each kept an eye on ten prisoners. Looking at their grey faces and their dull expressionless eyes, these people had obviously been in the camp for some time. It was a job no newcomer could hope to attain. The morning was still cool as the work group to which Tony and Henri had been assigned moved off, but the cloudless sky held the promise of another scorching day. As they passed the green hut housing the SS HQ, Tony thought again of his conversation of the previous day. He wondered if the invasion really was going badly, or if Hase had said that to dishearten him. Soon however, as the sun rose higher and the morning grew warmer, Tony stopped thinking of France and concentrated on his surroundings. The group marched with the Kapo in front and the rear guarded by a soldier with a German shepherd dog straining at its leash. They passed nothing but camps with their barbed wire and sentry boxes. Tony wondered how many poor unfortunate souls were incarcerated in Buchenwald.

  They walked for almost an hour before the fences finally came to an end and the fields began, fields which had not felt the touch of a plough for years, deserted farms which looked forlorn in the empty landscape. Tony realised that the whole area surrounding the camps must have been evacuated of all civilians, leaving nothing but rabbits and foxes to inhabit the once prosperous farms. At times the work party marched beside a railway, which led off in the direction of Buchenwald. Twice they were passed by trains drawing long lines of cattle trucks such as the one Tony had travelled in. He wondered how many more poor wretches were lying beside their dead comrades inside.

  Tony’s left leg was aching badly when the Kapo finally called a halt. They had been marching for more than two hours before Tony was finally able to sink gratefully to the dry dusty earth, gasping for breath. Henri dropped down beside him.

  "How's the leg?"

  Tony massaged the aching calf muscle.

  "Painful, but I think it will hold out."

  A whip cracked, and Henri felt its sting across the back of his neck.

  "Get up, scum!"

  The two rose wearily to their feet, and the guard pointed out an enormous pile of rocks beside the road.

  "Carry those across the field, to where they are working on the new road."

  Tony looked in disbelief at the huge stones which had to be moved. Surely the guard was joking! The whip cracked again. This time Tony felt its sting.

  "Get moving!"

  He bent over the pile of rocks and instinctively grasped the smallest one. Marshalling all of his strength, he heaved it up into his arms. His wounded shoulder complained at the brutal treatment. But it was now eight weeks since he had been wounded, and the six weeks’ quarantine had helped the torn flesh and bone to heal. The shoulder reluctantly held out under the strain, as Tony limped with his burden in the direction of the road builders. He stumbled onwards, sweat pouring from his brow
and into his eyes, until at last he reached his destination. He dropped the stone beside a prisoner, whose job it was to split the rock with a hammer until it was in pieces small enough to be used to make a road surface. Tony watched for a moment as he regained his breath. The pain of a wooden club crashing into his ribs forced him to double over.

  "Back to work!"

  Tony limped back to the huge pile of stones, picked up another and began to make his way back towards the new road. So the morning passed, the heat building up in intensity until it sapped their strength and forced the moisture out through the pores of their bodies. By the time a halt was called for lunch, the specific pains in Tony’s wounded shoulder and leg were lost in the general agony which pervaded his whole body. His tongue was swollen in his dry mouth, and he lay panting on the ground, as the drums of cold soup were pulled towards them on little wooden carts drawn by prisoners. Tony reached inside his clothing for his precious bowl, without which he would not be fed, and reached over to tap Henri on the shoulder.

  "Come on, let's eat."

  The older man groaned loudly. "I don’t think I can handle this, Tony."

  "Of course you can." Tony helped the Frenchman to his feet. "It's an attitude of mind. If you think you can't survive, then you won't. You must tell yourself that you will live. It's the only way."

  Henri stumbled forward to join the shuffling line of men waiting for their rations. When their turn finally came, the usual ladle of thin soup was slopped into their bowls. Henri looked in disbelief at the prisoner who served him.

  "Is this all? Don’t we get more if we are working?"

  The man shook his shaved head. "No. Everyone gets the same ration."

  "What about water?" Tony’s voice was hoarse.

  "You get the usual ration after roll call this evening."

  The two friends looked at each other in disbelief, then made their way to one side. They sat down and sipped the cold, tasteless liquid which was their main meal of the day. It did not fill the gnawing emptiness in their bellies, but it went some way towards alleviating their thirst, after all the soup contained little else but water. They had barely emptied their bowls, licking the last drops from them with eager tongues, when the Kapo began to scream once again.

  "Back to work, scum!"

  Tucking the precious bowls inside their clothes once more, the prisoners rose wearily to their feet and began the endless task of moving the stones. Each time a prisoner halted in his work, he was kicked or beaten until he began again. The sky was still cloudless, and the sun a bright ball of fire. The prisoners prayed for rain to wet their parched lips, but no rain came. The work was arduous, and the day long and weary. But it eventually passed, as all time must, and the long tiring march back to camp began.

  Tony felt that he did not have the energy for the march back to the hut. His shoulder ached unceasingly, and his limp was far more pronounced than it had been when they had begun work. Yet he managed to shuffle along with the rest of the column. Those still able to walk helped to drag along the others, who were too weary to make it on their own. The march took appreciably longer than it had in the morning. The bruised and battered, almost unconscious, prisoners arrived back in the early evening to face the inevitable wait for roll call, and stood to attention for almost three hours until the count had been made. Finally making their way back into the hut, their faces lightened for a moment as they received their daily ration of bread and water. Tony was thankful that this was one of the two days of the week when an additional piece of cheese or sausage was given. Tonight he took the tiny morsel of sausage gratefully. He shuffled over to join Henri on the edge of the bunk they shared with six other men. Tony broke his bread in half, tucking one piece inside his clothing for breakfast and began to chew on the second. Although he was hungry, or perhaps because of it, he ate slowly, savouring each mouthful. Nothing was said as he and Henri ate their supper, bread first, then the mouthful of sausage followed by the water. When he had tucked his bowl away, Tony lay down beside Henri.

  "I'm still hungry and thirsty."

  Henri nodded. "I think that’s how we’ll feel for the rest of our time here."

  Tony was exhausted. His eyes were closing as he spoke to Henri. "One thing is certain, we won't survive long at this job. We must find a way of getting easier work."

  There was no reply from Henri. He was already asleep, and soon Tony joined him in that blissful state where pain and hunger could not reach him.

  169

  Two weeks later the weather broke, changing overnight from burning hot sun to solid drenching rain. The prisoners welcomed the change at first. It felt good to be wet, to hold your face up and feel the cool moisture soaking into parched and dry skin, to stick out your tongue and taste the fresh raindrops. At every opportunity bowls were held out to catch the rain, before transferring it to eager lips which drank thirstily. For the first time in weeks, Tony did not feel that he would die of thirst. The rain continued for days, and soon its novelty wore off. Clothes never seemed to dry. Mud clung to heavy wooden clogs which made the march to work seem even longer. The wet stones slipped and were dropped, exhausting the workers further and causing many injuries.

  Tony and Henri had lost a lot of weight. They dragged themselves back and forth to their work area with ever decreasing energy. Finally the day came when Henri could not manage the walk back to camp. Tony half supported half carried his friend for the last half mile. He was totally exhausted by the time evening roll call was over and knew they had reached the point of no return. A number of men in their work group had already collapsed, unable to work. They disappeared, never to be seen again. If that was not to happen to Henri and Tony, something drastic had to be done. Fast.

  When Tony was awakened by the sound of whistles the next morning, he had a plan. As he and Henri ate their meagre bread ration, Tony explained.

  "I've thought of a way out of our work party. It's simple, but hopefully effective. We can't keep doing the work we have been and survive for much longer. So we just smuggle ourselves into another group. It doesn't matter what work they do, it can't be as bad as carrying rocks."

  "But surely we’ll be missed."

  Tony shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. They’re usually only concerned that they bring back the same number they take out. They rarely know who exactly is in the group. It's a risk I'm willing to take. What about you?"

  Henri took no time at all to think about it. "I can't survive this work much longer. I'm with you."

  So, immediately roll call was over, the two friends slid behind the block to conceal themselves. From their hiding place, they watched the Kapo come to collect his group. The column formed up and moved out in the same manner as usual. No-one commented on the two missing men. When they had marched out of sight, Tony and Henri smuggled themselves into another party.

  This time they marched in a different direction through the thin rain, the heavy mud clinging to their feet, and stopped after only one hour. Once they had reached their destination, the group began digging with heavy wooden spades. Each man had his own allotted patch which had to be dug during the day, and the newcomers set to. It was hard. The wet soil clung to the spades, the mud was heavy with retained water, but it was not as hard as the work on the roads. By midday Tony was tired, but not as totally exhausted as he had been before, and he knew they had made a change for the better. He sat next to Henri, as he supped his soup diluted even further with rain water.

  "Are you glad we made the change?"

  Henri shrugged in typically Gallic fashion. "The work is easier but I don’t like it."

  Tony frowned. "Why not?"

  Henri turned to look quizzically at him. "What are we doing?"

  "Digging."

  "Digging what?"

  It was Tony’s turn to shrug. "I don't know. It seems as pointless as everything else about this place."

  "We’re digging graves, Tony."

  "Graves?" Tony looked at the holes, and realised that what Henri sai
d was true. But these were no ordinary graves. They were enormous pits, designed to take scores of bodies at a time. He shuddered at the thought of the Muselmenn who crawled through the camp. So this was their final resting place.

  "Perhaps we should try to get out of this work group."

  Henri shrugged. "Yes. If the opportunity arises. But someone has to do it, or disease will be even more rampant in the camp than it is now. I know one thing, I won’t give up this work to go back to the roads. All that will do is to hasten the day when I shall be filling one of these holes myself."

  Tony said nothing. He recognised the truth of Henri’s words. Buchenwald was no place to try to make a political or moral statement. Only one thing mattered, survival. He would do anything to stay alive. If that meant digging graves for those less fortunate than himself, then that was what he would do.

  The afternoon passed slowly, with the graves growing gradually deeper. Each time Tony stopped to ease his aching shoulder or rest his blistered hands, he would feel the blow of a heavy wooden club adding to the numerous bruises covering his body.

  As the dull day was drawing to a close there was the sound of cracking wood, followed by a whimper from somewhere to Tony’s right. He looked round, to see that the man digging the area next to him held the two pieces of his broken spade in his hands. His eyes darted wildly around, searching for a means of escape from the retribution he knew was about to descend upon him. But there was no escape. The nearest guard saw he had stopped work and approached. Seeing the broken spade he began to hurl insults, screaming and shouting obscenities as his club came down across the man’s unprotected shoulders. The worker scrambled from the almost completed grave. He tried to run, but the SS guard further along the row saw him, and released his German shepherd from its leash. The dog leapt forward, and sank its teeth into the man’s leg. With a scream he buckled and fell. The Kapo approached, and rained blows down upon his shoulders and arms, which were raised to protect his head. Gradually the screams diminished to whimpers. The blows began to reach his skull, and the man fought to retain consciousness. As he tried desperately to drag himself away from his tormentor, the dog tore away part of his leg. The man screamed in agony. Tony felt sick as he watched the dog wolf down the human flesh, then leap back into the fray. At last the man’s cries ceased. Moments later his body was still. The only sounds to be heard were the dull thud of the club descending on his lifeless body, and the sound of the dog’s teeth tearing at his flesh. The SS guard approached leisurely and called the dog back. It went reluctantly, its jowls dripping blood, a length of human flesh still hanging from its jaw. The Kapo finally stopped wasting his energy on the dead man and kicked the body into the grave. The man who had so recently toiled to dig it, was now its first occupant.